aged up! san (43) x younger! reader (25)—office romance, age-gap, bdsm, smut, drabble. MDNI 18+ NSFW!
[S] You’ve always been your company’s top player: competent, unshakably confident, and strikingly beautiful—the poster child of a cliché success story. But behind closed doors, you harbor a secret: a taste for older men and a desire to surrender control completely, seeking domination as a reprieve from the constant pressure of your day to day life. What no one else knows, however, is that Choi San—the CEO’s timid assistant, seemingly skittish, eternally apologetic as he shoulders the blame for all of the CEO’s mistakes, and unfailingly soft-spoken—guards a little secret of his own.
Because beneath that gentle exterior lies a man entirely different from who he is 9-5.
CONTENT WARNING/ CONTAINS: impact play, exhibitionism, (somewhat) pet play, oral, degradation, dom! san, sub! reader, hair pulling, face fucking, gaping, u try to runaway from his cahk, creampie, age gap. wc: 1.1k? ish
The walk to Choi San's office always feels like committing a crime. By instinct, your legs press together, seeking friction where your thighs meet. It's pure animal want—the primal way you need him.
He smells your perfume before he hears you. You're the only one who enters without knocking.
And like always, you lift your chin, haughty before the inevitable surrender.
San doesn't acknowledge you, and only continues scribbling notes, annotating with exhausted breath. There were too many mistakes to fix, too many things to make right today.
You strut with the sureness of a woman who knows the room, and like a cat with no restraint, you slam your palm on the desk—sending files, papers, binders scattering to the floor.
San's jaw tenses, a muscle ticking at the edge.
"Oh?" He mutters calmly, eyes still fixed ahead. But just beneath the surface, something flickers on.
You say nothing, only climb onto the cleared surface and spread your legs, heels digging into his chair.
San finally looks up, glasses perched on his nose, sharper than his usual skittish demeanor.
"Use your words." His voice betrays him, husk crawling beneath the dryness.
You swing your legs, all cat-like in opaque stockings, replying with silence.
He rises calmly. In one motion, he lifts you by the waist, sits back down, and drapes you tummy-down across his lap.
"Better fucking count."
You hide a manic grin, eyes already lolling back. His palm strikes—stinging even through the thin layer of fabric.
"One."
Another descends, raw enough for saliva to pool in your mouth. You can already taste him. "Two."
On most days, you're obedient—unnervingly so. If he told you to lick his leather loafers or crawl naked around the office with a collar (which he does, often), you'd do it flushed and dripping, trembling with bliss.
But he's been too busy to use your body, to vent his frustrations. CEO this, CEO that—frustratingly devoted to his work.
Adrenaline pulses through you. When you try to turn your neck to glance back, his hand threads through your hair, clenching at the roots, and forces your head down.
The count continues, your voice losing confidence, fading to a whine. Saliva trails from your mouth.
Tears bead at your lash line.
Purple blooms form beneath your skin. Your legs shake, and sticky arousal soaks through your underwear, clinging to your cunt. "Sit." He forces you upright, points to the floor, then stands to gather the scattered papers.
Just as he sits back down, a knock comes.
"Mr. Choi?"
San unbuttons his trousers. Like muscle memory, you crawl under the desk, settling between his thighs as he scoots in.
"Come in."
His voice is softer now. You hear the faint clack of his fingers adjusting his glasses, and when you try to glance up, four fingers tap your cheek in warning.
You tug his boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free, tapping against his white button-up. You wrap your fist around him, pumping slowly.
He's half-hard when you lick a stripe up his length, tracing a prominent vein. The adrenaline makes you mindless, makes you feel alive.
You suck lightly at the tip. Background noise about project outlines fades to black as he grows in your mouth, stretching your jaw, stuffing you full.
You cram him down, cheeks flushing, stars sparking in your vision when he hits the back of your throat, still needing inches to bottom out.
He replies to every question with infinite patience while both hands reach down, cradling your head, pushing you all the way down.
Your eyes roll back. Saliva wells, trickling down to his balls as he presses your mouth and nose flat against his pubic hair.
Everything smells like him—skin, sweat, something vaguely erotic.
He works your mouth manually, fingers tugging your hair to the point of sting.
When he finally releases you, you stifle a gasp, quickly wiping tears and spit before wrapping your mouth around his balls. You suck.
His thighs tense immediately, hands tightening. You jerk his cock with one hand, rest your cheek on his inner thigh, alternating between licking up to swirl your tongue around his tip and fondling him with the other.
And finally, you’re alone.
San threads his fingers through your hair, gripping it in a makeshift ponytail before yanking you out from under his desk. His cock bounces with the movement as he rises, forcing you into a deep, almost painful arch before slamming into you in one brutal thrust.
Your mouth falls open. Your legs spread instinctively as you crawl forward, but San follows with each movement, driving into you with every desperate inch you gain. He sheathes himself so deep there’s nowhere for you to go. Drool slips from your lips as your cheek presses against the hardwood floor.
Still, you try to crawl. San hunches over you, fucking you so hard you can feel him in your throat.
“Stupid fucking bitch,” he spits. “I’ve got so much work to do, and all you know how to do is piss all over my cock.”
“So good, Mr. Choi—” you stutter, eyes rolling back as you fuck yourself back onto his thick cock.
He yanks out of you and spreads your pussy wide with both hands, staring at the way you gape and clench around nothing. With one arm, he lifts you and drops you onto his desk. He drops into the chair and buries his face between your thighs, groaning as he slides his tongue inside you.
His grip on your thigh is bruising. His salt-and-pepper hair has come undone from its usual neat style. He sucks hard, jaw stretching wide, then pulls back to flick his tongue over your clit.
“Such a wet pussy,” he murmurs. “You like that?”
You whine, grinding against his nose. “You’re so good— I wanna cum. Can I cum?”
He pulls away, spins you around, and slams your cheek down onto the mahogany desk. One hand locks around the back of your neck, pinning you in place as he thrusts back inside, pounding into the fat of your ass with sharp, relentless strokes.
“F-fuck!” You couldn’t care less about your job right now. You grit your teeth and take it, clenching hard around him until you’re spraying down his cock, legs locking straight.
San groans, a strand of white hair stuck to his temple.
“This is all you’re good for,” he pants. “Needed this so fucking bad.”
You grin, voice hoarse. “Thought so.”
He grabs your hair and shoves your face back down, fucking you with short, brutal thrusts while staying buried to the hilt.
“You’re like a pocket pussy, you know that?”
His lips curl into a half smile. He cums with a low moan, pumping you full until it starts leaking out around him. He watches it for a moment, then drags your panties back up over your cunt and gives your ass a sharp slap.
"NEED A HAND?" ── k.hongjoong┆fem best friend!reader
── ۶ৎ in which despite your friendship hanging by a thread, Hongjoong has a bad break up and asks you to go with him to get a new piercing. he doesn't tell you what kind nor why you have to take a 30 minute car trip to the next town to get it. soon after you get to the tattoo studio, things get out of hand
wc: 9k (how)
content: friends to lovers, angsty, fluff + 18 MINORS DON'T INTERACT; public sex, car sex, handjob, fingering, nasty nasty fingering, hongjoong is a pathetic whiny little bitch in heat, porn with a plot. hongjoong is implied to be self conscious about his size. praise kink? maybe? pathetic!hongjoong
warning: mentions of blood / pain (piercings)
a/n: I had to make this blog just to post this. idc if people see this or if this shows in tags I had to get it out of my system. can you tell I was full ovulating when this happened
part 2 ┆ MASTERLIST ┆tag list
Hongjoong had been surprisingly quiet on the car drive to the tattoo shop so far, which given the fact it was thirty minutes away instead of your usual spot was sort of concerning. It's not like he wasn’t a quiet person, most people would be surprised to find out he was, but this wasn’t the kind of silence you were used to. The car had looked exactly the same it had last time you had ridden on it a few months ago. Actually, you were pretty sure the empty bottles and snack wraps might have really been the same, some of them might even have been yours.
It still smelled of that strange air freshener that always made you a bit nauseous when mixed with Hongjoong’s signature cologne, and the seatbelt still felt sharp and uncomfortable on your neck. For some reason you had almost expected the car to have changed somehow, just like with Hongjoong. Sitting there with everything above the surface apparently as it was felt like playing pretend. You had expected for him to drive you into one of the usual shops around town you were already acquainted with, so when he had taken that turn into the highway you had started to get suspicious.
“Can’t get it done anywhere here” he had said “Has to be a real professional”
You had raised an eyebrow at him. He answered, or more like avoided most of your questions without taking his eyes out of the road for even a second. Hongjoong was surprisingly a good driver when he wanted to, but the way his eyes stayed glued straight ahead seemed to be more of an excuse to not look at you. However it might have just been the awkwardness between you two, a conversation to be had that you both were avoiding. Is not like you didn’t want to have it, in fact you had already had the conversation in your mind multiple times after he had texted you “wanna come get a piercing?” after two months of silence. In the end you had just sent “sure” and all the things you had planned to say you had left outside when you had closed the car door.
“Damn” you kicked an empty Monster can that pilled among other things at your feet on the passenger seat “What are you getting?”
“You’ll see. Well...” he trailed off, a soft chuckle as result of a joke you weren’t a part of yet “Not really, I guess”
“...okay?” You could tell without even asking. The eyebags under his eyes, his unkempt hair, the bitterness of the laugh that had just escaped his lips. He wasn’t over it. He wasn’t over her. After all, it had only been a week “You are not doing like, anything crazy, right?”
“Define crazy”
“I don’t know, like... I don’t want you to get something you’ll regret when you forget about her in a month”
“I don’t regret any of these" You had known Hongjoong ever since his skin had been bare, watching as ink left its mark in him one tattoo at a time. You could recollect every single one by memory, even those fans would never get to see. Her name fell from his lips after a brief silence, catching you off guard "That was her name”
“I know”
Of course you did. How could you not when she had been the last thing Hongjoong had talked about before it all went down. She had been a “miracle” as Hongjoong had called her, a meeting brought by fate at some event. You had seen her on his finsta stories, never in person. Embarrassingly, you had stalked her profile a few times like a complete masochist. You didn’t know much about her though, as Hongjoong seemed too busy to keep you updated on the relationship once she had agreed to go out with him. It had lasted about two months, which was within the usual window of time that it took Hongjoong’s relationships to end. It was always like this. Passionately fall for a girl, crash and burn, and then this: new addition to Hongjoong’s body. Well, this time there had been a slight change, but neither of you would bring it up.
“She was okay”
“I wouldn’t know” it pissed you off how you were supposed to be walking on eggshells around him, a little biting wouldn’t hurt him. You could tell it had though. Still, the car drive would be a nightmare if the mood got completely sour, so you decided to liven it up with a joke "Just don't get a full black sleeve or something like that just because your manager isn't here”
Hongjoong seemed to appreciate the breather.
“I know, don't worry. But it is... special”
There it was again, that lower register in his voice. You knew him all too well to understand that there was something that was troubling him. The idea of him doing something absurd for a girl he’d dated for two months pissed you off. That she could be that important while you were the backup friend he'd use when he needed someone to tag along. It made you feel worse that you had actually come to him.
“You sure you are not doing anything weird?”
“Can you stop worrying?”
“Well can you stop fucking around for a second?” Hongjoong looked out of his window, hands gripping the wheel a bit tighter, rings reflecting the sunlight. It didn’t feel good to snap at him, especially not when he was in a vulnerable state like that. But how long could you indulge him? How long could you silently forgive him? “Actually I have no idea why you asked me to come” Hongjoong didn’t look at you, his eyes glued to the asphalt and body stiff under your gaze. You sighed and looked out of the window, giving up “I guess time out is over”
The direct sunlight blinded you for a moment before you closed your eyes. You crossed your arms over your chest as it rose up and down with a heavy sigh. Hongjoong eyed you through the corner of his eye, his tongue slowly wetting his lips as if getting ready to say something. Whatever it was it felt heavy on his chest.
“I need someone with me” he murmured loud enough for you to hear, a slight shakiness in his voice “Someone I trust”
You opened your eyes and turned to him, catching his a second before he set them back ahead. There was worry but also determination.
“Okay, you are really freaking me out now”
“I am making it sound worse than it is, trust me”
“Then why don’t you just tell me?”
“It’s... complicated. Listen, I just--” he shrugged, hands leaving the wheel for a second “I can’t ask anyone else. It has to be you”
Far from easing your worries, the bare rawness of his voice worried you even more.
“Okay, stop the car. You are acting crazy”
“I keep making it sound weird but it’s true, okay?” he cackled somehow genuinely at your reaction “And if we get there and you don’t want to hold my hand you can wait outside but...” his shoulders shook with a brief shrug, then a short pause “It’ll hurt less knowing you are there”
You hated how much his words affected you.
“You really are not going to tell me”
“I sort of, maybe... want to see the face you make when you find out”
You saw the smile tug at the corner of his lips, the first one you’d seen since getting in the car. The first one you’d seen in months that didn’t come from a picture with him and his ex on his instagram story.
“Oh... so you are fucking with me. Thank god, I was starting to get worried. Turns out you are just your usual asshole self”
“If it ain’t broken, don’t fix it”
You shook your head with a scoff “Idiot”
You felt his eyes on you, the silence still tense but somewhat lighter.
“Thank you for coming, though”
You bit your lip and your eyes wandered to the landscape across your window again.
“Had nothing better to do”
-
The tattoo shop was by far the most professional looking you had ever seen Hongjoong step into. The receptionist even smiled at the both of you as he saw you come in. You sat on the red velvet couch propped against the black wall, perfectly decorated with framed designs and art pieces in clean, minimalistic frames. Hongjoong walked towards you with the paperwork to sign in hand and sat next to you, closer than you had expected him to. You were still walking on eggshells around him, but he didn’t seem to be doing the same. He should have. He should be the one worried about making the wrong move, say the wrong thing, sit too close to you. And yet there he was, elbows propped on his knees that bruised against yours like it was okay to just do so. Like the last two months hadn’t happened. You both got taken into the room almost immediately where a man in his mid-thirties welcomed you two with a warm, formal smile The smell of sterilizer hit your nose almost as strongly as the white light had hurt your eyes. There was a black tattoo bed in the middle of the room where you assumed Hongjoong would sit, with two small stools resting nearby.
“We already went over all the details during your consultation and I trust you read the paperwork as well. I know you are familiar with all this but I just want to make sure you are ready”
“Yes sir, I am”
Whether it was anticipation or fear you couldn’t tell, but you knew him well enough to hear the nervousness behind the casualness of his voice.
“Okay! Get comfortable on the bed and pull down your underwear. You need to get erect for me to work the piece so I’ll give you guys a few minutes”
What?
You hadn’t said that aloud, and yet Hongjoong turned towards you like he had heard you. All color drained from his face as he saw the artist leave the room, the soft click of the door as it closed the last noise that room heard for a few seconds as you both stayed still.
“I did not think about that” Hongjoong finally said, pointing towards the door “Fuck, I should have told you earlier. I’m sorry” he passed both his hands through his hair, messy strands of freshly dyed black hair standing in all directions “This is fucking weird. I’m sorry, I--”
“What exactly is going on?”
“So... remember that idea I mentioned a year ago?” he asked hesitantly, forcing a smile
It took you a bit of effort to remember, and then your mouth fell open.
“You are out of your mind” your eyes unconsciously traveled down to his black sweats before you shut them tightly, attempting to compose yourself and ignore the heat creeping up your face “You brought me for this?”
“No! I didn’t-- shit, the plan was for you to just hold my hand” he held your gaze, and you saw the confidence leave him as his eyes moved somewhere else in the room as the reality of the situation seemed to hit him “Or you can wait outside, as I said--”
“What the fuck” you said, attempting to make sense of the situation. Of course. Only Hongjoong could get you both in a situation like this “Is that why you said I was the only one you could ask?”
“No, fuck. I’m sorry, seriously. I didn’t think of this. Shit” he laughed nervously “You can just leave and come back with him, close your eyes and all that” Hongjoong pondered for a moment, just how selfish he could get “Or you can just not come back. I just wanted you to hold my hand while it goes in but it’s okay, it’s stupid ”
No matter how amusing it had been seeing him panic in such a way, the sound of his voice, beaten and ashamed was not something you enjoyed. And yet.
“I should have known it was something crazy when you called me. I mean... after two months? You must have been desperate”
Hongjoong lowered his head, eyes fixed on his beaten black Converse. He blinked a few times and he pinched the bridge of his nose with a deep frown. He shifted his weight where he stood and you just waited.
“I’m sorry” he finally said, voice lower “I should have spoken to you”
You fell quiet, your soft smile and confidence disappearing.
“We already spoke about that”
“Not really. Not properly”
“It was nothing, Hongjoong”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you”
You sucked in your bottom lip, chest feeling tight.
“I said it was nothing”
You had said that. You both had.
Back in the same car you both had driven to the tattoo shop in. He had driven you home after one of your regular late night hang outs. Car drive, radio on and a “goodnight” that had stretched until early in the morning. You could still see him as he had been, head turned to you on the driver seat, smile wide as he laughed at something you couldn’t quite recall. The engine had been turned off a while ago when you both had realized the conversation would last longer than expected once again. That had been the night he had told you about the “miracle girl”, every detail he gave you about her making a bit more nauseous. There were years of practice to the way you could smile at Hongjoong as he spoke to you about other girls, but there was nothing you could do about the suffocating pressure of your chest whenever he did so. Your body had been turned to him, seatbelt unlocked, simply watching him under the dim light of a distant street lamp. It hurt every time you realized how much you loved him, and as you always did when the truth hit you, you became small and felt inadequate no matter what you said or did. You always tried to run away from him when that happened.
“I didn’t even have to ask for her number, she just gave it to me!”
“That’s bold” you matched his tone, hoping that would make lying easier. It usually did.
“Right? I don’t know. It was kind of hot”
“I bet. It’s your lucky day”
You wish you could have said the same thing. Your shift at work had been an absolute nightmare, the kind that made you want to lock yourself in the bathroom and angry cry for a few minutes. Your whole week had been like that, really. The only thing that had made it bearable was the plans you had made with Hongjoong on a rare spot where he was schedule-free, and now there you were: listening to him talk about how he had met the woman of his dreams that also happened to be really interested in him. You wished you could be an adult and be happy for him, but you were just a person, and the fact you couldn’t bring yourself to do so made you feel like a terrible one.
“You good?”
Hongjoong sounded worried, and when you finally rose your head to look at him he looked like it too. You hadn’t realized you had zoned out, lips wrapped around the straw of your empty drink and eyes fixed somewhere far away.
“Yeah, sorry. I’m just tired”
Hongjoong shifted on his seat and fully turned to you.
“You wanna talk about it?”
Of course you couldn’t fool Hongjoong. He knew you too well. That’s why it scared you so much whenever your act slipped even if just a bit. He would know.
You forced a smile, your acting not as sharp under the scrutiny “I’m fine, sorry. I’m excited for you, really” you had said, with the type of casualness that took effort. He had stilled at that, as if you had said something wrong. You had noticed the look he’d give you sometimes when you did things like these, like he somehow knew something was wrong. His eyes would scan your face for something, and it worried you that one day he might find it. Maybe he had already. You felt the familiar overwhelming feeling creep up on you, and you knew you couldn’t bear it much longer “Is late and all we are doing is talking so...”
You were looking for a way to finish the sentence and excuse yourself when he interrupted. His voice was low and the words stuck together with a mix of heat and confidence.
“Got any other suggestions?”
The heat crept from your chest to your face so quickly you almost felt feverish. You let out a nervous giggle and Hongjoong’s lips stretched into a smile, his heavy lided eyes dragging from your avoiding eyes to your lips that were still toying with the straw. Hongjoong took the empty cup from your hands and dropped it somewhere at his feet. The sudden silence in the car had made your heart start racing, and you would have said another stupid thing to break the tension if he hadn’t leaned over and kissed you. His lips pressed against yours, shut tight and a bit dry, nothing like you had imagined a hundred times before. His fingers buried themselves on your hair, stiff at first, then loosened when you hummed in satisfaction. He pulled away just enough to let you say something, and when you didn’t he kissed you again, tongue briefly draging along your lips. The sound of your mixed jaded breathing felt loud and obscene in the dead quiet of the car, and the idea that someone could pass by and see you through the windows worried you and excited you all the same. The idea that someone could see you kissing Hongjoong is one you had fantasized about for so long it felt ridiculous by then, and yet there he was, moaning against your lips and hand gently dragging up and down your knee before making its way upwards to your tigh. His thumb brushed along your jeans before he pulled away enough to whisper:
“This okay?”
His voice made you giddy, so close and low and hot against your mouth. You got to nod only once before a bright light blinded you, making you both wince and turn to it. It’s was his phone that vibrated against the holder with an incoming call. Her name was displayed in bold black letters against the white background. There was a few seconds in which you had to make a choice, and as usual the one you took was the easy one that would cause you the most pain. You just laughed.
“Calling at two in the morning? You better pick that up”
The muscles pulling at your smile ached, and the strain to keep your voice steady hurt your throat. You pulled away from Hongjoong, in more ways than one. He could feel it immediately. The coldness, the distance.
“I mean... it’s just--”
“It’s okay Hongjoong” you had already opened the door, body turned away from him and your leg already on the ground “I'm cool on you”
That had been the last time you both had seen each other. There had been some awkward texting trying to emulate a casual conversation for a few days before he told you he was dating that girl, and then the conversation had died until he had asked you to come get the piercing with him.
“I’m sorry” he repeated, a bit louder, shakier. He looked at you from barely a few feet away, but the distance between you two felt bigger and way colder “You can wait in the car if you want. I’ll take you home later. Or I can call you an uber and you can leave now”
You didn’t want to leave, and despite everything, you didn’t want things to be like this.
“Hongjoong, I’d do this for you any time, but...” you hestitated, and you understood why he couldn’t look at you as you found yourself avoiding his eyes too. It was shame, fear “Getting a new girlfriend and shutting me off for months only to ask me to come here and do this? Like you knew I’d come back to you like a lap dog?” you felt your jaw quiver, cutting your speech short “It doesn’t feel great”
“That wasn’t my intention. I just wanted to see you” Hongjoong scoffed “That’s kind of w...” Hongjoong trailed off and silence settled once again “I kept talking about you” he finally said “That’s why we broke up”
You stared at him, and to your surpise he was looking at you. You saw his pupils shake, but he didn’t look away, no matter how much he wanted to.
“What a stupid reason” you whispered.
“Yeah”
Your arms unfolded and fell to your sides.
“Do you want me wait outside?”
A shrug.
“Do you want to leave?”
“I asked first”
“I asked second”
You both laughed softly, and for a moment it all felt like it’d all be alright. You pondered for a few seconds before you walked to the door and disappeared behind it. Hongjoong nodded, more to himself than to you.
“Fucking stupid” he muttered to himself as he pulled down his sweats, just as the door opened and you entered the room again “Shit! What--”
Hongjoong hurried to pull his pants up again, hitting the stools and making a crashing noise reverberate through the room as he fell forward on the bed. You would have laughed if you hand’t been fighting the dizziness that came with your eyes quickly snapping to the other side of the room. You had seen nothing, and you needed to keep telling yourself that so the heat wouldn’t turn your cheeks bright red.
“Sorry! I should have knocked. I asked him if he could give us a few more minutes”
“Wh--”
He looked completely lost and embarrassed as he straightened up. His hands were still tightly gripping the waistband of his pants as he saw you walk inside the room and towards him.
“You are all depressed now, there’s no way you are going to get hard so--”
“Wow, can you not say that?” he asked with almost a wince, his eyes closed tightly as if you were the one suddenly undressing in front of him with no warning.
You gave him a confused look.
“What? Get hard?” a crooked smile spread across your face as you saw the slight pink at the tip of his ears “I’m pretty sure you’ve heard worse things”
“Yeah, not from you. It feels... wrong”
“What happened to ‘it has to be you’” you mocked.
“I meant for you to hold my hand”
You pursed your lips, furrowing your brows in confusion.
“So you don’t need any help?”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I sort of... thought that’s what you actually meant when you asked me if I wanted to stay”
You could see the gears turning in his head, painfully slowly.
“No! No, I’d never--” Hongjoong closed his mouth, then opened it again “I mean, not... never”
“Whatever, Hongjoong. I’m a woman. I’m your friend. It’s cool with me” you said, feigning aloofness “You can just... touch me or something, imagine I’m her or whoever. I don’t know”
Hongjoong stared at you for what felt like minutes before he spoke again.
“You are crazy”
“Actually, I am ‘the only one you could ask’”
“Stop it, I’m going to kill you” the threat was loud and genuine, but you could also see the way his eyes scanned your body in one swift look before falling silent again.
His eyes wandered around the room. You bit your lip, worried that this was it. Everything could break apart in an instant, the fate of your friendship at the tip of Hongjoong’s tongue.
“He’s going to charge you over time” you joked, trying to backtrack.
“Shut up”
Silence again.
“Hongjoong” you called for him in a soft voice, and he finally looked at you “I can leave, it’s okay. I’ll be on the other side when--”
“No” he instinctively took a step forward, as if you were going to walk away “It’s fine is just...”
You didn’t notice when Hongjoong had walked backwards towards the bed, bringing you with him as his hand still held your arm. He had sat down on the bed and as he rested his back against the back of it you knew he wouldn’t say anything else. There was no need for it. He let go of you and sat with his hands resting over his lap as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. He was looking at you, waiting for you to approach him. Under any circumstances you would have laughed, but you just crossed the distance and stood closer to him.
“Where did that big talk go?” he joked, the excitement and nervousness evident in his voice.
You panicked for a moment, the situation becoming real all too suddenly.
“Do you want to make out or...?”
“I don’t know what we are doing” he said and you laughed together “But it feels good”
“I haven’t even touched you yet”
“You are gonna touch me?” he said, halfway between a question and a plea.
You absentdmindedly reached for his hair, burying your fingers in the soft black locks while trying to ease your own heartbeat. The moment your fingertips had ran through the base of his scalp he stilled, a shiver running down his back. Hongjoong inhaled softly and deeply, eyes fluttering before fixating on your lips.
“Is that alright?”
Your voice was low, the question spoken like a secret. Hongjoong nodded lazily, face dangerously close to yours.
“Feels good”
His voice dived an octave lower, which you took as an invitation to drag your nails a bit further through his scalp. Hongjoong shifted on his seat and he closed his eyes. You took in his features, still the same as you had remembered these last few months, and yet something had changed. Maybe it had been you.
“I missed you” you confessed with a shaky breath.
“Me too”
“Don’t do that again”
Your fingers grabbed onto his hair, softly pulling at the locks and earning a sharp inhale from him. Hongjoong opened his eyes, brown eyes piercing through yours, eyelids heavy.
“I won’t”
He brought his hand to your waist, taking a moment to gauge your reaction. You expected him to have reached higher, towards the thin lace of your bra. He could have felt the drumming of your heart against your chest, almost begging to be felt. Instead he drew his fingers across your waist, his hand hesitantly sneaking underneath your top and caressing your lower back. Goosebumps covered every inch of your skin, you were sure Hongjoong would be able to see it. His eyes darted around your body, seeing it stiffen as his fingers caressed further up your back with lazy moves. His head fell forward, almost resting against your shoulder, nested against your neck. You felt the hot fanning of a breathing against your neck, and Hongjoong saw your swallow before his eyes fluttered shut as he stirred on his seat. The motion made his nose bump against your neck, and your hand instinctively held his shoulder as if you thought he would fall, fingernails digging slightly into his skin when you felt the softeness of his lips brush against your ear for just a second. Then again, a bit bolder but hesitant chaste kiss to your neck with a soft noise.
You felt his shoulder muscles under his skin as he moved his arm, followed by the rustling of clothes. He struggled awkwardly for a few seconds in which his grip on your waist tightened. The side of his face felt burning hot against your neck, and you wondered if he was embarrassed.
“Do you need help?”
“No” he was lying “I’ve got it”
The hand on his shoulder ventured downwards, anticipation jolted through your body before you had time to feel ashamed of it. You felt the hard bits of the old band t-shirt Hongjoong wore, the name faded away and rough under your fingertips. You felt his chest rise up and still as your hand stayed there for a second, feeling the faint drumming of his fast heartbeat, before continuing your way down. The fanning of his breath against your neck stopped and his body froze when he felt you push his hand that was resting on his crotch to the side. His other hand that had been low on your back, pinky finger toying with the hem of your jeans stopped altogether. Saying he was half hard would have been an understatement. It felt hot as you palmed it softly over his sweats. A soft whine escaped his lips, so pathetic you felt it directly between your legs. You stilled for a moment, savoring and processing the sound of it. It must have been too long because with a hot sigh Hongjoong's hand rested on top of yours, squeezing himself with your hand in a silent, desperate and pathetic plea. You palmed him, a bit drunk on how desperate he felt, head limp on the crook of your neck, his body so hot you could feel it. His fingernails digged slightly on your lower back as he whined against your ear, holding onto you as if steadying himself. You could feel yourself getting wet. If this was the state you were both in by simply touching each other over clothes, just how much--
Hongjoong moaned against your neck when you passed your fingers under the waistband of his sweats. Of course he wasn't wearing underwear, it would be too uncomfortable after the piercing was done. His skin felt hot, sweat making it a bit sticky too. When you finally grabbed his cock his mouth opened in a silent moan. He was hard by now, heavy under your touch, gratefully twitching when you had started dragging your hand painfully slowly. He was dragging his tongue through your neck in open mouth kisses, lost in the way you pumped him slowly.
"Can I put it out?" you asked, sounding way hornier than you wanted him to know. He shook his head, but the way his hand gripped at the flesh of your waist told you the idea was somewhat to his liking "I want to see it"
He thrust himself into your hand, giving himself away almost like it had been an accident. He moaned weakly into your neck, and soon he found himself doing it again, and again, and again. The chair rocked slightly, the frantic screeching of its swaying filling the room and giving away the pathetic way Hongjoong was fucking himself into your hand, holding onto you for dear life. His hands gripped at your shoulders and waist, putting you at a very uncomfortable position, but the sound of his panting on your ears and the feeling of his now slick cock desperately thrusting onto your hand was too exhilarating for you to care. Then you heard his airy voice against the shell of your ear, loud and hot. It sent the most pleasant chills down your spine.
“You can tell him to come in”
You both could tell neither of you wanted to stop, but he knew he'd cum if he thrust into you even once more. You put your hand away, resting it against his chest to stabilize yourself. His clothes felt strangely warm, and the feeling of his fast heartbeat strangely flattering. You expected him to look away when you pulled away from him but he didn’t, his clouded eyes stuck to you like a madman. He fixated on the way your chest rose up and down, your exposed waist where he had lifted your top, the small wet patch on your neck where he had drooled. Your chest, where he seemed to regret not touching you. Your flushed face and hazy eyes staring down at him, mirroring his.
“Hurry, or I’ll finish” he moaned against your mouth.
You turned around and exited the room under Hongjoong’s burning gaze. It felt embarrassing to call for the artist in such a state, wondering if he'd know. When you entered the room your eyes stayed glued to the floor until you had been next to Hongjoong, his hand warm holding tightly onto yours. It felt so strange doing this after what had just happened. The metallic clanking behind you made you shiver and you tried not to think about what would be going down soon. Next to you, Hongjoong’s eyes were glued to the ceiling, the strong white light reflecting on his glassy blue eyes.
“It’ll be just a moment” his eyes fell onto you and despite the nervousness still evident in them, they softened “You are going to look so cool”
His grip on your hand tightened. It really was just a moment, but to Hongjoong it probably felt way longer than it had been. Your hand would hurt for a while after the way he had held onto it, but you wouldn’t tell him that. His jaw tensed as he held in a pained cry, and despite not being able to see what was going on, the implication made you wince. A single tear streamed down his cheek, softly wiped them away by you. His breathing seemed to steady as you heard the familiar sound of gloves being pulled out.
“All done. Bleeding for a few days will be normal, it’s nothing to worry about. Clean the wound twice a day, dry it gently, don’t touch the piece, the usual. No swimming. No oral or penetrative sex for a month" none of you said anything, but you both were obviously disappointed "Erections are okay but there might be some bleeding too... I think that’s it. I’ll let you fix yourself and I’ll be waiting outside, okay? See you in a minute, guys”
“Thanks” Hongjoong’s voice was raspy but he felt alright “Wait outside, I’ll be right there”
“Okay”
-
You had expected for Hongjoong to walk with a bit more difficulty than he did, but despite the slight hint of discomfort on his face there weren’t many tells. He might be able to hide it from the members after all. After Hongjoong had arranged for his follow up visit you both exited the place, the clear mid-day sky welcoming you despite the chill air. You expected things to get awkward, but it surprised you how much you both just seemed horny and frustrated.
“You hungry?” Hongjoong asked as he fished inside of his jacket for his car keys.
“I could go for a bite, yeah”
His hand grabbed onto the handle of the driver’s seat and you both sat down inside.
“Thank you. Really” he said.
“No need. And I am sorry”
Hongjoong frowned.
“Sorry for what?”
“For your girlfriend breaking up with you because of me”
His lips shaped into a crooked smile.
“Who said she’s the one who broke up?” You looked at each other for a moment before he leaned forward and he kissed you. It was soft, and slow. So slow that it was obvious it was far from innocent. His eyes trailed down your body with a sigh "What about we go back to your place, actually?"
You bit your lip and shook your head. Your thighs pressed together.
"Didn't you hear what he just said"
"He said no oral and no sex, on me" his eyes bored into yours, hungry "There are so many things I can do for you" his hand rested on your knee, lazily moving upwards "Please?" Your legs parted and his hand eagerly touched your through your jeans. Hongjoon let of a soft groan, even through the thick fabric he could feel the heat "How wet did you get?"
"It's your fault" you complained, aware of the way Hongjoong would soften up at your pouty demeanor from time to time.
"Is it?" he feigned innocently, his fingers uselessly pressing harder over your entrance through the jeans, as if your cunt was desperately calling out to him. It was nothing short of disgusting how horny you both were in plain daylight, parked on the street with people passing by "Should I fix it?"
-
You both tried to make the ride back to your apartment, but thirty minutes proved to be too much. Heat was blinding Hongjoong, eyes darting around like a crazy man, so impatient he'd hit the claxon at any car that took more than one second to floor it after the light turned green. He was trying hard not to touch you with his free hand, and you were busy ignoring how uncomfortably your panties stuck to your pussy. He had driven inside the parking lot of a mall, half empty, as you questioned him.
"I'm sorry" he had said, before finding the emptiest, most secluded part of it and parking against the wall "get in the back" he demanded, but there was desperation underneath it.
He winced like something hurt, and it was then you could see he was fully hard underneath his sweats. You wanted so badly to see the piercing. Touch it, suck around it, feel it deep inside. A moan escaped your mouth just thinking about it as you let yourself fall on the back seat, Hongjoong coming through the door and slamming it behind him. His hands went for your zipper right away, pulling at the waist of off your jeans with impatient hands. You stopped him.
"All the way?" you asked, your panic as strong as how feverishly horny you felt.
"No one will see" he said before he kissed you, mouth open and tongue dragging across it.
Hongjoon moaned at the difficulty he had when he tried to pull your pants down. He had become painfully aware of your plush thighs and pretty ass for a long time now. He had thought about humping you like a dog whenever he took notice of how well fitted your pants were, or when you'd sit down next to him in a playful minskirt. He didn't even think about fucking you, the simple idea of humping your ass, fully clothed and cumming in his boxers was enough for him. The jeans pilled in an awkward way at your ankles, but it was enough for Hongjoong to maneuver. He didn't waste time and pulled your panties to the side. Breath hitched on his throat when his fingers touched your pussy. You could see the blissful surprise in his eyes, locked on yours, before he had to look down to make sure he wasn't going crazy. He trailed his fingers across it, so wet they easily slid across it.
"Fuck" he said in a pained whine, like he couldn't believe his eyes. He closed them for a moment, trying to concentrate on the nasty, slick sounds that embarrassingly filled in the quiet of the car as his fingers spread your lips. It made his dick twitch painfully.
His eyes went back to yours again, as if asking you if this was real. You looked away, embarrassed. It drove him insane, your flushed face, shiny shy eyes and brows furrowed in shame. All while he felt his fingers wet and sticky against your cunt that seemed to be pleading for him to fuck you.
He didn't even try, his fingers seemed to slip inside your pussy with ease, getting sucked in in a way that had you both moaning into each other's mouths. He pulled them out, taking off the rings on his fingers and unceremoniously tossing them somewhere in the car. He put his fingers right back in as deep as he could, his other hand trying to push your knee as far away as the jeans at your feet allowed it. He groaned almost childishly, taking his fingers away again.
"Take the pants off"
He leaned forward to take your shoes off, but you stopped him again.
"What if someone sees"
"The windows are tinted"
It shouldn't have been enough to convince you, but it did the job. You let him take your shoes and jeans off, horny by just seeing how desperate he was to just finger you. He turned you slightly, your back now pressed against the car door, him sitting on the back seat with your pretty pussy in full display for him. Your back hurt, uncomfortable, but the way he was looking at you was worth it. You could see his fully hard dick pressing against his sweats and you knew it must hurt against the restrain. He pushed your knees apart, but you closed them. It almost made you feel bad, the way he looked at you like he had done something wrong. Before he had time to wonder if he had messed up, you said:
"Pull your pants down, friction is going to hurt you"
Hongjoong bit his lips, it did hurt.
"It's okay..." he started saying, until he saw how you pressed your legs together, hiding you from him. The simple act of losing sight of your leaking pussy for even a second seemed to do the trick, his hands quickly pulling the waistband of his sweats down and freeing his hard, red cock. You could faintly see the piercing, glistening faintly under the fluorescents of the parking lot. You pussy clenched around nothing, around the mere thought of fucking his pierced cock deep inside you.
"Do you like it?" he asked, a hint of shyness laced on his heated breath.
"When it gets better, can I fuck it?"
Hongjoong nodded slowly, as if taking in your request. He parted your legs, slightly pressing them against your chest, making you whimper at the nasty way he was eyeing you. With a whimper he went back to trace his fingers across your pussy, tantalizingly slow for someone who was so desperate to be knuckles deep inside you seconds ago.
"I want to spit on it but you don't need it"
You understood then why he had fallen so quiet, why he was toying with your entrance. He was savoring the sound of it. The slick, faint and nasty sound your pussy made whenever he graced his fingers across it. You pushed your hips, almost begging him, and he obeyed. His fingers slid right inside again, this time perfectly going all the way in until his knuckes pressed against the entrance. How he wished he could put more in, fuck you like a pathetic bitch in heat in the back of his car. The way you moaned brought him back to reality. You clenched around him, and he worried he might cum. Slowly he pulled his fingers out, savoring the slick coat of arousal around your fingers before pushing them back in. They filled you up again, your hips moving on their own again. He pumped them inside you slowly, lost in the small pants that left your mouth, your eyes glued to the way his hand got sucked inside your cunt over and over again. His thumb started to press at your clit whenever his fingers went all the way in, and the loud moans you were trying to suppress turned into pathetic cries whenever it did. The cries, the exposure, your hot pussy, the filthy sounds. He was going to cum. He needed to compose himself.
He pulled his fingers out, and you let out a whimper that sounded like a question. He dragged your legs towards him, until he had your back arching across the back seat. His hands grabbed at the neck of your tank top, pulling it down unceremoniously to expose your tits to him. The way he seemed so desperate to do so got you clenching around nothing. His hands moved to them, palming them with a satisfied groan, brows furrowed as he took the whole sight in. You, sprawled in the back seat of his car, chest exposed and your legs open just for him to see and touch, thighs wet with your own arousal. His hands dragged down, nails scratching at your stomach and thighs on their way back to hold the back of your knees against your chest.
"I want to fuck you" he said, as if it were a confession "I've always wanted to fuck you"
Maybe it had been a confession, an apology he felt he'd owe you soon. He winced, and you thought the piercing might hurt, but you understood once you saw and felt him cum on you and the leather seat. A thin string connected his cock to the cum that now covered your gaping pussy. It felt hot, but not as hot as the sight in front of you: Hongjoong hunched forward, head down in shame and panting slightly.
"I'm sorry" he breathed out, an you could tell he was embarrassed.
He heard you groan lowly, and for a second he worried he really had ruined everything, until you said:
"You are so hot"
His head shot up when he felt you grabbing his wrist, coating his fingers on his own cum before moving your hips to fuck yourself onto his hand. Hongjoong moaned loudly in surprise, which startled him so much that he turned around to make sure no one had heard. He brought his attention back to you quickly, not wanting to miss a single second of what was going on inside his car. Neither did you. The sight of his shiny eyes, fucked-out expression and parted lips making you squeeze his pretty fingers, dragging another whine from him.
"You are fucking me so well" you said, speaking for the first time. You voice was strained, dry "Can't you feel how much I love it?"
You clenched around him on purpose, and the way his face twisted anyone might think he was severely hurt.
"Does it feel good?" he breathed "Do my fingers feel good? Tell me they feel good"
His desperation made you clench again "It feels so fucking good, can't you hear it?"
He could hear it, that filthy sound now exacerbated by his cum getting pushed in and out of your cunt. He was getting hard again, watching you hold onto his hand and thrust into it, using it to abuse your own pussy with such a pleased, eager expression.
"You are so pretty. You have such a pretty pussy" the words left his mouth like a lost thought. He wasn't really thinking anymore.
"I want you to fuck it"
"Shut up" he groaned.
Hongjoon leaned in and kissed you, the drool that had formed at the sight of you now falling down your chin in a clash of teeth and tongue. He pressed his tongue against yours, forcing it deep inside your mouth just as he buried his fingers deep, deep inside you. The moan that rose from your throat choked on his tongue. He pulled it out of your mouth it with a nasty sound, a thread of saliva connecting your lips. Just by the way he looked, you knew he was hard again.
"I'm going to fuck you so good. I promise you"
He pulled his fingers back again, and proceeded to finger you at a speed that made it clear he was trying to get you to cum before he did again, and he was close.
"You sound so fucking good"
He patted at his sweats with his free hands, hand looking for something like a desperate puppy. He finally found it: his phone. When you realized what he was doing, both embarrassment and heat spread through your lower belly, making you whine in a way that made Hongjoong's hand shake, but his pace never faltered. He had opened the recording app and placed it close to your pussy, making sure every filthy little sound was saved for later.
You came with a loud cry, and Hongjoong savored every small clench, every small wet sound that came from your orgasm as he moaned himself, painfully hard and wishing he could use you like a fleshlight. He rode out your orgasm by recording every sound, fingers going inside and out, stretching you out and dragging them across your cunt to record as much as possible. When he was done, he pulled them out, and sat with a deep sigh, placing his hard cock insde his sweats with a wince. He took a look at you, then leaned forward and kissed you softly on the lips. It was soft, careful, like the first one you had shared in that same car. You were both riding the high, and you felt blissful enough to do him the favour of cleaning his fingers by bringing them to your mouth, tongue dragging across them in small licks.
"You are awful" Hongjoong said, voice strained and eyes going dark again.
It made you chuckle, and baring your teeth you bit them playfully before placing a chaste kiss on them.
He pulled your top back up, and helped you sit comfortably after lying in such a straining position for so long. The truth was, if he let you stay in that position for longer, he might be tempted to bury his fingers deep inside you again. God, he already missed the feeling of your pussy around them. He looked around to make sure there was no one around.
"You good?" he asked, lips pressed against your cheek in a soft kiss.
You humed in response.
"I'm sorry about your car" you said, guiding Hongjoong eyes to the part of the back seat between you two that was covered in cum. Hongjoong's chest rose and fell with a deep sigh.
"It's my fault. I was too impatient"
"How are you going to survive a whole month?"
Something flashed in Hongjoong's eyes. Something soft and unguarded.
"I think I'll manage, if you help me out"
You bit your lip. It was obvious he was still incredibly horny. So were you.
"Do you think you'll last until we reach my apartment?" you didn't miss the way Hongjoong's eyebrows rose, eyes shining, then it disappeared after he took a quick glance at the time on his phone.
"I have to go back to the dorm..."
You playfully shrugged.
"You could be very quiet" you whispered into his lips before kissing them so softly it made his dick twitch.
"I can't be, you just saw" he retorted, but you could tell he only needed a little push.
"It's easy if your mouth is busy" you kissed his neck, tongue dragging swiftly through te spot "Buried under my pretty pussy"
"Okay" that's all he said before he got out and got on the driver's seat "Stay there, I can't drive if you sit next to me, please"
── ۶ৎ ever since you started dating Mingi, Yunho has been there too. He's supportive, he listens, he makes you laugh, and he knows you love his best friend... and yet. There is something bothering Yunho, and he won't shy away from getting in his best friends head about it, not until he selfishly gets what he wants
wc: 8k
content: + 18 MINORS DON'T INTERACT; manipulative behaviour, dub non con (not really, but still), corrupting kink, vouyerism, rough sex, not quite cheating, fingering, p in v, sweet!Mingi, toxic!Yunho
warning: this is the toxic yunho you all wanted, this is all your fault. do not ask me what the dynamic is here, I honest to god don't know what I did
MASTERLIST ┆tag list
Mingi lets out a dry chuckle. Yunho’s question still hangs in the air of his messy dorm room, now a bit charged. He can hear San and Seonghwa fighting in the living room, feeling so far away despite being right on the other side of the wall.
“No way, she’d never do that”
That’s what he says, but the ways his brows sunk ever so slightly over his confused eyes lets Yunho know he’s got him right where he wants him. He had known it’d be easy. He knows Mingi. Probably more than anyone has or ever will. But truth to be told, he’s shocked it’s being this easy. He worries him sometimes.
“I mean... that’s what they all think”
“Who?” asks Mingi “San?”
Yunho stifles a laugh just as he’s about to take a sip from his glass. His mouth opens in a genuine, silent chuckle.
“Just men in general, Mingi" he explains, then pretends to think about it “Well, maybe San too. You are right”
“But, she--” Mingi stops himself. Even he can tell that he might not be entirely sure, given how defensive he’s gotten. He wants to be, but the idea also unsettles him. The idea that he could not only be failing you in any way, but also oblivious to it makes his mouth run dry “How can you know?”
Yunho hides the satisfied smirk on his lips behind the rim of his glass.
“Little things” he says nonchalantly. Mingi wonders how many times he’s had this conversation with someone else. It makes him sound like an expert, and thankfully to him, or so he thinks, helpful “Volume, muscles... hands”
“Hands?” Mingi is embarrassed to admit that he has no idea what that means. Maybe he really knows nothing.
Yunho can tell right away that Mingi’s ego is bruised, and the way his eyes fall to his own hands resting on his lap is his cue.
“It’s okay” he says with fake reassurance before he throws the finishing blow “You know what an actual orgasm feels like, right?”
The questions sounds like banter, a joke to lighten up the conversation and stop Mingi from spiraling. In reality Yunho’s eyes are hard, slightly cold and too eager in the way he sees his friend's face drain from any color left. The poison in his question goes unnoticed by Mingi, who’d never in a million years would think is best friend is doing anything else than having a casual conversation with him.
“Yeah...”
He does know. But does he? Does he know what Yunho means? What if he doesn’t? The image of you on the bed, unsatisfied while he rests on top of you catching his breath and waiting for him to leave flashes through his mind.
“You can’t fake that right?” he asks abruptly, raspy voice a bit shaky.
“Fake what?”
“The, uhm...” a blush creeps up Mingi’s face. He opens and closes his hand twice, and for a moment the coyness of his friend makes Yunho feel bad.
He chuckles.
“They can, actually” Mingi’s face drops “Is just muscle contraction”
Mingi’s eyes get lost somewhere for a second.
“How can I know?”
“I usually can tell by the sound. I can tell you our neighbour isn’t as gifted as his girlfriend is making him believe”
He’s joking, but Mingi is dead serious when he asks:
“So, could you tell?”
Bingo.
The exciting rush of victory flows through him and he has to hold himself back from grinning.
“Could I... tell?” Yunho feigns innocence. It looks so natural on his soft, boyish features.
Mingi bites his lip, unsure
“No?”
The conversation that follows is one that Mingi swears to take to his grave, the things said between these four walls some that should never be repeated.
The next time you are over at Mingi’s dorm he greets you at the door with his usual wide, bright smile before it stiffens in a way you can’t quite understand. Nevertheless, his arms reach forward and pull you into a tight hug. He feels your muscles loosen up once your head rests against his chest with a happy sigh. You can’t say the same about him, though. His body is uncharacteristically stiff but you say nothing, aware of the stress he’s been under for the last couple weeks. After placing a kiss on the top of your head he lets you inside.
You are still unfamiliar with the apartment, to be honest. You haven’t been here more than once before, when Seonghwa and San happened to be out. You assumed this was the reason why Mingi asked you to come over. That is until you see Yunho standing in the living room. There’s a small, strange pause before you both smile at each other and bow politely as his face cracks into a beaming smile. You are used to it by now, yet the it hits you like the very first time. Every time.
You met Yunho maybe a few weeks into dating Mingi, and you could tell right away why it had taken so little time. He needed him to like you. For Mingi, the most important thing is that Yunho approves. You had come to find out that appearances can be deceiving. While Mingi’s cold looks hide a very soft and naive heart, Yunho’s boyish and cheerful demeanor serves as a mask for his very sharp and perceptive nature. You could see it in his eyes right away the moment they settled on you for the first time, and you can feel it now standing in the entrance of your boyfriend’s dorm. He has accepted you, that much you know. So why? Why does he keep staring at you like--
“Ah” Mingi pops up behind you “Yunho came over for a second but he’s leaving now”
“Yeah, just wanted to talk about some work things”
“Why don’t you wait in my room?”
There is a strange tension in the air that while aware of, you can’t quite place. You look between the two of them and with a small smile you simply walk towards Mingi’s room, closing the door behind you. You take a look around Mingi’s room. There’s not much that you remember from the last time you were here, but the messiness of it seems about the same. You allow yourself to sit down on the bed and look around. Your hands grab a hoodie that rests in a pile on the bed and bring it to your nose, the faint, oxidized smell of Mingi’s cologne still holding onto it. You hear the front door open and close, and a few seconds later Mingi comes through the door.
“Sorry about the mess” he apologizes sheepishly.
He hadn't had time to clean, his mind preoccupied with more... pressing matters. He takes notice of the hoodie in your hands and his heart softens. You pat the space next to him and he obeys like a puppy. The bed sinks under his weight when he sits next to you, making you fall into his arms. You look up at him: his beady eyes, a little shaky while dragging along your face. It worries you a bit, the way he’s holding his breath.
“What’s wrong baby?” you ask, placing a loose strand of hair behind his ear. He exhales deeply when he feels your thumb tracing small circles over his cheek.
“Nothing” he stutters “Just tired”
You coo at him, and it makes him lean into your touch.
“How dare they make you so tired?”
You place a chaste kiss on his lips and they curve into a smile.
“How dare they” he repeats, his shoulders easing slightly when both your hands cup his face.
You bring his face closer and he lets you, a deep exhale fans at your face when your lips meet in a long, close-lipped kiss. Mingi feels himself melt into you, his fingertips dragging over the fabric of your jeans. You can feel the heat of his big hand resting against your thigh, daring enough to settle there but too shy to move without a little nudge. Mingi’s sweet, so sweet. You smile against his lips and he parts from you.
“What’s funny?” he asks.
“You are cute”
“I am?”
You nod, and he bares his teeth in a wide smile before you are sealing his lips again. You lie on the bed, hands dragging him along with you. You can feel the hesitation in the way he gets on top of you. He cages you below his wide shoulders, the bed protests under the full weight of him above you. His hair dangles above you, its touch tickles where it caresses at the skin of your cheeks.
“Do you love me?”
Your heart comes to a halt, your expression frozen. You can see the realization of what he has just asked hit him while the words are still hanging in the air.
“I do”
His face lits up and for a moment he looks like the Mingi you are used to, whatever worry he had completely gone for a split second.
“Do you only fuck missionary?”
The bluntness of the question startles Mingi just enough for Yunho to regret not sugarcoating it. He doesn’t know if it’s the frustration of watching from the sidelines, or the way his hands shake with an aching need to do something, but the crude words escape him before he can stop himself. And now Mingi looks embarrassed, timid in a way he hasn’t been in front of Yunho since they were younger.
“We like it” he answers, insecure in his answer.
Yunho hurries to ease his friend's worries. But not too much. He needs the edge. That sad glint in Mingi’s eyes.
“It didn’t sound fake, but...”
“What”
“Don’t get mad, okay? Listen to me” Yunho props himself on the edge of the couch and places his open palms towards Mingi, trying to soothe the blow “She didn’t fake it, but” he enjoys the way Mingi holds his breath “I think she was a bit bored”
Relief washes over Mingi’s features before they twist in confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t think she was getting it all out of her. She sounds very... contained”
“She’s loud sometimes” Mingi says, a bit defensive “But she does moan a lot, you heard it. And you said they are not fake”
Yunho’s sweet smile stiffens at the memory of him standing by Mingi’s bedroom door, listening to the way you sounded while getting fucked by his best friend.
“They are not” his lips press into a thin line, Mingi waits “But I think she could be louder”
“What do I do?”
Yunho rubs the palms of his hands. They are sweaty, a giveaway of how close he is getting to the turning point of the slow burn of his plan. He needs Mingi to make the choice.
He needs to pretend he doesn’t want him to.
“Maybe be a bit rougher?”
“I don’t think she’d like that” Yunho expects that answer, because you are sweet. Because you always grab onto Mingi's hand when he’s anxious without him asking. He thinks about the size difference between Mingi’s hand and yours. He thinks about how his are the same size, and he tries to imagine how it must feel to feel yours, so small around them. How he could easily grab your wrists with one single hand and-- “And I don’t do that”
Yunho blinks rapidly, actually surprised.
“Never?”
“It doesn’t feel like...” Mingi’s hands open and close at his sides where he stands in the middle of the living room “I don’t want to hurt her”
Of course. No matter how sweet you are, Mingi’s sweeter. He’ll always be.
“What if she likes that?”
“No” Mingi shuts down the idea, and Yunho’s jaw muscle pops for a second. Mingi doesn’t notice it “I don’t think so”
Yunho doesn’t bring the topic up again, letting Mingi room to breathe and spiral on his own. He knows he’ll be thinking about it when he’s alone in his room. When he’s with you. Every time you take longer than usual to answer his texts he’ll think that maybe you are bored of him. Every time you laugh a beat slower to his silly comments he’ll wonder if you are faking it just to not hurt his ego. Every time you moan in his ear and scratch his back he wonders if you are putting on a performance. It only takes a week for him to knock on Yunho’s room door.
“How close are we?” he asks, hands tugging at the hem of his oversized t-shirt.
Yunho bites back a smile “As close as we can get” he gives a small shrug as he turns back his attention to his computer screen, the soft glow of it masking the darkness in his expression “As close as you need”
Mingi asks right away, almost like he’s worried he might back down if he takes a second longer.
“Would you do something for me?”
“Where’s this coming from?”
The soft fabric rests over your hands, it folds pleasantly between your fingers while you think about what Mingi is proposing. You can feel the heaviness of his stare, sitting right in front of you on the bed, eyes full of worry but also hope. It’s hard to deny him when he looks at you like this, like he’d get on his knees and beg. But you are owed an explanation.
“I thought we could try something new” he swallows, hard “If you want”
No one can blame you for thinking his nervousness is due to the nature of his proposal, after all, how could you assume Yunho has been hiding in the other room? He’s been listening, his body tense from the moment Mingi opened the door and he heard your soft footsteps on their dorm floor. He wondered what clothes you’d been wearing. A skirt, a dress? The one you wore for Mingi’s birthday on a particularly windy day?
You had been so flustered, hands quickly grabbing at the hem of it to stop it from raising too high. But you’d been too slow. You had known that when your eyes met Yunho’s, who had been walking slightly behind you. The way embarrassment seemed to gleam in your eyes and the slight blush spreading fast across your face made his cock throb, and it took him a second longer than usual to give you a casual smile. An expression that had said “What is it~?” that had let you feel touched at how he was pretending to not have seen anything. You had felt silently grateful when he started walking behind you, shielding you from the merciless wind while Mingi and the others played around, unaware. However, Yunho’s intentions hadn’t been as kind as you would have thought. You had actually been suspicious, and you had felt awful about it. Yunho was always kind, charming and gentle. Not only with you, but everyone, especially Mingi. And yet, there was that pressing, suffocating feeling towering over you: close, strong, closing in.
“That’s okay with me” you tell Mingi “Am I putting it on?” Mingi is pretty shocked at your willingness, but it just furthers the idea that Yunho was right. There are things you are okay with. Things you want but won’t ask for. Things he couldn’t see. Things he’s incapable to bring himself to do for you. That’s why-- “Is it for you?”
“No, it’s for you”
Mingi’s large hands grab at the blindfold, and he thinks it feels strange between his fingers. The way his shoulders are hunched over with little to no confidence melts your heart, and you lean forward to press a soft kiss on his lips. You expect the tension on his body to ease the way it usually does, but it doesn’t happen. Instead he just blurts out:
“I love you”
The confession surprises you, but it is Mingi after all.
“I love you too”
Yunho has gotten bold enough to stop by the door, not yet peeking in. Not until Mingi gives him the sign. He can sense the heaviness of Mingi’s body over yours, the way he lays you down on the bed by the way the bed creaks. He can hear the rustling of clothing, your soft hums and the sweet sound of your lips parting and reconciling again. That had been something he hadn’t thought about. He had expected Mingi to be so upset and humiliated about the idea of not being able to fulfill your desires that he wouldn’t bring himself to speak about it in detail. But he had, if only to establish one rule: no kissing.
Yunho’s eyebrow had twitched when Mingi had brought it up, a sharp look of discontent flashing across his face that he quickly had to hide with a casual, calculated shrug. Maybe that’s why the sound of it is working on him so quickly, the restraint of his slacks painfully growing more unbearable with every kiss. He knows the way Mingi kisses you: sweet and slow, almost chaste.
He sees Mingi’s t-shirt drop to the floor from where he’s standing, followed by an item of clothing he’s familiar with. A pretty dress, floral, discarded right next to the bed. He wonders if he can catch it without getting caught, before stopping himself. Any other day he’d have done it in a heartbeat, brought it to his face and take in as much of you as he could. He has always had an idea of what you’d smell like when he had you close: the fading lower notes of your perfume and the faintest scent of sweat.
But he doesn’t have to imagine now.
“I’m tying it now, okay?”
You nod, unaware that he's not really saying that to you. Mingi carefully puts the blindfold around your eyes, shaky fingers tying the knot with care and a shame you can never find out about. He takes in the sight of you. Eyes hidden from him, your parted pink lips, the bridge of your nose. You look so pretty like this, and it reminds him of why he’s doing this. He could never be anything but gentle with you. The idea of leaving a single bruise on your skin horrifies him. And that’s why.
He carefully takes your panties off, dragging them along your legs until they get discarded next to the pile of clothes at the bottom of the bed. Yunho can’t help himself and peeks through the door, the floorboards cracking and making Mingi’s broad shoulders stiffen. He adjusts his stance, blocking Yunho’s view of your exposed body. You are still his, until he says so. Maybe t’is the sudden spark of possessiveness, but he leans forward and wastes no time getting his tongue all over your core. He can’t help but to hum when his tongue drags down and sinks inside your pussy, wet and warm and always so inviting. His.
Yunho brings his hand down to the bulge of his sweats, embarrassingly strained against his boxers and begging to be touched. His jaw tightens at the airy moans escaping your lips. He wonders-- no, he knows you could be much louder than this. He can tell by how loud your pussy is already, barely eaten and already so disgustingly wet. He sees the muscles of Mingi’s arm work, your legs come into view, extending in pure bliss with the sweetest of moans. He squeezes himself through the fabric of his sweats, and if you were paying close attention you’d been able to hear his strained, low moan in the dead silence of the apartment. He’s losing patience. He needs to touch you, needs you louder. You are too quiet, he can hear how your moans get stuck in your throat, escaping only in the cutest, mildest of whimpers. You can do so much better.
He can do you so much better.
You feel Mingi’s head part from your pussy. There is a strange stillness in the air, you are about to raise your voice in a question when you feel Mingi’s fingers slide inside of you in one swift, brutal motion. You let out a surprised moan. Mingi can feel the way you clench around his fingers, his big eyes going from your mouth to where Yunho is holding onto his wrist, using his hand to finger your pussy. He looks up at his friend with big, confused eyes, like a student who can’t figure out the last question to his pop quiz. Yunho nods at him, then drags Mingi’s hand out before pushing it back, setting a torturous quick pace. God, he wants to bury his whole fist inside you, but he can’t get more than this. He needs Mingi to believe his intentions are selfless. He needs Mingi to think that he doesn’t want to fuck the shit out of his girlfriend in front of him.
Mingi's wrist hurts with the strength Yunho is holding it with. He watches his best friend use his fingers to finger you, your pussy squeezing around them and coating them in a thick layer of arousal. His fingers slide out of you and there’s a pause followed by the slick sounds of tongue over skin. It's hard for you to imagine Mingi sucking at his fingers to taste you, but it's even harder to think that Mingi is letting his best friend suck on his fingers to do just that.
It’s normal, Mingi thinks, given the circumstances. For a single second that strange, loud silence comes back before all of a sudden, you feel him flush himself against your pussy, tongue flat against your labia and nose poking at your clit. Underneath your own scream, you can feel the way Mingi also seems to let out a muffled, surprised moan. It reverberates deliciously on your core, knees coming together to push him even harder against you.
Yunho’s hand is tangled around Mingi’s unbleached roots, forcefully rubbing his best friend’s face against your pussy with burning impatience. Mingi lets him push his face flat against your cunt, his skin wet with your slick and his saliva every time Yunho forces his tongue to press against your gaping pussy. Yunho’s aching to touch you, yet this is the closest he gets. He lifts Mingi’s head, his big eyes looking up at him only to see the mask practically slipping from his face at this point. Yunho's chest is heaving up and down at the sight of your pussy, puffy and pink and abused. It’s begging for him to fuck you. He nudges Mingi’s head in a silent yet commanding motion, and Mingi simply obeys. Mingi starts eating you out a bit roughly, teeth bare and grazing at your clit from time to time, causing your hips to buckle. It feels strange, hesitant, but you can’t help the delicious way the familiar warmth settles in your lower abdomen with every sharp drag of his nose against your clit.
“Baby, can I ask you a question?” he asks. Yunho watches how a thin thread of your slick stretches between his lips when he speaks. He almost has to hold back the thought of licking it from Mingi’s lips himself “Do you want me to be rough?”
Yunho sees the way Mingi’s hand sweetly caresses your leg absentmindedly as he speaks to you. It makes him sick. He hates the way your voice is just as sweet and sincere when you answer.
“Yeah, a bit” It does fuel his ego, though, the fact the he has been right all along ”I like it that it feels like you are mad at me”
“Why?”
“I-I don’t know” you mutter, suddenly feeling ever more exposed than you already are.
There’s another silence, but you can hear it. Faint, truly almost imperceptible. Then Mingi asks:
“Is there anything I should be mad about?”
You think about the stares. The ones Yunho gives you sometimes. Even when his smile tugs at his lips, it doesn’t reach his eyes. His dark, cold and invasive eyes that seem to burn through you. They send a shiver down your spine, further down, every single time.
“No” you lie.
“Then why?” he bites his lip before hesitantly adding “Is what we do not okay?”
“No!” you blindly throw your hands towards where his voice is coming from. Mingi and Yunho have the same thought. Your hands, they give it away. They search for his, grabbing at the one resting over your thigh. It’s big and warm and always so gentle on you “I love it. I was just worried about what’d you think of me. That you might think I don’t like it when you make love to me. I love it when you make love to me”
You part your legs, silently begging him to fill you up and be the good boy he always is. Gentle, sweet, good. Mingi obliges, he could never deny anything you asked of him. You hear the sound of the condom unwrapping. Mingi can’t make eye contact with Yunho through the whole process, body turned away from him when he frees his hard cock from the restraint of his boxers. He can’t help the heat that spreads through his whole face all the way to the tip of his ears when he thinks about the way he could feel you clenching around his tongue when Yunho was holding his face against your pussy. His scalp still burns where his nails have scratched at it. He rolls the condom down his long dick, and without looking at Yunho he kisses you in the lips before pushing against your entrance.
The way he stretches you is as familiar as it’s agonizing. It always is. Size had been a problem in the beginning, the first few times Mingi had been too timid, too worried about hurting you. Every whimper, every muscle stiffening under his touch seemed to freeze him in place like a scared fawn at the sound of a broken branch. It had taken so long for both of you to work it out. You couldn’t tell him you sort of loved the way it hurt. You know that’d freak him out.
Mingi looks above his shoulder to where Yunho is standing. His blown eyes are fixed on you, they turn stern when they settle on Mingi. He gives him a nod, and Mingi bites down on his plush bottom lip before he obeys. He enters you with one thrust, nothing like the slow pace he’d take any other day to stretch you inch by inch. It feels good, you think: the burn, the painful stretch of his full hard cock inside you, claiming you in such a way. You don’t know what’s gotten into him, even if you have your suspicions.
But Mingi is frozen. The moment the pained moan escapes your lips his body stops. He can’t do it. His body just won’t let him. He hates it, hates himself, even if he can feel the way your cunt spasms around him. He wants to give you what you want, but the sole idea of hurting you shuts down his system, hands freezing and rhythm interrupted. You must know, you must be confused. Maybe annoyed? Bored. That’s what Yunho had said.
Yunho.
Mingi’s eyes go to his friend's. He’s not surprised to see he’s hard. Of course he is, has been for a while. Mingi just hadn’t wanted to look at it. Yunho’s a good friend, but a man nonetheless. He can’t blame him, he thinks, not when he’s got you naked, blindfolded on the bed in his dark, messy room. They lock eyes, Mingi’s fall to Yunho’s hard cock begging to be freed, then back up. There is a question in his eyes, one that he doesn’t need to ask.
Yunho understands when Mingi gets out of you with a lie.
“The condom feels weird. I’m going to change it, okay? Sorry”
Checkmate.
“It’s okay. Thank you, baby” you say.
Mingi gets down from the bed. There’s the familiar rustling of the condom wrapper, and the unfamiliar weight of something else. It’s been here for a while. The bed sinks under his weight. The next time you feel his hands place themselves on your knees they feel cold, reverent. The first thing you notice is that he doesn’t kiss you before he aligns himself at your entrance again. Mingi always kisses you, almost as if asking for permission, or thanking you beforehand. Your suspicions are confirmed when you feel it go in. The loud yelp that comes out of you isn’t just because of the torturous way in which he bottoms out in one thrust. It’s the way it stretches you. Mingi has never felt this way: big, yes, but never this thick.
Never this angry.
He stills when he’s all the way in, and you can feel it throbbing inside you. His hands dig into the flesh of your legs, fingernails leaving crescents as he lifts them together and props them against his broad shoulders. He grabs onto your thighs, legs up in the air as he starts thrusting into you at a brutal pace. The position catches you of guard, and your hands try to grab onto something to stop the embarrassing way your body keeps violently bouncing whenever his cock shoves itself back deep inside your pussy. Your moans resonate in the room, hot and loud and incoherent. But he’s dead silent. If it weren’t for the way his hips fuck into you, you might have thought he wasn’t even interested. But you can tell, his cock so hard it hurts inside, fingertips digging into your flesh like he might crumble if he lets go. It hurts where his hips slap against your ass, too. It all makes you clench pathetically around him.
Yunho can’t help himself. It’s the way your pretty tits bounce with the rhythm of the way he fucks you, the same way he’s imagined a hundred times. The way your hands try to hold onto the sheets, the wall, anywhere. He hates that blindfold. He wants to see your cute, almost scared eyes when he starts breaking you. But he can’t have that. He should just be grateful, thankful to his best friend for trusting him like this. It had been painful to swallow the guttural moan that had risen from deep within his chest the moment he got a taste of how your cunt actually felt around him: tight, wet and inviting. His tongue drags along the side of your foot, and he doesn’t miss the sound you make, the slight flutter of your walls around him. He has to stop himself from not moaning loudly as he drags his tongue around it again, mouth sucking at your toes and cock deep inside your pussy.
Still keeping your legs straight, he lowers them until he has them against your chest. He presses them down, and you protest at the way your hamstrings hurt. Yunho doesn’t care, the crying making his cock twitch inside you. He pounds into you at a slower pace, but the way his cock slides inside of you at this new angle, impossibly deeper, doesn’t really let you rest. You can’t believe how easily it goes in now, and neither does Yunho. He has fantasized about touching you underneath tables with Mingi next to you, only to find out you were already wet and waiting for him to slide his fingers through your pretty lips, puffy and needy. But he could have never thought his cock could slide easily after just a few thrusts with how wet your were, the obscene sound of your abused pussy the only thing that could be heard in the quiet dorm. Oh god, how he wishes Seonghwa or San would come through the door. First they’d hear your babbling cries, followed by the wet sounds of your soaked pussy the closer they got. Then they’d get to Mingi’s room, its owner standing in a corner while he pounds his pretty girlfriend into the mattress in front of him.
Mingi’s voice comes back. It’s close, but somehow feels far away.
“Does it feel good?”
His voice is shy, dry. It also doesn’t match the relentless way he’s fucking you. But you know that.
“Y-yeah”
Yunho presses his mouth to Mingi’s ear, breath jaded and hot with what he wants to ask.
“Do you like it rough?” Mingi repeats, bashful.
“I like it” you babble “Your cock feels so good”
Something inside Yunho snaps.
Maybe is the heat getting to his head but he’s sure that you know. Sure that you’ve figured it out and you are loving the way his cock brutally pounds into you. Sure that you are speaking directly to him.
He pulls out of you and brings your legs down, the sudden feeling of emptiness leaving you cold. Your legs are sore and it takes you a moment to check if you can still feel them, a tingling sensation running through them when Yunho settles them back on the bed. His big hands grab at your hips, the easiness with which he’s twisting your body and turning you around makes your arousal spread further down your thighs. The moment your ass comes into view he slaps it, hard. The sound makes Mingi wince where he stands next to the bed, and his hand rises to stop Yunho from doing it again, but then he hears it. A lewd, shaky moan coming from your pretty mouth. The mouth that says such sweet things to him. The one you use to tell him how much you love him.
Yunho gives him a look, and Mingi steps back.
Yunho’s hands grab at your hips and you let a whimper at the way he drags you across the bed and towards him. He props your ass up, his other hand coming to the back of your head to push your face flush against the mattress. He slaps your ass again, the way it jiggles making him swallow a low grunt in the back of his throat. He kneads at your ass, grabbing the flesh with so much strength it hurts. You can’t wait to see the bruises it leaves behind, even if you feel guilty. But yet again, you are not to blame, are you?
His fingers drag lower and push inside your pussy without warning, not that he could give you one. He starts fingering you at a frantic speed that has you squirming underneath him, delighted words of protest muffled by the sheets by now stained with your spit, they feel damp against your skin. You try to push yourself up, your hands uselessly pressing against the bed. The resistance makes Yunho’s grip on your nape stronger, and any attempt to break from his grip is futile. The way your feet sway in the air accompanied by the muffled sound of your desperate moans is making a cold heat spread through Yunho’s chest, he can feel a strange shiver travel from his spine all the way to the tip of his cock, red and leaking and aching to be inside you again. He leans forward slightly and spits into your swollen pussy, the drool making the disgusting sounds coming out of it louder.
There are so many things he wants to say to you. So many disgusting, borderline cruel things he wants to ask and say to you. One above them all, though. He hates it the moment it pops into his head. Every single time.
His fingers get out of you with a wet sound that makes his cock jerk in protest, desperate to stretch you out like that’s what its meant to do. He carelessly collects your hair in a ponytail, strands of hair left out and falling around your face when he forces you to lift it from where it’s been drooling on the bed. The arch of your back it’s a sight he wants to commit to memory, and so is the feeling of his cock bottoming out once again, fitting perfectly like it’s meant to be. You and him.
And Mingi.
He pulls at your hair, forcing your back to arch uncomfortably while he mercilessly fucks into you. He thinks about taking his time, dragging his dick in and out, savoring the feeling of your pussy sucking him in over and over again. But he can’t help himself. He wants to fuck you. You deserve to be fucked like this.
The sound of skin against skin echoes through the four walls of Mingi’s room while he watches Yunho bury his cock deep inside you, your mouth hanging open in a string of silent moans. Yunho tugs at your hair until your hands rise from where your nails have been desperately digging onto the sheets. He lifts your upper body by the hair, back arching against his chest and hands aimlessly trying to settle anywhere. They find their place at your thighs, nails scratching at your own skin completely lost in the way Yunho ruts into you, his breathing fanning over your neck. You can hear them now, the faintest, repressed groans rumbling against his ribcage. You clench around him, and that earns you to be pushed against the bed once again, one hand pressing at the back of your neck while Yunho brutally fucks into you in a way that makes Mingi want to look away. He doesn’t, though.
Usually this is Yunho’s favorite position. But there’s that thought in the back of his head. Haunting, disgusting.
He thinks back to his mocking question to Mingi.
“Do you only fuck missionary?”
He had been so smug about it at the time. He hates how foolish he feels now. Loathes it.
He flips you with ease until you are on your back again, and he almost feels bad by how dizzy you must be. He wishes he could see your lost eyes, glassy and pleading and fucked-out. He pushes your legs open and when he starts to thrust inside, the thought comes back, so loud he can’t help himself. It’s the way your lips part, bruised and pink with the threads of saliva trailing down your chin and glimmering on the faint light of Mingi’s desk lamp. Your hair sprawled across the sheets, messy and ruined. Your body beneath his, so small in comparison, so fragile and willing for him. You feel so hot underneath his touch.
The thought slips out.
“So pretty” he moans, breathless.
Mingi doesn’t hear it, and neither do you. It’s almost inaudible under the constant tearing of your moans. He doesn’t care, really.
He buries his head on the crook of your neck, his full body pressing against yours as his cock thrusts impossibly deep. The feeling of his full body weight flush against yours is as overwhelming as it’s intoxicating. His hot, hectic breathing fans at your neck, and you can taste the saltiness of his skin where your lips brush against his shoulder. The rhythm is erratic and yet the way his hips rut against your cunt is so controlled, practiced. It’s desperate and careless, yet precise. Yunho doesn’t want to think about Mingi, probably panicking next to the bed. At least one part of him. He saw Mingi’s hard cock when he was mercilessly fucking you, and he can always convince him. That’s the great thing about Mingi: he forgives. Especially him, he’d forgive him a thousand times.
He savors the feeling of your bodies pressed together, it feels hot to an agonizing point, sweat making your skin stick together. He understand Mingi for a moment, the fear of breaking you. It doesn’t scare him though, instead it makes a blinding heat rush to his head.
“I love the way you fuck me” you whisper with your lips pressed against his earlobe, the words pushing through your lips in a broken, desperate cry.
The thin thread holding Yunho's sanity together snaps when he hears the subtlest hint of shame in your words. You are speaking to him. He knows it. These words are for him to hear, not Mingi, standing by the door. No, you don’t want him to hear you. Don’t want to break his huge, gentle heart. God you are so sweet, so twisted, maybe even more than he is. You feel his cock twitching inside you, and Yunho has to stop himself from cumming inside of you. Oh how he wishes he could take off the condom and bury his cock impossibly deep, bulge poking at your abdomen when he cums inside. But he can’t.
He pulls himself out and rips the condom off him, discarding it somewhere in the room. Had this been any other way he’d go right back into fucking you.
Maybe if he had met you sooner. Went to talk to you himself instead of encouraging Mingi to do it himself.
Mingi.
With a gesture of the hand he prompts Mingi to step closer, hurrying him and eyeing his hard cock with an impatient look. Mingi understands quickly, his dazed mind surprisingly sharp under the harshness of Yunho’s gaze. If he cums and you take the blindfold off to a Mingi still hard, the gig would be up. It never was on, really, but he can’t let Mingi know that. It’s supposed to be your little secret, is it not? Yunho strokes himself, doing his best to control his jaded breathing as he brings himself to his climax. Mingi doesn’t need to restrain himself, he whimpers and cries the way you are used to him doing when he starts jerking off alongside his best friend. He sees Yunho’s chest rise up and down, nostrils flaring right before long threads of cum spill from the red tip of his cock and into your stomach. God, what has he done to you? How did all this happen?
But you are happy, aren’t you?
Even when it’s his best friend jerking off and cumming into your skin. His best friend leaving your pussy satisfied and fucked properly. His best friend fucking his lovely girlfriend--
You feel the second thread of cum hit your skin as Ming lets a loud, almost surprised moan. You can feel it slightly to your left towards the foot of the bed, and you have to bite down a smile. Isn’t that so sweet of them?
You can hear their breathing, both of them, heavy and charged despite how quiet Yunho is trying to be. You remain sprawled on the bed, your chest rising and falling between whimpers. Yunho stares down at you with something akin to annoyance, eyes roaming your body with an expression of displeasure. His jaw clenches until the muscle pops up under the skin. He’s not used to this. Not used to leaving someone unsatisfied. He’s disgusted by the fact he came so quickly, when he had had in mind fucking you for so much longer, in so many other ways. Instead he came like a virgin schoolboy, leaving you unsatisfied when this was supposed to be his moment. What exactly did he prove, if he couldn’t make you cum before he even did? How could you do that to him?
God, he hates you.
“Mingi?” you innocently call, your slightly trembling hand reaching in the air for your boyfriend.
Mingi reaches for it immediately, getting on his knees next to the bed and placing a kiss to the back of your hand.
“I’m here”
Yunho observes the scene, mouth twisted in disgust. This is his cue to leave. He picks up his clothes from the floor, not really worried about making noise anymore and leaves the room. He has to stop himself from slamming the door on his way out.
He might be done, but this is not over.
If there’s anything Yunho hates the most in this world, that is to losing.
warnings: established relationship, bratty reader, mean yunho, porn with a liiiiittle plot, reader likes to poke at yunho, rough, semi-throat fucking, degrading praise… nicknames (baby, honey, doll, slut, sweetheart), clothed sex, doggy, slight overstimulation, slight aftercare
synopsis: yunho’s already stressed, but you wanna play around just a little bit more
a/n: can yall tell i love mean yunho or… i just wanted to write and post something short and quick before my next longer writing hehet also can u tell i dont know anything about valorant
yunho was already almost at his limit with you. for the last hour or so, you had been whining about him not paying you any attention—and how he should ‘marry the console’ if he loves it so much. his day today during practice was not the best, and it felt like it wasn’t even just him. wooyoung kept stepping on his foot during the exact same part of the choreography, each time seeming harder than the last. whenever one person was the slightest bit offbeat, hongjoong would yell for everyone to stop and start all over again. yeosang brought in everyone coffee, but wasnt watching where he was going and somehow bumped into san, spilling all of the coffees everywhere.
there just seemed to be nothing going right this entire practice. all yunho could think about was how much his feet hurt and how badly he wanted to play valorant with the company of his favorite person—you. he had the perfect night planned in his head after such a terrible day. he would come home and shower, washing off the stress from his day. and after playing a few rounds of his game, he would tend to you and fuck you senseless.
it seemed like he was finally going to be able to wind down after everything. once you arrived at home you quickly found yunho sitting in his gaming chair, headset on, and hands moving impossibly fast on his mouse and keyboard. you usually would be okay with him playing the game, why would today be any different?
you had the same routine as always when he had practices; come home, shower, and bask in each others company for the night. but today for some reason just seemed like you really wanted to get on yunhos nerves. he was trying his best not to get upset with you, figuring you also had a bad day. but every time you would complain about something new, his patience started to run thin.
yunho was already on his third round of valorant by the time you got out of the shower. you emerged from the shower in a small tank and a pair of underwear, a usual nightly outfit. when you walked into the bedroom and saw his silhouette swallowed by the light in front of him you let out a loud sigh. he acknowledged you with a small hum, way too focused on the screen in front of him. after a long day of not seeing him all you wanted was his attention.
“are you gonna be on that thing all day?” you inquired, the attitude in your tone terribly obvious. yunho takes in a deep breath, his hands still moving skillfully across his keyboard. “no.” he responded, letting out a grunt as he got a kill. it really didn’t even seem like he was paying that much attention to you, which only fueled your anger even more. the room goes silent for a beat, only sound bouncing off the walls being the ones coming from his monitor. “when are you gonna get off?”
“soon.” really? could he only reply with one word?
you let out another sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed before speaking again. “how long is soon?” you keep poking, trying to get more than a single word out of him. yunho takes in another deep breath from his nose, “i don’t know, maybe a couple more rounds.”
“you’ve been on since i got home.” you whine exaggeratedly. your eyes are trained on the back of his head, but you can see how his jaw flexes slightly. bingo. if you couldn’t convince him to get off the game with your complaining, you’d just get him off it by doing what you do best—being a brat. “it won’t be that much longer.” he finally replies. you notice how his voice gets lower, and that only eggs you on. you walk up closer to him, trying to distract him from the screen. “ugh come on-“ “baby please, it wont be long.” he says, cutting you off slightly.
you blink down at him in shock. how much more would it take to get him to turn off that damn game??? then, its almost as if your brain flicks on. an idea, not necessarily a good one, pops into your head.
you stand behind him watching the screen as he plays for a few moments. “is the game more important than me?” you ask, matter-of-factly. you notice how he freezes slightly, and then in a flash his character dies. he curses under his breath, removing his hands from the keyboard until he respawns. “what are you talking about?” he sounds more serious this time. you feel a small smirk form on your face. you’re getting under his skin, you can tell. he’s sitting up straighter than usual. yunho always likes to sit slouched back in his chair while playing—legs with those grey joggers on spread wide open. making it very obvious he was going commando. he looks focused, but not quite on the game. he looks like he’s trying to keep his composure. keep himself from snapping and taking his anger out on you.
little does he know thats exactly what you wanted. so you decided to keep going. trying to see how far you could go with him until he finally gave up and got pushed over the edge. “just say it-” you start letting your voice grow a tad bit louder to show how mad you were getting. “please don’t start this.” he cut you off again. your heart was beating and you could feel the heat rising in your belly. he was actually getting mad. no—this wasn’t just slightly upset yunho. he seemed about 3 seconds from fully grabbing you and having his way with you. his character continuously dying, flashed of red on his screen as he gets shot.
“i mean it’s painfully obvious, yunho.” he dies again. then he just sits there. he doesn’t press any more buttons. his hands just rest on the keyboard. you can practically feel your heart in your throat. the silence is deafening—but its thrilling all at the same time.
he pushes up from out of the chair and immediately turns to you. his hand swiftly reaches up grabbing you by your cheeks to tilt your head back. you gasp at the suddenness of it all as you scan his expression. his tongue was poking the inside of his cheek, granted he had been doing that the entire time before he stood up. but now you could see his eyes. the rawness in them. you had finally done it. you tipped him over and he couldn’t take it anymore and now he’s gonna make you regret it all. “what the fuck is up with you today?” his voice sounds rough, and it went straight to your core. you’re practically shaking in his grip with excitement as he speaks to you like this. you go silent for a beat, and he shakes your face a bit. “hello? gone dumb already on me?”
you take in a deep breath, “i just wanted your attention…” your voice is low now and your eyes are big. you’re playing dumb. he can tell. he knew you wanted to irritate him. “no no, don’t act all cute now.” he says sharply. “down. on the floor.” you freeze for a moment—not because you’re shocked—but because you want to get under his skin just a bit more… one last time.
he huffs a laugh out of his nose, “funny.” his hand moves from your face to grab onto your shoulder, pushing you down all the way to your knees. you had been so focused on his face these past couple of minutes, that you didn’t even notice how hard he had gotten already. he brings his free hand to his sweats, pulling them down, along with his boxers, just enough to free himself right in your face. his hand that rested atop of your shoulder slowly slid up to grip the hair at the back of your head. he reaches down and takes ahold of your wrist, bringing it in front of your own face. “spit.”
you quickly obliged, letting enough saliva gather in your mouth before letting it fall into the palm of your hand. your hand gently wrapped around his dick, and he was already hot and throbbing in your grip. it made your breath hitch and your thighs clench beneath you. “go on. do what you were made to do.” you kept your eyes on his face as you slowly began to stroke him. up and down, not hurried or rushed at all, wanting to watch every facial expression he made from the teasing. his breath began to get heavy, and his grip on your hair increased slightly. when you brought your hand back up to the tip, you squeezed gently, and a low moan erupted from the back of his throat. you watched as his eyebrows would pinch up more and more from the pleasure, more little curses spilling under his breath. he had let you do enough to where he was covered in your spit, his cock shining in the light that came from his monitor. you bring your hand back up to his tip and before you can even do anything he grabs your wrist again.
“enough, enough.” he uses the hand tangled in your hair to bring you closer to him, his dick barely even an inch away from your face. “open your mouth honey…” you kept those big eyes trained on his face, opening your mouth like a little puppy. he brings the tip to your lips, smearing spit all over them. “just a little more…” he says as he pushes further into your mouth, letting the warmth envelop his length. he pushed in until he can feel himself at the back of your throat, the hand in your hair keeping you there.
he stutters out a moan, like he was letting his restraint slip. but he wasn’t gonna let you control anything. each time he pulled out he’d barely give you a few seconds before he was pushing your head back down all the way. you felt so full, so overwhelmed. you were blinking away tears that formed with each gag around his cock. “there you go doll, take that dick like you were made for it.” he repeated the same motions over and over, bobbing your head up and down on him until he couldn’t take your throat squeezing him anymore. he pulled you off, lifting your head up towards him. you were already a mess. your spit running down your face, a string connecting you both as he pulled you away.
“you just couldn’t fucking wait, could you?” the words sent a shiver down your spine. of course you couldn’t, but you wouldn’t admit that to him. the hand that wasn’t tangled in your hair came up to your chin, wiping all the saliva from your face, then slowly entered it into your mouth. “clean up your mess… since you wanted to be a greedy slut i’ll treat you like one.” you felt yourself moan around the digit, making sure to lick up the entirety of it. once he was sure you were done he removed his thumb from your mouth, tracing it down your lips and chin.
yunhos grip on your hair loosened and whispered, “you gonna be good for me now?” you nodded up at him, tears still in your eyes. he nodded towards the bed without a word and you knew exactly what that meant. you scrambled to your feet and by the time you made it to the bed and turned around he was already on you. his hands grabbed at your waist, flipping you over onto your stomach in one swift movement. one hand moved, pulling you up by the hip to arch perfectly for him. he let his hands roam across your body. your skin started to feel hot, and you could feel yourself soaking through your panties. a small whine slipped and you let your head fall onto the pillows in front of you. “aw, is someone getting impatient?” he mocks, bringing a hand to your core. he ran a finger through your folds, the fabric bringing more stimulation but still not enough. you whine again, reaching behind you for something, anything. all yunho did was huff out a laugh, grabbing your wrist and pinning your hand behind your back.
his hand continued with its teasing, getting you wet enough until he saw a patch start to seep through. yunho didn’t even bother removing your panties. he only moved them over to the side, noticing how they stuck to you for a bit.
you felt the heat of him as he pressed his tip against you and you started to writhe underneath him. “stay still—you’re gonna take what i give you.” he whispered as he started to push into you. with how wet you both were he could easily slide in, not stopping until he felt you clench around him when he hit that spot. you moan simultaneously, and he barely gave you any time to recover before he began moving. he kept your hand behind your back, pushing it down even more to get you to arch further, ripping a loud moan from your throat.
yunho immediately set a brutal pace, the sounds of your moans and whimpers echoed around the walls. “y-yun.. please!” you could already barely speak properly with him hitting your g-spot over and over without fail. the feeling of his hand around your wrist pinning you down and the other on your waist is making your head spin. he lets out a low groan when you clench around him again, slowing down his thrusts and pushing himself all the way in until he noticed your legs slightly shaking. he leaned down further until his chest was almost pressing against your back and brought his mouth to your ear, “baby you’re already shaking? i thought you could take it…” he teases with a tsk. he emphasized his sentence with a deep thrust, practically punching the breath from your lungs. he repeated the same motion, slowly pulling out before pushing back in hard and forcing moans out of you.
“maybe if you weren’t so fucking greedy and waited i could’ve taken care of you doll…” he whispers to you. everything he was doing to you was filling your senses and you felt yourself getting overwhelmed with it all. each breath you took was filled with his scent, you could still taste him on your tongue, his hands felt like fire burning over your body. but you still wanted it all. you hadn’t even realized your mouth was open this entire time until you felt the side of your face getting wet. you were drooling all on the pillow. it was almost as if he was reading your mind when he started talking again. “god, am i fucking you dumb already?” you don’t even know why but apologies quickly started spilling from you, mixed with loud moans and sobs.
“m’sorry, i swear! wasn’t trying to be greedy-“ he quickly shut you up with another hard thrust, lifting back up so he could resume his pace. “no… you’re not sorry. you wanted this, didn’t you?”
the sounds coming from you were borderline pornographic. you felt your legs began to shake again and before you knew it you were coming. hard. the feeling of you clamping down on him made yunho moan too. once you finally felt yourself coming down you barely had any time to recover before he started fucking your again.
“no fucking manners either, you couldn’t say please?” he growled, looking down between the two of you, watching your pussy as he slid in and out with ease. your moans faded to low, high-pitched whines. “i didn’t- mean to…” you pant out. he laughs at you before removing his hand from your wrist, only to put it on the back of your neck. he used it to keep you pinned down right where he wanted as he pounded into you from behind. the room was filled with the harmonies of your noises and the nasty squelch of your spit and cum. you opened your mouth to speak again but you just couldn’t. every time he saw you try to speak again he’d cut you off with a rough thrust that would knock the wind out of your lungs.
yunho hasn’t slowed down yet, and you could already feel the familiar sensation in the pit of your stomach growing again. “y-yu… im close…” you whimper into the pillow, trying you best to be as coherent as possible. you felt so full in the best way humanly possible, but with your impending orgasm not even minutes after your first is making you sensitive. “cant- fuck i’m so close!”
he laughs at you again, slowing down his thrusts but only getting even rougher with them. “say please…” he mutters as his grip on the side of your neck gets slightly tighter, making your brain go fuzzy from the lack of oxygen. you moan loudly, opening your mouth to speak but you just can’t. the hand on the back of your neck quickly moves, reaching to grab your face, only forcing you to turn your head and look back at him. “say it.” he took his bottom lip onto his mouth, biting so hard he almost drew blood. the way he was handling you only made you moan louder—the contrast of this yunho and your usual sweet boyfriend was making your head spin.
“please yun! please… can’t take it-“ he cuts you off immediately, “say you’re sorry.” your legs were shaking again from the overstimulation. he really was trying to fuck you dumb. yunho swiftly moves his hand from your face to your throat, impossibly increasing his speed as he hit your g-spot with every movement.
you feel tears forming, only this time they actually started to fall. you looked a fucking mess—face wet and lip swollen from unconsciously biting it. yunho looked like he could keep going as long as he so pleased, eyes intense and focused as he watched every expression on your face. he was sweating and his hair was sticking to his forehead, the view in front of you only causing you to clench down even harder on him. “m’sorry i promise… so sorry- only wanted your attention.” he let out a sound of fake sympathy while letting his free hand reach between you both, skillfully rubbing his middle finger against your clit. your body would twitch with each touch, it felt like an electric shock each time.
your eyes rolled back as your body started to lock up. you shut your eyes tight as you felt the coil in your belly finally snap as your orgasm washed over you. flashes of white were the only thing you could see and yunhos moans were the only things you could hear. “fuccckk baby, there’s my good girl…” he thrusted again once. twice. then stilled as he emptied himself inside of you.
you could feel him shaking too, the both of you panting and whining as the sensitivity took over. yunho slowly pulled out and you whimpered at the loss. when he let go of your face you had realized your entire body was weak and limp, and you instantly fell forward onto the pillows. you felt the warm sensation of his lips against the cool sweat on your shoulders. “good job honey… did so good…” you could only hum in response, too tired to do anything. you were both breathing heavily, and his hands roamed across your body, gently squeezing anywhere he could. he quickly noticed when your breathing got shallow, but he didn’t want you to fall asleep yet.
“no no, sweetheart… not yet.” he says softly, flipping you on to your back and lifting you by the arms. you let out a whine in protest, keeping yourself limp to make it harder for him to lift you, which really didn’t work. “gotta take another quick shower before before bed, okay?”
“mm okay.”
“next time, it’ll take way more than just an ‘i’m sorry.’”
► 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 - assassin!Mingi x "blind"!reader ◄
► 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎/𝙰𝚄 - workplace au, suspense trope, psychological thriller, mild horror themes, nerve-wracking tension, generalised dark themes, close calls (you almost get caught multiple times), forced proximity, power imbalance, slow burn, blackmail, morally grey character (Mingi), politics, glorified ignorance, manipulation, humiliation, obsession, possession, plot twist ◄
► 𝚁𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐/𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 - PG-18+ so MDNI!!! This is NOT romance, Mingi is depraved, murder (semi-descriptive), slight gore (not towards you), sharp object near eyes, eventual smut, CNC, dubious consent (be warned!) sexual shame/guilt, corruption, degradation, masturbation, accidental voyeurism turned to forced voyeurism, exhibitionism, dominance, reluctance submissiveness, sadism, rough foreplay, rougher almost violent sex, creampie (DO NOT DO THIS) ◄
► 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 37.4K words (listen) ◄
► 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 - A simple morning walk to clear your head for your upcoming job interview turns into a nightmare when you witness a brutal murder in broad daylight. In a panic, you pretend to be blind to escape. By sheer miracle, the man lets you go, and you thought that was that. You tried to forget what you saw, focusing on your job interview, but there was one problem - you were once again face to face with the man from the trail, and he was now your boss. ◄
► 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 - I'm back! I am so sorry for taking this long. So many things happened, but most of it was health related. I swear I didn't mean to take THIS long. Now, I know I could've split this into 3-4 parts but screw it. Y'all deserve it. Side note, this is just fictional and is not meant to glorify what vision impairment is like. This is also not meant to be taken seriously. Happy birthday to our Princess Minki!◄
► 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - see end of the story for the list
“Your call has been forwarded to voice mail. Please try again later…”
Disappointment fills your chest as a sigh bubbles up from the depths of them. This was ridiculous, you vehemently thought as you paced around your living room, tossing your phone haphazardly on your couch, not even caring where it landed. Everything about this was ridiculous.
For weeks, you’ve been on the hunt for a job after your last one didn’t work out the way you panned it out to be. It was a lot more frustrating than you would’ve liked it to be because it was like staring out into the void - a whole lot of nothing. It wasn’t like you didn’t try either; you’ve been quite diligent at submitting resumés literally everywhere, and when that didn’t pan out, you’d directly call the company to inquire.
If they weren’t going to call you, then hell, you were going to reach out to them. No harm done. Except that was leading you absolutely nowhere either.
“Still nothing?”
You paused your pacing, immediately turning your head to the sound of your best friend’s voice. “Jesus, I forgot you were still here,” you chuckled, combing your fingers through your hair to soothe yourself. “No, unfortunately. I’m about to lose my goddamn mind, I swear.”
San clicked his tongue softly, nodding in understanding, his eyes dropping into that rare softness you only saw when he was trying to give you your well-needed space. “It’s not your fault,” he shrugged, pushing himself off your doorway to make his way towards you. “The market’s just surprisingly oversaturated. And it’s not like you’re underqualified, you literally speak four other languages.”
“I mean it’s not like I’m completely out of options,” you said. “I do have an upcoming interview with KQ Corporation, but I’m not holding my breath for it. I applied for a random position and they’re literally the biggest company in the country so I’m trying to broaden my prospects.”
San whistled, impressed. “KQ? Goddamn. That’s tough, good luck with that one. Though I think you should be fine. Our company is, what, almost on par with KQ and you still got in.”
Your face bunched up in vexation, a grimace making its way up your lips. “As you can see that didn’t really do anything for me,” you scoffed, the bitter taste of your old job suddenly making its way in your mouth. “I got hired to speak Japanese, San, and then they started talking to me in Russian. Do I look like I know how to speak Russian?”
“Lee was a piece of rubbish shit,” he jeered, waving a dismissive hand, lazily plopping down your couch to make himself comfortable as if he always belonged there and lived here instead of you. “I’m about to honestly quit too, I hate working for the guy.”
“If you want to end up jobless like me, then be my fucking guest, I suppose,” you laughed sarcastically, not intending for it to come out snappier than it did.
San’s brows both rose in surprise. “Woah, easy there, tiger. Didn’t mean to pee in your cereal bowl or whatever,” he frowned. There was a second of silence before he sighed. “Seriously, though, are you alright? I know the job-hunting is getting to you…”
The way he asked it made your stomach turn. Your throat clenched. You swallowed hard, but the lump stayed there, thick and immovable. “I’m fine,” you reassured when his eyes still didn’t leave yours.
It was more than the waiting game or the unanswered calls - it was waking up with nowhere to be, no reason to rush, no proof that you were needed anywhere at all. You told yourself it was temporary, but the longer it stretched on, the more it started to feel personal, like the world was moving forward, and you were stuck watching from behind a pane of glass.
San just stared at you. Finally, he rolled his eyes, a small smirk tugging up the corner of his lips. “It’s a nice day outside,” he began softly, his voice contrasting the mischievous look on his face. “Why don’t you take a walk? Clear that bitch out of you or something before I get pissed at you for giving me attitude.”
And just like that, that glass cracked. Quietly, like it was set down but not quite shattered. You scoffed in disbelief, not being able to stop the laughter that bubbled up your throat. Without a word, you grabbed your jacket off the back of the chair, shoving your arms through the sleeves, movements jerky and frustrated yet determined and energised.
“Are you going to be fine alone, though?” You asked, holding onto the door frame as you carefully put your shoes on, looking back to hear his response. “I won’t be gone for long.”
San let out a dramatic scoff like you had just insulted him. “Go before I chuck the nearest thing I can get my hands on at you,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Take your time. I don’t want to be disturbed as I raid your fridge and your wine rack.”
You rolled your eyes, but the sting behind them had dulled. You chose to hide them behind your sunglasses. Before you closed the door, you looked back at him one more time and you saw the sarcasm in his eyes melt into something warmer. San tilted his head, gaze gentler than his words. “Go,” he urged. “And bring an umbrella in case it rains.”
You shoved your hands into your jacket pockets and started aimlessly walking. The walking trail was only a couple of minutes away by foot, but being lost in your head made it feel like it was kilometres away.
At least the trail was pretty. It was lush and full of life; full of unexplored possibilities that brought you back to your childhood wanting to explore every rocky path and staircase that disappeared into the trees. All you knew was that you wanted to walk away from your responsibilities even if it’s only temporary. You were hoping that the fresh air might change something.
For now, you wanted to walk away from yourself. Whatever you were feeling was a pill you couldn’t swallow whole. So, instead, it had swallowed you whole and was now following your thoughts. For now, you kept walking. Not towards anything, just away.
You were currently on the highest part of the trail, on top of that winding staircase that nobody wanted to traverse given how many steps it demanded of anyone brave enough to try. By the time most people reached the halfway point, they were already turning back, laughing breathlessly and deciding the rest simply wasn’t worth it.
That suited you perfectly. Most people preferred the livelier parts anyway, but this place? This isolated, forgotten corner? It was easily the most beautiful part of it. You liked that no one bothered climbing all the way up, and because of that, its beauty remained untouched. No one ever came up here. That was exactly why you loved it.
It was where your phone buzzed in your pocket. Without looking, you picked up, thinking it was San, but it wasn’t. It was one of the companies that you applied for; another one that said you were on their waitlist. Suddenly, the view started to fade into the background, your mood souring entirely.
“I could put you on hold until upper management is free,” the lady on the phone uttered monotonously as if you were just another voice on their roster they had to get rid of. “Though I’m not sure how long that would be.”
“I’ll wait,” you gritted out, trying not to sound let down. You gripped the phone tighter like it was the only thing tethering you to the ground, the telltale music on the other end as you were put on hold ringing in your ear like a heartbeat you didn’t want to hear.
You knew how this was going to end. It was only one of two; either they put you on hold long enough where you knew they’re doing it on purpose and you’d have no choice but to hang up, or they’d pick up to tell you that they’ll put you on top of their waitlist. You’re just surprised your eyes haven’t gotten stuck behind your brain by how much you rolled them at this point.
But you were in a good mood today. You absentmindedly idled around, still taking in the view as you held the phone to your ear, waiting for what you already knew. Whatever, you thought. If this doesn’t work, you still have KQ. Hopefully.
You dug your free hand inside your pocket, taking out the company card you always carried. You even put a star sticker on it for good luck. You turned the card over between your fingers, the weight of it surprising you every time. Your thumb traced over the embossed letters, in awe of how luxurious even that felt across your fingertips.
KQ Corporation. Of course, you wanted in. They were the best of the best; the crème de la crème of the business world. You’d be set for life. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You weren’t special for wanting it. You were just one in the thousands upon thousands of applicants who wanted their piece of the prestige.
You must’ve been so deep in your thoughts that you didn’t notice that you walked into the deeper part of the trail, the one where you didn’t even venture in because the brush was thicker and the trees were denser. It was mostly unkempt because barely anyone went in here. You cursed under your breath when you looked back. You were so high up that going down would take a while because it was steeper to walk down than up.
You decided to walk a little further to find a path that wasn’t as steep, but that turned out to be a huge mistake. Your shoelaces got caught on one of the exposed tree roots that you barely noticed, causing you to trip unceremoniously, dropping everything you held in your hand to catch yourself before you cracked your skull on the nearby tree trunk, using your umbrella to cushion your fall.
You stayed where you fell, palms pressed into the dirt, annoyed at your clumsiness before you started picking your stuff up from the leafy ground of the walking trail. Your phone was only a couple of steps away from you, but your wallet, it wasn’t anywhere near you. Confused, your eyes scanned the ground, and that’s when you spotted it lying on the other side of the trail, further than where it should have been.
With a small groan, you crawled to wherever it was, not caring about the dirt on your clothes. As you were about to grab the worn leather, you stilled, fingers hovering above it. There were voices - two male ones, in fact - and they were close. A little too close for your liking.
At first, you were going to ignore it, thinking that they were people who ventured a little too far on the trail just like you, but when you heard the distinct sounds of an altercation, it got your attention. Still, it was none of your business. It was an argument you did not want to involve yourself in.
It was the sharp, guttural sound of someone getting choked that had you going completely dead still. Your head automatically lifts to find the source, and there they were. Just beyond the trees was a taller, much bigger man pinning an older man against a tree, his hand wrapped tightly around the other’s throat.
Your chest wanted to cave in. You weren’t supposed to see this. From where they stood, you can tell that nobody was meant to see this at all. But that wasn’t why your gut was churning; you knew deep inside, that you were not supposed to be seen watching this unfold. You didn’t dare move, didn’t even dare breathe in fear that they’ll hear.
The older man choked out a pitiful sound, his fingers desperately clawing the other man’s fingers away from his neck as his face turned into a concerning shade of purple as he struggled for some sort of leverage. “P-Please,” you heard him wheeze weakly. “You c-can’t…”
You were horrified as you watched the taller man tilt his head slightly, not bothering to say a word. He didn’t even look strained as he held the older man hostage even though you knew it must take great strength to force someone’s head against a surface. Hell, you felt like you were straining more trying not to breathe or move.
As the pinned man garbled strings of random words that reeked of desperate mercy, you took this opportunity to stare at the taller man. He was magnetic, and not in a good way. He was broad, menacing in ways that threatened you even from where you sat. His expression was eerily blank as if he wasn’t actively choking the life out of this man.
But his eyes...you did not like them. For a split second as the older man seemed to blabber on and on, his eyes seemed to darken, like an ominous shadow enveloping the humanity in it. Or, perhaps, the complete lack of it. “I-I’ll do it, please, I’ll pay you, give you w-what you want,” the man gasped, his eyes rolling at the back of his head.
The other man scoffs softly. “I don’t need your money.”
Shivers erupted from your skin at the tone of his voice. It wasn’t that it was low, rough, and rugged - though that certainly was a huge factor. It was the first time you heard him speak after all the broken cries of the other man and you weren’t sure you wanted to hear it again. If his actions already freaked you out, hearing him talk definitely was not going to help.
“Please, put me down,” the older man croaked pitifully. “P-Put it down.”
It?
That’s when you saw the thing that set this apart from a regular fight between two men. Your eyes settled on the gun the taller man held in his free hand, your stomach dropping as he lifted it, pressing the cold metal on the struggling man’s temple. The motion was sure and final, like this wasn’t the first time he’d ever been on the other side of the trigger.
You wanted to throw up. You were done for. You had to get away from here, but how? One wrong move and you were sure you’d be next. You were about to watch someone die and there was nothing you could do about it without giving yourself away. The man’s face had gone blotchy, veins straining as he forced words out past the pressure. “Y-You,” he let out with much difficulty. “You’re going to regret t-this.”
The taller man didn’t react. He just blinked, nodding slowly. “Will I?” He asked, genuinely curious of the answer he might hear next. You wanted to whimper at his sheer indifference.
The pinned man sucked in a broken breath, desperation sharpening his voice. “You think no one’s gonna c-come looking? You’re not untouchable–”
His tirade gets interrupted, letting out a small cry when the man presses the gun more firmly against his head. Your heart just about dropped to your foot at the brash gesture while the latter just lets out a quiet exhale, his fingers visibly tightening even more on the former’s throat.
“Why would that matter to you? You’ll be long gone by then,” he murmured, the faintest hint of something dark curling at the edge of his tone.
“D-Do you not know who I am? This is—”
“I do,” the taller man interrupts him again, gentler this time. That just made it worse, in your opinion. “And that is exactly why you’re here.”
You were surprised when he suddenly let go, and clearly, the older man as well. He wasn’t thrown to the ground like a rag doll, he was just released, crumpling to the floor as he took in big gulps of the breath that was almost taken from him, dirt smearing all over his clothes as he tried to get away from his captor.
But none of that mattered. The relief was short lived as the taller man took one unhurried step forward, bracing his leg firmly on the ground as he lifted the gun in the air, the finality of it sealing all of your fates - the killer, the victim, and the witness.
Blood drained from your face, but you couldn’t move. It was so morbid, but you just couldn’t look away. The man on the ground trembled, pure and unadulterated panic taking over his entire form. “No, no, wait, p-please,” he begged. “You’re not going to get away with this, Song. People will ask, and they will find you. Don’t do this—”
The taller man stared down at him, expression unchanged save for the slight twitch on the corner of his lips. “You’re right,” he said softly, almost thoughtfully, voice barely audible. “It is highly unusual for big animals to not leave footprints in the snow.”
A soft click fills the air. It was the gun being cocked back in preparation for that one shot, but in the silence of the trail, it sounded like a bone being snapped in half. “But, the thing is,” he continued, eerily calm. “I have very, very small feet.”
Bang.
It was loud. The sound was a split second of finality, but it was deafening. Everything happened in slow motion. The man fell backwards as the bullet that pierced his forehead snuffed the life out of him, the heavy thump of his weightless, limp body falling down the damp soil startling you to the reality that you had just watched cold-blooded murder; you saw somebody die before you.
Faint smoke lazily curled up from the bullet hole on the dead man’s head, his open and unseeing eyes that reflected nothing at all staring up at you, judging you silently. But that wasn’t what made bile rise up your throat - it was the thick splatters of blood speckling your face.
You flinched, eyes closing on instinct as you felt tiny droplets mist across your face, the metallic scent of it making you nauseous. Your breath caught, mouth open as you tried to chase it before you hyperventilated. Your entire body was numb, caught between wanting to tremble like the leaves surrounding you and staying frozen, but the shock of it was preventing you.
You had to get out of here. You didn’t want to die, you didn’t want any part of this. All you wanted was to take a walk to relax, you didn’t want to die. But before you could even do anything, a shadow fell above you, enveloping your immediate surroundings ominously.
You stopped breathing then, your fingers curling in your palms, gathering dirt as they trembled. You didn’t look up - you didn’t want to. You could feel him there, staring down at you like he stared down at the man he had just killed, and every instinct in your body screamed at you to run, but you stayed exactly where you were, locked in place like prey that knew better than to twitch under a predator’s gaze.
Neither of you spoke or moved. Time twisted into something shapeless and it felt like a showdown to whoever would crack first. Maybe, your mind supplied in a panic. Maybe if I didn’t move at all he’d leave me alone–
You stopped yourself before that thought festered. No, that would not work. Not in a million years. He’d already seen you, and you know that he knows that you were there the entire time everything went down. Sweat trailed down from your temples, dripping down to the back of your hand. Your heart stopped when your fingers twitched, but that was when a thought struck you.
In a mixture of panic and sheer will to survive - and perhaps, possibly, the most idiotic thing you could ever do - you forced your hands to move. A little at first since they wouldn’t stop shaking, a little because you were scared that your nerves would cause you to topple over. You did it again until your hands dragged clumsily across the ground.
You swallowed hard, doing it over again, all without blinking nor moving your head, forcing your eyes to stare straight at nowhere in particular, your gaze slipping past everything like it couldn’t quite land as you patted blindly at the soil, movements uneven and hesitant while you tried to breathe through your panicked state.
Like you couldn’t see. Because that’s exactly what you were doing - you were pretending to be blind. Please, you internally screamed as your fingers swept all over the ground and purposefully missing your wallet by a few inches. Please let him believe it.
A scream bubbles up your throat when suddenly, the taller man crouches down. He went from standing menacingly tall above you to your eye-level, his face so close to you that you could smell the mint from his breath. You almost yelped when his hand came up to take your sunglasses off - the one you forgot you were still wearing all this time - and he was now staring directly into your eyes.
Your heart wanted to leap out your chest at the suddenness of it, but you forced yourself to look straight past him, hoping to convince him that you legitimately couldn’t see even though all you wanted to do was cry. His unexpected gesture made you fumble, causing you to accidentally run your hands on his shoe, though in hindsight, that might have helped your case.
Through your unfocused gaze, you saw his brow tilt up. Without breaking eye contact, you saw his hand move through your peripheral vision, his fingers pushing your wallet in the direction where your hands were patting randomly. The silence stretched as you grabbed your wallet, clutching it a little harder than usual, the leather bending abnormally inside your palm.
What now, though? You had the one thing you crawled for in the sweaty palm of your shaking hand, so what now? Your heart was about to leap out of your ribcage. He was still staring, testing to see what you would do next. Even in your stationary gaze, you could tell that he was observing you; trying to detect any sort of deception on your end.
And you forced your eyes to stare between his brows and keep them fully open even when you felt them dry up. Fuck, you thought as dread crept upon you, don’t blink, Y/N, don’t you fucking dare blink–
It was a gradual sensation. You felt it slowly, that thin layer of moisture leaving your eyes. Your eyelids wanted to twitch, wanting to close for that relief, but you held them open; forced them wide. Then the burn came and tears threatened to form as the air around your eyes felt like fine grains, and still, your gaze stayed fixed and empty.
Unfortunately, though, your vision didn’t blur out. Instead, it sharpened in a way that made you notice every single detail about this man. You could see every pore on his skin, the way his icy blonde hair stayed in place even after what he had done, but most importantly, those unreadable eyes.
They showed no particular expression, and to you, that just made this entire thing much, much worse. You needed to know what this man was thinking. It was the only thing that will keep you alive. You had no idea if he was laughing on the inside because of this asinine charade you were pulling, or if his murderous intent had increased since then. You did not know.
Still, there was something chilling about them. Perhaps it was the nothingness in them, or perhaps, that thin, malicious sheen that pulsed with an unspoken threat. Your lashes quivered at the thought and you screamed internally at that blunder. He saw it, you knew he did. His head tilted slightly and you froze harder, if that was even possible.
Then, through your unfocused gaze, you caught the faintest movement. It was his hand moving slowly - the one holding the gun. You stopped breathing completely, but then, you saw him put it away. That should have made you feel better, but it didn’t, because the same hand started to come up until it was within your direct line of sight.
He waved his hand in front of your face, his eyes unblinking as he tested his suspicions, but you forced your eyes to not follow his hands, keeping them dull and off-center. And as if things couldn’t get any worse, his hand started to move forward. Controlled but with certainty, his hand moved until it made contact with your face.
You allowed yourself to flinch at the sudden touch, every muscle in your body locking up so tight that it hurt. His fingers were cold and honestly, you were just bracing for impact, but that didn’t happen. Instead, his fingers lingered, slowly tracing until they stopped on your cheek. He wiped something from your cheek, the pads of his fingers dragging lightly across your skin.
Your stomach lurched. You forgot you unwillingly got sprayed with blood. His hand momentarily pulls away and you watch as he slowly licked his thumb wet before going back in and wiping more of the blood away from your face. It made your skin crawl. The same hand that did not hesitate to pull the trigger felt abnormally tender like you were something so fragile.
It was over as soon as it started. He moved to get up and as you were about to panic, you felt him reach your arm, helping you get up. Your instincts told you to scream and push him away, but you didn’t. Your legs almost failed you as you tried to grab onto your bearings, and when you rose to your full height, your knees almost buckled when you realised that you were only up to this man’s shoulders. You never stood a chance.
You saw him bend down in your peripheral vision, saw him pick up your sunglasses and umbrella before handing them to you. In a morbid twist of events, he even put your sunglasses back on your face before positioning the umbrella for you on the wet, muddy soil of the trail. You swallowed, internally thanking whichever saint was watching over you and for San for making you buy those traditionally long umbrellas.
And for making you bring the umbrella in general, because this man must’ve thought you were using the umbrella as some sort of mobility cane to guide you on your walk. “T-Thank you,” you squeaked weakly, forcing the words out, willing yourself to sound normal even though the sound came out unsteady.
The man didn’t say anything. Instead, he grabs your shoulder, spins you around, and gives you a small nudge forward. At first, you were confused, but you were rendered dizzy when you realised that he turned you to the direction where it would lead to the main part of the trail near the exit. He was basically telling you to go.
The fear locked you into place, and you swear you willed yourself to walk, but you just couldn’t. That didn’t last long because you felt another push on your shoulder, this time, with a bit more force, as if he was telling you, “Go. Leave before I change my mind and end you here.”
That broke whatever mental barrier was hindering you. You gripped the umbrella handle so hard, your knuckles ached, like it was the only thing keeping you upright. Because it basically was. You lifted it, tapping on the ground like you thought people who couldn’t see would, not entirely sure if it looked realistic, but it was enough for now. It had to be.
San walked back and forth briskly in your living room, and had been for the past twenty minutes. His hair was in disarray as he bit his nails anxiously, pausing his walk to open his mouth before closing them again. “I-I just can’t believe it,” he blurted out in disbelief. “He let you go?” He snapped his fingers loud once and you unconsciously flinched. It reminded you of how loud that single gunshot was. “Just like that? He let you go?”
“Yes, how many times do I have to tell you?” You were getting exasperated at this point, stuck between laughing at the incredulity of the situation you found yourself in and crying at how messed up everything was.
You came home in record time, busting through the front door about to pass out from the lack of breath. San was about to poke fun, but when he noticed how pale you were, trembling abnormally, with dried up streaks of blood on your face, he knew something was not right. “What am I gonna do?” You gulped. “W-What if he followed me here and I didn’t see him? What if he finds me, San? What if—”
“Alright, first off,” he interrupted before he led you to sit down on the couch. “Let’s take a moment—”
“I can’t,” you wailed, feeling tears threaten to fall from your eyes again. Everything suddenly hit you now that you were at the comfort of your own house. “I don’t know what to do, San, I just witnessed someone get shot and die.”
San holds your face in between his hands. “You’re hyperventilating. Breathe in with me,” he took a deep breath in, waiting for you to do the same. “Good, now breathe out with me…just like that, you’re doing great.”
It was easier said than done, but you managed to control your breathing by following his actions, and eventually, you felt like your airways were clear enough to get your thoughts straightened out. “I think I should go to the police,” you started, swallowing audibly before continuing. “I don’t think my conscience can take all this burden, I just can’t. I thought crap like this only happened in movies and they all made it seem so easy, but I don’t think I can hold this in.”
“Yeah, you do that, and what?” San raised a brow, pausing to sigh loudly in equal exasperation. “What are you going to tell the police? It’ll be your words against a man I’m pretty sure isn’t hanging around the trail anymore waiting to be caught like a live fish in a lake.”
You ran your hands on your hair, incredulous. “You serious? Are you telling me to just keep this to myself? Someone died, San.”
“Of course not,” he replied in disbelief. “But just think about it - do you even know which part of the trail it is? Do you know what this guy looks like? Can you even describe what this man looks like if they asked you for a composite sketch? You have no proof to bring them, Y/N.”
You opened your mouth to retort before forcing them shut. “But, I saw it,” you tried again weakly, clearly grasping for straws at this point. “I saw everything. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“It does,” he said, softer now. “To you.”
Your stomach sank. You knew he wasn’t wrong. Best case, they take a report and nothing comes of it. Worst case, they don’t believe you. Not without proof where they’ll start poking holes in a story built on fragments and adrenaline and fear. Your shoulders slumped slightly, the fight draining out of you as quickly as it had come.
San leaned back slightly, watching you with something more measured. “You did what you had to do to stay alive,” he said. “Don’t twist that into something it’s not.”
Your thoughts raced faster, trying to think of how to turn this situation where you didn’t have to carry the burdens of what you saw, but there was nothing; not when you had nothing but a memory you couldn’t even fully trust because you’d spent half of it trying not to see. “So what, I just sit here and pretend it didn’t happen? But…” you trailed off, stomach churning violently. “So in other words, I’m fucked?”
“In many words, you’re fucked,” he scoffed, not at you, but at the situation, as he lightly shook his head. He went quiet for a second before he continued, more gently this time. “All’s I’m saying, let’s not dive in impulsively yet. If this freak had the audacity to do what he did in broad daylight…”
San trailed off, glancing at you pointedly. You gulped. You knew what he was trying to say - that this man was capable and more.
There are a lot of things that are easier said than done. You tried to forget, you really did. It’s been two weeks of constant nightmares plaguing you; two weeks of dread crawling up your skin, festering your insides like a rotten disease that has no cure. Every time you closed your eyes, you’d see man’s eyes that gleamed like a blade in the dark. You just wanted it to stop.
You sighed heavily, pressing your fingers to your temples to stop the clustered migraine making its way up your head, almost tempted to dig your fingers into your eyes just to stop the ache. You had to will them away, now was not the time.
You adjusted your sunglasses to block out the midday sun, gripping the fabric of your pencil skirt a little too tightly and then alternating that with smoothing the wrinkles you made over and over again. You were nervous. Today was a big day, after all.
Because you were currently in line along with other people outside of one of the most prestigious companies in the country, waiting to be let in for an interview. You will never forget getting the call a couple of days ago, thinking that it was another dud from a random company, but when Jeong Yunho introduced himself as KQ Corporation’s secretary and told you that you could come in for an interview, your mind just blanked out.
The KQ logo sat high above the entrance, sleek and understated and you watched as it swallowed candidates one by one. Getting in the building was just step one; getting inside the lobby for the actual interview was another thing. That, alone, wracked up your anxiety.
“Sorry, but is there a way you could perhaps save my spot for me? I just need to use the restroom real quick.”
You didn’t realise that the voice was coming directly from behind you. “Huh? Oh yeah, sure, of course, take your time,” you spoke nonchalantly, not really paying attention to the person.
You didn’t think much of it. After a while, you heard annoyed murmurs and minor complaints from behind you, snide remarks about people cutting in line. You assumed it was the man from earlier coming back and you thought that was that. “It’s crazy, huh? All these people want to be in and we’re one of them.”
You didn’t reply at first, but then you realised that the casual statement was actually directed towards you. “Oh, yeah,” you chuckled when you turned around, nervously adjusting your sunglasses. “One can only dream, am I right?”
The stranger lets out a small laughter, nodding his head in agreement. You observed him for a second. He looked handsome, though intimidating in his stance with his sturdy and athletic build. However, his face was soft, his warm gummy smile complimenting his face. “For sure. If only it wasn’t so damn hot out here,” he said, fanning himself with his hand while the other jutted forward for a handshake. “Hi, I’m Choi Jongho. Should’ve introduced myself earlier.”
You took his hand and shook it well, hoping yours wasn’t clammy because he was right, it was hot outside the building. “L/N Y/N,” you smiled. “I’m just a bit nervous, that’s all. Sorry.”
“No, don’t be,” he replied, mouth tugging up with a soft smile as he adjusted his own sunglasses. “For one, you’re the nicest person I’ve encountered today. Been holding that piss for hours now and these assholes just…well. Half the people here are acting like they’ve already been hired. Thank you for that, by the way.”
He wasn’t wrong. People stood a little too straight, eyes flicking over one another in quick, calculating glances, silently sizing up competition. Some didn’t even bother to hide it. Everyone just wanted to one up another. “Don’t mention it,” you dismissed. “Good luck to us, I suppose.”
Jongho was about to open his mouth to say it back, but it never came because suddenly, the energy shifted. The people began to murmur to themselves, clamouring as their voices overlapped with one another. You were confused, but you soon realised what was happening.
Someone important was about to come; someone to impress. Security guards lined up, parting the crowd to make space. You didn’t have to wait long. You felt a presence a distance away so commanding that you didn’t have to look.
There he was. The person moved towards the building with ease like he didn’t need the path cleared - like the world would’ve parted for him anyway. His stride was unhurried and grounded, confident in a way that wasn’t forced. You could easily tell that this person was in charge with the way he didn’t even acknowledge the attention. He didn’t have to.
As he got closer, you got a clearer view of this person. Your eyes traced upwards slowly, taking him in piece by piece, until you stopped at his face. But the moment you did, you regretted it. Everything slowed and your breath caught so sharp that it physically hurt you afterward.
No, no, no, you internally screamed, doom suddenly making your ears ring, easily tuning everything out as you honed in on the one face you’ve been trying to forget for two weeks now. Your heart dropped so fast it felt like it hit the ground.
It was him. The man from the trail. There was no doubt about it. You didn’t even have to look at his entire face, his eyes alone were enough. It was those same empty eyes that contemplated your demise; the same eyes where you saw your end before he let you go that day. And right now, people were parting for him as he walked through with authority. But that wasn’t what made him different today, it wasn’t what made him even more dangerous.
It was the way he carried himself. It was so different from the rugged, aggressive man from the trail. Your stomach lurched violently. What was he doing here? You couldn’t breathe, everything in you wanted to run, but he was getting closer and closer to where you were, and you couldn’t even move away.
And as if things weren’t bad for you already, you swore, you could have sworn, that you saw his eyes flicker towards you for a split second.
But he just moved past you, not stopping, not slowing down, not even bothering to look. He walked straight past, the guards falling in line behind him as he approached the entrance. The doors opened seamlessly, like they’d been waiting for him and then he was gone. Just like that.
It was when your knees gave out. The world violently spun around you as you stumbled. Everything crashed down on you, overwhelmingly and suffocatingly so. The noise, the heat, the crowd - none of that mattered to you. All you could think of was the nightmare you’ve lived for two weeks and now that very same nightmare was haunting you while you were wide awake.
You barely registered the firm touch of hands on your waist, balancing you up. Jongho’s worried face suddenly materialises in front of you, a frown on his face as he used the folder he had on himself to fan you as his other hand held your limp arm to also stablise you. “Y/N? You’re pale,” he pointed out. “Is it the heat? I can get you water–”
“W-Who was that?” You blurted out in a panic, jutting your trembling fingers at the entrance door. “That man who just went in…who was that?”
“Hmm? Oh, that’s the CEO,” he answered as he helped you up, but all you wanted to do was throw up as his answer looped over and over in your head. That man was the CEO. He was the CEO. He’s in charge. He killed someone two weeks ago and you saw it.
Your fingers curled tightly at your sides, nails digging into your palms as panic surged, hot and suffocating. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of something that refused to make sense. Did he see you? That can’t be. There were no less than a hundred people and you were just one of them. There was no way.
Beads of sweat started to trickle down from your scalp to your jaws, but you barely felt it with how cold your entire body felt on the inside. I have to get out of here, you internally panicked, already planning your escape route. You’d have lost your damn mind if you thought you were going to spend another second in the presence of a cold-blooded killer.
But before you could even attempt to leave, the entrance opens again and out comes someone and everyone falls into a hush when he raises his hand. Even in your frightened state, you could see that this was another person of authority. It was obvious that whatever he said next wasn’t up for discussion.
“We appreciate your interest in KQ Corporation and your time in attending today’s selection process,” he began, voice polished to perfection. “I’ll cut to the chase, if you are not Choi Jongho and L/N Y/N, then you are all dismissed.”
Your heart stopped for half a second. The crowd immediately erupted around you with voices of anger and disbelief as, but all of that faded into muffled white noise. You desperately wanted the high-pitched ringing in your ears to stop, but your limbs refused to move. “If there are any further disruptions,” the man said calmly, cutting through the noise with ease, “We will be forced to escalate this situation accordingly.”
Now, he didn’t say it outright, but the implication was clear - continue fucking around to find out. People still grumbled, but one by one, they started to leave. Still, you didn’t care. All you wanted to do was throw up. You had been picked, and now, there was no way out. Not anymore.
“Hey,” Jongho’s voice came through, breaking you out of your trance. You turned to look at him, and he still had that stunned look on his face. “This was…unexpected. We should go,” he cleared his throat nervously. He says something more, but you didn’t hear any of it. You were still feeling the aftereffects of your name being called. You were genuinely terrified and trapped. “Y/N?” Jongho frowned, looking back in confusion as to why you weren’t moving.
Your feet wouldn’t move. Inside those walls was everything you'd been dreaming of to advance in your career. The problem was, so was he. The memory hit you all over again - his eyes, the gun, the terror - and you just knew you couldn’t go in there. Your breathing picked up, throat tightening. You needed something, anything, to protect yourself. But before you could stop yourself, your mouth just moved on its own and you blurted out, “I-I’m blind.”
Jongho’s eyes widened in sheer surprise. “What? Oh my,” the latter uttered in disbelief, immediately walking back towards you. “I-I didn’t know, I’m sorry, here…”
He extended his hand, and you almost reached out, but stopped yourself, forcing your gaze to unfocus, tilting your head like you were listening instead of seeing. Jongho was confused why you weren’t taking his hand, but then, he face-palmed himself. “Oh, God, I’m an idiot,” he hissed. “Uhm, is it alright if I hold onto you so I can help you get inside?”
You nodded stiffly, legs finally unlocking as he guided you forward. In no time, the both of you were following the man, who you soon learned was none other than Jeong Yunho, himself. You saw him raise a brow at how Jongho was guiding you, but when he had told him of your circumstances, he stayed silent for a moment. If he was surprised, he barely let it show.
“Are you going to be okay?” Yunho asked as he guided you by the arm to sit down in one of the rooms. Jongho is already being shown his respective position so that left you. “On behalf of the company, I sincerely apologise for any discomfort. Had I known, I personally would have made you wait here from the start.”
Yunho’s voice was soft, and he was surprisingly gentle. It was such a contrast to his cool and intimidating exterior. You had to force your head still, thankful you didn’t have to take your sunglasses off so you wouldn’t have to pretend too hard. “I-It’s alright,” you stammered, trying hard not to sound like you were one step away from fainting. “I’d like to be hired fair and square despite my…shortcomings.”
“Admirable, I like that. I’m sure he will, too,” Yunho hummed. He stood up, patting your shoulder gently once. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. He’s just finishing a phone call, but he’ll be ready to personally interview you soon. Do call if you need anything, Y/N.”
Bile started to rise from your throat, but you had to make sure. “W-Wait,” you stopped Yunho before he walked away. “I-I’m sorry, who’s the he you’re referring to?”
Yunho lets a small smirk slip out before masking it quickly. “The boss, Y/N. This is his office,” he replied, gesturing his hand to the room. “He’s been quite taken with your credentials. You are exactly what he’s looking for.”
You did not like the sound of that. What the fuck does that even mean? Unfortunately, you had plenty of time to think about it as you sat in that chair, waiting for your doom to swallow you whole and spit you out with nothing but bones left. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the irony.
Life was a joke like that. You knew you were going to see him again. You weren’t meant to stay in peace forever. But, goddamn, you didn’t think it would be this soon. You could’ve gotten more time, at least. Hell, you never wanted to see him at all ever again if it was up to you.
Your gaze lifted, carefully taking everything in. The office was spacious and elegant, but minimal in its decor. Dark, sleek furniture of sharp edges surrounded you, and surprisingly, it actually made sense. It was a mirror of how he was as a person, you couldn’t explain it. And then, you saw it - a metal plate fixed neatly against the desk with his name on it.
Song Mingi. Chief Executive Officer.
Your mouth dried up, eyes focusing sharply on that plate. Song Mingi. The name echoed in your head. Finally, you had a name to match to the face; a name to tie to the crime. He wasn’t just a memory anymore, he was tangible and real. He was here. And so were you.
“Comfortable?”
Hot breath ghosted over your ear. You jerked on instinct, nearly jumping out of your skin, yelping as your heart thundered violently against your ribcage. A low, amused chuckle followed. “Sorry,” a deep voice murmured, not sounding apologetic at all. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Something about that just sounded so…wrong to you. It was a good thing you didn’t turn around, because there he was, the man of your nightmares walking to sit behind his pristine desk. Goosebumps erupted all over your skin, terror washing all over you as you tried not to tremble, holding your breath as if that would save you.
Mingi. He was exactly as you remembered, yet somehow worse at the same time. He was still as broad two weeks ago, but instead of a black faded jacket, he wore a suit that emphasized his long limbs. He was still blonde, hair still slicked back, and the pale colour should’ve looked soft in this particular lighting, but not on him.
Unfortunately, it emphasized the sharpness of his features, contrasting his high cheekbones and lips that were curled slightly up the edges like he knew something you didn’t. It also highlighted those murderous eyes, except this time, they were filled with mirth and not in a good way.
He looked good. No one would be the wiser that this man had no problem taking someone's life. You were about to stand, albeit stiffly, about to offer him a bow in respect, when his low voice cut you off mid-gesture. “No need,” he spoke firmly. You froze, not knowing what to do. “I’ve been informed of your…circumstances,” he continued, that faint curl of amusement still lingering in his tone.
You swallowed. Right. You were blind. You forced out a smile, hands gripping the sides of the chair awkwardly. You were still stuck in that halfway standing position and you didn’t know what to do. You didn’t even want to move, every inch of you wanted to just get up and run.
“Sit down.”
He said it so quietly that you barely heard him. You obeyed, though, because the way he said it was not a suggestion. So there you were, sat on a cushy chair that felt more like a trap across from where he also sat, not saying a word. The problem was, neither was he. You waited, keeping your posture pin straight as you waited for him to say something. Anything.
Instead, you saw his eyes on you, taking you in unhurriedly and deliberately like he had all the time in the world. Like you did too. Subconsciously, your fingers curled into your skirt, and you saw his eyes trail down at the gesture. His lips twitched a little, eyes shining like he was enjoying this far more than he should. It made your skin crawl.
The silence was oppressive. It made the room seem smaller, the air thinner somehow. Even the faint, ambient noises you might have expected like a clock ticking, footsteps outside the room, and paperwork rustling were absent. It was as if the room itself had decided to hold its breath, waiting to see what the both of you would do next.
But Mingi’s gaze remained fixed on you as though he could sit in this silence indefinitely and emerge victorious simply by outlasting you. There was no urgency in him, no need to fill the void. If anything, he seemed to thrive in it. You shifted slightly, your discomfort evident, and his lips stretched further. He was savouring this, enjoying it far more than he had any right to.
“You don’t look like someone who can’t see.”
The words didn’t land immediately. It was comparable to lightning where you’d see it before the booming loudness hit your ears. Your breath hitched, the dread pushing bile up your throat that you forced yourself to swallow. “I-I,” you started, voice cracking embarrassingly before you cleared your throat. “I, uhm, see silhouettes, but I’m mostly unseeing. You get used to it.”
There was a pause before he let out a soft chuckle, and somehow, that was the most menacing thing you’ve ever seen him do. “Do you?” He asked, tilting his head. You nodded weakly, and this time, you couldn’t stop your hands from shaking.
“Ah, I’m just trying to lighten the mood,” he chuckled again, waving a dismissive hand like he didn’t just make this entire encounter the most uncomfortable thing ever. “I meant that as a compliment. Let’s start over again, yes? Would you mind if I touched your hand to shake it?”
“N-No, not at all,” you replied, lifting your hand, steadying your head forward, still keeping your gaze unfocused and out of centre. Mingi does not hesitate to grab it, gripping it firmly, and for a split second, the way he did it reminded you of how he held your shoulders at the trail. Shivers crawled up your spine at the memory.
“Song Mingi, Chief Executive,” he introduced, shaking your hand before letting go. “Welcome to KQ Corporation. I’m sure you’ve heard of us, hopefully only the good things, though.”
“L/N Y/N,” you smiled tightly, putting on your professional stance, pretending that all of this was normal. That wasn’t the hard part anyway, you were good at your job. Your resumé speaks for itself. “It’s my honour to be here, Mr. Song. KQ has been a lifelong dream of mine.”
A ghost of a smirk graces his lips. “Charmed,” he said. “And Mingi will be just fine. We’ll be working very close together, Y/N. I suggest you get used to it.”
You chuckled nervously, disliking the message, hating the way he said it even more. But there was nothing you could do, not as you felt the weight of his gaze dragging over every detail of you just waiting for you to fail, patiently standing by to see when he could dig his claws in.
“Right. Let’s begin,” he started, posture straightening immediately into something more professional. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry because, after all, the killer was an established businessman. “As you are aware, KQ invests plenty on international ventures. As do I. My presence is scarce in my own company because I’m always out of the country.”
You paid attention, ignoring the deep drawl of his voice and the change in his demeanor that was throwing you off-kilter. This was dangerous. If he could switch from being a menace to this composed, articulate executive in the blink of an eye, then nothing about him was accidental.
“Now, I had been told prior by Yunho about your visual impairment,” he continued, grabbing a couple of papers from the desk drawers. Your eyes tracked his measured movements without moving your neck, which proved difficult. “And while it is unconventional,” he paused, taking something small from the stack and sliding it across the desk directly in front of you. “Sight is not necessary for what I am hiring you to do for me, specifically.”
Your gaze dropped to his desk, and you felt your head spin so fast it almost made you dizzy. It was the company card you didn’t even know you had lost until this moment. It was yours, and you knew it was because of the star sticker. It also had small, dried up specks of blood on it.
You forced your breathing to stay even, but something in your chest had already tightened, coiling too fast to control. San was right - you were thoroughly, utterly fucked. This was no coincidence. He’d had the card all this time, and he was deliberately showing you.
But, you weren’t going to give in. Not now even if fear was harder to mask when it came from recognition. Mingi leaned on his seat, his gaze sharpening into something more analytical rather than predatory. “Something wrong?” He asked, almost innocently.
You shook your head, putting on a smile that you hoped didn’t resemble a grimace. “No, Sir—”
“Mingi.”
“—I was just wondering what my job description would be,” you finished, digging your nails into your palms. “M-Mingi.”
A pause. His brows raised ever so slightly. There was a soft, almost inaudible, exhale of satisfaction from him before he went back to inspecting the stack of paperwork in his hands. “I reviewed your resumé,” he spoke, plucking said resumé from the stack. “Very impressive. Your previous company was tactless for letting you slip away.”
And there it was again. He was back at being eloquent. You watched as his eyes skimmed through your resumé, nodding imperceptively the longer he went on. You might even go as far as say that this might be the only time he was truthful with his words and actions. “If I didn’t know better,” he went on, voice lowering just enough to demand your full attention, “I’d assume they were giving you to me on a silver platter.”
Mingi didn’t miss the flicker in your expression. “Anyway,” he continued, the air shifting back into something more cutthroat. “To put this simply, I am in need of a personal translator. I do business with important people overseas and most of the time, you can imagine how challenging the language barrier could be especially if there is a lot at stake.”
He paused, letting you absorb the information. “I do not always have the liberty of hiring different people all the time for that. We’re talking massive corporate leviathans here, Y/N. Things that simply cannot be common knowledge for the masses. Are you following me so far?”
You nodded. “I need discretion,” he continued smoothly, eyes hardening aggressively. “And efficiency. I will never compromise on those two. I will expect nothing less than perfection, certainly not while the vultures await. They only feed on decaying matter, after all.”
You straightened slightly. You were beginning to see why KQ was at the top echelon of the business world and why it was difficult to get in. “Understood.”
“I don’t repeat instructions. I don’t find pleasure being with people who waste my time and breath,” he added, almost conversationally. “Nor do I tolerate delays disguised as effort.”
There it was again, that edge that wasn’t loud nor overt, but unmistakably cutting nonetheless. You nodded once. “You won’t have to.”
“Good,” he said, seemingly pleased with your answer. He taps the resumé with his pen twice. “As I said, your credentials are impressive enough for me to overlook your limited vision. I only need you to hear and speak. If your achievements are what you say they are, then it won’t be of any hindrance.”
You could feel him watching you. Not curiously, but with the kind of attention that dissected reactions down to the smallest fracture. He was sizing you up, confirming if you had what it takes. “When do I start?” You asked, voice steady by sheer force and will.
He raised a brow, clearly fascinated. The corner of his mouth tugged up slightly, though there was nothing warm about it. “Interesting,” Mingi murmured, almost thoughtful, twirling his pen with his fingers absentmindedly. “You have maintained composure so far where other people would have folded. I admire your tenacity, Y/N. Truly.”
Your throat felt dry. He was talking about business, he had to be. The double entendre was difficult to ignore, however, it didn’t feel like he was just talking about this, but this was probably paranoia on your end. “I have been told I had plenty,” you replied curtly.
Another ghost of that smirk. “Yes,” he murmured, more to himself. “I’m beginning to see that.”
He straightened before you could react, snapping back into place like nothing had happened. “Your role, should you accept the opportunity I’m willing to extend to you,” he said, now all business again. “Will be as important as mine. You are the bridge of communication, the deciding factor on whether KQ stays afloat or sinks beyond. Failure is not an option.”
You nodded, grateful for the clarity. You could do that. It was work you understood and could control. “And if I don’t?” You asked, deliberately.
His eyes held yours, glinting with something that refused to be challenged. “You can either follow the rules, break them, or answer to me.”
There were no traces of threat in that statement, but that lingering tension stayed in your chest. Your own fear was twisting his words into something they weren’t. “So,” he continued expectantly. “What say you, Y/N?”
To leave was diving into uncertainty, but to stay was entering the belly of the beast. You nodded firmly, effectively choosing the lesser of two evils. It was beginning to feel like a crossroads deal with the devil rather than a business transaction. “Now that we got all of that out of the way,” he said. “I do have one small favour to ask of you.”
“I’ll try my best to accommodate,” you said.
“Might I see the eyes of the person that’ll be with me and my business for most of the time? Plus, I reckon it’s proper etiquette to remove any sort of outdoor eyewear in front of your boss.”
You stopped breathing. Your sunglasses. It was the only thing blocking your eyes from him, the thing making it easier to pretend you weren't actually blind. You took a moment, not doing anything under his scrutiny, frozen under the weight of his unyielding expectancy. You gritted your teeth, upset that you couldn’t worm your way out of this one without being questioned.
In the end, you lowered your head not out of submission, but out of necessity, forcing your vision to blur; to dull itself into nothingness even if you’d be looking the devil in the eye once you remove the protective barrier that was keeping you somewhat safe. But the moment you looked up, your soul nearly left your body.
The fountain pen Mingi was holding was right there, the sharp, gleaming tip of it hovering only a couple of inches away from your left eye. He pointed the nib so close that if you blinked, your lashes would graze the metal - so close that you could feel it. Not just the grizzly pressure of it against your cornea if he actually pressed it, but the coldness the metal radiated.
The fear had left you petrified from where you sat. One wrong reaction - one wrong move - and it’s over. You might actually lose your eyesight for real. You swallowed your terror, willing your eyes to stay unfocused, compelling yourself to not see the pen and Mingi, himself.
And through your bleary vision, you could clearly see the way his lips fought to stay still, how he tried not to let out a smile. “You have beautiful eyes,” he remarked casually like he wasn’t about to stab your cornea. “Such shame. It would’ve been a delight to see those peepers sparkle. Have you never seen your own eyes, Y/N?”
Oh, God. The nerve of this maniac, you internally panicked, vision wavering dangerously as you fought for your body to stay rigid. “At some point, I might have. I’ve long forgotten. I tend to…forget things easily,” you replied confidently, praying that he got the message - that you wouldn’t tell a soul what you saw that dreadful day on the trail.
The corners of his mouth finally gave in, amusement dancing faintly in his eyes. “Do you?” Mingi clicked his tongue, sounding deceivingly thoughtful if it wasn’t for how predatory his face actually looked. “Because I don’t.”
His hand shifted, the pen tilting closer by a fraction. It was just enough to make your heart lurch violently against your chest. You could already imagine it, the promise of pure pain once that sharp metal nib goes through your eye, yet still, you refused to move, not daring to even take a breath in for fear of accidentally stabbing yourself in the eye, instead.
You saw him nod to himself, running his tongue painfully slow against his bottom lip as if he was impressed at your show of obstinacy. “That’s alright,” he hummed thoughtfully, voice deceptively soft. It was terrifying. If you were actually blind, you would have genuinely thought he was comforting you because he sounded so gentle.
“Though I must say,” he added. “Do forgive this ignorant man, but for someone who’s blind, I’m surprised at the clarity of your eyes. They look so clear and unclouded.”
Before you could spiral, a voice from behind you cleared their throat - someone you didn’t know was there until they spoke out. That should’ve scared you, and it did because that meant they've been there all along, silently watching all of this unfold. But for now, you could consider them your saving grace because you were running out of excuses.
“Cut it out, Mingi. Not everyone who is blind has those milky eyes you’re thinking of,” a man spoke disapprovingly.
Mingi’s eyes shifted to look behind you. His eyes, God, the way they glared at whoever this mystery person was nothing short of terrorizing. They were so soulless and predatory, but that wasn’t why it shook you, because for a second, it was like looking at him two weeks ago again. It was the same look he had as he stared at that man seconds before he pulled the trigger.
“Right,” he murmured, finally lowering the pen and allowing you to breathe. He paused, taking in a breath before he returned to that professionalism you were starting to abhor. “My apologies. I have a lot to learn. Anyway, that would be my personal assistant.”
“Kim Hongjoong,” the mystery man introduces himself. You stood up, purposefully bowing in the wrong direction, to which he chuckled lightheartedly. “I appreciate that. We’ll be working very closely together. I handle Mingi’s affairs a lot.”
You smiled tightly, curious as to why Hongjoong gave a pointed look at the taller man. “Affairs as in now. You have a meeting with the finance department,” he continued, glaring heatedly. Your gaze flickered between the two men. Something was off. You’ll have to observe more next time, so for now, you tucked this information away for later.
“You’ll be hearing from him more than you will from me,” Mingi said, already shifting, already moving on like nothing had happened. Your attention snapped back to him. “He handles my schedule. Hongjoong will e-mail them to you. You can return next Monday”
Your stomach twisted. “M-Monday?”
“Yes, my dear. Monday,” he chuckled, amused, already halfway to the door. “I’m giving you a week to prepare yourself because once you start, there will be no turning back. I’ll have Yunho arrange for someone to escort you home,” he added over his shoulder.
The words settled into the room like a verdict. And before you could even process it, he was gone.
Working at KQ proved to be rewarding and challenging at the same time. Everyone either loved or feared Mingi, but for the most part, it was both. And working for him has proven to be conflicting for you. You haven’t seen him much, which you were honestly very thankful for, however, he did keep you at arms length.
Perhaps, he just wanted to keep a close eye on you because you exclusively worked inside his personal office, sitting all day on his cushy leather couch. Even Yunho found it fascinating.
Mingi was good at what he did. Painfully so, because the results were hard to deny. He didn’t waste time, didn’t tolerate incompetence, and had a way of cutting through problems so cleanly it left everyone else scrambling to keep up. You hated that you were impressed. Beneath the fear you had, he earned the power he held over everyone and you hated admitting it.
But at the same time, he made things a little smoother for you. Or at least, he sent someone to make things easier for you. Seonghwa was heaven sent, a ray of sunshine, if you will. He was the opposite of what this cutthroat industry stood for - very bubbly and energetic. He was the sweetest person, and that in itself made this place more bearable.
But you knew better. This wasn’t just a random act of kindness from your boss. This was Song Mingi, and Mingi was cunning. This was him exerting control even in unconventional senses such as adjusting his variables to make sure you stayed exactly where he wanted you to.
“Y/N, sweetie, are you alright? You still haven’t told me what you wanted,” Seonghwa’s soft and comforting voice spoke, breaking you out of your thoughts.
You almost turned to look at him, mildly startled, but you stopped yourself at the last second. “Sorry,” you apologised sheepishly. “I was just thinking. What were you saying?”
“I brought coffee and tea, I didn’t know which one you wanted so I figured I’d buy both so you could pick one to sip on while we work,” he said, already setting things down without waiting for a response, his voice bright and alive in a way that warmed you up. He was a nice man, and you felt bad for deceiving him, but no one can know you weren’t blind.
You blinked, momentarily thrown off before managing a small smile. “I prefer tea. Thank you, you didn’t have to–”
“Of course I did,” he cut in cheerfully, waving you off like it was obvious, already sitting down next to you. “Let’s start now so you can leave early. I get worried every time you go home with the sun gone. Same as usual, yeah? Just forgive my crappy Mandarin.”
This was the arrangement. Seonghwa would read, you would translate, and he would write it down. Luckily, you didn’t get much written documents, and computers were easy to worm your way out of since you managed to convince Hongjoong that voice-to-text worked well for you, and Mingi seemed to have no problem with it so long as the work got done.
It was the in-person business transactions that you were nervous about. So far, Mingi hasn’t taken you out to speak for major clientele, but he wasn’t lying when he said he worked for the big sharks. Three weeks shy in and you were already exhausted drafting and translating contracts and paperwork for him. Until today.
You were halfway through the document when the door to the office opened. Your back automatically straightened, eyes dulling themselves even further, when Mingi strolled in. You didn’t even have to look at him; you could just feel the immense power he exuded from his presence, alone, and how one glance could silence the room.
He didn’t greet either of you nor looked in your direction, just striding straight towards his desk to review some paperwork that was waiting for him to sign. You loosen up a bit. When Mingi was in the zone, he barely paid attention to his surroundings. Or is that what he wanted you to think? You didn’t care so long as he didn't acknowledge you at all. And you liked it that way.
The only thing that could be heard was the rustling of paper as Mingi flipped some documents, Seonghwa reading, and your whispers of translation. Times like these also allowed you to pay attention to his mannerisms. He didn’t have a lot, but it was the little things that truly scared you.
Like right now with his brows furrowed, eyes narrowed into slits as he furiously scribbled. It brought you dread when you realised down the line that he showed more expression to mere documents more than he ever did pulling that trigger on that man on the trail.
He had taken the liberty to take his coat off, the sleeves of his button-up shirt rolled neatly to his elbows, revealing muscled forearms that you were unable to look away from. Another thing that frustrated you to no end was that the more you observed Mingi, the harder it was to deny that he was very attractive. Had the circumstances been different, he would’ve been your type.
“How long until you’re done?” Mingi suddenly asked, voice hushed in the quietness of the office, still not bothering to look up.
“In about twenty minutes or so,” you blurted out, slightly startled, but more so annoyed at yourself for checking him out.
“Make it five. You’re coming with me.”
You could practically feel your hackles rise because, of course, nothing about this job was ever going to be simple. “Pardon?” You couldn’t help but ask.
“Did I stutter?” Mingi retorted flatly, barely audible. Your heart almost leapt out of your chest when he turned lazily to you. “I vaguely recall telling you that I don’t particularly enjoy repeating instructions,” he drawled slowly. “Those aren’t empty words, Y/N. You told me you understood.”
You had to physically stop your face from visibly souring and glaring heatedly at him, stiffly just nodding in response while mumbling a half-hearted apology. True to his words, he stood up exactly five minutes after, giving you one glance as if to say, ‘Follow me’, before leaving. All without even waiting for you.
So there you were, marching through the office like a spectacle, eyes wide open but empty, as if you’ve truly mastered the art of pretending to unsee. Mingi created quite a distance between you two and you’ve barely managed to catch up with him before he went in the elevator. “Am I allowed to ask where we’re going?” You inquired faintly in the tight area of the elevator as its doors closed.
Through your peripherals, you caught Mingi’s lips quirk into a small smirk. “You are,” he replied, pressing a floor button. “Am I required to answer them?”
Your lips curve down into a frown, brain buffering for a split second. Mingi seemed to sense your distress and let out a deep chuckle. “I’m taking you on a little trip around the company,” he said. “I reckon it’s good for you to map out a layout in your head so you could develop some sort of muscle memory to make up for your lack of sight.”
That made sense. And you hated that it did. If you were actually blind, you would’ve been all over the moon. You swallowed nervously, dread crawling up your spine bit by bit the more the elevator rose. You did not like any of this one bit. The silence was stifling. It was hard to breathe especially with him so close. Mingi was a snake; he was constricting and looking away would be a fatal mistake. You didn’t even want to blink because you know he’ll be there, slithering around the brush, waiting to coil himself around you.
You were startled back into sensibility when you heard a ‘ding’. You have arrived, and you didn’t know where. Before you could even ask, Mingi walked out and you had no choice but to move after him. At least you were behind him; it allowed you to look around freely.
But the moment you lifted your head to take in your surroundings, your heart dropped to your feet. This floor looked desolated, abandoned at best, like construction had started but never fully finished. Lights worked, but it was dim, and the walls weren’t even painted, leaving exposed wiring behind unfinished panels.
“Right this way,” Mingi said smoothly like nothing about this was unusual. “We’re heading near the HR department, for starters.”
Your face turned green with the intense need to vomit. A damn lie, it was, because in no shape or form were you near said department. You had half the mind to turn around and run back to the elevator, and the further you walked, the more you wanted to. But then, he stopped right in front of a suspicious looking door.
“This,” he said, already turning the handle to open it. “Is one of our private conference rooms. We could start here, but not to worry, everything is…everything is on the same floor.”
Panic spiked through you, but you had no choice but to swallow it down and walk through, and you didn’t know what you were expecting, but it was certainly not an empty room. No furniture, no dividers, no equipment, no nothing. Just a large, open space with bare floors and large windows that emphasized how empty it was. There were no signs of use and no signs of life; just too much space. It was somehow the most claustrophobic room you’ve ever been in. To make matters worse, you heard Mingi shut the door behind you.
“Let’s begin,” Mingi murmured, but it was loud as it reverberated around emptiness. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “I’ll tell you where to go, you just have to listen. Fair?”
You nodded stiffly, not knowing what he was planning to do, but judging by the toothy, wolfish grin spread wide on his lips that screamed of danger, it wasn’t anything good. “Perfect,” he said. “Just give me a couple of steps forward.”
And you did, mechanically dragging your foot to make that first step, opting to stop when it felt right. “Good,” you heard him say. There was a pregnant pause in the air before he continued again. “Actually, let’s try that again. A few steps back, please.”
Your lips twitched in perplexity, not knowing where he was going with this. Somehow, retracing your steps made your feet feel heavier than moving forward. You were back where you started by the door with Mingi to your far left still leaning against that wall, still staring intently at you as if he was waiting for you next move. Kind of like how he watched you that day in the forest to see what you’d do after he shot that man.
“Turn to your right. Walk approximately ten steps forward,” he finally said. You followed. “Now turn to the left. It leads to another room.”
You took a deep breath, walking into said ‘room’ anyway. “Forward a bit, then turn left,” he instructed, and again, you followed. “That’s another conference room.”
You swallowed the urge to scream at him that there was no room; that there was absolutely nothing. You could only hum, hoping to sound enthusiastic as you felt him getting closer. “You best remember that, love,” he commented. Dread crept up your insides. He sounded a little too happy, letting that polite mask slip away for a moment to enjoy whatever this humiliation ritual was. “Anyway, there’s a door in front of you, doll.”
Gritting your teeth to reel in your annoyance, you lifted a shaky hand to play along, letting out a convincing hum of confusion and surprise when you felt nothing but air. “Ah,” he said lightly. “Maybe this is too advanced. Next time, I suppose.”
God, you just wanted to go back to translating with Seonghwa, but instead, you’ve become a clown walking forward and backwards into an empty room, kind of like a child with a vivid imagination playing maze. “Turn around,” you heard him say. “Walk until I say stop.”
He wasn’t there when you turned around. That would mean he was behind you. Your knees almost buckled because you didn’t even hear him walk at all. You did as told, each step stretching just a little too long in the silence. But as you moved, your worry increased. This was the longest you’ve walked so far and he hasn’t told you to stop yet.
You waited for him to say something, anything, because you were a couple of steps away from colliding into the wall. The next couple of steps had you sweating, breathing heavily as you tried to walk normally, pretending that you weren’t about to get a nasty bump on your forehead from purposefully smacking face forward a concrete wall - all to make him still believe you’re blind.
Several steps from impact and you could already feel your legs hesitating to move forward, your pace stuttering, but you pushed, adjusting your steps accordingly to make everything still seem believable. You waited up until the very last few steps, but when you heard nothing from Mingi, you instinctively closed your eyes as the wall got closer, bracing for impact.
“Stop.”
The word snapped through the air just as your nose hovered a breath away from the surface. You halted instantly, biting your tongue to stop the startled squeak that threatened to leave your lips, not feeling any pain at all from the adrenaline and the fear pumping into your bloodstream.
“Careful,” Mingi murmured, his voice just behind your shoulder now, lips barely touching your ear. “There’s a wall here. You’ll want to remember that.”
A soft, nervous laugh left you, controlled but imperfect. “I-I will,” you stammered.
Goosebumps erupted all over your skin when he chuckled, low and amused, directly in your ears. “Yeah?” He whispered. Shivers broke out of you at his tone, especially when you felt him smile against the shell of your ear. You nodded. “You sure?”
You felt him blow the faintest air onto your skin. “Hmm. I like it when people listen,” Mingi whispered again, voice going even heavier in a way that had your stomach churning. He paused, like he was giving you grace to take it all in. “Especially when they know they should.”
You fought the instinct to break through this newfound tension. You were very aware of how little close you were - how easy it would be to move, and how impossible it felt to actually do it. “I said I would,” you replied, though your voice came out quieter than you intended.
“I know, but saying it and proving it…” Mingi let the sentence trail off, the implication settling in the charged silence between you. Your breath hitched when you saw his hands settle on the wall on either side of your head, effectively trapping you in. “...I wonder how far that goes,” he finished. “Anyway, let’s continue.”
You sighed in relief when he pulled away, though you weren’t sure if that was better. He was back at it with his instruction, and this time, he’s double the intensity. “Try again,” he instructed, clearly amused at your mistakes. “I said move slightly, not do a full swerve. Again.”
And again. Again. And again. Again and again and again. Mingi made you turn, then walk. Stop. Back. Forward. Shift. Over and over and over again. Your steps grew heavier, your legs starting to ache, your breathing less steady no matter how hard you tried to hide it. And through it all, he watched you. Still, you had to continue with gritted teeth.
Your patience thinned as he watched you walk yourself into humiliation like it was the most entertaining thing in the world. But you moved because stopping wasn’t an option, especially not when Mingi resembled a predator observing a prey exhaust itself, just lying in wait before he struck to take advantage of your vulnerability.
Every time you turned, you caught glimpses of him. His expression remained composed, but his eyes were alert and focused, waiting to see if your blind act was about to fail as he followed every single movement you made. And he was enjoying this, you could tell. The faint curl at the corner of his mouth when you adjusted yourself mid-motion was more than enough to tell you.
“That’ll be all, Y/N. You can stop now,” Mingi said, his voice returning to that composed, professional tone as if you weren’t breathing hard in exhaustion. As if he didn’t just make you go for a loop in an empty room to strip you of your dignity.
You couldn’t even reply, couldn’t even push him away when he put his hand to your shoulder to lead you back into the elevator. Your pulse still hasn’t settled, skin still tingling where his hand was, but you weren’t going to complain now you were about to go back to normalcy.
“You did well,” he said softly as the elevator doors opened back to the floor where his office was. He stepped out, walking away as if nothing had happened. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
You watched as he walked away, frozen where he placed you in the elevator. Whatever happened back there felt like a fever dream, and you still haven’t woken up. On the outside, nothing felt out of place but on the inside, something shifted because before, you were just afraid of seeing him kill someone.
But now? You were afraid of him.
Mingi didn’t stop there. There were little instances here and there, not much to alarm you, but enough to put you on edge. It’s been a little over a month by then. The dread never left, not even the hefty paycheque you received was enough to ease that paranoia beneath your skin. You still didn’t see him often and so far, he technically hasn’t bothered you or done anything.
But when he did do something, it was when you were the most ill-prepared; like a demon waiting for you to fall asleep before infiltrating your dreams and terrorising you when you least expected it, and by the time you realised he was there, you would have already been too paralysed to stop him.
It started small, as if he was testing how far he could go before you noticed, like giving you the wrong files to translate. Or that one time he turned on his obnoxiously bright desk lamp and pointed it on your face while you worked.
“Something bothering you, love?” Mingi asked, almost innocently, as if he wasn’t currently adjusting the lamp to beam it directly in your eyes, his tongue sticking out of lips a little in concentration. “You seem a little distracted.”
You felt your eyes tick, not because you’ve been forcing them wide open and pretending that lights weren’t bothering you, but because you were annoyed at the audacity of this man and his ability to get away with anything - all because he thinks you couldn’t see him. Black spots began to dance behind your eyes, the telltale signs of a debilitating migraine beginning to creep up your temples as the ache came in throbbing waves.
“Everything’s fine,” you let out weakly.
Mingi hummed softly at that, his fingers deftly clicking the lamp to amp it up to its maximum brightness. You had to dig your nails painfully in your palms to stop yourself from blinking as your vision burned, but still, you could see the smugness in his features, all while his eyes watched you. “Carry on,” was all he said after.
And then nothing after that for days, but that was the problem, because he would do them so randomly and sporadically that when you thought you were in the clear, you really weren’t. If Mingi was feeling especially heinous, he’d sometimes move your computer files and hide them in different folders, which would be already difficult for abled people, let alone for someone who is especially visually challenged. You’d just grit your teeth and move forward, all while his sharp, menacing shadow towered over you.
“Just call me whenever you need something, alright?” Jongho kindly handed you back the laptop after finding the right files for you and one day Mingi moved them. He let out a confused hum. “Perhaps we could ask Mr. Song to fix your laptop. It’s been acting up more than usual.”
You let out a nervous laugh. Jongho raised a brow, but decided not to say anything. The two of you had gotten closer over the following weeks and he’s honestly been your saving grace in times like these. He was a sweetheart, always offering to buy you lunch or drive you home whenever he could. It was times like these where you genuinely felt bad for lying to him.
But Jongho can’t possibly help you with everything. One thing Mingi was consistent about, however, was his work ethics. Mingi let out a sharp sigh, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose while his other hand drummed against the table.
“You think this is good enough, Y/N?” He asked, tone flat and unimpressed. He was strict, very much so, to the point that there were times where you were afraid to submit your proposals to him. “No. Actually, let me rephrase that.”
He shuts the laptop off, eyes lifting to you, his back straightening against his chair. “Did you even read this before sending them to me? Or did you honestly think I just sign off every paperwork that gets sent my way without checking them for marginal errors?”
Your throat tightened. Mingi wasn’t loud when he was upset. Even when he tested your sanity with his stupid games, Mingi never compromised when it came to work. “My apologies, I’ll revise it as soon as possible,” you assured.
“I know you tried your best,” he crossed his arms. “But that’s exactly what makes it disappointing. I’ll let this slide. Go home. Yunho will finish this mess.”
Surprise crosses your features and you opened your mouth to argue, but decided against it. Not when his eyes left no room for debate. It wasn’t personal, but the brutal honesty in which he laid his expectations landed on your chest hard, and the worst part? He was usually right.
Soon, Mingi began taking you to meet important people like he said he would before he hired you. If Mingi was intimidating in the confines of his office, then he was downright terrifying around the people he did business with to the point that you had no idea how he was able to stay up top as long as he did. Hongjoong laughed when you spoke your thoughts out loud.
“It’s not just him,” he said, gently leading you inside one of the private rooms in the upscale restaurant. “You have to constantly one up everyone because they will not hesitate to bury you in this business, Y/N. Mingi just so happens to be the best at what he does.”
And you understood why. You saw how even those older than him with far more power and experience measured their words around him before saying them. Mingi just had this uncanny ability to dismantle people. Today, you sat next to Hongjoong while Mingi sat to your right, listening intently to you as you translated in real time, voice smooth and professional.
“This is preposterous,” the overseas investor from China scoffed at you, his confidence slipping the longer Mingi remained expressionless. “Tell Mr. Song here that I have a proposition.”
Indeed, he did, by giving a lower number - a number so low that even you knew that no sane businessman would take it seriously. You were visibly taken aback, pausing for a beat too long that Hongjoong had to nudge your foot with his subtly under the table. You swallowed nervously, already knowing that Mingi was going to hate this.
And he did. He nodded slowly, eyes narrowing for a split second before he neutralised his expression. He doesn’t speak yet, just pouring liquor into his shot glass. “Salud,” he cheered, lifting the glass up towards the investor who just spoke. “This one’s especially for you, fucker.”
Your head whips towards him, that smile on his face that you knew screamed danger flashing brightly as he downed his drink, followed by the merry cheers of the foreign nationals who were none wiser that they were getting cursed right in front of their faces.
It was the first time you’ve ever heard Mingi curse, and you didn’t know what to feel about it. He was always so proper and composed and that anything outside of that realm bothered you more than it should’ve because you didn’t know which one was the character he was choosing to play in front of you versus the entire world. As if things couldn’t get worse, a thin trail of liquor slipped from the corner of his mouth, trickling down his sharp jaw down to his throat.
Warmth bloomed dangerously low in your stomach, but thankfully - or, perhaps, not - that heat vanished from your body when he spoke his next words. “Tell him,” Mingi said calmly. “That I can see why people stopped explaining things around him, that I envy people who would never hear how much of an imbecile he and his ideas are. If he wants to rob KQ that badly, at least haggle like a man. I’ve seen kids do it better for candy.”
The investor blinked at you expectantly, unaware, and beside you, Hongjoong went unnaturally still, but all you could do was freeze. You wanted to reword it, to soften the blow, but you must have hesitated for far too long because Mingi turned to you, his eyes cold and expectant.
“Well?” Mingi demanded, impatience creeping into his tone. “Word for word, Y/N. I want to hear it.”
Your throat was tight, but you forced yourself to translate, trying your best to not let your voice shake. “H-He says,” you cleared your throat, discomfort crawling up your spine. “That he can see why people stopped explaining things around you. A-And that he envies people who would never hear how much of an imbecile you and your ideas are…”
The investors’ polite expression drops immediately. God, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. The embarrassment was too much, every word tasted horribly against your tongue. “If you want to rob KQ so badly,” you spoke, or rather, squeaked. “Haggle like a man because he’s seen kids do it better for candy.”
The investors’ darkened faces stared at you in disbelief for a second before all hell broke loose. Slurs and curses were thrown all over the place, but all you could focus on were Mingi’s eyes on you and the small, satisfied smile on his face. And then it hits you. Provoking these investors wasn’t his only target.
Making you sit there and deliver those words for him amused him far more. You watched as his eyes landed on your ears, the tips of them red from the sheer secondhand embarrassment, and a faint smirk tugs on the corner of his lips.
“Well, that went terrific,” Hongjoong sarcastically let out as the three of you walked out of the restaurant, side-eyeing Mingi with intent while he helped you walk out, hands still as gentle as when he guided you in earlier.
You chose not to say anything, opting to stare blankly forward to keep up the act, periodically squeezing Hongjoong’s arm when you’d hit a bump or two. Mingi just smirks, amusement dancing in his eyes, walking as if he didn’t just botch an entire business transaction by letting his intrusive thoughts win.
“I don’t know, I’d say that went pretty well,” he shrugged, his indifference evident as he opened his car door, pausing to stare at the both of you. “Meet me back at the office. I reckon Seonghwa will have a field day after this. You tell him.”
You barely stopped yourself from raising a brow. Hongjoong stiffens under your touch, an unimpressed frown crossing his face, eyes narrowing with obvious annoyance. “Wait, why me? Do I really have to?”
“Yes. You’re my assistant, after all,” Mingi replied without missing a beat. He let out a condescending smile when Hongjoong’s eyes twitched. “Relax. He has a soft spot for you.”
Hongjoong was about to retort when Mingi gave him a look - a look that had Hongjoong pausing, glancing carefully at you as if he just remembered that they weren’t alone - before the shorter man rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he muttered, turning to lead you away. “Anyway, I’ll drive Y/N—”
“No,” Mingi interjected. “I’ll do it. Put her in.”
Without waiting for a reply, he gets in his car. And that was how you found yourself in the passenger’s seat of your boss’ car, stiff as a board, staring at the distance not to pretend to unsee, but simply because you couldn’t bear to acknowledge how close Mingi was. “A-Are we not leaving yet?” You couldn’t help but blurt out, not being able to take the awkward silence hanging between the two of you.
“I’m waiting for you,” he murmured.
You frowned, confused. “M-Me? For what?”
“Mhhm,” he hummed. Your stomach churned at how it echoed in your ear. It was a low rumble, warm and smooth like lullabies of despair seducing you in, but you willed it away. “Your seatbelt, sweet pea. I can’t drive without you wearing it.”
Oh, this was dangerous. The way he said it was quiet enough to feel intimate, yet teasing enough to make your pulse skip. Unhurried, you shakily reached for the seatbelt, careful to maintain that blind, dead look in your eyes, but you couldn’t seem to grasp it. Mingi chuckled and the next thing you knew, he was leaning in, reaching for your seatbelt, himself.
A whimper of surprise leaves your lips before you could stop it. His face hovers inches over yours as he clicks the belt into place. He was close, too close, and you thought he was going to lean back, but no. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t even seem fazed; he just stares. And you didn’t dare breathe against this intentional proximity that he put the both of you in.
You didn’t even realise that his hand was on your thigh until he gave it a small squeeze, and once again, your stomach churns, but this time, it was with an intensity that made you want to throw up. And all you could do was stare in between his eyebrows, pretending that you were seeing through him instead of at him.
“Funny how we keep finding ourselves in this situation,” he mused in a quiet whisper, his breath ghosting over your lips. “Almost as if we were meant to be here.”
Your brows twitch, not knowing what he was referring to. And then it hits you. Hard. This was the exact position and the exact closeness you had with Mingi that day in the forest. Face to face, his dark eyes dissecting you with that horrifying scrutiny before he wiped that blood that accidentally found its way onto your face. “I-I don’t know what you’re—”
“You should relax around me more,” he murmured, tucking a piece of hair obscuring your face behind your ears with so much gentleness that you wanted to scream. “You’re always so tense.”
And then, without warning, he finally leaned back into his seat. The loss of pressure was so sudden that it made your chest ache even further. He started the car, casually driving as if he didn’t just psychologically terrorise you.
But that was fine, you could handle these because they didn’t necessarily hurt you. All you had to do was ignore Mingi and go on still pretending you couldn’t see everything that he was doing. And you knew he was a psycho, but clearly, he’d been holding himself back.
Mingi drove silently, posture relaxed like nothing was wrong. Eventually, he slowed down, eventually stopping when at a red light. It was the busy intersection that was a couple of blocks away from KQ and you couldn’t wait to get the hell away from this man. But when the lights changed to green, Mingi didn’t move. “We’re here,” he said.
Your stomach dropped, taken aback by what he just said. “Here? A-At the office?”
“Mhhm. Where else?”
It was that same low, intimate hum. Your ears rang amidst the busy traffic all around, the honks of the cars behind you, and the buzzing of cars from multiple directions. “Go ahead. Your friend, Jongho, is waiting for you by the door,” he said.
His words slithered coldly up your spine. No, you thought dreadfully. He wouldn’t. But you knew better. You were in the middle of an intersection. You could see that the lights were red again, but the moment those lights turned back to green, there was a high chance that you would get hit. The thought alone made your vision double, and beside you, Mingi patiently waited, staring at you to see what you were going to do.
Panic clawed up your throat. You grabbed your walking cane and started pushing the door open, because refusing without any valid reason would completely blow your cover away. And then, divine intervention - Mingi’s phone started to ring. The sound of it made the both of you pause. From your peripheral vision, you could briefly see the name of the caller. It was Hongjoong. Mingi’s eyes were still on you, specifically on your hand that held the door handle.
He let out an exhale, as if disappointed that you couldn’t step out into moving traffic.“Close the door, love,” he murmured. “I’ll park at the other entrance. It’s dangerous here.”
You didn’t even hesitate. You slammed that door shut so hard that the entire car rattled with force. Mingi’s lips twitched with a small smile, staring at you for one more second before he finally picked up the call. He wasn’t relieved that you were safe nor was he shaken that you could’ve been hit by a car right in front of his eyes.
No, Mingi was steady and unbothered. Interested, even, like his stakes had just gone up and he just realised that the possibilities were endless for him so long as you played for him.
Mingi didn’t even wait a week to test that theory out. It was, by far, the worst he’s done not because of what he did, but because of how bold and brazen his acts were becoming. You were working with Seonghwa in your usual spot in his office, but this time, Jongho was also here. He was today’s representative from his department for the monthly report. Then, in comes Yunho, bringing with him cups and a thermos before leaving. It was fresh tea; you could see the steam in your peripheral vision as Jongho poured the boiling hot water into the cups.
You didn’t think much when Mingi walked over to where you and Seonghwa were, placing two cups at the table. This wasn’t out of the norm, Mingi had always treated you well when there were people around for show, but clearly, you’ve been giving this man more credit than he deserved.
“I ordered everyone iced tea from the café across the building,” he whispered silently, only enough for you to hear. “It’s in front of you. Drink it before the ice melts and dilutes it.”
Panic seized your chest so bad that your lungs were burning from how carefully you were trying to control every breath you took. Your body reacted instantly by freezing into place. You wanted to gawk at the audacity of this man because now he was deliberately playing with you right in the presence of other people.
You forced your eyes to dull further as you nodded stiffly while being at a loss for what to do. You knew this man was cunning, but this was insane. If you grabbed the cup properly, that would give away that you could see. If you grab it clumsily, you’d burn your hand with boiling hot tea. If you give any sort of excuses to not drink it, you were done.
You could feel his eyes on you, sharpening at every second you hesitated to grab the cup. Swallowing, your hands began to jut forward, thinking of a way to touch it without reacting somehow or at least minimise the pain you were about to feel when you burned yourself.
“Ah ah, sweetie,” Seonghwa’s gentle voice cut, intercepting you by guiding your hand away from the cup. “That’s, uh, bland. I’ll be back, I’ll get us some lemons to go with the…iced tea.”
Mingi merely raised a brow, watching as Seonghwa got up and left the room. He shrugged, not sparing you a glance before he walked back to Jongho, who was still none the wiser as he sipped on his own tea, engrossed in the paperwork Mingi gave him.
Seonghwa reappeared a minute later, quietly removing the cup of hot tea before replacing it with something actually cold. You had no idea where he got it, but you didn’t dare question it as your trembling fingers wrapped around the cold drink. Through your peripheral vision, you caught the way Seonghwa stared at Mingi.
And you were surprised at how angry he was. The look he gave Mingi was so scathing, more scalding hot than the tea you almost burned yourself with, that it sent more shivers up your spine. You had no idea that someone as gentle as Seonghwa was even capable of such look. Mingi smirked back sardonically, tilting his head mockingly before his eyes set to you.
His eyes stared you down as he sipped his own tea with no particular expression on his face. But his eyes, they looked alive; alive because every second of watching you endure him fed something inexplicably insatiable inside him.
“You don’t look like someone who can’t see.”
Your lips twitched as you forced a smile on your lips, your arms tightening around the laptop you held close to your chest. “I-I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Jung. I’ve been told as such before…”
Mingi didn’t react, not even bothering to look away from his laptop. Though from your peripheral vision, you saw him gaze at you for a few short seconds before letting out a small smile. It was the exact same thing he told you when he interviewed you a few months ago.
Today’s work was a bit different. You were used to leaving to meet up with potential clients and even going as far as traveling outside the country - something you would’ve enjoyed had you had more freedom to move since Mingi used his private jet and he was extremely generous with you and your expenses abroad. But today, KQ would be the meet-up point.
Yesterday, Mingi’s longtime friend, Jung Wooyoung, who also happened to be an investor, owed another company a favour and wanted some connections with KQ. You were surprised since Mingi hated short notices, but judging by the lecherous smirk on his face after that phone call, you’d say he didn’t mind. In fact, he seemed to look forward to it.
You tried not to squirm at the way Wooyoung stared at you through those sharp eyes of his. It wasn’t salacious, by all means, but it was extremely intrusive, like he was trying to read you from the inside out. It was unsettling, and you didn’t know how to avoid it, especially not when his hand started to play with your hair.
“I’m just teasing,” he chuckled. He gives Mingi a meaningful look before turning his attention back at you. “I’m just wondering what’s a pretty lady like you doing in a place like this, is all.”
The snap of a laptop being deliberately shut off is what got Wooyoung to momentarily stop playing with your hair.. Across the room, Mingi had already stood up, walking towards the corner of the office where he had a mini bar set up.
"There are birds that survive storms, Jung,” he murmured, pausing to pour brandy in his glass, swirling it slowly before taking a leisurely sip. “But they rarely survive entering another bird's nest."
You frowned, not really understanding the meaning or intent of what he just said. He sounded so nonchalant - uninterested, even - but the way his eyes bore into Wooyoung through his lashes had the latter blinking before stepping away, hands up in the air with mock surrender as a disbelieving laugh left his lips.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Wooyoung chuckled. “If I didn’t know you I’d have assumed that you preferred your birds to be made out of fine china, Song.”
Mingi just hummed. Wooyoung scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. “So, uh,” he pointed at the brandy Mingi was sipping on. “Are you gonna pour me one?”
“No,” Mingi deadpanned, putting the empty glass down before walking back to his desk. “As I recall, your hands were working perfectly fine earlier. Now, these,” he paused, pointing at the box Wooyoung had brought with him when he arrived. “What are these?”
“That? Oh,” Wooyoung shrugged as he helped himself to a drink. “Premium cherries straight from Japan. Heard that Mr. Yamada was very fond of them, which he better fucking like them because these cost me a pretty penny.”
“I see,” Mingi murmured. There was a beat of silence before he spoke again. “Little doll?”
You were a bit startled at his sudden attention to you. “Y-Yes?”
“Come here.”
You hesitated, not fully sure what Mingi wanted. Ever since that tea incident, you’ve become more wary of him - more terrified since clearly, an audience was never going to stop him. However, that hesitance must’ve come off as helplessness because you saw Wooyoung’s eyes lit into recognition, immediately leaping to action to guide you by the arm towards Mingi.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to taste test them?” Wooyoung asked casually, raising a brow as Mingi opened the box, revealing the most perfect cherries you have ever seen in your life. You had to make an effort not to drool at the sight. Pretending you couldn’t see them was sad.
Even Mingi was impressed as he let out a soft hum. “Mr. Yamada doesn’t deserve a whole box.”
Wooyoung barked out a laugh as he returned back to the mini bar, leaning against it. “Yeah, I told him you despised tardiness. Even I’m getting pissed that he’s still not here.”
“Anyway,” he continued after taking a quiet sip of brandy. “Will Yunho assist you during the meeting? I didn’t see him in the lobby earlier.”
“Yunho isn’t needed. What I need is my translator,” he answered, eyes lifting up to you slowly. “And she’s right in front of me.”
The way he said it made your stomach tighten. Wooyoung paused, the surprise visible across his entire face. “Your what?” He asked, opening his mouth to say something again. “But—”
“Cherries are supposed to be off-season in Japan right now,” Mingi interrupted smoothly, taking one from the box carefully. “I’m surprised you even got your slimy hands on one box.”
Thick silence enveloped the entire room for a moment longer than what you deemed comfortable. Sometimes, you underestimated how tiring it was to feign sight - to stare at one space and pretend that the world wasn’t moving around you while you tried not to openly make eye contact with anyone because that’ll give you away instantly.
Then, Mingi’s gaze settles onto you. “Have you ever tried one of these?”
You frowned at the random question. “Cherries? Yes. The premium kind? Never.”
Mingi doesn’t respond, only humming in affirmation. Then, slowly, he lifted the cherry to his mouth. You ceased breathing then and there, barely stopping your knees from buckling under the weight of his stare. Heat crept up from your neck all the way to your ears as you watched his thick lips slowly envelope the red cherry with his saliva.
His eyes never left you as his tongue deliberately dragged against it, flicking the fruit left and right before he pulled the stem off with his teeth. It was unhurried and intentional, extremely obscene in the way he licked it with every second that passed between the two of you. Wooyoung could only watch, mouth parted, eyes comically wide in disbelief, but Mingi paid him no mind.
Instead, he leaned forward, plucking the cherry out from his lips to hold it towards your lips. “Open your mouth, love,” he murmured. “Try it.”
The initial disgust almost overpowered you, but refusing wasn’t an option. Reluctantly, you parted your lips to accept the cherry into your mouth. Across the room, Wooyoung let out the strangest little sound.
“Wait—” he squeaked, reaching his hand out instinctively, but it was too late. He grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut, biting into his fists, visibly cringing at the inappropriateness.
All you felt was the instantaneous heat that spread through your body. Sweetness automatically burst into your mouth, but underneath that was an undertone that didn’t belong in cherries - mint. The taste hit you so hard that your stomach flipped. It was the same scent you always caught on Mingi’s breath whenever he got too close, which happened more often than not.
Mingi didn’t react - at least, not in the usual way he did. The smirk that was always plastered on his face whenever he did something heinous was missing and the amusement that always danced in his eyes was absent. Instead, his eyes were dark, gaze heavy with intent as something unreadable settled over his features.
It was almost possessive in a way that made your skin crawl, and somehow, that terrified you more than anything he’s ever done. “Good girl,” he whispered quietly, so quietly that you weren’t sure if you were even meant to hear it even though you knew it was for you.
The meeting did not go well. It wasn’t because Mingi had somehow screwed it up on purpose or the client lowballing him enough to make him angry - on the contrary, the meeting went terrific. No, the meeting went horribly for you, specifically, because Mingi kicked you out.
Hongjoong was also present but he could tell something was amiss when he came in. Unfortunately, he was smart enough to go to Wooyoung, who had no problem whispering to him what just went down with you and Mingi. Hongjoong’s disgusted, but not surprised, expression was enough to make you want to disappear.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, Mr. Yamada was a raging pervert the entire time. He leered at you the entire time like he was undressing you and the discomfort made it difficult to stay still.
“You’re a beautiful thing, aren’t you?” He grinned, licking his lips in a way that made your stomach churn. “Does Mingi have a thing for hiring pretty translators?”
“T-Thank you,” you forced a smile. “Uhm, about the investments—”
“It’s too bad you’re blind, but I don’t mind. Why don’t you work with me, instead? I can already tell that Mingi doesn’t spoil you properly.”
Your stomach churned further when he leaned back on his seat, eyes dragging all over you in ways that felt violating. But everybody’s eyes were on you, waiting for you to translate everything despite the way your body stiffened at every malicious stare this man gave you.
“You need better clothes, not these shabby ones,” he stated shamelessly, eyes dipping lower. “And those legs,” he paused to exhale through his nose. “Mingi’s an idiot. If you were with me, I’d dress you up nice to show off this delicate figure of yours…”
It was when his hand started to move to touch you did you actually panic. Suddenly, papers scattered all over the floor near you, making everybody pause. “Oh, geez,” Hongjoong muttered flatly, not even apologetic. “Terribly clumsy today, aren’t we, Jung?”
“Yes,” Wooyoung raised one brow as he stared at the Japanese pervert. “Yes, we are, Kim.”
Hongjoong crouched down to gather the papers, but not before shooting Mr. Yamada a look so cold that it had the older man withdrawing his hands. It was then that you released a breath you didn’t even realise you were holding in.
“Y/N.”
Your spine straightened instantly. That was Mingi. Your stomach dropped because you just realised that all throughout this, he had completely remained silent. “Y-Yes?”
“You’re dismissed.”
You paled. “M-Mingi,” you blurted out in surprise. As much as possible, you tried not to say his name in professional settings even though he allowed you to. “I didn’t do anything, I swear—”
Mingi gave you a look that made your mouth shut immediately. “I won’t say it twice.”
And that’s how you found yourself walking out of the building with your thoughts spiraling in every direction. At least it was nighttime, you told yourself, sighing as you waited for the elevator. Pretty much all the employees have left and that meant that you didn’t have to stumble around pretending you couldn’t find your way out. For once, you could simply walk normally.
But as you were about to push the door open to leave, you cursed. You left some documents behind, ones you wanted to take home to work on since the deadline was in two days. Suppressing a groan, you begrudgingly turned around to go back to Mingi’s office, already dreading how embarrassing it was going to be.
That embarrassment soon transformed into utter shock when you heard a loud bang when you got to the office floor. You stopped dead in your tracks, eyes widened at how that sound exploded across the empty hallway. No, that can’t be, you thought. But there was no denying it - you knew that sound intimately.
You ran towards the sound before your brain could catch up, stunned at how you ended up right in front of Mingi’s office. The door was slightly ajar, just enough where you could peek in without being seen. You barely stopped the gasp from your lips as you covered your mouth in horror. There, on the couch, lay Mr. Yamada with his head hung at an unnatural angle.
Standing over his body was Mingi, gun hung loosely in his hand, face speckled with blood. Your stomach lurched violently, because once again, you were looking at a murderer. Lucky for you this time, he didn’t know you were here. But you, you could see him. You could see how blank his expression was, like he didn’t just casually take another life like it was nothing.
“You out of your fucking mind or something?” Hongjoong asked with one brow raised, his voice breaking the silence that seemed to temporarily make everybody’s world stop for a second.
Mingi merely scoffed and Wooyoung barked out a laugh so hearty, it was almost contagious. “Jesus Christ, Mingi,” he snorted, walking away from the window towards the dead body, nudging the foot with his own. “Can’t believe this is how this old bastard went. Good riddance.”
You felt your knees weaken. No one looked shocked or even sick at the sight of a man getting shot and actively bleeding out against the couch. “Really, Mingi? This was supposed to be a null zone,” Hongjoong sighed, more inconvenienced than disturbed. “You couldn’t wait a few more days? Or, at the very least, get out of here?”
“For what? I’ve been meaning to off the bastard anyway,” Mingi paused to nudge Mr. Yamada’s shoulder with the gun muzzle. “He’s been on the shit list for a while, couldn’t really let the opportunity slip away.”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with him eye fucking your translator now, would it?”
Your hand trembled violently against your mouth at the mere mention of you. Mingi plops down the couch, producing a cigarette and lighter out of nowhere. “Nuances,” he mumbled, exhaling smoke rings from his mouth up in the air. “I hate perverts, anyway. They’re very bad for society.”
The absurdity of that made you want to choke. Across the room, Wooyoung lets out another laugh. “Ah, yes. Because fuckers like you are the backbone of society,” he snorted, shamelessly opening the box of cherries to pop one in his mouth. “Anyway, why are you keeping her?”
Mingi doesn’t answer right away, inhaling another slow drag before exhaling. “I already told you why,” he replied, flicking the ash into a crystal tray. “The trail. I need to keep a close eye on her.”
Your heart stopped, coldness washing over your body. He knew. He’s always known. To be fair, if you recognised him immediately months ago, Mingi wasn’t a fool to not recognise you either, but hearing it made it ten times worse than it already was. Hongjoong immediately frowns. “Fuck’s sake, Mingi. She’s blind.”
That made Mingi pause. He turns his head, eyes darkened into something you’ve never seen before, one that made bile rise up your throat. “Is that supposed to mean anything?”
“Song Mingi,” Hongjoong hissed. “There are rules to this—”
“Kim Hongjoong. Don’t test me, I may be in a good mood, but I’m warning you,” Mingi stated. The temperature in the room dropped instantly. His voice never rose, but something about it made your skin prickle. “Rules are suggestions until I deem them otherwise.”
Heavy and uncomfortable silence followed. It was a subtle threat, one that made you understand why Mingi was to be feared in the first place. Mingi leaned back against the couch, his gaze fixed on Hongjoong, unblinking and calculated. The corners of his mouth twitched when Hongjoong sighed before looking away in exasperation.
Wooyoung tossed another cherry stem onto the table. “Christ,” he muttered. “She’s of no use to you, just let her go, you sadist.”
“Mhhm,” Mingi hummed, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Sorry,” he said. “Can’t do it.”
“Can’t?” Wooyoung echoed, eyes narrowed knowingly. “Or won’t? Does Yeosang even know?”
Mingi didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at him. Instead, he grabs a nearby cloth to wipe all the blood off of him. “Clean this up,” he ordered, standing up to adjust his sleeves. “I don’t give a fuck what Yeosang thinks. I’ll bust his head open if he has a problem with it. Anyway, I need a favour.”
“Don’t bother. He already knows and he’s not happy,” Hongjoong scoffed, gesturing towards Mr. Yamada. “What’s more important than dragging this piece of shit out here without being seen?”
“Of course he does, he’s Kang fucking Yeosang,” he snarled, tossing the bloodied cloth onto the corpse’s chest without a care in the world. “Go to the mall. You’re going shopping.”
You didn’t stay further, running to the exit as quietly and as fast as you can. By the time you reached the exit, your stomach gave out entirely, barely making it to the sidewalk before dropping to your knees and proceeding to vomit out everything you ate. Tears blurred your vision, your entire body shook, but the bile still burned your throat.
When you were done, you pulled out your phone, your trembling fingers barely able to dial the person you needed the most. “S-Sannie?” You squeaked when he picked up on the first ring, not being able to hold your tears any longer. “Can you pick me up from work?”
You didn’t know how you were going to return to work today pretending that everything was fine. You’ve thought about it over the weekend, drunk out of your mind with San convincing you to just quit at that point. He wasn’t wrong; you were working in a den full of monsters. But you knew there was no point - if Mingi found you once, he would find you again just as easily.
You were expecting to see Seonghwa or Mingi, himself, but to your surprise, there was no one, which was odd because you knew Mingi always arrived before anyone else. A part of you was relieved because you had no idea how you'd face Mingi but another part of you wanted to throw up because the office was pristine, no traces of anything heinous occurring at all.
A thought crosses your mind - would you be crazy if you tried to find some proof of Mingi's illicit affairs? You contemplated it. You couldn't pretend to be blind forever, it was getting harder because your emotions were getting difficult to contain, but you needed leverage in case he tried to do something to you - in case he decided that you weren’t worth keeping anymore.
With nothing to lose, you started rummaging through his drawers, careful not to mess anything up. The first few ones rendered nothing, until you got to the very bottom. There was only one folder in there. You frowned, picking it up and inspecting it. It was plain black with no company logo on it or any department, but it did have a label on it.
Confidential: High-Value Targets, and beneath it were the letters, K.O.S. Your brows furrowed, what the hell does that even mean? Opening it made less sense. Inside were names and dates, some of them crossed out, but before you could try to understand what this all meant, you heard voices right outside by the door.
“Hongjoong has sordid taste,” Seonghwa’s familiar voice stated. Your blood runs cold, nearly dropping the folder. “Christ, do I have to do everything around here? Promote me or something.”
As if things weren’t bad enough, you heard Mingi let out a short unimpressed sound. “Says you. Anyway, are you going home?” He asked, changing the subject.
You scrambled to put everything back into place, barely reaching the couch to sit on it as if you weren’t just snooping. “No,” Seonghwa scoffed as he pushed the doors open. “I have the gala to arrange—oh, Y/N, good morning,” he greeted warmly with a smile that always eased you.
But Mingi did not. Instead, his eyes lingered on you, assessing you more than usual, or was that your paranoia talking? Maybe not, especially when his eyes settled on his desk, then back at you. Your pulse climbed to your throat when Mingi shook his head, almost affectionately, a small smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth.
You thought he was going to say something about it, but instead, he turned to Seonghwa, relieving him of the several shopping bags hanging from his arm. “Wait, not this,” Seonghwa said, taking the smallest one before approaching you.
“Here,” he smiled, placing the bag on the couch beside you. “I stopped by that bakery we talked about one time and got reminded of you. I hope you like them, they’re just an assortment of pastries.”
Your eyes lit in surprise, touched that he even remembered such mundane information. “Seonghwa,” you said, heart squeezing in regret that you couldn’t express your thanks properly since you still had to pretend you were blind. “Thank you, really.”
Unfortunately, he had to leave after. Seonghwa had always been very kind to you, always sincere with his words and never tried to dupe you because you were ‘blind.’ The problem was, now you were alone with Mingi in the room. Nothing ever good came with being alone with Mingi.
For a moment, he simply observed you, but he, too, probably felt the weight of the silence. “You won’t be doing your usual work today,” he said.
You blinked, not expecting that at all. “What am I doing, then?”
Instead of replying, Mingi walks towards you and sets the bags down. You stiffened, the closer he got, the harder it became to control your expressions, and when his fingers gently closed around yours, your heart took a massive leap. He guided your hand forward, letting your fingertips brush against the bags. By the time he stopped, you counted no less than fifteen.
You gulped. No wonder Seonghwa looked so ready to drop them the moment he saw fit. “W-What am I touching?” You asked carefully, pretending you couldn’t see some of them - different arrays of clothes, all feminine, and all just about your perfect sizing.
“Clothes, lots of them,” he said, dropping your hand. “They’re all yours, precious.”
You stared blankly ahead. For a second, you genuinely thought he’d lost his mind. He sighed, nudging one of the bags with his foot. “There’s the annual gala tonight,” he began. “There will be a lot of future investors, clients, all that jazz. Then, the next day we have a short conference and an after party, so we’ll be staying in the hotel like last time. I already booked your room.”
“Okay?” You drawled, not quite getting what he was trying to insinuate.
His brows arched. “Okay?” He repeated, the mocking repetition making you want to slam one of the bags to his handsome face. “You’re coming with me. I kind of need you to translate.”
“No, I got that part,” you said, trying not to roll your eyes. “What I’m trying to understand is the excessive amount of clothes for one night.”
Mingi’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t mad, rather, he looked more offended than anything which was puzzling to you. “Excessive, you say? I think I can determine that, myself.”
“I...understand,” you said slowly. “It’s still too much. There’s no less than fifteen bags, Mingi.”
“And?” He raised an annoyed brow like you were insulting him by just pointing that out.
You blinked, opening your mouth before closing it, and then trying again. “It’s one night.”
“And?”
That shut you up. That one was sharper, his tone getting more pointed and snappier. You could see his patience visibly thinning by how his eyes have darkened. “Mingi,” you sighed. “Nobody needs this much for one night.”
A humourless chuckle escaped him. Shaking his head, he leans by the nearby desk, crossing his arms. “You seem to be under the impression that everything in there is just for tonight,” he pointed out. “There’s a variety of stuff in there. Dresses, work clothes, shoes, et cetera.”
You swallowed, suddenly aware of the quiet between you two stretching thin. These weren’t just bags anymore, they were a deliberate purchase catered especially for you. That was the part that bothered you more than the quantity - that Mingi bought all of these just for you. It felt like chaotic indulgence, and underneath the uncertainty, was something inside your chest that started forming, something your traitorous heart was getting harder to ignore.
“I can’t accept these, then,” you said firmly, deciding to stand your ground.
That was not an answer he was expecting. You could tell you said the wrong words when something flashed across his face, gone so quickly you almost missed it. “Can’t?” He asked calmly, a little too calm than you liked. “What do you mean?”
You pursed your lips, thinking of what to say without aggravating him. “You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t, precious,” Mingi cocked his head with a smile. It was thin, dangerously thin. “Please elaborate, Y/N. I must insist.”
You shifted uncomfortably, not willing to tell him the truth. You didn’t want to owe him, didn’t want anything tying you closer to him than you already were. You wanted distance and an escape route; a future where Song Mingi wasn’t going to be involved, and that included reminders of him even if it was the littlest of things.
Your silence was ticking him off. Mingi’s jaw flexed, it was barely noticeable, but enough to tell that you were beginning to irritate him. “I rest my case, then. I don’t see an issue with—”
“I do,” you interrupted. “This is ridiculous, Mingi—”
“Love.”
Now that actually shuts you up. The way he said it made it sound less like a nickname and more like a warning by the slight edge in his voice. But you weren’t going to budge even if the fear was slowly washing your resolve away. “I said what I said, Mingi. I can’t take them.”
“Hmm,” he hummed. His expression remained unreadable, but his stare had something darker flickering behind his eyes now. Immediately, the atmosphere shifts. You knew this feeling - the one where you’d accidentally stepped on a landmine and were waiting for it to explode.
And maybe it did, because Mingi went from standing in front of you to his face inches away from yours. The couch dipped when he propped his knee, his entire upper body leaning over you, one hand bracing itself against the back of the couch beside your head, and you? You froze, trapped underneath him with nowhere to go.
You prayed he couldn’t hear how hard your stupid heart was thumping. He was close, far too close. His cologne immediately envelops you, and you hated it. Hated the fact that despite knowing exactly what kind of person Mingi was, your body automatically reacted to his presence. “U-Uhm,” you stammered like an idiot. “I don’t think—”
“You’re right, you don’t think,” he whispered, tone casual. “Because you seemed perfectly capable of accepting Seonghwa’s pastries earlier. You didn’t even have to think about it.”
That statement hit you so unexpectedly hard that you had to blink owlishly, mouth opening agape in disbelief. Maybe he wasn’t so casual about it, after all. For some reason, that statement carried a bit of a bite to it, a bitterness that felt entirely out of place for someone of Mingi’s personality as far as you’re concerned.
“B-But,” you stuttered, not really knowing what to say, before you cleared your throat. “That’s different,” you reasoned, gesturing to the bags. “That’s…different.”
“Is it?” Mingi asked, somehow looking more irritated even if his face was expressionless. Then, his other hand moved to your waist, his fingers deliberately settling themselves onto your skin through your clothes. “Tell me, then. I want to hear it.”
You gulped, body tensing in a way that you were positive he felt judging by the faint smile on his face. You hated the way your stomach tightened, hated how every nerve ending in your body suddenly became alive, hated even more how natural this all was to him as though he hadn’t just short-circuited your brain. It was getting difficult to breathe and you hated him for it.
It felt like hours being underneath Mingi like this. The hand at your waist didn’t move, and if anything, it felt more and more present like a constant reminder of how easily he could invade your space if he really wanted to. “Look me in the eye,” he murmured, voice low and gruff.
You lifted your head, freezing at the last second. He almost got you there. You lifted your head, deliberately staring at something else like a blind person would. Mingi was still waiting, a small smirk on his face. “Wrong direction, doll. That’s my neck,” he chuckled in amusement. “Higher.”
A wave of humiliation ripples through you when you realised that you were, indeed, staring at his neck. But, you’d be damned if you looked him in the eye, so you settled on his lips. But that soon turned into panic when his hand started to travel up your waist. “No,” he murmured. “Higher.”
The moment he said that, his hand moved slightly higher as well. It makes your breath catch, your throat locking at how tense you felt. Your eyes flicker hesitantly, lifting up to his nose this time. “Higher, baby doll,” he repeated, voice going even deeper and rougher. “Higher.”
Something in him changed. It was subtle in the way his eyes cast a dark shadow over it, his breath getting shallower as his hand glided further up. A faint exhale escapes him, and you stop the squeak that almost left you when he bit his bottom lip lightly. Your eyes didn’t move, but his hand kept going higher and higher, right below your breasts.
Panic settled in and before you could think of your mistake and the consequences of it, you looked him straight in the eye like he asked, your eyes clearly holding fright as you stared at him. Mingi’s hand stops exactly on the curve of your tit, a couple of inches below your nipple. The both of you stared at each other for a long moment; a predator studying prey.
You weren’t in the mood to pretend, not right now. Mingi stared at the way your chest heaved up and down, the way your legs instinctively squeezed together. You shuddered at his touch, stifling any damning sounds, but it was when his hard started moving again that you snapped out of the daze.
“Mingi—”, you gasped, aggressively pushing his hand away.
“What I give you is what you get,” he said, finally leaning away and putting distance between you. “And you’ll find yourself grateful for it.”
The statement hung in the air. It was neither a threat nor a promise, but somehow, that made it worse. At first, your mind reached for the most logical explanation, but maybe this was his way of controlling you in a way that made sense only to him. Your hands flexed at your sides without you noticing.
“You didn’t ask me,” you spoke.
“I didn’t think I had to,” he stated confidently, completely certain of himself. “Pick what to wear from the bags or I will. You don’t want that. The gala starts at seven.”
The gala was no less than glamorous. Everywhere you looked was filled with pretentiousness covered in glitz; polished smiles and conversations disguised as networking when in reality, it was just another ruse for some sort of power play. You hated every bit of it and you could not wait until you were back in your hotel room.
Unfortunately for you, this happened to be exactly the sort of environment where Mingi thrived in and you spent the majority of it being with him. The business itself wasn’t particularly exciting, still, you translated them all for him without complaining - all while resisting the urge to fall asleep in the middle of this bloody ballroom.
The irony wasn’t lost on you, though, because Mingi looked good tonight. Infuriatingly so. The black suit fit him perfectly, tailored to accentuate his broad shoulders and long legs, blonde hair pushed back to expose his sharp features that gleamed under the chandelier lights.
The worst part was that he looked like he belonged here. People flocked to him naturally. Sure, his status might have helped, but such was the charisma of one Song Mingi, really.
But despite the growing crowd vying for even a sliver of his attention, Mingi always found a way to pull you back. “Stay here,” he murmured, almost a warning, when you tried to wander off.
Because God knows you wanted to. You needed to get away from him. The memory of what happened in the office earlier refused to leave your mind, and now, every time he stepped too close, the way his hand brushed your lower back to guide you through the crowd, and every time he leaned in to whisper something, your body immediately remembered.
But none of these surprised you - what actually bothered you was what Mingi wasn’t doing.
Turns out that there are some things that Mingi couldn’t even stand no matter how hard he pretends. Or, perhaps, you were the only one who noticed. Being around the blind makes people reveal themselves especially when they think nobody was there to watch. But you’ve always been here, mainly because Mingi had a thing for keeping you in check.
He hated being here, that much you could tell. Despised it, even. To others, Mingi looked the same, but you knew better. The way his eyes narrowed every time someone tried to talk to him was one thing, but his smirk was hollow and carried no weight, and his responses were beginning to get shorter and shorter as the night went on.
His patience was wearing thin and that realisation was so fascinating to you. You’ve seen Mingi annoyed, amused, exploit, kill, but one thing you’ve never seen him be was be uncomfortable. The thought immediately makes you snort under your breath, and of course, Mingi notices.
His eyes narrowed, staring at you for a few seconds before he let out a long sigh, fingers slightly loosening his tie. “Do you need anything?”
The question surprised you, but the way he asked it almost created a big riff inside your chest. He wasn’t asking out of inconvenience, he looked like he actually wanted to ask you if you needed something. The thing was, the concern sounded so unnatural for him that you had a hard time conceiving an answer for him.
But you didn’t have to. Mingi was still waiting for an answer when, suddenly, his eyes darkened. The change in his body posture was subtle, but it was there. His back straightened, shoulders squared, and his chin lifted. You were stunned, you’ve never seen him like this before - not for investors, not for clients, and not for people who held twice the amount of power he did.
Someone was approaching and when that newcomer came in your line of view, you immediately understood why. This man looked like he should’ve been in a magazine cover, beautiful in a way that was not even fair. But that wasn’t what made you freeze - it was his eyes. They were cold, but not cold in a way that Mingi’s were. They weren’t sharp or predatory, they were just…cold.
This man was danger wrapped in silk to hide the rot underneath. The way he stood was restrained, his presence already squeezing your chest with unyielding tension. You understood why Mingi immediately tensed the moment he saw him.
“Yeosang,” Mingi greeted with a subtle nod. “Always glad to see you alive despite your efforts.”
You brows furrowed, the name tickling your brain to remember where it had heard it before. Yeosang returns the gesture. “Charmed,” he flatly stated. “My father isn’t happy, Mingi.”
You wanted to choke where you stood. That was it - no smile, no pleasantries, no nothing. Just straight into business. Mingi lightly scoffs, swirling his whiskey once before answering. “I would say that’s unfortunate, but it sounds to me that that’s his problem, and not my own.”
Yeosang stared at him for quite some time before cocking his head slightly. “You tainted the null zone,” he stated, expression unchanged. “Don’t mistake silence for approval. Though I must say, you’ve gotten…creative. I see you’ve also started including variables in your equation.”
The people around you blurred, and you were left stuck between two men who were clearly fighting for the upper hand even though you had no idea what they were talking about. “I aim to please,” Mingi shrugged, though you could see how tense he was. “It’s called adapting.”
Yeosang’s mouth curls into a small sneer. “Adaptable people know where the line is.”
But Mingi wasn’t having it. His eyes narrow into small slits, returning the glare with equal ferocity. “They also know when the line has moved.”
There was a pause, both men refusing to give out as they both stared at each other, communicating between their eyes. The measured silence was louder than all of the mindless chatter and ear-splitting music echoing in the ballroom and the discomfort was slowly creeping into your insides.
“What now?” Yeosang finally said, the taunting clear in his tone.
Mingi took another sip from his glass before setting it onto a passing waiter’s tray without even looking. “What else?” He jabbed in contempt. “I’ll deal with it. Like I always fucking do.”
Something flickered in Yeosang’s eyes, gone within the next second. Of course, Mingi notices. “Don’t even start,” Mingi said lowly, voice hardening. “Everything’s been done accordingly and neatly all within the given timeframe. You and I both know I’ve gone the extra mile way out of my area of responsibility every time. I have never failed. I never will. Not now, not ever.”
Yeosang scoffed. Your stomach begins to churn. Neither of them raised their voices or their fists, but this conversation felt more dangerous than any lingering violence you’ve witnessed. That statement earns the smallest reaction from Mingi. He lifts a brow, an action you knew too well - an action you knew was going to cost the nearest person he set his sights on.
“Is it not? My record says otherwise, Yeosang,” he said, voice sharpening on its edges. “I’ve been cleaning messes since the beginning. Run the reports and my every movement, I don’t care. Nothing’s off, nothing’s missing. So,” Mingi takes one step closer, enough to show that he wasn’t backing down. “Unless your dad has gone senile, then there’s nothing he can reprimand me on. He can talk to me, himself.”
For the first time, Yeosang’s expression shifts. It was subtle, but you could tell it was between disappointment and a warning. His gaze swept imperceptibly through the crowd before settling back on Mingi. There was pause before he finally sighed, his shoulders loosening visibly, eyes taking on something more human in them. “Don’t get too cocky,” he whispered.
A small smirk crosses Mingi’s face as he lets out a small huff. “You and I both know I’m not just someone. And about the…variable,” he said, eyes briefly landing on you before locking eyes with Yeosang once more. “It’s accounted for. But that’s not why you’re here. You didn’t approach me to criticise my methods.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he sets his sights on you, quiet but clinical. “You’re Y/N,” he stated.
You blinked, not expecting to be acknowledged by this beautifully dreadful man. As you were about to open your mouth to respond, for the first time since Yeosang approached, Mingi looked genuinely irritated. His hands suddenly grips your arm. It was neither tight nor gentle, but it was enough where you knew he was making his presence and intentions known.
“She is,” he answered quickly before you even could. Mingi doesn’t look at you as he speaks, but the pressure of his fingers slightly increases, but more than that, you could feel a slight tremble to them. You would even dare go as far as say that his hold felt desperate.
Yeosang’s eyes drop to Mingi’s hand, a slow, knowing smirk ghosting across his lips. But then, his eyes bore straight onto yours and your heart leapt out of your chest, too startled to look away. You immediately dimmed your eyes, hoping he didn’t notice how alert they were, but he kept staring, even slightly tilting his head as his penetrating eyes inspected yours.
“Huh,” he huffed in amusement, his mouth twitching at its corners. He sounded genuinely interested. “I’m impressed. Such tenacity. No wonder you’ve survived for this long.”
Mingi’s jaw shifts, his hold on you tightening once more before relaxing. Yeosang notices, his smile growing wider. “Don’t,” he warned. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Yeosang merely nods, but he all managed but two steps before stopping. You held your breath in anticipation, but what you weren’t expecting was for him to look back, eyes the softest you’ve seen. It wasn’t much, but it was enough where you thought you imagined the other version of him.
He reaches out, hand resting on Mingi’s shoulder, and by how Mingi didn’t flinch, you could tell it was a welcome and familiar gesture; almost comforting and brotherly, even.
Yeosang’s eyes settle on you briefly before he looks away. “I won’t tell if you won’t, Min,” he said quietly. Mingi managed the subtlest nod. Then, Yeosang was already gone. Approaching said table was the only thing left to do at that point.
And it wasn’t a pleasant experience. These people weren’t even predators; they were vultures and bottom feeders, just hovering over the weakest link before they did what they did best. It was revolting, and unfortunately for you, Mingi’s temper wasn’t helping.
He spent the entire time digging his fingers in to make these people bled, hooking in to let the pain fester more. Safe to say that being in the middle of this political fiasco was not for you in the slightest.
“As an outsider, what are your views on intelligence?” Mingi asked lightheartedly, though anybody with common sense can tell that his eyes said otherwise. It was awkward to translate that to the few people who didn’t speak the language, but you had to do it.
“I like how you never let facts get in the way of your opinions,” he whispered under his breath while another investor was explaining his plans for his company. The secondhand embarrassment of seeing the other man’s smile slowly fade and fumble to collect what was left of his social dignity was something you never wanted to witness ever again.
It wasn’t long before they started targeting you. It was to be expected - you were the weakest out of everybody in this table, the cripple, so to speak. If they couldn’t get to Mingi, they were surely going to take their frustrations out on the easy prey to salvage what was left of their egos. At first, they were polite about it, then they became just loud enough for you to hear.
“That’s the translator? My, so the rumours were true, after all.”
“But she’s blind. KQ couldn’t find anyone else that can at least look you in the eye?”
“I wouldn’t trust someone who can’t even see the people she’s negotiating with.”
Your fingers curled around your untouched champagne flute to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Imbeciles, you thought. You weren’t really blind, but of course, they can’t know that. You were playing the long game here and their words were nothing compared to the unknown of what would happen if Mingi found out. You didn’t even want to know. For now, you stayed silent.
But Mingi had different ideas. You and all the other patrons on the table flinched when his low chuckle pierced through the hushed conversations. “You know,” he started, gaze settling on the people who had questioned your abilities. “The funny thing about natural intellect is that it often doesn’t require sight.”
The implication was clear. No one spoke and a few nearby guests from the other table coughed awkwardly into their drinks. You were stunned into silence, your chest tightening as you watched Mingi take a sip from his glass, his posture as relaxed as ever. You wanted to believe that he meant something else - that he was doing this for his own interest - but you’d be lying to yourself.
One of the men who insulted you forced an awkward smile that looked like it was meant to be smug. “Ah, we were just curious,” he smirked. “KQ prides itself on excellence. I simply meant that eyesight is important in business.”
“So is a brain,” Mingi raised a brow, voice calm.
The dig was so pointed and deliberate that the people around were stuck in between snickering or stuttering in surprise, but the man’s face just reddened in embarrassment, perhaps in anger. “Come again?” He huffed in annoyance.
Mingi smirked behind his glass, scoffing softly. “All I’m saying,” he spoke calmly. “Is that I’ve met people who could see perfectly fine yet choose to be sightless. I’ve also met some who lost their sight along the way. I’m not sure who’s worse.”
His eyes lingered on every single face on the table long enough to make every single of them visibly uncomfortable. His words sent a shiver down your spine, so you turned to look at him, but he wasn’t looking at anybody else anymore. He was looking at you - no - he was looking through you. “Your entire existence has been led by your blindness.”
He continued, voice lowered enough not to be unheard, but enough to paralyse you because this felt personal. “And since you can’t see,” he paused as your pulse stumbled. “And the more nothing happens, the more dreadful it feels.”
A strange silence envelops the entire table. Some people gave an awkward laugh, but you barely noticed them, your focus entirely on the man beside you. This felt different. Every conversation you’ve had with Mingi felt like you were being hunted, but now? It didn’t even feel like he was mocking you for your blindness - it felt like he understood it.
Not the lie, but the fear of it and the suffocating uncertainty of not knowing whether or not he would finally do something drastic the next time you saw him. Your heart beat painfully against your ribs, and you couldn’t understand why because you should have been afraid.
So why did it feel like that the only person who seemed to perfectly understand the prison you’ve entrapped yourself in was the very same man who had built it?
You already knew that Mingi was detested being there - loathed the people around him, really - and that was fine, but even psychopaths like Song Mingi had their limits. You just weren’t expecting Mingi to act upon that unease in the most unconventional of ways. You shouldn’t be surprised anymore, yet somehow, you still were.
The water in the tub had long since gone cold but you had barely noticed. The bathroom was too quiet, especially in contrast with all of tonight’s events - the glittering chandeliers, forced smiles, conversations with hidden meanings, Song Mingi - all of it. The lavender scented bath salts that should have been calming, but they didn’t even work. Instead, you still felt sick.
You closed your eyes, but that was a mistake. Immediately, fragments of the evening flashed in your head. You sank deeper in the water to will yourself to think about anything else, but your mind refused. The last thing you remembered was running to your room after seeing Mingi and Wooyoung together in the emergency stairwell, but how did you even get there?
“Go to your room and rest, doll,” Mingi had spoken the moment he took you out of that suffocating ballroom. “You need it. We still need to attend the after party tomorrow.”
You absentmindedly played with the bubbles floating about, swirling mindless, abstract patterns with your fingertips. You remembered glancing at Mingi, reading to say your good nights, but he wasn’t even looking at you. Instead, he was staring at the ballroom doors, eyes fixed on it as if he was waiting for something to happen. You shivered at the memory.
“W-What about you?” You asked. “Are you not resting yet?”
He shook his head, gaze already down the hallway opposite the ballroom. “No. I’m going to smoke for a bit,” he flatly spoke, almost distracted. He grabs something from his coat pocket. “This is the list of people I need you to memorise for tomorrow,” he said, handing you a flash drive. “Go on. Jongho’s in the lobby to help you to your room. I’ll swing by later to get it back.”
You turned your head to the side where the flash drive lay on the pristine marble sink, still untouched, not knowing what exactly to do with it - not when you knew Mingi lied to you. You knew for a fact he didn’t smoke. So when he turned his back to walk away, you hung out but not because you were waiting for Jongho; no, you were going to see what Mingi was up to.
You should’ve just listened, because the next thing you knew, you were hidden by the staircase door, your eyes wide, mouth agape in fear and disbelief, watching Mingi’s smirk turn into a smug grin while Wooyoung grabbed him by the collar, eyes narrowed dangerously into slits, veins popping from his neck all the way to his temples in sheer anger.
“Mingi, you piece of shit,” he seethed, voice scathing as he slammed Mingi against the concrete wall. “It was you, wasn’t it? I know it was you. The fucking gala is in shambles because of you.”
At that time you didn’t know it was related. When you were tailing Mingi, there was a sudden commotion that erupted in the ballroom when you passed it, panicked voices and frantic demands for an emergency hotline. The realisation made you pale, because now you knew why he looked at that door like he was waiting - because he actually was.
“Careful with the suit, Youngie. I happen to like this one a lot,” he murmured, not even bothered in the slightest. “Mighty bold of you to assume I had something to do with it.”
The playful, teasing investor who ate cherries was nowhere to be found. His usually warm face had darkened with rage, fists tightening even further against Mingi’s expensive suit. “Cut the bullshit,” he spat. “I was literally at the other table listening in while you were mouthing off to that dead trash.What the fuck were you thinking?”
The victim flashed across your mind almost instantly and your blood ran cold, realisation settling into your bones with horrifying clarity. Mingi had killed again and the one who died was none other than the executive who he spent the entire time digging into. And as if things weren’t bad enough, you saw a shadow approaching from the other side of the hallway.
It was Jongho. He was about to open his mouth, but you hurriedly put your finger to your mouth, your teary eyes begging him to be silent and not speak while pointing at the staircase. His eyes widened, but luckily, he did exactly what you wanted and opted to stand beside you to listen in as well, though you think it was more because he was stunned into silence seeing you so panicked.
The both of you watched Wooyoung groan into his hands in sheer frustration before glaring at Mingi, looking like he was ready to throw him down the stairs. “God, Song Mingi, you just gave me a migraine and half,” he hissed, two seconds away from punching him. “Was he on the list?”
Mingi’s lips stretched at the corners. It wasn’t enough to be called a smile, but enough to show his canines. You remembered thinking how symbolic it was. “Oh. No, he wasn’t,” he replied.
Wooyoung stared, blinking twice like he had heard wrong. “I’m sorry?”
Mingi shrugged, casually straightening his tie. “I had no plans tonight, I genuinely wanted to leave this hellhole fast, so I wasn’t even going to do anything to the guy. He just pissed me off.”
Wooyoung stared more before exploding. “What?” His voice boomed through the entire staircase, loud and roaring, making you and Jongho both flinch at the intensity. “Mingi, that was blatant, you petty motherfucker—”
“I don’t get petty,” he interrupted with insulting calm. “I get even, Wooyoung.”
The amusement he had the entire time completely vanished. It was so unsettling. When Mingi looked back at Wooyoung, there was that terrifying cold that you only saw when he was in his murderous state.
“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood tonight,” he said, holding Wooyoung’s gaze without flinching. “I’d have caved your skull in with my shoe for cornering me like this.”
Jongho’s breath hitched. Mingi wasn’t joking and even Wooyoung seemed to recognise that. For the first time since confronting him, hesitation crossed his face, but Mingi wasn’t done.
“This place,” he gestures randomly with his hands. “Runs on order, chaos, and my patience. If there’s a problem, it isn’t what I did. It’s what everyone thinks they saw. And I suggest,” he pauses, head tilting, menacingly so. “You make sure they’re looking at the right thing.”
Wooyoung paused, face settling into a dangerous realisation. You watched him take a step back, face reddening bit by bit as a newfound rage seemed to overcome him. “Are you out of your fucking mind? You play god to stay on top of that mountain of shit you’re sitting on and you expect people to just forget and hope their attention diverts towards something else?”
Mingi smiled a bit, genuinely amused by the situation. “You misunderstand me,” he said, taking a step slow enough to feel deliberate. “You think I killed my way here? Because anybody can kill. You certainly have. You think the man who kills the most gets to stay on top, Jung Wooyoung?”
The question was almost conversational and it had you and Jongho both holding your breaths. Wooyoung said nothing as Mingi’s eyes stayed locked onto his. “Listen to them,” he gestured towards the direction of the ballroom. “Half the room thinks he had a heart attack, and the other half thinks otherwise. But it doesn’t matter, because by tomorrow, every single one of those stories will be more useful to me than the truth. It’s always the little ants that help me stay up.”
His face had emptied with nothing but those dead eyes that stared through people rather than at them, but it was the way his voice remained calm - that was the terrifying part. There was no ounce of guilt in them. Mingi continued, voice dropping lower. “You see, before I built my network, I don’t announce my intentions to the anthill. Before I pull the trigger, I don’t explain myself.”
“You want to know why?” Mingi asked. Wooyoung's body tensed when Mingi stepped closer, jaw tightening when the taller man’s fingers brushed against his tie to fix it. “Because they’re ants, Youngie,” he declared, gaze sharpening dangerously, fingers twisting the tie, causing Wooyoung to choke out before letting go. “And ants are far below my understanding.”
The way he said it was soft, but the words landed like a blade. Mingi sighed, eyes drifting briefly towards the ceiling. “But the world is round,” he mumbled thoughtfully with an almost child-like innocence. “I could be the ant to someone else next time. But not tonight,” his eyes hardened when they returned to Wooyoung. “Because right here, right now, they are the ants.”
You finally understood something that terrified you more than the murders themselves - Mingi thought he was above these people and genuinely cannot imagine anyone changing the story he had already decided for them. You had to get Jongho out of here before Mingi realises he had another witness.
“Jongho, please,” you begged, grabbing onto his jacket. “Take me to my room.”
Jongho didn’t hesitate or ask any questions. His hands were trembling the entire time, you could feel it, and you could only imagine what was going through his head; to know that the boss he had admired for so long was a cold and calculated murderer.
The walk back felt impossibly long, but the moment you entered your hotel room, Jongho took a deep breath to prepare himself for the barrage of questions that he had for you. “Y/N, what the hell was that? I need to know—”
“I’m not blind,” you blurted out before you could help it. “I-I lied. I can see perfectly.”
And somehow between this revelation and the conversation between Mingi and Wooyoung, this one seemed to surprise him the most. You told him everything - how you had lied from the very beginning because you had accidentally witnessed Mingi doing the same thing months prior. And, knowing how smart he was, Jongho asked why didn’t you just leave or, perhaps, not accept the job offer, so you also told him about the company card and how Mingi found you through it.
Jongho nodded as he took the information in, but you could see how his face had paled as he tried to keep his composure. “He would’ve found you regardless of where you were,” he mumbled, more to himself, in realisation. “Y/N, this is fucked. All of this is. Does anyone else know?”
You nodded, telling him San, your best friend, knew. By the time you were finished, your voice had gone hoarse, hands trembling uncontrollably. Your chest, however, did feel a little lighter. Letting all of this out felt good for once even if saying it out loud solidified the danger wrapped behind it.
But as you stared at the way Jongho just stood there, you couldn’t help but feel bad for him; your chest felt lighter simply because you now had someone to share the heaviness with.
In the end, Jongho thought it was best to keep acting normal until the dust settles. “If anything goes wrong,” he said sharply through veiled concern as he was about to leave your room. “And I mean anything, you come to me. I have a spare room in my apartment you both could crash in.”
You could have cried. Jongho took it better than you ever did and finally - God, finally - you felt like you weren’t alone. The cold embrace of the lavender scented water you were submerged in didn’t feel so biting anymore. You were so engrossed and lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice the bathroom door opening, though.
You didn’t know what you were expecting, but not once in your wildest dreams were you expecting to see Mingi standing by the door of the bathroom. In your peripheral vision, you can see his breath hitch, frozen from where he was standing, just as startled as you were.
You racked your brain for reasons why Mingi would be in your room to begin with, but you saw him staring at the flash drive on your sink and it hit you. You forgot that he was supposed to take it.
He looked shocked. It wasn’t the subtle surprise you’d coax out of him once in a while or that morbid curiosity he always had. No, this was pure, unadulterated shock; one you’ve never seen on his face before. This wasn’t one of his calculated performances - he genuinely did not expect to see you like this, and for the first time since you’d met him, he didn’t know what to do.
He wasn’t the only one, you were so caught-off guard that you couldn’t even move and this was when reality set in. You were in a bathtub and you were wearing nothing. You could hear the slow drip of the water from the faucet, the faint hum of the air conditioner just outside this suffocating, the ringing in your ears - everything. And God, that thought was so unsettling.
You became painfully aware of your vulnerability; of your bare shoulders and legs exposed to the cool air, of the thin sheet of bubbles that covered what little of your privacy, and every instinct told you to cover yourself and to scream at Mingi to get out. But you couldn’t. Blind people didn’t react to people silently appearing in their peripheral vision. Blind people never had the need to sink lower in cloudy bathwaters to protect their dignity from someone they didn’t know was there.
So, you remained still, keeping your gaze unfocused, praying that your breathing and your wild heartbeat wouldn’t betray you. With shaking hands, you reached for the shampoo bottle, missing it a few times on purpose for the sake of normalcy. In the dim, yellow lights of the luxurious bathroom, you just hoped that your reddened cheeks and ears weren’t so visible.
Mingi still didn’t move, and even if he did, you were expecting him to walk away as quietly as he crept in, but this was Mingi you were talking about and he was anything but. You had to stifle the alarmed yelp that wanted to escape your throat when he slid inside the bathroom completely. If you were really blind, you would have been none the wiser; he was good at being unheard.
Your hands were trembling as you continued to shampoo your hair, all while he leaned his back against the wall. Your stomach dropped, was he going to stay here? You could feel your hackles rise in the silence. This was absolutely absurd, because at this point, it was just impossible to not feel each other’s presence. Mingi was right earlier - people do love to pretend to be sightless.
As if things weren’t disturbing enough, his eyes had gotten dark somehow, and through your peripherals as you dragged the washcloth over your exposed legs, you saw his breathing grow heavier, his chest rising up and down with so much difficulty that it was becoming hard for you to breathe as well. Whatever he was thinking, you did not want to know.
But it seems like you’d have no choice. You froze when you saw his hand going lower, inching towards the outline of his obviously hardened cock. You swallowed, reaching out for the faucet to turn the water just so the tension wouldn’t slice you in two, but that mistake would cost you. Mingi took this opportunity to use the noise of the running water to unbuckle his belt to lower his pants.
The sight of his exposed cock, hard and already dripping in precum, caught you off guard, causing you to accidentally lose your balance as you tried to sit back down. The mishap completely shifts the hazy bathwater around, the bubbles sloshing around at the ripples, completely exposing you in your entirety. Just like that, the atmosphere turned sinister.
Song Mingi was jerking off at the sight of you bathing. You wanted to throw up, utterly disturbed at the turn of events. You were trapped; acknowledging him would mean seeing him, and hiding yourself would also mean seeing him.
Act normal, you told yourself. But to be fair, even if you weren’t pretending to be blind, how does one react normally to this?
A shaky exhale came from Mingi, the sound of it loud to your ears over the running water. He wastes no time wrapping his hands around his cock, stroking it slowly, eyes roaming greedily at your plump tits glistening with soap as you tried to rinse yourself. Subconsciously, you bit your lip, and it doesn’t escape your attention how his hand tightened around himself.
You shivered, not being able to stop the small whimper that left your lips. Fuck, you thought helplessly, your own body betraying you as the tingles went from your spine all the way down to your nether regions. It was stomach-churning and tears threatened to fall from your eyes because you were getting utterly, disgustingly, turned on by all of this.
No, this wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. But there you were, gripping the edge of the bathtub so hard your fingers ached as Mingi’s eyes rolled back in pleasure at the slow, deliberate strokes he was giving himself at the sight of your nakedness. You weren’t supposed to feel like this, you weren’t supposed to feel stuck between a cliff where jumping down would mean giving in.
You grabbed the washcloth again, dragging it across your belly before the cloth dipped lower, spreading your legs, but stopping midway. You didn’t even realise what you were doing, and God, you were about to be sick.
But, fuck, you needed something. You swallowed, you were just cleaning yourself. Every section needed to be scrubbed, right? Nothing out of the ordinary.
You bit your lip as you finally dragged the cloth lower as you washed between your legs, spreading your thighs a little wider under the water as your fingers brushed your clit, going back and forth to make sure you were thoroughly clean. You closed your eyes, focusing on the delicious onslaught you desperately needed down there rather than the bile rising up your throat.
Mingi’s breath hitched and his pace quickened. You could see his fist going faster, his movement more urgent. He was watching every move you made, the way your fingers clenched around nothing as you rubbed the cloth there again, pretending and telling yourself that it was just routine bathing. You really shouldn’t be doing this.
His breathing turned ragged, his hand moving in quick desperate strokes, low groans barely contained, but just when you thought he was about to come, Mingi stopped. He closed his eyes, taking in slow but big gulps of air as he tried to contain himself with great difficulty if the veins popping on his neck weren’t telling.
You were confused, and thought of being confused made the bile in your throat rise even higher. This was so messed up. But you kept your expression neutral, eyes unfocused as you continued to wash yourself. And just as sudden as he came barging in your bathroom, he hurriedly tucked himself back in his pants, grabbed the flash drive on your sink, and left quietly.
When you heard the front door clicking shut, your lungs finally remembered how to work. You hurriedly turned the faucet off, drained the tub, and quickly got dressed, all in the span of not even five minutes, to sit on the bed. Every muscle protested as you slowly relaxed and you didn’t even realise how rigid you were the entire time until you felt the softness of the bed.
Your shoulders slumped in relief. Mingi was gone, and of course, you were relieved. So why did the room suddenly feel so empty? Your throat tightened, replaying the scenes over and over again like cinema credits that went on forever. You hated every second that his eyes devoured you, didn’t you?
You shook your head at that wretched thought, waiting for the correct answer in the expanse of your dark, luxurious room, but it didn’t come. Instead, another realisation crawled into your mind like poison. You didn’t want him in the bathroom, you knew that, but your body…
You barely reached the toilet before you were retching over it in painful heaves, your lungs burning terribly as nothing came out. You felt sick, not because of the thought of Mingi, because of the way your body responded on its own in his presence. The thought disgusted you, made you want to peel your skin off and flush it down the toilet.
Tears fell down from your eyes before you could help it. You told yourself that you were always going to see through this and not let Mingi get to you.
Yet there you were, hands on your face, sobbing and wondering whether or not he already had.
Sleep never found you that night. Sanity had long left you. Sentience was something of the past for you. Sensation swallowed reasons whole. Someone said your name, but you barely stirred. Sex on the beach tasted pretty bland in this afterparty, swirling it didn’t make it better either. Smiles spread across the room, and sobriety stood no chance finding you tonight.
“Easy on the cocktails,” Jongho murmured beside you, or rather, shouted above the loud music in the background. “Mingi’s going to suspect something.”
“Let him,” you deadpanned, downing more cocktails than you could ever take.
Not tonight. You needed to get drunk to forget what happened last night. And speaking of that, the morning after was the most awkward moment of your entire existence yet. Mingi knocked on your door to remind you of the party, but he looked fine, pretty much the same asshole he usually was.
In essence, you were the only one messed up while he was pretending like nothing happened and the thought made you angrier than it usually would have.
Maybe trauma had finally broken something inside you, or perhaps, living under Mingi’s constant intimidation and fear rewired your instincts into something else. Whatever it was, you absolutely hated it. Whatever. You weren’t here to party like everyone did, and the moment you got back home, you had made up your mind to talk to San about Jongho’s offer for safety and shelter.
Tonight was easy, though. It’s like all these snobbish elitists who pretended that the gala actually contributed to society wanted to let loose like they had the right to when every hypocrite in there and their mothers knew that everything was just a farce. Mingi hadn’t called for you at all. Good, you thought. It wasn’t like you wanted to see him; not after last night.
In fact, he hadn’t even looked your way once. You were positive of that even in the paradigm of how these backwards parties worked, so why did your skin feel like it wants to separate itself from your body? The way it prickled made you want to dig your fingernails in and scratch that unbearable itch until you reached bones and nerves.
He was like a ghost that lingered but never really stayed; a spectre of your inevitable downfall. He was everywhere, but nowhere at the same time. At least, not that your eyes could see. You could feel his eyes on you, but you knew for a fact that he was networking with investors as of the moment. You could feel him, not physically, but instinctually.
You downed your drink in one go. Your senses have definitely left your mind. You felt delirious - paranoid. You rubbed your forearm, willing for that itch to go away, but it didn’t help. Whatever this was felt possessive—no, obsessive. It wasn’t until you felt fingers tap your shoulder that you snapped out of the chasm you jumped into.
You blinked. It was a man, dressed to the nines and out to impress, already tipsy judging by the slight sway in his stance, an unpleasant grin plastered to his face like he deserved the attention he wanted from anyone.
“There she is,” he grinned, the horrible smell of alcohol and his pungent cologne invading your nose. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for a while now.”
You forced a polite smile, your eyes dulling by itself not to pretend you were blind, but because you were genuinely not in the mood to act around pompous pricks when you already had so much in your head.
“My apologies,” you said, not even bothering to sound sorry at all.
His eyes traveled all over your form in ways you didn’t appreciate, his tongue poking out of lips, nodding in appreciation as if you were produce he wanted to purchase. Disgusting. “My, such pretty face for someone blind,” he clicked his tongue. “All wasted for Song Mingi.”
You immediately bristled at the insinuation. It was bad enough that you had to deal with the devil that was Mingi, himself, but you also had to deal with assholes like these who reduced you to what they thought you’re worth rather than what you’ve achieved. God, they made Mingi look like a saint because at least Mingi actually respected your job title and praised you for it all the time.
Jongho frowned. “With all due respect, Sir—”
The man cut him off with a dismissive wave. “I can make you see stars tonight, if you’d like,” he offered lasciviously, reaching out to you when he saw you stiffen. “You don’t need to be shy—”
An arm snakes around your waist, firm and certain, and you freeze before your body calms down. You didn’t even have to look, and the fact that you already knew who it was as you melted against him instinctively without thinking made you sick to your stomach. Mingi held you close, possessive without squeezing your waist, staking his claim without opening his mouth.
The other man’s smile falters and it was when Mingi spoke. “I see you’ve found yourself another friend, my little dove,” he said smoothly, dipping his head lower until you felt his breath against your ear. “Are you having fun?”
You shivered at the sensation, at his cordial and polite tone despite the way his eyes said otherwise as he fixated on the other man. He was completely devoid of warmth even though his skin left yours on fire. The other man took a cautious step back. You supposed that you weren’t the only one who could feel when Mingi was looking at them.
Mingi pulls you to the side, effectively seating you next to Jongho. “It seems our little friend here needs attention,” he mused, squeezing your waist possessively as if touching you was second nature to him.
He grabs your chin, turning you to him. “Be good for me, love,” he whispered. You gritted your teeth to stop that pleasurable zing up your spine. “Watch her,” he then told Jongho.
Jongho nodded dumbly, looking at you with wide eyes when Mingi turned back to the man, alarm clear on his expression that mirrored your own. The other man cleared his throat in an attempt to recover whatever dignity he lost, if he had one to begin with anyway.
“My apologies,” he began awkwardly. “I wasn’t aware that your employee was so…sensitive.”
What a piece of shit, you thought bitterly. He didn’t get what he wanted from you so he resorted to belittling you. “She seems to have misunderstood my intentions,” he continued, chuckling.
Mingi’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t think so,” he stated bluntly, not bothering to mince his words like he usually did. The man blinked, surprised at the turn of events, but Mingi’s gaze settled on him with that unnerving calm you knew too well. “Just because my translator cannot see you,” he paused, letting the words sink in. “Never meant she cannot hear you.”
You felt your gut tighten. While you appreciated his defense towards you, that didn’t really make your situation with Mingi better. He knew you were aware of everything he did, yet he chose to play games and test your sanity for months, so what did that say about him? The other man merely laughed, apparently - or choosing - to miss the point entirely.
“Well, perhaps I could make it up to her. Take her to dinner and maybe more, if you catch my drift,” he offered, that salacious grin still on his smug face. Jongho stiffens beside you, his usually kind eyes morphing into a glare so fierce that it could have rivaled Mingi’s.
Unfortunately, this man must’ve brought only half his brain because he didn’t stop there.
“Maybe I could shoot my shot with her,” he grinned, winking conspiratorily at Mingi as if this was an inside joke between them. “Plant my seed in her, you know what I mean?”
Mingi didn’t reply, yet the air around him changed so drastically, it was almost suffocating. His expression remained unreadable, but the quiet amusement in his eyes completely vanished. He nodded like he was agreeing. You swallowed. You learned enough about him to recognize that this was not a good sign. This was worse than him shouting. Much, much worse.
Then, in a whisper so soft that you were positive that you were the only one who heard it because nobody was meant to hear it, Mingi had barely let the words out of his mouth.
“What if I plant a bullet between your eyes, instead?”
Your blood froze, but the executive merely frowned. “Huh?”
“Hmm?” Mingi hummed in polite confusion, feigning innocence.
“Oh,” the man laughed nervously. “I thought you said something.”
A faint smile tugged at Mingi’s lips. “Must have been the wind,” he shrugged lazily.
But you couldn't take any of this anymore, so you excused yourself and said you were going to have fun on the other side of the venue with Jongho who immediately understands that you just wanted to get away. Mingi just raises a brow and cocks his head for you to go, but you hardly moved an inch before his hand wrapped around your wrist. He reeled you back without warning, your body colliding with his.
His other hand found the back of your neck, broad fingers spreading possessively beneath your hair. He held you there not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind you that if he wanted to keep you exactly where you were, he could. His thumb stroked the nape of your neck in slow, deliberate passes.
“Stay where I can see you,” he said. There was no hint of any teasing in his voice, just firm and reminding. “I’d hate to have to come looking for you.”
Because I will.
Those were what his eyes were telling you as he let go, gesturing to the crowd to give you and Jongho permission to have fun. And you tried, you really did, but you couldn’t even move without your knees feeling strangely unsteady. Even at a distance, you still held your breath inside your lungs, unable to let it go no matter how much you tried.
Eventually, you had to tell Jongho that you needed to go to the restroom to get some space and hopefully refresh yourself, telling him ‘no’ when he offered to take you.
Snap out of it, Y/N, you told yourself in the subdued lighting of the ochre-themed restroom, splashing your face with a generous amount of cold tap water. Gripping the marbled sink with your trembling hands, you looked up at your reflection, watching droplets of water fall slowly from your exhausted face.
A shaky exhale leaves you. trying desperately to focus on anything except the lingering grip of Mingi’s fingers on the back of your neck. The bathroom ultimately felt too suffocating, plus staying wasn’t an option anyway - the last thing you needed was for Mingi to stay true to his threats. However, you barely made a step out when you felt yourself being slammed to the wall.
It was disorienting, and there was only one bastard who had the audacity to do that to you, but as you were about to give him a piece of your mind, another man’s voice spoke.
“You took forever in there,” he sneered, a dark undertone curling up his tone. “I thought I had to drag you out, myself.”
You froze, true fear crawling up your spine. You looked up, getting pale when you realised it was the same man from earlier who was hitting on you and now, he looked more drunk, more aggressive as he squeezed your arm painfully. “U-Uhm, you’re hurting me—” you tried to say.
“Mingi’s looking for you,” he interrupted, the pain shooting up further from your arm to your shoulder when he started dragging you towards the crowd without even waiting for you to say anything. “Come on, I’ll take you to him.”
You were having a difficult time keeping up with this man. The way he kept a tight grip on your arm felt different from the way Mingi had done. This one felt forceful and right, you would’ve traded anything for Mingi to be the one doing it instead because your arm genuinely hurt.
But as you stumbled, you quickly sensed that something was wrong when the music started to fade behind you, and by the time you realised that, the man had already pushed you outside.
Blood drained from your face. He had deliberately taken you out from the back where no one would come looking. “No,” you resisted, planting your feet as hard as you could on the concrete, flailing and trying to twist your arm free from his hands. “Let go of me—”
You cried out when you saw that he was trying to drag you to a lone car parked near. You clawed useless at his wrist to pry his fingers away, but this earned you a backhanded slap so hard, your head flew back.
“Shut the fuck up and get in the fucking car,” he hissed, hand shooting up, digging painfully into your jaw when you, one you couldn’t fight off because of the overwhelming nausea from him hitting you. “Or I’ll break your arm. I don’t mind fucking you with broken bones.”
Just as he was about to shove you inside his car, the back exit door slammed open so hard, it bounced off the walls in a loud echo. You slumped on the side of the car when the man’s grip loosened, wanting to just close your eyes and give in to the disorientation, but your eyes settled on the familiar figure up ahead - black suit, broad shoulders, blonde hair.
And when your eyes eventually cleared up to see who it was, you couldn’t stop the tears that fell. You’ve seen Mingi with all sorts of emotions, but not panic so raw, real, and unfiltered. His gaze swept all over you - your trembling hands, the bruise on your arms, your buckling legs.
Then, he settled on your face and the relief that washed over him was so immediate that it sent more tears down your eyes. He really was coming to get you no matter what, just like he had said.
The sight of your tears snapped Mingi out of the emotion he momentarily slipped into, burying it beneath something more infinitely dangerous.
But you couldn’t take it anymore, closing your eyes to let the darkness overcome you because you knew that whatever happened next, Mingi wasn’t going to let this man take you away.
Touch was the first thing you felt when you came to. Gentle fingers carefully gathered your hair, tucking the loose strands behind your ears. Mingi’s eyes were the first thing you saw the moment you opened your eyes, their usual sharpness dulled ever so slightly, his features softer somehow. You didn’t even move when his thumb brushed your swollen cheek.
Neither of you said anything, afraid of crashing this solemnity you rarely found with each other. This couldn’t be the same man - Mingi was highly intelligent and sarcastic, cunning in his ways and malicious in his murders. He likes winning conversations, gets irritated when challenged yet rarely explodes, and loves making people walk themselves into traps.
But most importantly, you knew he found you entertaining in every calculated torment he put you through. Yet here he was. His touch was careful enough that it almost frightened you.
Finally, he sighed softly, leaning away. “You’ll be alright,” was all he said. “Stay here. I’ll be right back to drive you home. I won’t be long, so I’d appreciate it if you stayed put.”
You didn’t even realise that you were currently in his car until he got out, closing the door softly so as to not startle you. You were going to pretend that didn’t happen. “W-Where are you going?” You blurted out, suddenly afraid to be alone. “Wait, the man from earlier—”
“Lock the door,” he cut off with maddening calm, staring at you for a second too long before he walked away, not bothering to look back. Having no choice, you did as he said. Another wave of exhaustion runs through you and before you knew it, you were once again dozing off.
Something must have startled you awake, though, with how you jerked slightly in your seat and judging by the embarrassing amount of drool pooled on your shirt, you must’ve napped for a while. And yet, there was still no sign of Mingi back in the car with you.
You frowned, looking at the direction where he’d walked away, your brows rising when you realised he walked into a dark, unmarked building. Immediately, something in your gut told you that something was wrong.
And like every bad decision you’ve made so far, you found yourself walking in, your footsteps impossibly loud despite how careful you walked. You were about to turn around when nothing came around when you heard voices ahead.
Gingerly, you pushed through nervously until you found yourself situated in a blind spot above a stairwell that overlooked an empty storage area.
Well, mostly empty except for two chairs where two men were bound and restrained. One of them had a gag on, wet with tears and wasted saliva, and the other one was pleading from his life while Mingi bunched his hair up in his fist. The blood drained from your face, not from what you were seeing - you were used to catching Mingi in the act. An unfortunate topic for another day - but because one of them looked very, very familiar to you.
The man who Mingi was facing was the very same man who had tried to take you earlier, his expensive suit tattered, one of his eyes already forming a nasty bruise.
“You said you’d let us go,” his panicked voice cracked. “I-I didn’t mean to, I swear!”
Mingi tilted his head. It was terrifying, really, how he regarded them with the same detachment he’d wear while reviewing quarterly reports. “Why do you sound like that? Did you miss puberty?” He asked nonchalantly. “I’m struggling not to put a bullet in your brain, so tread very carefully.”
Silence. Even you were holding your breath. “I can handle people trying to find me and try to kill me once in a while,” he continued, almost conversational. “People like you will keep going to either find nothing at all or even get to me if your stars are aligned properly.”
The man hissed in pain when Mingi seized him by the jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze. “But you did honestly think that I’d be caught unawares?” He hissed, anger bleeding into his voice, a rare one that you’ve never heard.
“Now, riddle me this,” he said, drawing a pained gasp from the man when his grip tightened. “Would you have been luckier to find nothing…or to find me?”
A broken whimper escapes the man when Mingi lets go. Above them, your fingers curled so tightly around the railing that they ached. Every instinct screamed at you to leave, but your body refused to listen. “I won’t do it again, I was just paid to do this, I swear, I’ll leave you alone. Hell, I’ll even leave town—”
“Oh, that’s not what you’re here for,“ Mingi rolled his eyes. “See, I’m a wise man. I don’t waste time with people like you. I pay people for that. You crossed a line that wasn’t yours to touch, let alone force. I did not like that. I did not appreciate it.”
The captive's face had gone ghostly pale. His shoulders shook against the restraints, and he strained forward as if getting physically closer might somehow make Mingi believe him. “Look, I’m sorry. Sometimes, you can’t help but follow the scent of sweet fruit and resist not taking a bite,” he laughed nervously. “You understand that, don’t you?”
Mingi’s composure fractures a bit. He turned away slightly, dragging a hand slowly down the lower half of his face as though physically restraining himself from acting on the rage threatening to spill over. The man gestures towards the other captive. “He could tell you who paid us—”
“I don’t care who paid you,” Mingi snapped, words clipped by an anger he was making no effort to hide anymore. His eyes had gone frighteningly cold, but beneath them burned something raw and visceral. You had to bite down your horror when Mingi produced a knife out of nowhere and stabbed the man’s hand, pinning it on the armrest. “Those details don't matter much to me.”
The man’s bone-chilling howl drowned out your panicked, laboured breaths. You had almost forgotten how truly sadistic Mingi was; how little he cared for human life. “I didn’t mean,” the man choked out desperately as if his blood would stop flowing. “I-I swear, I didn’t know—”
“You knew enough,” was all Mingi said, quietly wiping his hand with a cloth before haphazardly tossing it away. Mingi regarded for a long moment before walking to the other man, still gagged but now with more tears and terror in his eyes.
“And you,” he scoffed, crouching until they were eye level. “I’ve been meaning to get to you for a while. You’ve made my boss into a fool chasing a pest like you. Imagine my luck when I found out you and this bastard here were connected.”
Mingi chuckled, slinging an arm around the gagged man while he stared at the other. “I’ll give you two options. See, my boss needs proof that I did my job. You understand that, don’t you?” He smirked, echoing the other man’s words from earlier.
“It’s simple. I need fingers and a tongue,” he pointed to the bloody knife. “You decide if you want your fingers to go or his,” he clapped the gagged man’s back. “Or vice versa. I’ll let you live. If not, then I suppose I must kill you.”
His shoulders caved inward as pleas poured from him in broken sobs, begging until his voice cracked into something almost unrecognizable. And Mingi listened, or rather, allowed the noise to happen.
Finally, the man caved and with shaking fingers, he reached for the knife before a strangled cry ripped from his throat as he pulled the blade free. You recoiled instantly, one hand flying to your mouth, stomach lurching so violently you thought you were about to throw up.
You watched Mingi smile. “Go on,” he murmured almost encouragingly, as though coaching someone, not caring that the man shook in pain. “You’re doing great. Don’t lose your nerve now. If you do it fast enough the pain will be over before you even knew it started. ”
You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think. You wanted to run. You wanted to scream. The captive drew one ragged breath, lifted the knife with an unsteady hand and just as he was about to land a hit, the heavy door on the opposite side of the room swung open. The man's hand froze midair and even Mingi turned. Your heart stopped. Someone else was here.
Seonghwa’s steps faltered, his eyes sweeping across the room like he walked into a scene he never expected. For one fleeting second, relief crashed over you so hard, your knees almost gave out. Seonghwa, who was gentle with his smiles, always remembered your pastries, and always cared for you, could stop Mingi. Unfortunately, the hostage took this distraction to move.
“Don’t move,” he threatened, fear thick in his voice despite the way he grabbed his other companion to wrap his arm around him, knife dangerously close to his neck. “I swear to God I’ll slice his neck. You won’t find out who paid us to kill you, Mingi, if you touch me.”
You needed to warn Seonghwa. You didn’t need Mingi targeting him next for being here. But before you could think further, a gunshot rang out. You jolted at the sound, and for one second, you couldn’t understand what was happening, that is, until you looked closely.
The captive remained standing, eyes wide and knife still raised, the gagged man he’d been using as a shield collapsed at his feet. He was dead, a bullet tearing clear through his heart.
Seonghwa stood with one arm extended, a pistol resting comfortably in his hand, smoke still drifting from the barrel. “Not much of an upper hand now, are you?”
He tilted his head rhetorically as if mildly inconvenienced. It all happened in a split second - the man barely had time to open his mouth before Seonghwa shot again, clean between the eyes, sharp and precise.
He let out a sigh, not even bothering to look at the corpses, before shooting a glance at Mingi. “I distinctly remember telling you not to play with your food,” he clicked his tongue, casually putting the gun down a nearby table. “Did Yeosang actually ask for proof? Which one was on the list?”
Mingi snorted, pointing at the man who was shot first. “No, not really,” he admitted, amused at the questions. “I’m a man of my word, though. I meant it when I said they’d live. Why?”
Seonghwa didn’t reply. Instead, he stood to retrieve the knife, turning it over between his fingers. “I’m bored,” he shrugged, voice pleasant. Though his eyes showed otherwise, a glint so sinister the knife couldn’t compete.
You had to shut your eyes when Seonghwa grabbed one of the corpses’ hands and went to work, putting your hands over your ears to drown out his cheerful whistling and the unpleasant sound of squelching blood and metal crushing bones.
This wasn’t Seonghwa - the man hacking away body parts methodically like he did this everyday was not your friend. The illusion shattered so violently that it hurt you more than Mingi had ever done because at least Mingi never pretended; he had shown you exactly who he was from the beginning.The tears came before you realised it, the grief far worse than fear. It was absurd to mourn someone who was still here, but perhaps, the friend you knew never existed to begin with.
Mingi watched him for another second before speaking. “No remorse for the guy?”
Seonghwa didn’t even bother looking up. “I wouldn’t pee on him even if he were on fire.”
Mingi raised his brows, more in fascination rather than blatant surprise, an amused whistle escaping through his teeth. “You’re evil,” he grinned, shaking his head.
Seonghwa let out a laugh, a real one that made his eyes crinkle. “That may be so, but I’m not as cruel as you,” he retorted lightheartedly, lifting a finger to signal men to drag the corpses away before continuing. “The translator shtick was creative, I’ll give you that, but not slipping once in your mother tongue after months of working together?”
He chuckled, shaking his head in vague admiration. “Incredible discipline. Shouldn’t have expected less from the Song Mingi, himself,” he tilted his head thoughtfully, something knowing glinting in his eyes. “It’s either discipline…or obsession.”
Your blood froze. No, you desperately thought. Your heart already knew what Seonghwa meant, but your mind refused to accept it, and it still hit when Mingi spoke. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugged innocently, replying in flawless Japanese. “I did need a translator. My Mandarin is pretty shitty, if I may say so myself.”
Seonghwa scoffed, rolling his eyes, fully offended at what he had just heard. “Don’t bullshit me, Mingi,” he replied in perfect, natural Mandarin. “You may not be fluent, but you’re decent enough. God, it’s been years and the way your mind functions still baffles me sometimes.”
Something inside you cracked open. Mingi never needed you. Everything crashed into you with suffocating force. He watched your panic over carefully chosen words all because he wanted to. He stared at Seonghwa for the longest moment before letting out a laugh, shooting his hands up in faux innocence as if he was caught stealing from a cookie jar. “You got me,” he mocked. “You said it yourself. My food, my rules. I get to play with it whenever I damn well please.”
Seonghwa’s amusement vanished. It was gradual, just enough for something infinitely more dangerous to settle on his face. “Careful, Mingi,” he started, inhumanly flat. “That food you’re referring to is Y/N,” he paused. He spoke your name with so much gentleness. “And I happen to like her very, very much. You’re not the only one with eyes, Mingi, so I’d watch your back if I were you. I’ve seen you play with her for way too long and I won’t stand by it anymore.”
The ease drained from Mingi’s posture first, the lazy tilt of his head disappearing, his eyes shifting into something far more terrifying than you’ve seen it. For the first time since you’d met him, Mingi looked genuinely angry. “Park Seonghwa,” he began, taking a measured step forward. “There are some things I tolerate, and some things that I won’t. You can borrow my car and you can raid my liquor cabinet. You can even take tens and thousands from my bank account.”
He paused to take more steps. “And I wouldn’t care,” he continued. They stood so close that their faces were mere inches away. “You can take anything you want, but you better not steal from me,” he seethed quietly. “Do not stand before me and tell me you’re entertaining thoughts you have no intentions of surviving. Because I won’t let you. Don’t take my goodwill for granted.”
Seonghwa rolled his eyes, pushing Mingi away. “Don’t piss me off. You already burned through every ounce of my goodwill when you shot Yamada in my fucking office on my favourite couch?” Seonghwa snapped, voice rising higher, unable to reel in his annoyance. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was to keep the Kangs happy after that stunt, you disastrous son of a bitch?”
“Anyway,” Seonghwa sighed before his voice softened, and for a second, you couldn’t help but still see that friend you’ve come to like, especially knowing that he felt a little differently for you. But only for a second. “She’s been through enough tonight. Leave her alone. She looked so peaceful sleeping in your car when I passed by it earlier.”
Mingi shook his head, almost fondly. “No, she’s not.”
Your lungs seized inside your ribs. You subconsciously took a step back, hoping that he was speaking in tongues and doesn’t actually believe you were gone. Seonghwa frowned, his eyes following Mingi as he began to walk towards the exit. “You don’t know her like I do, Hwa,” he chuckled, reaching for the door. “By now, she’s probably long gone. You’ll be lucky if you even see a lick of her shadow at work this week because she’ll never step foot in KQ ever again.”
Something about the way he said it made your body scream. “But she’ll keep thinking about me. Fear has a funny way of making you remember someone. So yeah, she’ll run,” he said, smile deepening, eyes glimmering into something more pleased and exciting. “And I’ll let her.”
The terror had seeped so deeply into your bones by now that your body hollowed itself out. The entire time you’ve been trying to navigate around Mingi, you had been dancing exactly the way he wanted you to. You thought you were running - Mingi knew how you’d react as if you running was something he already accounted for. Your choices were never yours to begin with.
“Whatever, you sick bastard,” Seonghwa’s dry dismissal cut through the silence. “Go play cat and mouse somewhere and get the hell out of my company. I’ll admit, you did a great job, but you bossing me around was getting on my nerves. Plus, I can’t take Hongjoong’s complaints anymore. You’ve been running my assistant to the ground, you opportunist,” he sighed. “Yeosang will put out a statement to avoid conflict or I’ll ask Wooyoung to take over the list for you.”
His company? And what list? This wasn’t the first time you’ve heard of it. The words landed harder than the gunshots had and it suddenly explained every conversation where Seonghwa would pop up out of nowhere. It explained why Hongjoong acted the way he did, why Mingi himself never really challenged Seonghwa, and why Yunho bowed a little lower. It had always been Seonghwa who was holding the leash - Mingi was just the convenient front, but for what?
Mingi shrugged, the statement not even bothering him, twisting the door handle to leave the premises. But before he could take a step, Seonghwa’s voice stopped him. “Mingi?” He spoke quietly, eyes softening significantly. “Don’t hurt her. Please.”
Mingi looked over his shoulder, pausing for just a fraction before he smirked. “We’ll see.”
Jongho made true to his promise. You haphazardly packed the bare minimum before San did the same at his place, all in the same night. Jongho’s apartment was modest and his generosity earned him a thousand thanks along with the tightest hug from you. “So, what now?” San asked that night after everything had settled, holding your hand tight in his. “What’s going to happen?”
Truthfully, you haven’t gotten that far yet, and admittedly, none of you thought this through. However, you did know one thing. “I’m going to the police,” you finally said. And you meant it this time. Out of all the crimes you’ve unwillingly witnessed, there was something about this last one that genuinely scared you. It wasn’t a burden you were willing to carry alone anymore.
Jongho and San looked at you, both concerned and uncertain. "They might not believe me," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I have to try. I-I can’t do this alone anymore. I just,” you paused, throat tight. “I need a record. That someone at some point reported it…”
They understood what you meant. If something ever happened to you, at least someone would hopefully connect the dots. For now, all of you agreed it was best to lay low for a while until the dust settles. But once it does, you really were going to go to the police station. It didn’t matter anymore because you were done protecting monsters; done going insane to remain sane.
It had been almost five months since then of you just sitting duck. Jongho decided that him working at KQ would cause the least suspicion and San absolutely forbid you from going out. You weren’t going to complain. You’ve found a routine designed to numb your brain and for the most part, you operated with the intent of forgetting, just walking around in a daze.
The image of Mingi just wouldn’t go away. You’d often wake up in a cold sweat after dreaming about him, having spent the last few weeks pushing him out of your mind with no success. You didn’t bet on lasting this long hidden away, however, there was a small part of you that ached at the thought that, maybe, he wouldn’t even bother with you anymore. It was confusing and revolting at the same time; the maximum reason why you couldn’t sit still in Jongho’s apartment.
There was only so much of this that you could take. Needless to say, San wasn’t pleased when you told him that you’ve made up your mind and was finally going to make a move. “Y/N, I don’t know, I have a terrible feeling about this,” he spoke nervously over the phone. “Can’t you at least wait until the end of the week to decide?”
“I can’t, Sannie,” you murmured, turning the doorknob to enter your apartment. “I can’t live with uncertainty anymore. I already spoke with a detective earlier before I left. I just need to grab a couple of things from my place and then we can all go to the police station tomorrow.”
The moment you hung up the phone and entered your apartment, you wanted to crash. Oh, how you missed your place and the normalcy it provided. It wouldn’t hurt to stay for a little while you planned your next move, but first, you were going to change your clothes. You’ve been wearing the same ones for months and you felt bad for borrowing Jongho’s a lot. You headed up to your bedroom, not bothering to close the door, and started to take your shirt off.
But you froze when you heard the door close behind you. Slowly - painfully slowly - you turned around. Mingi stood leaning against the door, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants. He looked…different. Gone was the suit, replaced by a leather jacket that looked lethal on him. And his hair was black now, messy and unstyled. Somehow, the darker hair made him look younger.
It also made him look even more dangerous. Or was it that unfathomable look in his eyes as he watched you that bordered between predatory and repressed anger? You had no idea; all you knew was that the sight of him made something inside you stir treacherously, but that didn’t last long because the fear had caught on. You’d escaped, you were finally safe, so how was he here?
“Mingi,” you whispered, the fear in your voice unmistakable, eyes darting around in search for the nearest weapon you could use to protect yourself, but finding nothing. “Why are you here?”
He didn’t reply, eyes still fixed on you. His eyes always unsettled you, but this one felt different. There wasn’t that sadistic amusement you’ve gotten used to nor that smug satisfaction that was always lingered. His stare was just pure ice with absolutely nothing in them. “Because I was looking for you,” he said, pushing himself away from the door.
You frowned, clearly not satisfied with this answer. He noticed and cocked his head in question. “Why? Were you expecting more?” Mingi asked, stepping closer to you. “Did you want me to tell you how irritated I was that you hid from me for so long?”
You maintained eye contact, raising your chin in defiance, trying not to falter when he stopped in front of you so close that his chest was brushing against your breasts. “You knew where I was,” you said, gritting your teeth when the tiniest quirk of his lips confirmed it. “There’s nothing for you here, Mingi, please just leave. I’m happy being with Jongho—”
“Enough,” his voice cut through like a blade. He quickly darted his hand out to your cheeks, gripping them painfully. “I must say, though, this is very nice,” he began with a dark chuckle, turning your face once as if he was inspecting a product. “Seeing you actually seeing me, if you get what I mean. I have to get used to it, but I am enjoying it so far. I mean it.”
Your blood turned to ice when the meaning struck instantly. All those months of looking through him and forcing your eyes out of focus. And now, your eyes were fully locked onto his. "So that's what your eyes look like when you’re not pretending to be blind," he whispered almost tenderly. "It’s so honest. It also means I can finally watch them tell me exactly how afraid you are."
The way he said it was far more unsettling than his presence. His voice had no teasing tilt anymore, none of that false gentleness that unnerved you and each word sounded flat. “So you've always known,” you couldn’t help but say as realisation hits you at the same time - that the polished, professional man in front of you had been hiding behind plausible deniability. And now that the jig was up, there was no reason for Mingi to maintain that mask. “Since when?”
“Right from when I saw you watch me shoot that man on the trail,” Mingi snorted derisively. Your breath hitched. Hearing him say it out loud like this right in front of your face brought in a new type of terror. “Wouldn’t be good with what I did if I couldn't tell, would I? It was funny,” he chuckled. “And so dumb at the same time that I couldn’t even be mad even if I wanted to.”
You glared at his blatant disregard of why you even had to resort to such methods in the first place, raising your hands to pry his fingers away, but that only resorted to him narrowing his eyes in warning, gripping your cheek harder. “Why did you let me go if it was so dumb, then?” You bit back. “You could have killed me on the spot and no one would’ve known except the trees.”
“I wanted to fuck with you, was that so wrong? You can’t play games and not expect someone to not want to play with you. Or did you just not want me as your playmate?” He replied nonchalantly. “I’m not that bad. That’s why I made Seonghwa hire Choi Jongho. I saw he was being nice to you and I figured you needed someone who wasn’t part of this fiasco so you wouldn’t lose your mind. I don’t particularly enjoy playing with my food when they’re bland.”
Hot, searing rage courses through you, bone-deep in its intensity. He played you like a damn instrument and your melody invigorated him. You slapped his hand away from your cheek with adrenaline-fueled anger, even going as far as slapping his cheek once his hand let go. You hit him and you made sure it hurt. “You son of a bitch,” you seethed. “I saw everything, including Yamada and the warehouse with Seonghwa. I’m going to tell on you, Mingi, I swear I will. ”
You didn’t care anymore. Mingi let out a small laugh of disbelief, grazing his now bleeding lip with his tongue. “I knew you saw everything. Your reactions were never really subtle,” he said, speaking so casually that it made your stomach churn. “And that’s fine. You can go to the police. I’ll even drive you there. I reckon they’ll actually believe you. The only question is…”
You whimpered when he grabbed your arm and bent it behind your back painfully before slamming you up against the nearest wall. The room suddenly felt small, Mingi was too close; too warm for comfort. “...if they would do something about it,” he continued, getting closer, his breath tickling your ear, voice lowering just enough for your senses to cloud. “Think about it, Y/N.”
You swallowed, the sickening understanding finally dawning on you; he was right, the police would believe you. They just wouldn’t move because they were KQ’s lapdogs. You gasped when Mingi nibbled on your ear. “Yahtzee. That’s my girl,” he whispered, voice rough. “See? You can be smart if you want to be. A smarter choice would be to listen to everything I say from now on.”
You didn’t understand what he meant until you felt his hips grind against your behind, the feeling of his hardness palpable especially in this position. “Go to hell, Song Mingi,” you growled, not hesitating to tilt your head, the back of your skull catching him square on the face. “You can fucking shove it. You think this is a game to me? You murdered people. You terrorised me every single day, almost got me hit by a car, and almost burned me, you psychopathic pervert.”
Mingi grunted, grip on you relaxing as he clutched his face in pain. You took that opportunity to break free, kicking him again just to make sure he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. It worked, even setting him a few steps back. “You’re retaliating,” he pointed out flatly. The only sign that he was getting angrier was the cruel glint in his eyes as he watched you and the violent rise and fall of his chest. “That’s fine. I love the initiative. I just love punishing it more.”
You screamed both in pain and surprise when he lunged, grabbing you by the hair to force you to look at him. “Here’s what’s going to happen, sweet pea,” he whispered, nothing short of sinister, sliding his other hand to your throat and starting to squeeze. “I’m going to have you. Do you know what that means?” He paused to chuckle grimly. “I’m going to fuck you. Hard.”
Your eyes go wide and you start to wriggle out of his hold, but Mingi’s hand just tightens. Tears collect in your eyes in fear, but there was something else too, something you refused to admit. That realization made your stomach turn because you were supposed to hate this, yet you were here. You had gotten so used to Mingi chasing you that it started to feel wrong if you weren’t on edge. You had started to associate Mingi with adrenaline and needed him for excitement.
But still, this was wrong. You weren’t going down for this. Not for him and not for whatever twisted hold he had managed to build around you. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long, long time. I knew from the moment I saw you on that trail that you were something special, but I had to wait. Now,” his husky voice purred with a hint of barely concealed warning. “You’re going to give it to me. I don’t enjoy hurting you, but I will if you don’t listen.”
You were absolutely not going to accept whatever he planned for you without a fight. With all the strength you could muster, you punched him square in the jaw. His eyes widened for a fraction as he groaned in pain and you pushed him away, chest heaving violently. You didn’t hesitate to hit him again, but he managed to grab your arm before you could, lifting his own hand to backhand your cheek, causing you to stagger at the sheer force of it, your face already pulsing in pain.
“Not bad, love,” he laughed, massaging the jaw you hit. “I would like to not do that again, so how about this? You apologise to me and say you’ll be a good girl and you won’t do it again. Make it sound good and maybe, just maybe, I’ll find it in my heart to forgive you and go easy on you.”
You spit on his face after that statement. Mingi closed his eyes to contain himself, clicking his tongue in disappointment as he wiped your spit off with the same hand he used to backhand you. When he opened his eyes again, you knew you were done for. His body was fully locked in, jaw locked stiff, rage simmering behind his eyes beneath deceitful calm - the type of calm that meant he’d already decided to hurt you. He just didn’t know where to start.
You made a run for the door, but unfortunately, Mingi was faster. He slammed the door shut before you could even get near. “I let you run off for too long now,” he hissed, yanking you away from the door. “You’re mine, Y/N. I’m going to have fun making this lesson memorable for you.”
You refused to stay still, kicking and scratching at him with all your might. “I don’t belong to you, Mingi,” you seethed. “You don’t own me, and you can’t just force me into it!”
He stared at you, eyes hollow and vacant in the most terrifying way, every trace of mercy deliberately carved out and discarded. “Your life was over the second I laid my eyes on you. And let me tell you something, I rarely want because I already know the outcome. But let me ask you this,” he said softly, holding your face deceptively gentle. “Who are you trying to convince?”
He barely let a second pass before he tightly held your head, keeping you still as he crashed his lips against yours. There was no tenderness in his actions; just viciousness and brutality. You whimpered in resistance, biting his lower lip until you tasted blood. He groaned at the pain, pushing you away to slam your head by the door. That caught you off guard, but if he was going to hurt you, then you’d repay him in kind.
That head slam did stun you for a moment. You couldn’t stop him when he threw you on the bed, immediately straddling your legs, holding your arms above your head. His eyes clouded, pupils blown over from pure desire, cursing under his breath. You gasped when he ripped your shirt clean off you with one hand, yanking your bra aside to squeeze your tit harshly. “Fuck,” he said through gritted teeth. “Fuck, you look so good like this beneath me.”
You hissed in pain and started to struggle even though desire ran rampant through your veins, hot and searing, but Mingi wasn’t budging. He bent down, closing his mouth around your nipple, his tongue tracing around your sensitive bud. You groaned in response, arching against him as you were torn between your body trying to decide whether it wanted him gone or worse, inside you. When he pulled back just an inch, his smirk was knowing, pure of nothing but sin.
“Don’t do this, Mingi, please,” you all but begged, squirming weakly against the restraints of his hands, but for naught. He responded with a quiet huff. He slid his jacket off, revealing broad shoulders clad in a tight, black tank top that left nothing to your imagination. You jerked your head away when he tried to kiss your jaw, but you just felt him smile against your skin.
“Ah, ah. No begging yet, sweetheart. Not unless I tell you to,” he murmured, licking all over your neck all the way down to your shoulders and started to suck and bite. Mingi was indulging himself, ravishing you and relishing in your pain. You hissed, slightly relieved that your body wasn’t betraying you. That is, until you felt his hand starting to travel down.
“M-Mingi,” you whimpered when he immediately put a finger in you, not even waiting until you were ready, eyes glinting at the sound. He was gentle with his strokes, hitting you in spots you didn’t even know were possible. It elicited humiliating cries from you and you just wanted to die then and there. "You’re making a b-big mistake,” you panted helplessly against his ministrations. “I-If I don't show up, people are going to look for me. You're a damn fool."
Mingi’s eyes narrowed. You gasped loudly when he pushed another finger in, keeping the pressure until he was knuckles deep. “Let them look,” he replied flatly, not caring in the slightest, pushing in and out of you. You closed your eyes tightly, your whimpers turning into screams when he pushed a third finger roughly. He made a sound at the back of his throat. “You’re beautiful when you scream like this,” he growled.
It hurt badly, but that pain started to ebb slightly when he started circling his thumb against your clit. It was agony on top of another. You writhed against him to try and reduce the overwhelming sensations attacking you, but it didn’t work. You moaned helplessly when his fingers sped up, his thumbs pressing down on you, until you were screaming for dear life. “Give it to me, give it to me, give it to me,” he whispered over and over again, voice getting huskier with desire.
And you did. Mingi had to hold your trembling body tight to ease you back slowly. Tears streamed down from your face - both from pain and intense pleasure - and he didn’t hesitate to lick them off. Your head lolled back, your body exhausted from just that one ordeal. “I’m going to kill you after this, I swear,” you whispered when he pulled his fingers out and got up from the bed to leave you alone for a bit.
You heard Mingi chuckle almost fondly over the sound of something you refused to acknowledge - the sound of something metallic clinking followed by a zipping sound and fabric rustling. “You do that, love. I’d like to see you try,” he replied simply as he got naked, exposing hard muscles that lead to his cock. Even through the haze, your eyes couldn’t help but widen.
Your heart was beating crazily with fear and you had half the mind to scramble up, scooting away from him as far away as possible. Mingi stalked towards you, utterly predatory, grabbing and dragging you by the legs until your ass hit his muscular thighs. He tried to pull your pants off, but you weren’t having it. You kicked at him, successfully hitting him once or twice, but Mingi was heavier and much stronger. Eventually, he was able to get rid of your pants along with your underwear, leaving you completely bare and exposed for him.
You were panicking. If you let him touch you, your resolve would weaken and you knew it. Mingi knew it too. He wedged himself between your legs to pin your wrists above your head, nudging himself against your entrance before he finally thrusted in hard.
“Mingi,” you cried out loudly, half in pleasure, mostly in pain. You felt full, the fullest you’ve ever been, and the suddenness of his thrust made your insides sting and black spots to dance behind your eyes temporarily.
Mingi wasn’t faring any better. He inhaled controlled breaths, lips pursed together in great effort not to lose himself to the sensation of your tight cunt. He grunted low, the veins on his neck pulsating with great need. When he leaned back slightly to look at you, you moaned in surprise. Just there by the surface was a look of barely-contained lust and sadism, his eyes hazing out with pure desire. You clenched around him and it was enough to drive him totally wild.
“You’re mine, Y/N, you hear me? I’ll make sure of it. Gonna fuck you so hard and have you screaming for me every night from now on,” Mingi growled, voice guttural and dripping with arousal, leaning down to kiss you, but you turned your head away. “Am I going to have to break you?” He asked softly, clearly not looking forward to the idea, but not completely opposed to it either. “I’m already inside you, baby. Not much you can do but give in, really.”
You squared your jaw in defiance. “Drop dead, Mingi,” you spat venomously.
You cried out sharply when he started thrusting into you, rough and fast just like he intended to. You couldn’t even moan out properly - he was using you as if you were a sex toy only made for his pleasure. “If you’re not going to listen to me, I hope my dick sends my message well,” he laughed sadistically at your cries and resistance. “Now, do you understand?”
He kissed you, tongue demanding to be let in as he rocked his hips to ease his cock into you over and over again, not stopping until you felt his balls slap against your ass repeatedly. He let go of your wrists to wrap around you and held on tight, thoroughly claiming every inch of your body he could touch as his. Your pride wouldn’t let you off, so you still fought him as much as you could, struggling under his restraints while you tried to distract yourself from the feeling of his cock impaling you over and over again.
But Mingi wasn’t having it. He slows down his thrusts, giving you time to get yourself together, but not before he grabs your arm, pressing and squeezing hard at a particular spot that hurts so much that you let out an actual scream of pure pain. “Ow, ow, M-Mingi, you’re hurting me,” you whined, involuntarily squeezing his cock in because the pain mixed with his cock hitting your spot over and over again did something to you. “Stop it, stop—”
“Then stop resisting and give in to me,” he said, letting go of your arm, rubbing the bruised skin tenderly for a moment. “I meant it when I said I’ll make you scream. I just didn’t specify how. And I can do it again and again until I’m satisfied. Do you want that, little love?”
You glared at him, angry tears falling from your eyes. You took a deep breath in, trying to regain some of your dignity and strength. If he wanted a clear answer from you, then he was going to wait a while. Mingi smiled nastily, pulling back out only to thrust back in viciously, pleased when you let out a guttural moan. “I told you you were mine and I meant it,” he simply said.
It wasn’t that you didn’t believe it. You absolutely did, God, you really did. Your heart was aware and your body was more than willing, but your mind refused to acknowledge it. You scowled at him, expression full of loathing and hatred. You sure as hell weren’t going to tell him that. But somehow, the glint in his eyes told you he already knew as he increased his speed in fucking you. “Go fuck yourself,” you sneered. “You are never going to have all of me, I swear to you.”
“Is that so?” He raised a brow, amused. He angled his hips in a certain way and it hit a spot in you so good that you couldn’t help but keen. He did this over and over again that once you got over the initial discomfort, Mingi’s body started to feel disturbingly comfortable against yours. “Fuck, baby,” he growled, pleased with your reactions. “I swear your pussy was made for me.”
You shook your head in denial, but that just prompted him to increase his speed just a little. You started to feel heat rising within you and at this point, it was getting difficult to deny just how good this was getting, but you weren’t giving up just yet. You moaned in dissatisfaction, struggling just a bit as a futile act of defiance. Mingi clicked his tongue in annoyance, and in retaliation, lifted your legs up to your chest so he could go even deeper and you swear you saw stars.
“Did you like that?” He growled, sliding his hand down to your ass so he could pull you against him even harder. His other hand went behind your head to pull your hair, dragging your head upright. “Look at me,” he demanded. “Tell me you like it while I fuck you hard, baby.”
You whined in response, your brain not entirely cooperating with your body anymore. “Yes,” you replied without thinking, arching your back against him. You regretted it the moment it came out of your mouth, but there was nothing you could do to take it back anymore.
Mingi shuddered. “God, you little whore. You’re so fucking beautiful, and so dirty just for me.” he moaned, utterly wrecked, before his eyes snapped back into that dark, sadistic gleam you knew him for. “But only for me, yeah?” He whispered, the threat clear in his voice. “You don’t get to be a whore outside the bedroom. Only for my eyes and no one else’s. Say it.”
You echoed his moan. Nobody had ever spoken to you like this before and your body was burning in shame, but it didn’t compare the burn of being called a whore and actually liking it. You had never felt so desired in all your life and you didn’t know how to feel. “I-I don’t know, Mingi,” you squeaked in admittance, letting out another moan when you felt him fuck into you again.
That moan turned into a whimper when he squeezed your ass cheek painfully. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” He scoffed. “Look at yourself, pretending you don’t want this. Pretending you never enjoyed all the times I supposedly ‘tormented’ you. Your pussy is telling me otherwise, little one. You always enjoyed me being in charge.”
“Are you for fucking r-real? Congratulations, M-Mingi. You’ve managed to condition someone to fear you and mistook my survival for desire for y-you” You forced out, trying to sound angry, trying to reel in your moans, looking him dead in the eye. “You know what I actually enjoyed? Everyone’s presence except yours. Even Seonghwa’s as fake as it might’ve been. He’s—”
His hand shot out so fast you barely caught it before it wrapped itself around your throat. “Do not mention his name. And let’s get this straight, you survived because I allowed you to,” he hissed in legitimate anger, eyes reddening at the sheer intensity of it. “Now shut the hell up,” he said, grip tightening enough to hurt you. “And let me fuck you.”
Mingi slid his cock out of you before ramming it back in with more force. It knocked the air out of your lungs, but Mingi’s feral state didn’t really care. His strong fingers gripped your hips as she pulled you forward to time it with his powerful thrusts. He stared down at you, eyes hazed and mouth parted open that betrayed how good it made him feel. “Ready to give up and tell me how good my cock is making you feel yet, baby?” He groaned.
The roughness in his voice combined with the possessiveness in his eyes sent shivers all over your body and you felt your toes start to curl in pleasure. “Never. I’d rather eat glass,” you gritted out, though the moans and whimpers that fell from your mouth after said otherwise. His jaw tightened for a second before a malicious grin spread across his lips.
“M-Mingi, please, ow,” you sobbed when he put a hand on your stomach, increasing the pressure as he pressed down hard, and you felt his cock kiss your cervix as he thrust the deepest he could go. The force of it hurt and before you could even process it, his other hand slid down to your clit and slowly, he started to rub in circles. You were delirious with all these overwhelming sensations, and your loud moans proved it, but goddamn, it felt good.
It scared you. You shouldn’t feel this way. In all the months you’ve been with Mingi, you’d never felt more alive. It was easy for you to leave from the start. He was brutal and rough, but the way he looked at you and obsessed over you was something you couldn’t ignore. And that was the problem. Your body suddenly tensed with fear because you were getting attached. Mingi felt the tension and paused. “Relax, love,” he murmured. “I don’t want it to hurt. Not too much, at least.”
He was never going to stop, and you knew how much this could hurt if you continued to tense up. So as much as you hated it, you tried to relax, gasping and feeling your cunt clench around him as he worked your clit, echoing his moans when he picked up the pace. “So fucking good, baby,” Mingi groaned harshly, the movement of his hips becoming erratic, breathing getting heavier.
He started to bite all over your shoulder, nuzzling your neck to pepper it with little kisses, his hand traveling from your tummy to your tits, alternating between squeezing and pinching your nipples. And when his lips found yours to set another brutal onslaught, eventually you found yourself kissing him back, no less brutal than him. It was all tongue and teeth gnashing against one another. “Mmm,” you moaned helplessly in his mouth, focusing on your pleasure this time.
To your surprise, Mingi slows down. Instead of the fast and shallow pounding, it became longer and deeper. You whined in response, not being able to believe that this could feel even better. His eyes were smouldering as he looked at you, pulling back and sinking into you over and over again with surprisingly gentle motions. “Wrap your arms around me,” he ordered.
You couldn’t speak, but it didn’t matter. Your wanton moans told him everything he needed to know. “You love this,” he grunted, pausing in between to suck and bite your neck. You moaned out a quiet response, pulling his hair a bit in affirmation. “Fuck,” he growled, shuddering at the sensation. “Tell me again,” he demanded, eyes burning into yours.
You felt a wave of shameful pleasure ripple through you at the thought of actually having to repeat yourself but louder, especially while looking to those eyes that you feared so much these past few months. Your lips stayed shut, too embarrassed and prideful to say what he wanted to hear. He huffed impatiently, coaxing a response from you. “M-Mingi, please,” you whined.
But Mingi knew you. He leaned down, nuzzling your neck to position yourselves into an intimate embrace so you wouldn’t look him in the eye and you knew that you just ran out of excuses. “You drive me fucking insane, I swear,” he confessed through grunts. “Tell me what you want, baby doll, I’ll give it to you. Just as I’ve given you everything so far. I’ll put you on top so you can ride my cock and tell me, do you want that?”
You let out a breathy ‘no’ in response and he smiled against your ear. “You love it when I’m top of you, hmm?” He asked, voice getting huskier. You had to hold on to his shoulder to stop yourself from feeling faint. “You love it when I hold you down like this? When you feel dominated?”
“Fuck,” you whimpered, not being able to take it anymore. He growled, pleased with your response, sinking his teeth into your throat before he leaned back again, groaning when he saw how far gone you were, and it was all for him. “I do, Mingi, I do, Please.”
He grasped your chin roughly, making sure your entire attention is all on him, all traces of pleasure gone to be replaced with the familiar sadism and brutality for a second as he spoke. “If you ever look at someone the way you’re looking at me right now, I’m going to destroy you,” he asserted, the threat coated with nothing but the truth and the determination to carry it out if you ever even think of crossing him. “I promise you that, Y/N. I’ll do something I can’t take back.”
His thrusts became downright rough once more as he filled you over and over again, his intent clear with the goal of making you come. It should have hurt, but you didn’t care about the pain anymore. Your fingers curled, scratching his skin in desperation, and somehow with that threat, you lost it. You opened your mouth to let out an animalistic sound you didn’t even recognise as your own, body bucking against Mingi’s as waves of pleasure finally crashed over you.
“Yes, just like that, squeeze my cock. God, baby, you’re gonna make me fucking come,” he cursed under his breath as he tried to chase his own high. His hips jerked, pressing his forehead to yours and let out a primal growl that sent a thrill through you. A harsh moan of your name escapes his lips as you feel his cock pulse, warmth filling your insides to the brim.
You were exhausted, laying next to Mingi as his cum started to drip out of you, but you didn’t care. All you wanted to do was sleep all week. The regret was already building, but you were too tired to even entertain it. You were about to fall unconscious when you felt him stir beside you. “Come here real quick,” he muttered before his hand shot out, gripping your jaw hard to force your face towards his. “Open your mouth.”
Your pulse hammered as you fought the urge to pull away, but you do as he says anyway, eyes widening in surprise and panic when he stuck his fingers in. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he began calmly, pausing to watch every flicker of emotion cross your face. “You’re going to freshen up so you could take a quick nap, pack some of your clothes, and then go downstairs. I’m going home and you’re coming with me. You understand that so far, little one?”
Your eyes widened, hesitating, but he sticks his fingers a bit deeper in your throat and you choke on them. “I said, do you understand me?” Mingi reiterated. You finally gave him a reluctant nod, tears in your eyes. “Good,” he said, taking his fingers out. “Get rest. I’ll wake you up after.”
He released you as though nothing had happened, getting up to put his clothes back on. The second he turned, you lunged. The lamp left your hand before you could think, crashing against the wall as he sidestepped it with irritating ease. “You have got to stop trying to kill me, Y/N. You’re giving me a massive hard-on,” he clicked his tongue.
You grabbed another random item, but all he did was grab your wrist, exhaling tiredly rather than in anger. “Stop it. I will fuck you again, I mean it,” he said. “And when I do, I will be forced to drag your pretty ass with me because you’re not going to be able to walk after. You and I both know I’m very, very well-versed in dragging dead weight.”
The certainty in his voice chilled you far more than the threat itself. His words lodged something deep in your chest, though. He moved at ease like nothing between you happened when in reality, everything happened. “You’re shameless, you know?” You scoffed, breathing ragged to contain yourself. “I understand you want to assert control over me, but there are better ways. I don’t believe that you were actually going to kill me, so do you even like me, Mingi?”
His eyes never left you and that only made the anger in your chest fester. Mingi didn't say anything for a while and he looked like he was actually genuinely thinking of what to say in response to your loaded question. “You wouldn’t be alive if I didn’t,” he finally said. “And I was going to. I tried many times. Failed multiple times. Backed out twice as much.”
You were taken aback, blinking in disbelief. But the way Mingi stared at you dead in the eye with seriousness on his face told you that he wasn’t lying. You bit your lip, swallowing down emotions you didn’t dare name out loud. “No. Do you even honestly care for my well-being?” You said instead, ignoring his second answer. “Or do you just want to possess me just because you can?”
Mingi regarded you for a long moment. There wasn't a flicker of guilt in his face, just that same maddening composure. “What’s the difference?” He asked, the question landing with no emotion as though the distinction had never once occurred to him.
Something in you just fell apart then and there and for the first time since meeting him, you didn’t have any retort sitting at the tip of your tongue. Your shoulders slumped with exhaustion more than defeat. “You scare me,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, eyes burning with tears you knew he could see. “You genuinely scare me, Song Mingi.”
His mouth parted in surprise, brows raising a bit as if he expected you to say anything but that. When he did speak, his voice was softer and quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “On the contrary,” he began breathlessly. “You scare me.”
You frowned. There was no manipulation in his voice. His gaze wandered slowly across your face until he met your eyes without blinking. “This,” he said softly. “The way you’re looking at me right now. I was wondering whether there was anything underneath the fear and disdain.”
The words were quiet, even your heartbeat was more deafening. His tongue pressed against his cheek. “I’m scared,” he repeated calmly. “Of the day you stop looking at me like this.”
You huffed in defiance, folding your arms over your seatbelt, refusing to acknowledge Mingi as he drove. It wasn’t like you were the only one not speaking anyway, the moment he basically shoved you and your haphazardly packed luggage in his car, he hadn't spoken a word. “Where are you taking me, you brute?” You asked harshly, not being able to take the silence anymore.
A small smile takes over Mingi’s sharp face and you have to stop the urge to curse out loud. The light hit his handsome features just right, his darkened hair falling over his forehead slightly as he effortlessly manoeuvered the wheel. “Home, I told you,” he said. “Have I not made myself clear enough? I won’t do anything to you, little peach, so don’t worry.”
“That’s not gonna be good enough,” you replied in anger. “And I was home. You know, the one you broke into - which I still don’t know how long you’ve been in there before you ambushed me, by the way - and the one you took me from without permission. I want to go back.”
“Well, this is the best you’re going to get,” he retorted, something flashing in his eyes quickly before it disappeared. “You’re in no position to make demands here. You’re mine. I’m the one who gets to decide what happens to you from here then on so I suggest you get used to it. Or you can spend the rest of your life being chased by me. You pick. I don’t mind either option.”
There was a fleeting second where you imagined both scenarios, and both of them made you tremble either way. You sneered at him in an attempt to look as though you weren’t flustered. “I really, really hope you rot in hell, Mingi,” you glared at him venomously. “Truly.”
He laughed. Really laughed. The kind that made his body vibrate, eyes crinkle almost shut, and all of his teeth bared that reflected his genuine joy. “And here I was thinking that you’d be a little more cooperative after waking up from that power nap,” he chuckled. “Regardless, I can always use more methods of coercion if you can’t be civil with me.”
“Civil?” You echoed in disbelief, a look of disgust on your face. “Look at me!”
He spared a short sideways glance towards you, smirking at the sight of the hickeys and bruises that littered your skin, savouring the wince you let out when he purposefully hit a road bump just now. “Nothing that won’t heal in a matter of days,” he brushed off nonchalantly, killing the car engine. “Though that could be arranged right now if you’re interested.”
You weren’t going to give him the reaction so you stayed silent until he rounded up in the nicer part of the city, clearly away from your tax bracket, and killed the engine in front of the fanciest building in the area. “Get cosy,” he muttered the moment you both entered his place and closed the door, taking his jacket off and tossing it somewhere before setting his wallet and keys on the marble kitchen island. “I have a quick phone call to make. I’ll be right back.”
It was only until he left that you allowed yourself to breathe. You let your eyes drift around the apartment. It was beautiful, that much was undeniable. You weren’t surprised; Mingi had money and he sure acted like it. Yet somehow, it felt empty. Not because it didn’t have Mingi’s personal effects, but because it lacked life. There was something about this apartment that felt so hollow to you, like it was more of a showroom rather than something that’s supposed to be lived in.
You don’t know what compelled you to explore. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was boredom, but either way, you weren’t going to sit still and wait for Mingi to come back. Truth be told, it just screamed Mingi all over even though there wasn’t much. The apartment had a modern touch to it, little knick-knacks here and there organised neatly, a small table with a crystal decanter full of whiskey, and just about everything that you knew Mingi had meticulously curated himself.
Something that looked out of place, however, was a glass cabinet situated in the corner. It was clean, too clean, not one speck of dust and you can easily tell that this was the only sign of life in this place and that Mingi took very good care of it. You took a closer look and frowned. You were expecting a wine collection, or perhaps luxury items like watches and whatnot, but not these.
Awards, medals, and trophies. Not a lot, but still a significant amount. One in particular was a medal encased in a fancy box, another sat in an acrylic display with nothing else. None of them were engraved, nothing to signify what they were for, not even photographs of Mingi receiving them or dates, but all of them did have a small insignia, but you didn’t recognise what it was.
What you did recognise, though, was the folder that was in the middle of the dining table when you turned around. You bit your lip, glancing down the hallway where Mingi disappeared to. You really shouldn’t, every instinct screamed at you to leave it alone, but you picked it up anyway. The moment you do, that familiar adrenaline rushes back to you. This was the same folder you found in Mingi’s office back then, the one where you almost got caught looking at.
Confidential: High-Value Targets, K.O.S. You swallowed, it was the exact same, only this time, you noticed the same unfamiliar insignia when you opened it. You didn’t get the opportunity to do so back then, but something in you had this need to see what it contained as if your life depended entirely on it. And maybe it did, you were about to find out.
The first page contained a photo of a man. There were categories alongside that split into categories like basic information, aliases and financial records, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. “Charges?” You murmured in confusion, eyes widening when you read further. “What the hell? Mass weapon distribution ring?” You breathed out, a knot forming in your chest.
You haphazardly turned the pages, not caring if they get wrinkled or not, quickly skimming through everything, unable to stop the trembling of your hands. There were more people, charges more alarming than the last - extortion, cybersecurity threat, political anarchy, and money laundering to name a few - but then it just got worse. The worst ones you saw were drugs and human trafficking, organised crime, and homicide. But all of them had the same thing.
TARGET STATUS: NEUTRALISED
You put your hands to your mouth when you flip to the next page, trying not to puke. It was the man from the trail, the one whose dead eyes still haunted your nightmares sometimes. Witness intimidation and international warrants, it said. Mr. Yamada was there as well. The same lecherous smile, same expensive suit, but this time he had political corruption and sexual exploitation labeled to him. Both of them had the same status - neutralised.
Your vision blurred, knees threatening to buckle as you barely held onto the edge of the table for support. Out of all the things you did and saw, you knew deep inside that this was the thing you should’ve never crossed. None of these made sense at all, and worst of all, why was Mingi in possession of something this detrimental? Your breathing became increasingly uneven, hands trembling so violently that several pages slipped through your fingers at once.
You instinctively bent down to retrieve them, but before you could reach it, another set of fingers grabbed them first. You paled, gaze slowly climbing upwards to meet Mingi’s eyes. His eyes were unreadable, but you were positive he wasn’t mad. “I-I can explain,” you blurted out anxiously.
He stared at you for a few seconds, finally letting out a sigh before putting his phone back against his ear. “Change of plans, Joong. Stay where you are,” he spoke tiredly, pausing to pinch his nose bridge with his fingers, eyes closed. “The little birdie found the worm all by herself.”
Mingi ended the call. He glanced down at the papers you dropped and one of them in particular had him tense for a second before he calmly placed everything back at the table. His eyes went back to you, waiting for you to say something. “What,” you cleared your throat when your voice cracked. “W-What are these, Mingi?”
His stare was uncomfortable, not because it was loaded since his eyes held no contempt, no accusations, and no anger, but because it felt like he was trying to read you just so he could reply accordingly - something he never really did with you. “You tell me,” Mingi spoke softly, almost thoughtful. “You have talent in snooping and you’re smart. You’ll figure it out.”
You swallowed. God, this felt like a test of some sorts. “You’re blackmailing these people,” you blurted out, saying the first thing that popped in your head. “A-And when they don’t give you what you want from them then you…neutralise them.”
Silence. For the first time since you’ve met him, Mingi was actually speechless. Ridiculously so. His mouth was slightly agape, eyes blinking at you multiple times as if he was trying to convince himself he heard wrong. And then, he laughed out loud, the utter disbelief audible from the sound. “You really are something, Y/N,” he chuckled fondly. “Out of all the scenarios you could give, honestly. Well, I suppose that is one way to insult me.”
He walked towards the glass cabinet, pulling out a hidden compartment you didn’t even realise was there. Inside sat more paperwork, multiple passports, some handguns that made you freeze, but he set those aside to grab a small wallet. He picked it up, pursing his lips as if deciding if this was the right thing to do, before holding it out towards you. “Open it,” he urged.
You barely obeyed him. The wallet itself was minimal and elegant, but there was something about it that was heavy. Not because of its weight, but because of what you saw when you unfolded it. “No, t-this can’t be,” you whispered, hands trembling, greatly so. There was an ID, Mingi’s younger face staring at you, eyes less empty but still chilling nonetheless, and there was no mistaking the government seal embossed into the corner along with his information.
Name: Song MingiAge: 30Position: Senior Special Operations AgentLevel: BlackActing Overseer: Park SeonghwaGeneral Supervisor: Kang YeosangOperational Status: ActiveAuthorised to Kill On Sight
A pounding noise filled the apartment and it took you a second to realise that you were hearing your own heartbeat. You dropped the wallet, unable to control the intensity in which your body shook. You shot your eyes at him and his expressionless eyes stared back. “Y-You’re not a serial killer,” you blubbered out in disbelief. “You’re not just some cold-blooded killer who just kills whenever he wants or something?”
Mingi scoffed before he picked the wallet up. “If we’re being technical, I am. Make no mistake,” he explained as he put it back in the compartment, closing it. “But for the most part, no. The government wants these people out. I just so happen to be the best at what I do.”
God, you wanted to slap yourself to wake up from this nightmare. This completely rewrites everything you’ve ever known and believed. You’ve spent the last few months convincing yourself you were trapped beside a serial killer, but was the truth marginally better? You were so out of it that you didn’t hear Mingi sigh before he held your elbows, leading you to the couch and sitting you down. “You kill people for a living,” you stated bluntly.
The corners of his mouth lifted barely into half a smile. “Yes,” he replied, one brow raised in amusement, arms crossed as he looked down at you. “To put it simply, there are people that the government wants gone. The ones that really need to go. These are people that justice will never touch, Y/N. People that range from guilty to national security threats and they’re like ghosts; elusive because they’re aware that people are after them.”
Your mouth dropped. You thought that only happened in fiction. When you didn’t respond, he continued. “When the option of justice disappears, people like me become the option,” he shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “They give me a list,” he pointed at the paperwork on the table. “I make sure that they wish they were never born. Plain and simple.”
It was insane. Your eyes were being opened to a whole new world out there and that world was literally just sitting right beneath your nose all this time and you barely had any idea. You could barely look at Mingi right now without wanting to break down because how were you supposed to just take this all in? “A-Are there more of you?” You couldn’t help but ask.
Mingi hummed. He tilted his head at you, analysing you. He wasn’t expecting you to ask that, hell, you bet he was expecting you to act erratically. “A handful,” he admitted. “This is as discreet as it gets, there isn’t really a job market for this. The elimination process is…grueling, and obviously, not a lot of people want to do it. You’ve met about half of the entire operation already.”
He smirked when your eyes widened. “Wooyoung and Hongjoong. Different specialties, but same job description, nonetheless,” he explained. A shiver ran up your spine. It made sense, everything made sense - Hongjoong’s attitude towards Mingi and Wooyoung’s nonchalance with Yamada and his reaction at the stairwell that same night. “And you’ve met Yeosang at the gala.”
Your brows knitted. “Good-looking guy, birthmark here,” he pointed at his left temple. And that’s when it hit. That unsettling man who talked to Mingi, how could you forget? You nodded slowly. “He’s the Big Boss’ son. He actually trained me,” he huffed, a small flicker of respect reflecting his features. “Only one of two who are above me by rank. Besides his father, obviously.”
Somehow, that made plenty of sense. You remembered the way Mingi unconsciously straightened when Yeosang approached, the absolute lack of his usual bravado, and the effortless authority Yeosang seemed to carry that felt much heavier than Mingi’s. “And Seonghwa?” You asked. “Yunho? Where do they both fit here?”
Mingi laughed, shaking his head. “Yunho’s innocent, just a regular worker. We still need to keep a legitimate front to keep the operation behind wraps. Seonghwa, on the other hand, he’s a bit…” he trailed off, trying to find the right word. “...different. He used to do what I do.”
The amusement faded from his face before he continued. “He’s been doing this since he was eighteen and he’d already done more than enough. He was tired, but retirement doesn’t really exist in this line of work. Truth was, Big Boss didn’t want to let him go. It would be foolish to let go of the man who perfected this system after all. So, he offered him a compromise.”
It wasn’t that difficult to believe. You watched Seonghwa hold the knife that night. Turns out, the most dangerous man was the one you trusted the most. “The compromise,” you murmured, swallowing heavily. “Was it KQ?”
“Smart girl,” Mingi smirked. “See, for this to work, we needed discretion. We can’t just eliminate them out of the blue and for no reason. People would ask questions, and that’s the last thing we wanted. Unfortunately, these bastards aren't dumb, so it’s extremely difficult to isolate them and make their deaths believable. However, all of them do have one thing in common.”
Your mouth had gone dry, but you found yourself leaning slightly forward to anticipate the answer anyway. “Greed,” Mingi said. “Money and investing makes it easy to lure them out. All we have to do is make it look like a transaction gone awry. Seonghwa gets the life he wants and we get access to the people we need. It’s a win-win for everyone.”
“So, in essence, KQ is a real company that runs on legitimate business that also happens to be an intelligence network where Seonghwa still runs things behind the scenes without being in the actual field. Did I get that right?” You asked. When Mingi nodded, you laughed in disbelief. “No wonder you didn’t care if I went to the police or not. I would’ve looked like a massive idiot.”
Silence settled over the apartment. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to feel because everything just makes perfect sense. In your eyes, he was still a psychopath. The only distinction was that he was the government’s psychopath. “Everything you did was legal,” you sighed in defeat. “Why didn’t you say so? Why let me believe otherwise?”
Mingi raised a brow, amusement curling his lips. “You didn’t ask,” he shrugged.
Admittedly, you didn’t think your question through and it was a stupid one in hindsight. Also, you were never going to get a straight answer from Mingi anyway, at least, nothing that pleased you, but seeing how nonchalant he was still shot anger through you. “Are you being for real?”
Mingi crossed his arms, a deadpanned look in his eyes. “Says you. You were the one playing blind like it was going to work in the first place,” he pointed out, dry and flat. He turns around - which was a good thing so he couldn't see how red you were from rage and shame. You watched him grab only one paper from the folder before he walked back, this time, sitting across you.
Without a word, he slides the paper from across the table. You stared at him for a second before your fingers pulled it towards you. You expected to see another random face in there, but when you saw a blank piece of paper with only your face in it, you almost dropped it, heart falling down to your foot.
“Relax, sweet pea, it’s not what you think it is,” he immediately said the moment he saw your panicked face. “The system can’t eliminate you simply because you were never a criminal to begin with, much less witness one happen right before your very eyes.”
“But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You saw it,” Mingi stated plainly. He pointed at the paper in your hands. “That makes you a witness to an ongoing operation and a walking liability to something that was never meant for the public eye. I’m not going to lie to you, you caused quite the divide with the team back then for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
That caught your attention. “I don’t understand,” you frowned. “You said it yourself. Wrong place, wrong time. I didn’t mean any harm, I could have kept my mouth shut.”
Mingi smirked, shaking his head cynically. “People die because of what could have and should have. Don’t make me laugh here,” he scoffed. “At the end of the day, I am nothing but an agent no matter how high my rank is and I still had to answer to someone. That meant I had to tell Seonghwa. And Seonghwa had to tell Yeosang. And we do have protocols for this.”
“Yeosang was angry, obviously. He wanted to enact protocol immediately, hence that paper in your hand,” he continued. You swallowed audibly at that. “I happen to fancy you a little too much to let that happen, so I hired you. Having you work for me ensured that you didn’t blab to the wrong people. Plus, it wasn’t like you weren’t dying to work for me, anyway. No pun intended.”
“God, Mingi, you are such a massive asshole, I swear to God,” you scoffed. The way he talked about it rubbed you off the wrong way, though admittedly, you could see where he was coming from. “So, what? Am I supposed to thank you? My life is in shambles now, no thanks to you.”
“Yes, actually, you should,” he raised a brow, unimpressed. “Because lucky for you, Seonghwa took a genuine liking to you so it wasn’t difficult for me to disobey protocol and keep you and convince Yeosang to not tell his father about you, because trust me, you would not like that.”
You stayed silent, not really wanting to know what he meant by that. “Paper’s blank, love. I didn’t go through with it. I had no reason to and I still don’t. Even if they threatened me, I still won’t. You were innocent and I was aware of that. I’m not the animal you think I am, Y/N, and I don’t gain anything from killing civilians.”
Your fingers curled around the paper until it crumpled slightly. It wasn't compassion nor was it mercy. To Mingi, your life had been spared for the same reason someone chose not to swat a fly that landed on them. It wasn’t because it deserved to live, but because it simply wasn't worth the inconvenience. You didn’t know what to feel about that.
You got up, marching towards the dining table to hastily grab the folder before smacking it across the coffee table in front of Mingi, fuming with the repressed anger that had been building for months. “There were a hundred different ways this could’ve been handled. My entire career is a fucking lie,” you seethed. “There was no need for me to be dragged to KQ like some sort of luggage for something I didn’t even mean to see.”
Mingi regarded you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “I understand you’re angry, love, but I don’t regret what I did,” he said, gaze settling on you, unwavering. “Big Boss and the other directors aren’t exactly known for being kind, Y/N. If they find out, you would’ve been a goner. Personally, you know I find absolutely no problem in hurting you. However…”
“...that had been with my own hands,” he continued. “I didn’t want them to hurt you. That’s an entirely different beast, and you would never be the same afterwards. You don’t have to like it. But the fact of the matter is that you were there that day. And unfortunately, we have protocol for it. Protocols that are written in blood, both by the bad and the innocent, and they are the reason why order exists on things that aren’t supposed to happen, do you understand that?”
You turned around, ready to walk away, when he grabbed your arm to spin you around, his eyes ablaze. “Don’t you dare turn your back on me,” he hissed. “I need you to understand that I did what I did to stop them from taking you from me, Y/N. I didn’t want your blood on my hands.”
You didn’t want to believe him. Mingi had spent way too long being angry over him making a fool out of you and you weren’t about to let him do it again. And even then, it wasn’t specifically because he cared for you. “I would rather hurt you once if it means protecting you forever,” he sighed heavily, letting your arm go. “Not one ‘thank you’ from that pretty mouth of yours.”
That last thread of patience snapped. “Protection isn’t impressive when you’re the reason I needed protection in the first place,” you spat venomously, trying to pry his hand off of you. And there was still something that bothered you more than anything else. “And what about me?” You asked, afraid of the answer, but had to ask anyway. “Where exactly do I fit in in all of this?”
He knew you were at the warehouse that night and he knows that you know that he never needed a translator. Something completely shifted in Mingi’s eyes. That detached indifference dissolved into something more unnerving. His pupils seemed darker somehow, fixed entirely on you with an intensity that bordered on reverence and possession all at once. It wasn’t lust or desire, not entirely, but it was something much worse that made you freeze.
Fixation and obsession. His hand rose, knuckles brushing your cheek, fingers disappearing behind your neck to cradle it. “Nothing,” he whispered, fingers spreading possessively across your neck, a faint smile tugging at his lips when you squirmed. “But everything at the same time. You and my profession are two separate things. You are my greatest professional failure, love.”
He tilted your face upward, forcing your eyes back to his. “At least that’s how it all started,” he spoke, his expression flattening. “You were my responsibility for the longest time. And I absolutely detested you for being on that trail because no matter what you did, everything would have come back to me. Who do you think they’d kill after they finished you?”
That sent shivers up your spine. “Keeping you long enough to kill you, myself, if I see you fuck up was my only reprieve,” he chuckled. “But the longer I watched you, the more I found myself just keeping you for the shits and giggles. You are the most fascinating thing I’ve ever come across and I don’t ever want to let that go. The thought of it, alone, is enough to make me very angry.”
His eyes held yours with unnerving certainty, hand tightening around the back of your neck. “You represented the ruin of my art. You saw what I did that day, and yet, you’re still here. Alive…something you’re not supposed to be. So, yeah, I’m keeping you. Whether you like it or not. After that trail, you became mine. Trying to escape won’t do you good, I guarantee you.”
You were horrified. Mingi was completely obsessed with you, and he was never going to let you go. He was never going to apologise for playing with you and it wasn’t because he wasn’t capable of remorse, but because in his eyes, remorse is reserved for mistakes. This was no mistake to him; it was a calculated risk. He had absolute control the entire time and that realisation was more unsettling. You had no idea how you got here from where this all started.
“You are absolutely insane. You can’t just objectify me like this just because you want to, you prick,” you snapped, wrenching your head away from his grasp, taking a few steps backwards. “I’m human, Mingi, I have aspirations and things I wanna do and achieve. I want to be loved—”
“And I will give you those,” Mingi bargained. “Isn’t this as close to love as you’re going to get? You’ll have everything you want and more. I’ll give you everything and I can even learn to love you the way you like it. Being mine won’t be too different from the life you had before—”
“Oh, give me a fucking break,” you cried out, thoroughly done with him. “I don’t need you. I don’t want to be with you, don’t you get it? I already have people who love me who won’t hurt me or force me into situations I don’t want to be in. I don’t need your fucked up version of love when I already have friends who genuinely care for me waiting for me to come home to them.”
Silence. For the longest time, all you could hear was your own heartbeat. Mingi stared at you, eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your stomach churn. His eyes hollowed out, fixed on nothing and everything at once, before his lips twitched into something cynical. And then, he started laughing. At first, it sounded normal, but when the deranged vacancy in his laughter started to fill the entire apartment, that’s when it truly hit you - Mingi was a madman.
“I don’t know about that, love,” he said, tone almost insulting in its indifference despite the loud, bellowing laugh he let out earlier. “None of these so-called ‘friends’ of yours have called you within the last few hours you’ve been with me starting from when we fucked on your bed earlier. You might want to rethink that statement of yours before I make you. ”
You froze. Every word chipped away at the illusion you hadn't even realized you'd been clinging to, because he was right, and the way he started stalking towards you slows means he knew it, too. “W-What did you do to them?” You stammered, terrified out of your wits as you stepped back, only to be stopped when your feet hit the couch. “What did you do?”
“Relax,” he chuckled, wrapping his arm all over your waist to pull you close. “They’re safe. Hongjoong is there as we speak and by now, he’s probably briefed them. Choi Jongho will be put into a witness protection programme. Since Yeosang and I go way back, he did me a favour and put him there. We just had to tweak it a little since the board cannot know he’s related to your case. He will not get hurt, and he will be put in a safer place, that I can guarantee.”
“But can I just go to that same programme?”
Mingi shook his head. “What makes his case doable is simply because he overheard something he wasn’t supposed to. I knew he was with you that night when me and Wooyoung were arguing by the staircase. Yes, you were both nosy, but still very much innocent and are civilians.”
You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding, the guilt riding on your back lifting at the fact that at least, Jongho was going to be alright. It’s been eating at you that you dragged him into this. “How do I know that you’re not lying?” You asked, suspicious.
He raised a brow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You have my word,” he said. “Which probably doesn’t mean much. Hongjoong will call in a little to update me and you can ask him, yourself, then. I knew you were quite fond of my temporary assistant as he was of you.”
Relief hit you so suddenly your knees nearly gave out. For the first time in months, you weren’t thinking about surviving. “So this is it then,” you murmured, putting distance between you two. “You have no reason to keep me here. You’ve let me live alone on my own for months when I was working with you and you can just watch me from afar. Nothing changes so I’m leaving.”
Mingi didn't answer for a while. Then, the corners of his mouth lifted into the smallest smile. Without waiting for him to say something, you started to walk away. You meant it, you were going home. You refuse to play into Mingi’s cards no more, refuse to let him fiddle with you—
“I only mentioned one friend, sweetheart. I reckon you have two you were looking out for.”
The coldest bucket of water could’ve been poured on you on the spot but it wouldn’t beat the glacial fear that ran from your spine all the way to your toes. San. You had to mechanically turn yourself around, your frigid body locking in on itself as you forced yourself to look at him. There was pity in his eyes, but the mocking and contempt in them was difficult to ignore.
“He’s a tricky case, you know?” Mingi chuckled. “He’s a witness by association. He never witnessed anything and was never in the wrong place at the wrong time. The only misfortune he has is being that one sponge who absorbs every information without meaning to. Out of you three, he’s the most extreme liability. You and Jongho both work in KQ. We don’t know anything about Choi San except that he’s connected to you. Do you know what that means, love?”
Tears prickled behind your eyes. You thought you knew fear when you tried to outsmart Mingi on that trail, when you’ve witnessed multiple murders, or when you’ve been this close to being caught many times, but apparently, this was it. “It means,” Mingi whispered, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “He’s in limbo. Can’t be in the programme because he didn’t do enough but he also can’t be left alone because Big Boss is very particular about civilians knowing sensitive info.”
“No,” you breathed out, having to steady yourself to the nearest table. Genuine emotion cracked through your composure, and terror flooded every inch of you so violently it burned because this was San. “You,” you let out, voice shaking, lifting an equally trembling finger to point derisively at Mingi. “You stay the fuck away from him, you hear me?”
He was the person who never left; the one person who packed his life into two suitcases because you asked. "You ruined my life," you cried out, voice loud enough to carry to the next generation. "You dragged me into this. You manipulated me and lied to me for months for your sick satisfaction, and now you're telling me my best friend has to pay for your mistakes?"
He smiled. It was small, but somehow, it looked more dangerous than all of the smirks he’s ever shown you. He had the upper hand and he reveled in it. But he didn’t bother replying; didn’t really need to. The way you unraveled in front of him was more than enough. “What do you want, Mingi?” You asked through gritted teeth. “Just…tell me what you want.”
The question came out more defeated than you’d like. You were tired of this back and forth and knowing him, there was already an answer waiting at the tip of his tongue just itching to be said. Mingi studied your face for several seconds before answering. “Surrender yourself to me.”
You felt sick. “I’ll make sure Big Boss doesn’t even get a whiff of Choi San’s scent,” he continued. “I’ll assume personal responsibility for him and make sure he gets to be in the same programme as your other friend. He will matter simply because he matters to me. And because he matters to me,” he tilted his head, smirking. “Nobody touches him. As long as you’re with me, that is.”
Your eyes widened at the insinuation. He was basically asking you to sell his soul to him in exchange for San’s safety and he was bargaining it like it was some sort of contractual paperwork. “You’re blackmailing me,” you stated flatly. “You’re a monster, Mingi.”
He shrugged carelessly as though none of this mattered to him. “Call it what you will,” he said. "I call it the only arrangement where everyone you love walks away breathing."
Your knees finally gave out and you collapsed onto the edge of the sofa, your back sliding against it comically slow, squeezing your eyes shut. Every instinct screamed at you to fight, but you were just so exhausted. There was no point because this wasn’t survival anymore. Your consent had long been gone. “Fine,” was all you said even though you shattered on the inside.
Mingi exhaled, but not because he was pleased. It was because he was getting impatient, because to him, your answer should’ve been immediate. He wasn’t entirely pleased because he was already expecting it even though it took you a while. “Good,” he uttered, stepping closer, and for a second he thought he was going to corner you physically just because he could.
But then, he went straight, bending to grab the folder you haphazardly smacked against the table in anger earlier before squatting down eye level with you. “Sign it,” he muttered, jutting said folder towards you. “You’re my little spitfire and that’s what I like about you, but I don’t trust you. I need a guarantee you won’t run. This was what you were bound to do eventually anyway.”
You scowled bitterly at him. As if this piece of paper could stop you from simply running away anyway. You were about to reach and grab the folder, but you paused at the last second. His last statement. That went over your head for a second there. “Hold on,” you frowned. “What the hell do you mean? I’m pretty sure the government has nothing to do with your obsession with me.”
He let out a breathy chuckle that would’ve otherwise been innocent in any other situation. “No, not entirely. It’s just purely for assurance because I realised something rather inconvenient,” he said, thumb brushing lazily over the edge of the folder. “You are going to leave me eventually,” he paused to look you dead in the eye. “So I gave you something you couldn’t walk away from.”
You stared at him, confused. When Mingi saw that you were genuinely clueless, his brows raised, stunned in silence for a few seconds. “You’ve always been very bright, love,” he began, gently brushing your hair away from your face. You fought the urge to shirk away from the infantalising gesture. “But every now and then, you do disappoint me. ”
A chill crawled up your spine. Something tells you that whatever this was will change everything. You just didn’t know or understand how. “Remember this?” He lifted the folder up with a smirk. Your heartbeat pounded painfully against your ribs, not knowing where he was going with this. His fingers tapped once against the folder. “This was just files to you. Now, we have a problem.”
He opened it again, flipping each of the pages you’ve already seen yourself earlier, and he kept flipping until he got to the very last page of the entire dossier, raising it for you to see. A red classification stamp stretched across the whole page, but that wasn’t the part that made your stomach drop to your foot.
GOVERNMENT INTELLIGENCELEVEL BLACK FILESUNAUTHORISED ACCESS STRICTLY PROHIBITEDMUST REPORT IF UNCLEARED
“I…I-I don’t understand,” you blurted out, taking the folder in your hands to read it over and over again, because deep inside, you wanted to deny the facts that were slowly forming into a whole picture in your head.
Mingi watched your face carefully. “Before today, you were merely a civilian who accidentally witnessed an operation,” he began, that sinister look in his eyes darkening the more he spoke. “And that’s fine. You can’t be punished for something you didn’t do wittingly. But now…”
He leaned, his lips a couple of inches away from your ears. “You’ve knowingly accessed confidential government dossiers, operational identities, assets, agent procedures, and most damning of them all, the criminal’s identities. These are things that must remain in secrecy within. You could have had at least some semblance to your old life.”
You wanted to throw up, the realisation settling into your stomach with sickening clarity and heaviness. He leaned away, a satisfied grin plastered on his face. “I really do have to keep you now, love,” he chuckled. “I really, really do.”
Your eyes burned with the sudden onslaught of tears, but you refused to let them fall. You hated that he could read your fear so effortlessly. You wanted to move, to put distance between you, but your legs felt useless beneath you. “That's not fair,” you tried to reason. “I didn't know I couldn't look. It’s my damn fault you dragged me here.”
“Unfortunately, ignorance of the law excuses no one,” he shrugged nonchalantly.
“It's your word against mine,” you shot back. “Nobody’s going to know I looked at it.”
Mingi smirked, turning and tilting his head to look up and when you followed his line of sight, you were met with the sight of a small camera in the corner of the room. Of course, you thought bitterly. The walls seemed to close in on you. You clutched your chest, willing for that claustrophobic pain to go away. All you wanted was to have your old life back, and somehow, even that option had been taken away from you.
Amidst all of that, something inside you snapped. Mingi was a very meticulous person. Obsessively so. Even looking around his apartment right now, it was easy to tell how neat and orderly he was, and somehow, a folder that important had been left out carelessly. “You did this on purpose,” you blurted out, breathing turning ragged.
Mingi’s brows lifted, eyes snapping at you with renewed interest. He didn’t answer, and somehow, that was ironically all the answer you needed. You stood up, something hot and violent surging through you. “You left that folder out on purpose,” you seethed, jabbing your finger to his chest to emphasise every word. “You fucking psychopath, I’m going to—”
Mingi held both your hands to restrain you, mouth stretching into a smile so delighted that it bordered on erratic. “I did,” he admitted, eyes shining not with fear that he’d been found out, but with unbridled excitement. “But I didn’t tell you to look, did I? It was there, yes, but you…”
He laughed quietly at first, but your ashen face fell when it got louder. There was something horribly wrong with it. “Oh, baby doll,” he broke off, laughing under his breath. “You can’t blame me for everything. I distinctly remember telling you to make yourself at home, I didn’t force you to look through the folder. But you want to know what I did know?”
His expression changed, not entirely because the ecstatic smile remained, but his eyes had gone colder. “I knew you’d snoop,” he said without any ounce of shame or apology. “I know you. And I know you wanted answers, so I gave you the opportunity to find them. You should be thanking me, honestly, and it’s not my fault you have no self-control.”
Your lips parted, breathing becoming uneven. That would explain why he wasn’t surprised or angry when he saw you looking through the files - he was waiting for the moment that you did. The room spun, nausea threatening to send you into a massive black out. The moment you opened that folder, you had already lost. “You manipulated me,” you said, voice cracking midway.
“No,” he corrected as though he’d rehearsed this conversation long before you’d ever walked into his apartment. “I guided you. You made the choice. I just simply knew which one you’d make.”
Fury-fueled adrenaline coursed through you and broke free from his grasp, shoving both hands against his chest. The impact made him take a step backward. “You son of a bitch,” you screamed. “You planned this, you fucking knew I’ve been trying to disassociate myself from all of this. How can you do this to me?”
You shoved him again, harder this time. Your palms stung and your throat burned, but you barely felt any of it. Mingi barely moved, and somehow, that just made you angrier. “You sick, manipulative bastard,” you cried, tears falling from your eyes but you didn’t care anymore. “You couldn’t just let me go, could you?”
Your hands trembled as you struck him over and over again, each blow fueled by months of fear, humiliation, anger, and helplessness finally finding somewhere to go. For once, you weren’t scared of what your anger might do. You were too furious to care. And throughout this, Mingi may have looked unbothered, but his eyes, they held a reverent satisfaction as though this - your rage, hatred, and defiance - was exactly what he’d been waiting to see.
When your fists fell limp against his chest, his arms came around you. The embrace was unbearably gentle compared to everything he’d done to you. “Relax,” he murmured, hand moving through your hair so soothing that it almost felt insulting. “It can’t be that bad to belong to me. I’ll take care of you. I’ll give you everything you need and protect you from now on.”
Mingi leaned back, thumb brushing beneath your eye to wipe away your tears. You stared at him, devastated by how easily he could turn captivity into something that sounded like security. “You don't get to call this protection,” you muttered bitterly. “I didn’t choose whatever the fuck this is.”
Something unreadable passed through his eyes. “Not everything good in your life has to begin with a choice,” he said. His words made your stomach twist. He released you to take a pen, put it in your hand along with the open folder. “Sign it, love. Don’t make this any harder for us both.”
You stared at the blank line for several seconds, wanting to fight him off, but you were exhausted. There was no point in escaping when the cage had no door. It took less than a second to sign your name, each stroke feeling like shackles tightening around your neck. When you finished, Mingi took one look at the signed paper before giving you a light kiss on your forehead.
“You should get some rest. I reckon this took a lot out of you,” he spoke, leading your tired body to sit back on the couch, even going as far as to put a pillow behind your back. “I’ll order us food in a bit and then I’ll instruct people to get the rest of your stuff from your apartment. I want you completely moved in and settled within the week.”
You looked away, not bothering to reply because you knew better. And so did he. As he was in the process of getting your luggage you completely forgot about, his phone rang. It was Hongjoong. “Go ahead,” Mingi coaxed. “You might want to hear what he has to say. You wanted to ensure your friends’ safety, yes?”
And with that thought in mind, you immediately answered. Hongjoong’s brows raised slightly, mouth parting in mild surprise when he saw your displeased face on the video. “Well, uh, this is a pleasant surprise,” he chuckled nervously. “I’m glad to see you, Y/N, I really am, but I need to speak to Mingi. Is he there, by any chance?”
“Cut the bullshit, Hongjoong. I know everything,” you deadpanned. In the corner of your eye, you saw Mingi smirk at your straightforwardness. “Put San and Jongho on the phone before I do something drastic, please. I need to see that they’re okay.”
And they were. In fact, they seemed to be doing a little too well. You couldn’t help but feel relief as you talked to San, who was no less than shocked at the turn of events while Jongho and Hongjoong were eating and laughing in the background like they’ve been longtime buddies. It was difficult to stay mad at Hongjoong seeing as he did at least try his best to remedy the lies he’s built up and gave your friends the safest place they could go after all of this.
“I’m sorry, Y/N, I really am,” Hongjoong apologised with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair in defeat. “You didn’t deserve any of this. None of you did. After I settle things here, I’m going to try my best to see what I can do for you, alright? I’ll try to talk to Seonghwa about it.”
You scoffed bitterly. “What else is there left to do? I’m stuck here with Mingi after he made me sign that goddamn paper. And while I appreciate your apology, I’m here to ask about San’s situation. Best case scenario, I want him to be at least with Jongho, but if not, I just want to make sure he’ll be put in the safest place, at least.”
Hongjoong didn’t speak for a moment, blinking multiple times at you as if he was making sure he was hearing you correctly. His brows furrowed as genuine confusion flickered on his face.
“What do you mean?” He asked, a clear hesitation coating his voice. In the background, you saw Mingi pause at what he was doing. “And what do you mean Mingi made you sign something?”
The way he asked that last part made you narrow your eyes, your mind numbing out as your blood ran cold. You told him everything - from Mingi telling you that everybody was actually government agents, your role and why Mingi had to make you his translator, the dossier, the witness protection programme , all the way to San’s state of limbo. Hongjoong stared at you, and for a second, his composure faltered. It wasn’t the usual controlled concern you were used to seeing on him. “Mingi told you San was in limbo?” He asked, genuine shock on his face.
You nodded and his eyes widened, muttering a quiet curse under his breath that made your stomach swoop. “Y/N, I need you to listen to me carefully,” he said slowly, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. “He was in limbo, that much was true. But that’s why I’m here - to work it out. Mingi sent me here to clear San. As of now, he’s in the same programme as Jongho.”
You snapped your head towards Mingi. He paused from dragging your luggage in to stare back at you. He was smiling. It wasn’t that smug, triumphant smile he always wore. It was just a tiny, knowing curve. Horror spread through you as you realised something - that Mingi technically never lied. He did tell you San was in limbo and that he’d keep him safe. He just never said when and how. You had just assumed he’d do it after, not that he’s already done it beforehand.
Your eyes burned. At this point, you didn’t know if you were the dumb one for falling for his manipulation over and over again or if he’s that good. You turned back to Hongjoong in panic. “He used San against me,” you blurted out. You told him about you looking through the criminal target files and Mingi pretty much blackmailing you into signing it using the cameras.
This was actually what made Hongjoong reel back in horror. “Did you sign it?” He asked, sheer panic clouding his features. You were rendered speechless, not knowing what to say, but you nodded anyway. “Song Mingi, you made her sign a binding contract? You son of a bitch. I’m going to shoot you myself when I’m done here, I swear to God—”
“It’s not my fault that she keeps falling for it, Joong,” Mingi spoke nonchalantly, not even bothering to pause this time as he hauled your luggage into a random room, a gleam in his eyes. “And you make it sound so bad. I already said I’ll take good care of her and you know I meant it.”
As if things weren’t bad enough already, Hongjoong dropped another bombshell, looking so helpless you almost felt bad for him. “And about those cameras,” he winced, clearly wanting to be anywhere but be the bearer of bad news. “They’re broken. I called to tell Mingi that I had the replacement units. I was about to drop by after I was done here.”
You closed your eyes, a long sigh heaving out from your lungs. It really was the gift that keeps on giving. “Word of advice, Y/N?” Hongjoong quietly spoke. “A leopard can’t change its spots. Even if you manage to beat him and make him leave, he’ll be back with a stick next time. Beat him with a stick he’ll be back with a gun and if you beat him with a gun you better make sure he’s dead because Mingi won’t stop. May we never go to hell, but always be on our way. Good luck.”
You sank back into the couch, staring at nothing. Mingi didn’t need to blackmail you anything - he simply needed to make you believe he would. You had done the rest yourself. You had let your emotions get the best of you and Mingi used this to his advantage. The realisation hollowed you out because how could you be so stupid?
Your eyes stung, but you didn’t cry. You couldn’t. There wasn’t much left in you anymore because you let Mingi lock the door you willingly went into. You crossed your arms petulantly, glaring daggers at Mingi because at this point, there was nothing else left to do. It was over.
Mingi, unfortunately, seemed extremely delighted, looking too entirely pleased with himself. “For what it’s worth, you took it very well, love. You looked very convincing when you signed.”
Your glare intensified, rolling your eyes and sinking further into the couch, not willing to even talk to him anymore. You let your eyes do the talking - that if it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t even be in this situation. You set your eyes on the folder that had your signature, hoping that it would burn to ashes. with how hard you were glaring at it.
“What?” He asked innocently, a glimmer of mischief behind those eyes. “You never asked.”
♡ 𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You’ve spent months fighting the undeniable magnetic pull between you and Mr. Choi — the unfairly handsome single father whose house you live in as the nanny for his twins. His heated stares linger longer with each passing day, thickening the air with unspoken desire that makes you blush and touch yourself in bed at night when you think about him. Your twisted game of cat and mouse might have continued indefinitely, if you hadn’t accidentally caught him in the shower one day — hot water streaming over his body as he stroked himself slowly, your dirty panties pressed tightly to his face.
The second part for Adults Only
Before reading this part, I strongly recommend reading part I
♡ 𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 / 𝔄𝔲 / 𝔗𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢: Smut, Dilf!Au, Domestic! AU, Reader x Single father
♡ ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: 18+ / 21+ / MDNI
♡ 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 10.7k
♡ 𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: dom!Dilf San, Soft!reader, impregnation kink, unprotected sex, breeding kink, cum play, pussy rubbing, pet names, dirty talk, hand job, praise kink, milking, Tit play, nipple play, tit fucking, tit sucking, lactation kink, multiple sex positions, masturbation, size kink, overstimulation, daddy kink, lots of sperm, fingering, degrading, face fucking, spit kink, lots of sperm/saliva, squirt, cock worship, multiple orgasms, сreampie, rough sex, rough oral, power play, wet and dirty, explicit sexual content, explicit language, and more.
♡ net: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity
♡ 𝔄|𝔑: Well, my sugar bunnies, I didn’t plan on writing the second part for Adults Only, but that’s what happened. I hope you have lots of fun with soft, but perverted dilf San who spends all his free time thinking about how badly he wants to breed his children’s nanny.
♡ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 at the end of the post.
♡ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔶 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 - check for more
𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖉 - Your love makes all this possible
For the next week following the incident in the shower a sudden, tense silence settled between you that neither of you dared to break, that kind of silence that thickened the very air of the house until every word seemed more deliberate, more carefully measured.
Mr. Choi had always been warm with you—low laughter curling through the kitchen in the evenings like smoke from a slow-burning fire, those lingering glances full of longing he thought you never caught, the occasional brush of his warm fingers against yours when you passed him a mug of aromatic, steaming coffee on sleepy early mornings, when the house was still hushed and the twins remained fast asleep upstairs.
It was evident in the little things, too: the way San's deep, chocolate eyes would soften at the corners whenever you laughed at one of his silly jokes; the gentle, grateful curve of his smile as he lifted the boys into his arms when they ran to meet him, shouting, 'Daddy, you're back!'; and your soft 'Welcome home, Mr Choi', lost amidst the children's voices and the wet kisses with which the twins showered their beloved father's handsome face.
Those small, ordinary moments had always felt precious, something you quietly looked forward to with a secret eagerness that lived low in your chest. San was not only the object of your dirtiest fantasies and the main character in every wet dream that left you aching and restless; he was also the man who made the house feel safe, who made you feel seen in ways that had nothing to do with the heat that now lived constantly under your skin, a heat that had only grown denser and more insistent since the night you had watched him unravel in the steam.
Now there was purposeful space in his every movement. For the first few days San stubbornly avoided the rooms you occupied whenever he could, arriving home later than usual and disappearing almost immediately into the solitude of his home office, emerging only when the twins needed him or when dinner was already plated and waiting. He still thanked you for the meals and for the morning coffee he had begun taking alone behind closed doors. He still asked how the boys had slept, whether they had given you any trouble, whether you had managed to eat and rest.
But the softness and warmth that used to live in those gorgeous cat-like eyes had been locked away behind something polite and carefully distant, and every time you made eye contact with him a fierce, shameful blush would flood your cheeks before you could stop. He was the first to turn away, yet the brief contact always left you feeling as though something electric and dangerous had crackled between you for a single suspended heartbeat.
You could feel the effort in the rigid line of San’s broad shoulders, in the way his sharp jaw flexed whenever you bent to gather a scattered toy from the floor and the soft fabric of your shorts rode higher over the plump curve of your arse, in the rough, controlled edge that crept into his voice the moment you stood too close and the faint, milky scent of your skin reached him. He was fighting himself with everything he had, and the cost of that fight showed in the shadows beneath his eyes and the constant tension that never quite left the elegant lines of his body.
Once, when you had stepped into the living room to collect the boys’ abandoned blankets, you caught San standing in the doorway of his office watching you with those heavy, bedroom eyes for a long, unbroken moment before he realised he had been seen; the dark, hungry stare vanished so quickly it might have been imagined, but the low, almost silent growl that escaped him as he turned away lingered in the air long after the door closed.
You were not indifferent either. The memory of him in that shower refused to leave you, burned so deeply into your mind that it rose the second you closed your eyes: his head tipped back against the wet tile, the soft silk of your ruined panties pressed hard to his handsome face, the thick, heavy length of his cock sliding through his fist while he imagined himself buried in something narrower, wetter, tighter; the low, guttural sounds he made as he came, the way his throat worked and the veins in his neck stood out in sharp relief against golden, slick skin.
At night you touched yourself shamefully, shoving your trembling fingers into your panties and circling the swollen, sensitive peak of your clit until your thighs shook and clear, sticky glaze coated your knuckles, as if this small, desperate touch could ease the constant aching feeling of emptiness between your legs. You still woke aching and thighs sticky, the sheets carrying the phantom scent of his seductive, expensive perfume mixed with the warm, honeyed scent of his skin, and every time San said your name in that low, sultry voice something hot and guilty fluttered low in your stomach, tight and insistent, as though your body itself remembered what your mind tried so hard to pretend had never happened.
Even so, you both stubbornly tried to pretend the atmosphere between you had not changed, moving through the familiar rhythms of the household with careful politeness while the tension continued to build beneath the surface like heat gathering under silk, waiting for the smallest spark.
On Thursday evening, after the twins had finally surrendered to sleep and the last soft sounds of their voices had faded behind the closed nursery door, you were able to draw a deeper breath that still carried the faint scent of baby shampoo and the lingering warmth of the house settling into night. You found San in the kitchen staring into the open fridge as though the pale light spilling across his sharp cheekbones and the elegant line of his throat might somehow offer answers he had been seek.
“Is your sister still planning to pick the boys up for the weekend?” You leaned against the cool marble of the counter, arms folded beneath the heavy, luscious weight of your breasts in a way that only pushed the soft, full flesh higher and made the deep cleavage of your top more impossible to ignore.
“Yeah. She’s taking them for the whole weekend. Said she wants the boys to herself.” San’s gaze dropped to the shadowed valley between your breasts for a fraction of a second that stretched far longer than it should have. His dark chocolate eyes lingering on the plump, soft curves with a hunger he could not quite hide before he cleared his throat and closed the fridge door with deliberate care, the soft click sounding unnaturally loud in the hushed room; the muscles along his neck flexed as he swallowed, and when San spoke again his voice had dropped into that low, rich register that always felt like melted honey sliding over bare skin. “You don’t have to stay if you’d rather have the time off. I can manage.” He glanced at you once more, then away just as quickly, the rigid line of his shoulders betraying the effort it cost him to offer the escape he secretly hoped you would refuse. “I’m a big boy already.”
The knowledge that the house would soon be empty of everyone but the two of you settled between your bodies like a live current, crackling in the quiet space that separated the counter from the island where San stood with his elegant, long-fingered hands braced against the cool surface as though he needed the solid marble to keep himself in check.
You could see the way his sharp jaw flexed, the way the veins in his throat stood out faintly beneath golden skin still carrying the faint scent of sandalwood and the day’s residual heat, and you understood with perfect, breathless clarity that he did not want you to leave—that the polite offer was only the surface of something far more dangerous and possessive that he was not yet ready to name aloud.
“Mmm, yes, of course. But if you don’t mind, I would like to stay.” The words left you softer than you intended, coloured by the sudden, viscous flutter of excitement low in your stomach as your eyes met his and a shameful flush rose beneath your skin. “Someone should be here just in case the boys come back early… or anything else. And… I don’t mind.”
Something flickered across San’s face—hunger, relief, something darker and far less polite, the brief unguarded gleam of a great big cat of prey that has just realised its intended meal has chosen to remain within reach, before he shuttered it again behind careful distance, though the effort left his breathing just slightly uneven and the plump, sensual curve of his lower lip caught for a moment between his teeth.
“If that’s what you want.” He nodded once, the muscles in his throat working as he swallowed, and the low, almost inaudible sound that escaped him might have been a sigh of pure relief or something closer to a restrained groan.
The knowledge that the house would be empty for two full days sat between you like a live wire for the rest of the night, humming just beneath every careful word and every deliberately measured glance, thickening the air with the unspoken promise of what might happen once the last barrier of the twins’ presence had been removed and there was nowhere left for either of you to hide.
Saturday morning arrived bright and already too warm, sunlight spilling through the bathroom window in soft golden bands that made the steam rising from the tub look almost luminous, turning the small tiled space into something hazy and golden and intimately domestic.
You had the twins in the bathtub, both of them pink-cheeked and wild with excitement about going to their aunt’s for the weekend, and the simple act of washing their small bodies felt less like duty and more like the quiet, steady pleasure of caring for children you already loved as fiercely as if they had come from your own body.
Steam curled thickly against the tiled walls, softening every edge of the small space and filling the air with the clean, sweet scent of children’s shampoo mixed with the warmer undercurrent of your own skin and the morning coffee you made for San. Minwoo—always the more mischievous of the two, kept smacking the surface of the water with both small hands, sending glittering arcs up the walls and straight across your chest, while Minsoo, never one to be left out, immediately copied his brother, laughing so hard he nearly slipped under the bubbles and had to be steadied by your gentle hands.
“Careful, careful, Soo.” You said, the soft fondness in your voice making the words feel like a caress as you steadied Minsoo with one hand while trying to shield your face from another deliberate splash from Minwoo. “You’re going to soak the whole bathroom, boys.”
Your thin white tank top was already damp from the first few enthusiastic attacks; by the time you reached for the shampoo bottle the fabric was soaked through, clinging to your skin like a second, translucent layer that left nothing to the imagination. You were wearing a bra, of course you were, living with two small children meant you never wandered the house without one, but the bra was the soft, almost transparent kind you only ever wore at home: thin, stretchy lace, the cups little more than a suggestion against the full, soft, heavy weight of your breasts.
The wet tank plastered itself to that delicate lace without mercy. Your nipples, already tightened by the cool air drifting from the open window and the constant splash of bathwater, pushed shamelessly against the soaked fabric, the dark circles of your areolas showing clearly through the cotton, every plump curve and sensitive peak outlined in stark, almost obscene detail.
Every time you leaned forward to rinse soap from a small head the material clung tighter, moulding itself to the heavy sway of your breasts until the ample, luscious flesh looked as though it might spill free at any moment, and the sight of your own body framed by the golden steam and the boys’ bright laughter made the entire scene feel like something stolen from a private, half-formed dream.
“Unnie, look! Big splash!” Minwoo crowed, and before you could stop him he brought both hands down hard again, sending another sheet of water straight into your chest.
“You’re going to make me change before we even leave the house, little menace.” You laughed despite yourself, the sound soft and genuinely fond, and gently flicked a few droplets back at him with the same playful tenderness you would have shown to your own children.
Minsoo giggled and tried to copy the splash, only to lose his balance and slide sideways into his brother’s lap, both of them dissolving into bright, breathless laughter that filled the steamy bathroom and wrapped around you like the warmest kind of belonging.
You didn’t hear the door open.
San had come to help you with the morning chaos the way he always did on busy days, the low, familiar creak of the hallway floorboards announcing him, but neither you nor the twins noticed it.
He stepped into the doorway and simply… stopped.
His eyes dropped straight to your chest and stayed there, the deep chocolate colour of those heavy bedroom eyes darkening to black as they traced the way the soaked white fabric clung to the full, soft weight of your breasts, the way your nipples stood out in shameless detail, the way the thin lace beneath offered almost no barrier at all. For a long moment the only sounds were the twins’ bright, careless laughter and the soft, steady drip of water from the ends of your hair onto the already transparent fabric.
You watched the strong column of San’s throat move as he swallowed, the freckles along his neck standing out against skin that suddenly looked fever-hot, his hands flexing once at his sides, long elegant fingers curling and uncurling as though fighting the urge to reach out and touch what he had spent days trying not to imagine.
The soft black fabric of his sweatpants shifted, thickening visibly at the front until the heavy outline of his cock was unmistakable, and he made no attempt to hide it. San simply stared, pupils blown wide and dark, lips parted on a breath he seemed to have forgotten how to take, looking like a man who had walked straight into the exact fantasy he had spent days trying not to have. The vision of you soft and glowing and utterly at home with his children, already the sweet, devoted housewife of his most private wet dreams, the woman he wanted swollen and glowing with the babies he still only dared hope to give you.
In that suspended second you could almost feel the weight of San’s desire pressing against your skin like heat: the way his dark, hungry gaze traced the clear outline of your nipples through the soaked white fabric, the way his sharp jaw tightened at the soft, heavy sway of your breasts every time you shifted even slightly, the way the thick length of his cock was already straining against the thin black fabric of his sweatpants from nothing more than the sight of you wet and glowing and utterly domestic in the morning light.
You shifted under that heavy bedroom stare, suddenly hyper-aware of how the wet cotton framed the full, luscious weight of your tits, how little the delicate lace actually concealed, how the dark circles of your areolas and the stiffened peaks of your nipples stood out in shameless relief. Heat flooded your face and raced down your throat in a shameful, excited flush, but you didn’t cover yourself. You couldn’t seem to move at all, rooted in place by the raw, unspoken hunger that had turned San’s elegant features into something almost predatory.
“I’ll… get more towels.” San’s voice, when it finally came, was low and rough, scraped raw around the edges and thick with the effort of restraint, pure darkness wrapped in velvet. He turned and left so quickly the door almost clicked shut behind him.
Outside in the hallway he leaned hard against the cool wall, eyes closed, drawing in a few deep, controlled breaths that did almost nothing to calm the thick, insistent pulse of want still tightening low in his body. The image of your breasts—soft, full, heavy and so clearly visible through the soaked fabric, burned behind his eyelids with merciless clarity, and for a dangerous moment the deeper fantasy he had been fighting for days rose up and overwhelmed him completely.
San had always been a homely boy at heart, the kind who had dreamed since childhood of a big, warm, loving family filling every room of a house with laughter and the soft chaos of children; now that he already had the twins, the only missing piece was a pretty, devoted wife, and you were so damn perfect for it that the thought of you as his made his cock throb almost painfully.
You were already so loving and natural with the boys, treating them with the same gentle patience and open-hearted care you would have given children of your own blood, and the vision of you soft and glowing in his bed, mouth stretched around the heavy length of him while he called you his beautiful little wife, nearly undid what little composure he had left. He had to press the heel of his palm hard against the thick, aching outline of his cock through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, grinding once, twice, just enough to take the sharpest edge off the pressure before he forced his hand away and dragged in another ragged breath, the freckled column of his throat working as he swallowed down the low, almost silent growl that wanted to escape.
You finished bathing the boys with trembling hands that still carried the residual heat of San’s stare, dried their small bodies with the extra towels he had left just outside the door, and dressed them in the outfits their aunt had sent.
The damp tank top staying cool and clingy against your skin the entire time, every shift of the wet fabric a constant, teasing reminder of the way he had looked at you as though you already belonged to him.
You kept meaning to change, but the boys made it nearly impossible, especially when Minwoo, already dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed, suddenly threw a full tantrum and flatly refused to leave without you, lower lip trembling, small hands fisting in the hem of your still-damp top with desperate little strength.
“Unnie come too.” He insisted, eyes bright with tears. “Unnie stay with Minwoo.”
Of course Minsoo immediately echoed him, climbing into your lap and wrapping his arms around your neck with the stubborn determination only a four-year-old could manage, pressing his soft cheek against the damp fabric that still clung to the full curve of your breast.
It took several long minutes of soft promises, sticky kisses, and gentle reassurances that you would still be right here when they came home, and that their father would bring them back the very second they asked, before the boys finally allowed themselves to be guided downstairs, their small hands still reaching for you even as they were buckled into their aunt’s car.
Later, after the last bag was packed and the twins had been sent off with tearful waves and one last round of sticky kisses, the house fell into a sudden, ringing silence that felt almost too large, too empty, the residual warmth of children’s laughter and the clean scent of shampoo still lingering in the air like a ghost of the family San so desperately wanted to complete.
You were still standing in the hallway, the damp top clinging to every soft curve of your body and the faint flush of earlier still colouring your cheeks, when San appeared at the top of the stairs.
His dark eyes finding you immediately, the carefully rebuilt composure already beginning to crack again under the simple, devastating sight of you waiting for him in the quiet that now belonged only to the two of you.
Neither of you spoke.
The air between you felt charged enough to spark, thick with everything that had been left unsaid since the shower and everything that had just burned between you in the steamy bathroom, the sudden emptiness of the house amplifying every small sound until the soft drip of residual water from the ends of your hair onto the still-damp fabric of your tank top seemed almost indecently loud.
San stood at the top of the stairs looking down at you with those dark, heavy bedroom eyes, the deep chocolate colour of them almost black with restrained hunger, and for a long, suspended moment the only movement was the slow, deliberate rise and fall of his chest as he fought to keep himself in check.
You could see the thick outline of his cock still pressing insistently against the soft black fabric of his sweatpants, could track the way his long fingers flexed at his sides as though imagining the exact feel of your soft skin beneath them, and the knowledge that the twins were gone for two full days settled between your bodies like a live current that neither of you could pretend not to feel.
“You should change.” San’s voice was low when he finally used it, rough with the effort of control and thick with the dark, honeyed register that always made something flutter low and guilty in your stomach, the words carrying the weight of pure darkness. It did not sound like a suggestion.
“I was just about to.” You swallowed, the sound soft in the sudden hush of the house, and the simple act of speaking made your already tight nipples push more shamelessly against the cold, wet cotton that still clung to every full, heavy curve of your breasts.
San’s eyes never left your chest.
For a suspended second you thought he might close the distance in a single predatory stride, might put those long, skilled hands on you the way his expression so clearly wanted to, and finally give in to the hunger that had been eating him alive for days. This gorgeous man could pinning you hard against the wall by the front door, ripping the soaked tank and the thin lace beneath it away so he could bury his face between the soft, lush weight of your tits or shove your tiny, soaked panties aside and fuck you right there in the hallway with the same desperate force you had watched him use on himself in the shower.
The fantasy flashed so vividly through your mind that your thighs pressed together of their own accord, a warm, viscous moisture already beginning to gather between your legs at the mere thought of San’s thick, heavy cock splitting you open against the cool wall while he growled filthy, possessive praise into your ear.
Instead he exhaled hard through his nose, the sound almost a growl, the sharp line of his jaw flexing with visible effort as he forced the darker impulse back down.
You could not help but admire the sheer force of the self-control it took for him to stop himself, the elegant, deadly grace of a great big cat of prey choosing not to pounce even when its intended meal stood soft and willing and already half-undressed in front of it. That restraint only made him hotter, more dangerously attractive, the knowledge that he was still holding himself back by sheer will turning the tension between you into something almost unbearably erotic.
He turned on his heel and walked toward the kitchen with rigid, visible control, every line of his tall, elegant body tight with the force of what he was still refusing to take, leaving you standing in the quiet hallway with your pulse racing and the damp fabric of your top clinging to skin that already felt fever-hot under the weight of everything he had not yet allowed himself to claim.
The house felt enormous the moment the front door closed behind the children, the sudden absence pressing in from every side until the familiar rooms seemed to expand and contract at once — no small feet thundering down the hallway, no high bright voices calling for juice or another story, only the soft, relentless tick of the living-room clock and the distant hum of the refrigerator settling into the walls like dust.
You stood in the entryway for a long moment after the car disappeared down the street, listening to the emptiness take root in every room, heavy and electric at once, the residual warmth of children’s laughter still clinging to the air like a ghost of the family that had just left the two of you alone with everything you had been trying not to name.
You cooked dinner because the silence was worse when your hands were empty, something simple and fragrant that filled the kitchen with the domestic comfort of garlic sizzling in olive oil, the bright sweetness of the last cherry tomatoes bursting against the heat, the soft steam of pasta rising in delicate curls that made the entire space smell like home.
The familiar motions helped steady the restless flutter beneath your ribs — chopping, stirring, tasting, yet you kept your back to the doorway even when you heard San come downstairs. His presence filled the kitchen behind you like a slow-building heat that raised the fine hairs along your arms and made the soft, worn fabric of your clean shirt suddenly feel too thin against the full, heavy curves of your body.
He didn’t speak at first. San simply moved around you with careful, almost husbandly precision, setting two places at the table with the quiet competence of a man who had done this a thousand times, pouring water into the glasses until the soft clink of crystal against wood became the only sound between you.
The ridiculously ordinary domesticity of it all makes the charged silence feel even more intimate, as though the two of you were already a married couple navigating the first real night after a huge fight after years of shared life.
“Smells so good.” San said eventually, voice low and a little rough, as if he had to force the ordinary words out past the thicker things still lodged in his throat.
When you turned slightly you caught the way those sweet, deep dimples threatened to appear at the corners of his mouth before he forced them back, the brief flash of them making your pulse skip because Mr. Choi was literally the embodiment of every wet fantasy you had ever allowed yourself—fiendishly handsome, broad-shouldered and strong-armed, the elegant lines of his body moving with the residual grace of a great big cat of prey even while he performed the most mundane of household tasks.
“It’s nothing special.” You answered, equally careful, though your eyes could not seem to stay away from the way the soft black fabric of his shirt stretched across the solid width of his shoulders or the way the veins in his strong forearms shifted as he reached for the salt. “Just whatever was left.”
San made a soft sound of acknowledgment that vibrated low in his chest, and for a moment the two of you stood side by side at the stove, the space between your bodies so narrow you could feel the heat of him, the faint expensive scent of sandalwood and warm skin mixing with the garlic and tomatoes until the entire kitchen smelled like something far more dangerous than dinner.
You ate across from each other with little more than the soft scrape of cutlery and the occasional low “thank you” to fill the space, every attempt at normal conversation seeming to die almost as soon as it began, the polite exchanges stretching between you like the careful arguments of a long-married couple who both know exactly what they are not saying.
You asked if his sister had texted to say the boys had settled in; he answered that she had, and that they were already demanding ice cream before dinner, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to show those sweet, deep dimples again and making your own lips part on a soft, involuntary breath because the sight of him smiling, even that small, restrained version was enough to make you want to climb across the table and taste the curve of it.
He asked if you had any plans for the empty weekend; you said you hadn’t really thought that far ahead, and the way San’s dark, heavy bedroom eyes dropped to your mouth as you spoke, lingering on the plump, soft shape of your lips as though he were already imagining them stretched around something thicker, sent a warm, viscous pulse of heat low into your belly.
Each exchange lasted only a few carefully sentences before the silence rushed back in, thicker than before, charged with the mutual awareness that neither of you could look away from the other for long.
Your gaze tracing the elegant strength of his arms and the sharp, mature cut of his jaw, his attention moving from the soft, full weight of your breasts beneath the worn shirt to the gentle sway of your entire body whenever you leaned forward, to the way your mouth shaped every quiet word until the simple act of sharing a meal felt like the most intimate foreplay either of you had ever endured.
Every time you reached to pass him the salt or the small bowl of grated cheese, San’s gaze flickered quick, almost guilty, not only to the soft, heavy sway of your breasts but to the overall plush vulnerability of your body, the way the fabric clung to the curve of your waist and the full, soft lines of your hips, the way your plump, glossy lips parted slightly whenever you met his eyes for too long.
His sharp jaw flexed. Those dark, predatory eyes dropped, lingered half a second too long on the gentle shift of soft flesh and the tempting shape of your mouth, then snapped away as though the sight itself had burned him, yet the damage was already done; you felt the weight of those glances land low in your belly each time, warm and restless, a slow pulse of heat that made your thighs press together under the table while you stared right back at the gorgeous, dangerous man sitting across from you, the embodiment of every filthy fantasy you had ever allowed yourself to keep.
Neither of you mentioned the morning.
Neither of you mentioned the wet tank top or the way he had stood frozen in the bathroom doorway, staring as though the world had narrowed to the translucent cling of cotton over lace and the dark peaks of your nipples, the silence between you now thick with everything that still remained unsaid and the knowledge that the empty house had only just begun to test how long either of you could keep pretending.
Afterward he insisted on helping with the dishes, the two of you ending up side by side at the sink with shoulders almost brushing. The kitchen was still warm from cooking and the window above the sink lightly fogged with steam that softened the edges of everything until the ordinary domestic scene looked almost dreamlike.
You washed while San rinsed and dried, the quiet rhythm of it should have felt comforting yet every small movement seemed charged with the same live-wire tension that had followed you from the hallway, the soft cotton of your tiny shorts, the ones you only ever wore when the boys weren’t around, riding higher up the backs of your thighs every time you stretched for a plate on the upper shelf so that the newly bared skin of your upper thighs felt the heat of his gaze sliding over it with unmistakable hunger.
You tried once more to start a conversation, the silence pressing too heavily against the soft clink of glass and the low rush of water, and San answered with careful casualness that still carried the dark, honeyed weight of his voice as he asked how things were at home and outside of work, whether you had been out with friends lately.
The question hanging for a heartbeat before he added, quietly and carefully, the single word “boyfriend” that made the air between you tighten.
The thought of you with someone else burned through San like acid, a bitter taste flooding his tongue because he did not want to share even the smallest piece of you with anyone. Although he tried to fight the possessive nature that had always lived under his elegant exterior and to maintain the professional boundaries that were supposed to keep him safe, he could not imagine your soft body in anyone else’s bed, could not bear the idea of another man touching the plump, glossy mouth he wanted stretched around his own cock or sliding into the tight, wet pussy that already felt like it belonged to him alone.
You answered that no, you did not have anyone, and when exactly would you find the time since you were always here with the boys, adding with a soft, almost self-deprecating laugh that you had had a couple of promising correspondences that had led nowhere because you needed a man, not a boy, and you had no interest in wasting time on someone who was not ready for something serious.
The words landed in San’s chest like a spark to dry tinder; he literally felt himself straighten, shoulders broadening as the quiet, fierce certainty rose that he could give you all of it—a home already filled with the soft chaos of children, money that would let you never worry again, the steady care of a man who would put you first, a couple of cute chubby babies that would look like both of you, and maybe even a cat that would curl in your lap while he watched from across the room with the deep, private satisfaction of a man who finally had everything he had ever wanted.
The conversation faded again after that, returning to short, careful exchanges and the awkwardness that always rushed back in to fill the spaces, yet the damage was already done.
San felt hot and thickly aroused, the heavy length of his cock already half-hard simply from the knowledge that you were free and looking for the exact kind of man he was.
Once, reaching for a glass on the higher shelf, the soft curve of your ass brushed the hard, unyielding muscle of his thigh by pure accident and San went rigid, a low, almost inaudible sound leaving his throat—something between a sharp breath and a restrained growl that vibrated straight through your spine. You kept your eyes on the soapy water, cheeks warm, pulse thudding heavily between your legs as you pretended not to notice the thick, unmistakable outline pressing against the front of his sweatpants.
He was hard. Fully, heavily hard, the swollen length of him straining upward as though it had a will of its own, the knowledge sending a slow, liquid pulse of heat straight to your core so that your cunt clenched around nothing and a fresh slickness gathered between your thighs, the thin cotton of your tiny shorts already beginning to feel damp against the soft, swollen folds it barely covered.
San’s hands moved automatically under the running water, but his mind had already slipped somewhere far more dangerous; in the space of a single heartbeat he was no longer standing politely beside you but behind you, chest pressed to the soft line of your back, the thick heat of his cock nestled firmly against the plump curve of your ass while one of his large, skilled hands slid around your waist and down the front of those tiny shorts, long fingers slipping beneath the thin cotton to cup the warm, already slick flesh of your pussy with possessive certainty. His mouth found the side of your neck, lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear as he murmured in that dark, rough voice thick with want,
“Look at you… my hot, sweet little wife, standing here washing dishes like you weren’t made to be fucked.” His fingers parting your folds and stroking slowly through the wetness he found there until the clear, sticky glaze coated his skin. “Already so soft and ready for me. You have no idea what you do to me, jagiya? Walking around this house in these tiny shorts, those pretty tits bouncing every time you reach for something… I’ve been hard since the second I saw you this morning.”
In the fantasy he pressed two thick fingers inside you, curling them just right while his thumb circled the swollen peak of your clit, mouth still open against your neck as he kept whispering filthy, possessive praise between slow, open-mouthed kisses, promising that he was going to take care of this sweet cunt every night once the boys were asleep, that he was going to keep you full and dripping for him until you forgot there had ever been a time when you belonged to anyone else.
“San?” Your real voice cut through the haze, soft but clear, and when he did not answer you said his name a little firmer, the sound pulling him back so that he blinked hard and the vivid image shattered.
The kitchen rushed back in, the warm steam, the soft clink of dishes, the very real, very hard ache of his cock straining against the soft fabric of his sweatpants, while you looked at him over your shoulder with a faint, questioning crease between your brows, completely unaware of the filthy domestic scene he had just been lost in.
“Sorry.” San muttered, voice rough and scraped raw around the edges, the deep chocolate of his eyes still dark with residual hunger as he forced himself to focus on the glass in his hands. “Zoned out for a second.”
He lasted another three minutes of careful, rigid silence, the only sounds the soft drip of the faucet he had not yet turned off and the distant tick of the living-room clock measuring every charged second that stretched between your bodies.
San’s shoulders remained locked in that elegant, predatory line, the soft black fabric of his shirt stretched taut across the broad width of them as he fought to keep his breathing even, yet the thick, unmistakable outline of his cock still pressed heavily against the front of his sweatpants, the swollen length of him refusing to subside no matter how tightly he clenched his jaw or how deliberately he focused on the last few plates.
You could feel the effort it cost him in the way his long, skilled fingers flexed against the edge of the counter, in the faint pulse of a vein along the freckled column of his throat, in the low, almost inaudible sound that escaped him every time the soft cotton of your tiny shorts shifted against your thighs and reminded him of the exact heat and wetness he had just imagined sliding his fingers into.
Then San shut off the water with a sharp twist of the faucet, dried his hands with unnecessary care that still left a faint tremor in the elegant lines of his wrists, and said that he needed to “finish some work upstairs.”
You knew exactly what kind of work; the knowledge settled low in your belly like warm, viscous heat, your own pulse answering with a slow, liquid throb between your legs as you watched him force himself to step back from the sink, every movement rigid with the same visible self-control that only made him more dangerously attractive.
“Ah, I see…” You answered softly, the words leaving your lips before you could stop them, coloured by a quiet understanding that made his heavy bedroom eyes flick to your mouth for one last, hungry second before he turned away.
He left the kitchen without another word, the soft pad of his bare feet on the stairs carrying the unmistakable weight of a man who was already counting the steps until he could lock a door behind him and finally give in to the thick, aching pressure that had been building since the moment he first saw you wet and glowing in the bathroom that morning.
You are standing alone in the warm, steam-softened kitchen with the residual scent of garlic and his expensive skin still lingering in the air and the empty house suddenly feeling even larger around the quiet, electric knowledge of what he was about to do.
The second the bedroom door clicked shut behind him, San leaned his forehead hard against the cool wood, eyes closed, a low, vicious curse slipping past his clenched teeth as the full weight of his own weakness crashed over him like heat.
He was furious with himself, furious with you for existing in his house looking the way you did, furious at the fact that he was acting like some immature teenager who had just seen a pair of tits for the first time and could not think past the desperate need to get his hands on them.
God, he was a grown man with two children who depended on him, a man who had built a controlled life, and yet he still could not control the thick, insistent pulse of his own cock.
The contradiction burned almost as hot as the want itself, and what infuriated him even more was how completely he wanted you—how every soft smile, every gentle care you showed the boys, every accidental brush of your body against his only made the hunger sharper, and how he still was not brave enough to walk back downstairs and simply tell you that the only bed he ever wanted you in was his.
The entire room felt saturated with need and fantasy and the sharp, bitter edge of desire that refused to be reasoned away. San stayed pressed against the door for long, trembling seconds, breathing in the quiet of the empty house, the knowledge that you remained downstairs in those tiny shorts only a few walls away making the ache in his groin almost unbearable.
Only when the pressure became too much did he finally shove the soft fabric of his sweatpants down just far enough to free himself, the heavy length of his cock springing up thick and flushed a deep, furious shade, already leaking at the swollen tip so that a clear bead of moisture glistened against the velvet-soft skin. He wrapped a fist around the hot, demanding weight of it and fucked into his own hand with brutal, desperate strokes, forehead still pressed hard to the closed door, teeth gritted against the broken sounds trying to claw their way out of his throat while he tried, even now, to fight the orgasm rising too fast.
In the sharp, fevered flashes that tore through him it was not his hand. It was you—bent over the kitchen table you had only just cleared, those tiny shorts yanked down to your knees along with the soft, already damp panties beneath them, the delicate fabric of the ruined lace still carrying the sweet, sticky scent of your cunt as he pressed it to his face for one last filthy inhale before tossing it aside.
The soft, perfect curves of your ass were bare and trembling under his palms. One of San’s big hands spanned the small of your back, holding you still, while the other gripped your hip hard enough to leave the angry red marks of his fingers. He drove into you in long, deep thrusts that forced the air from your lungs, so deep the thick shape of him showed under the soft skin of your belly every time he bottomed out, the wet, filthy sound of his cock slamming into your tight, greedy pussy filling the quiet kitchen while you clawed at the wood and sobbed his name.
He growled filth against the damp skin of your neck, voice dark and rough with possession.
“Take it, chagiya. Take every fucking inch. Look how pretty you look stuffed full of me. This perfect little cunt was made to take my cock like this—made to take my cum. Gonna fill you so full it leaks down your thighs. Gonna keep you full all weekend until it takes.”
San's fist moved faster, tighter, twisting over the sensitive, swollen head on every upstroke until the wet, filthy sound of skin on skin filled the quiet bedroom. His free hand braced against the door hard enough to make the wood creak, and San came with a broken, punched-out groan, spilling over his knuckles in long, pulsing ropes that striped his golden skin and dripped onto the floorboards while he still tried, even in the middle of it, to hold back the full force of the release.
The orgasm tore through him hard enough to make his knees weak, yet the relief lasted less than a minute. He was still half-hard. Still aching. Still throbbing with the same relentless, unfinished need that no single rushed climax could satisfy.
San cleaned himself with sharp, almost angry movements, the residual slickness of his own cum only reminding him how much he still wanted to bury it inside you instead, then began to pace the length of the bedroom like a caged great big cat of prey, elegant and restless and deadly.
Back and forth. Back and forth. He dragged both hands through his dark hair, exhaled hard through his nose, tried to force the images out of his head—the way the wet tank top had clung to the full, heavy weight of your breasts that morning, the soft curve of your ass brushing against his thigh at the sink, the knowledge that you were still downstairs within easy reach, still wearing those tiny fucking shorts that barely covered the plump, soft flesh he wanted marked with his hands, and it was no use.
The contradictions only sharpened the hunger: he was a father, a responsible man, and yet every cell in his body was screaming to go back down there, pin you against the nearest surface, and finally take what he had been denying himself since the night he first pressed your ruined panties to his face and came with your name locked behind his teeth.
His cock was already thickening again, heavy and insistent against his stomach, the residual ache of the first rushed climax doing nothing to quiet the deeper, more relentless need that still burned through him.
San stopped in the middle of the room, chest rising and falling too fast, and stared at the bed as if it had personally offended him, the lines of his body tight with the same restless energy of a great big cat of prey that has been denied its kill.
He felt pathetic, like a drug addict who had already relapsed once and was now reaching for the same poison again, and the knowledge of his own weakness only made the hunger sharper because damn, what could he do about it—he was just a man, and in front of you he had discovered he was weaker than he had ever allowed himself to admit. Almost against his own will he moved toward the bed, every step weighted with the bitter understanding that he was about to break the promises he had made to himself only days earlier.
He knew exactly where they were. Days ago, after the shower incident, he had taken the ruined pink lace panties you had left behind and hidden them under his pillow like some desperate, pathetic secret, telling himself he would throw them away, telling himself he would never touch them again; both promises had been lies the moment the soft, delicate fabric first brushed his fingers.
San reached under the pillow with a hand that was not quite steady and pulled them free, the sight of the familiar lace sending a fresh, viscous pulse of heat straight to his groin even before the scent reached him.
The soft, delicate fabric was still faintly scented with you, something warm and sweet and unmistakably feminine, the lingering ghost of your cunt mixed with the clean heat of your skin, that hit him like a physical blow the second he brought them to his face.
He pressed the lace hard against his nose and mouth, inhaling deeply, greedily, the fine texture of the ruined fabric soft and slightly stiff where it had dried, and a low, wrecked sound tore out of his throat as the full force of the memory crashed over him: your pretty, needy little pussy, the way the panties had been soaked through when he first pressed them to his face in the steam, the knowledge that the same soft, swollen flesh was still downstairs, still within reach, still wearing something just as thin and easy to destroy.
Only then did he shove the waistband of his sweatpants down again, the heavy length of his cock springing free already flushed and leaking once more, the swollen tip glistening as he wrapped his fist around the hot, velvet-soft skin with almost violent urgency.
This time the fantasy was worse, richer, more unbearable. This time he imagined pushing those same ruined panties into your mouth while he fucked you from behind, the soft lace muffling your moans so that every broken sound you made was filtered through the taste of your own sweet, sticky cunt.
Your glassy, needy eyes looking back at him over your shoulder while the soft, heavy bounce of your breasts filled his hands and the wet heat of your tight, greedy pussy clenched around every thick inch of him.
San fucked into his hand harder, faster, the wet, filthy sound of skin on skin obscene in the quiet bedroom, the soft fabric of your panties still crushed against his mouth and nose so that every desperate inhale only drove him closer to the edge with single-minded intensity.
San came with a broken, almost pained groan, spilling over his fist in thick, heavy ropes for the second time in less than ten minutes, he had to brace one hand against the mattress just to stay upright while the last pulsing waves left him trembling and still not satisfied.
And still, still it was not enough.
He cleaned up in silence, movements tight with residual frustration and the bitter aftertaste of his own lack of control, then pulled on a pair of soft black pajama pants that sat dangerously low on his hips and a thin tank top that clung to every defined line of his chest and stomach, the heavy, obvious shape of his cock remaining clearly visible against the thin fabric because he no longer had the energy to bother hiding what you had done to him.
Downstairs the house was still quiet, the air still carrying the faint domestic scents of the dinner you had cooked together, and you were still there so soft, so warm, and completely unaware of how thoroughly you had already ruined him.
The house still felt too large, too empty once you had given up wandering its quiet rooms, the sudden absence of the twins turning every familiar space into something that echoed with the soft, relentless tick of the living-room clock and the distant hum of the refrigerator as though the walls themselves were waiting for the sound of small feet that would not return until Sunday night.
You had tried reading for a while, the same page blurring in front of your eyes three times before you set the book aside with a soft sigh that seemed too loud in the hush. Then you scrolled aimlessly on your phone, opening and closing the same apps without really seeing anything—messages from friends you did not answer, photos of the twins from earlier that morning.
At one point you found yourself standing in the kitchen doorway again, staring at the clean counters and the two unused wine glasses left on the drying rack, listening to the refrigerator hum as if it might offer some kind of company, before you finally settled on the couch with a movie you were not really watching, curling into the corner with your knees drawn up beneath. The soft fabric of your shirt brushing against your already sensitive nipples every time you shifted so that each tiny friction sent a low, insistent pulse of heat straight between your legs.
You heard Mr. Choi come down the stairs—the quiet thud of bare feet on the steps, then the soft pad across the hallway—and you did not look up immediately, feeling San pause in the doorway for a second as if deciding whether to keep walking past or stay. The air between you already thickened with the residual heat of everything he had just done upstairs and everything still left unspoken.
Then San moved into the room and dropped onto the opposite end of the couch with a low exhale that seemed to carry the weight of the two rushed, unsatisfying releases he had forced from his own body.
San's long legs stretching out in front of him, one knee bent, the soft black fabric of his pajama pants doing absolutely nothing to hide the heavy shape of his semi-erect cock. The thick, unmistakable outline rested against his thigh, the swollen length of him clearly visible even in the low light from the television.
The thin tank top he had pulled on clung to the broad planes of his chest and the sharp cut of his abs with every slow breath so that you could see the rise and fall of his stomach, the way the cotton stretched tight over muscle, the faint sheen of residual heat still clinging to the golden skin of his throat.
You could feel the weight of his presence like a hand at the back of your neck, every few seconds your eyes flicking sideways despite yourself—to the strong, long line of his throat, the flex of his forearm where it rested along the back of the couch, the way his free hand lay loosely against his thigh only inches from that obvious, heavy bulge. San was looking at the screen, or pretending to, the tension in his sharp jaw and the dark, heavy bedroom quality of his eyes saying otherwise.
You tried to talk about nothing, the way people do when the air between them has grown too thick to breathe easily.
“Your sister texted earlier.” You said, voice softer than you intended. Your gaze lingered a moment too long on the way the thin tank top moulded itself to the elegant strength of Mr. Choi ’s shoulders and the defined lines of his chest, the black fabric clinging to every shift of muscle as he breathed.
You added that she had sent a photo of the boys already covered in ice cream and looking thoroughly spoiled.
San’s plump, sensual mouth twitched, almost a smile that threatened those sweet, deep dimples before he forced it back, the brief flash of them still enough to send another warm, viscous pulse of awareness low into your belly while his heavy bedroom eyes flicked to your face and then away again just as quickly.
“She always does.” He answered, voice low and rough around the edges. “Give them whatever they want the second they’re out of my sight.”
Another pause settled between you, thick and charged, the low murmur of the movie filling the space without truly touching the tension that crackled in the quiet inches separating your bodies on the couch.
Your soft thighs pressed together against the insistent heat gathering between them while San’s semi-hard cock remained a clear, heavy reminder of how little the two rushed orgasms upstairs had actually taken the edge off.
You and San kept exchanging glances like a pair of ridiculous teenagers, catching each other staring and immediately turning away only to look back a heartbeat later. The whole thing was so transparently charged that the air itself seemed to thicken with every stolen look.
Your eyes tracing the strong line of his throat and the way the thin tank top clung to the sharp cut of his abs, his gaze dropping to the soft weight of your breasts beneath your own shirt before snapping back to the screen with visible effort.
“I left their favorite blankets folded on the dryer.” You said after a moment, mostly for something to say, the words tasting almost too ordinary against the restless hunger coiling low in your stomach. “In case she brings them back early.”
“She won’t.” His voice was low, pure darkness wrapped in velvet. “She said she wants them for the full weekend. Told me not to call unless the house was on fire.”
“Weather’s supposed to be good all weekend.” You offered, weaker this time, another glance sliding sideways to the heavy outline of his cock against the soft black fabric of his pajama pants before you forced your eyes forward again. “Maybe she’ll take them to the park tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”
The space between you on the couch felt both too wide and not nearly wide enough. You could smell the clean, warm scent of his skin from here—something faintly soapy mixed with the deeper, hotter note of him that always seemed to settle under your ribs.
It made your stomach tighten with something restless and hungry while the two of you continued the same ridiculous, teenage game of looking and looking away, each stolen glance lasting half a second longer than the last until the tension felt almost unbearable.
Then the movie shifted. The scene was suddenly far too graphic, far too uncensored, far too close to everything you had been trying not to think about since the moment the front door closed behind the children.
The soft background music cut out without warning and low, wet, unmistakably filthy sounds filled the room instead. The slick, obscene noise of a mouth stretched around a cock far too thick for it, a woman’s breathy, broken pleas rising as the camera lingered without any cinematic mercy on the way her glossy lips struggled to take every veined inch, on the heavy bounce of her breasts as the man pinched and rolled her nipples between skilled fingers until she sobbed.
The main character’s cock looked almost painfully swollen, the head flushed dark and already leaking as the woman pulled off just long enough to lick a long, wet stripe up the underside before taking him deep again, her muffled moans vibrating around the thick shaft while his free hand continued to tug and twist at her stiff nipples.
You gasped—loud, sharp, completely involuntary, the sound cutting through the room as heat flooded your face and raced down your throat in a deep, shameful blush that made your ears burn.
Your thighs pressed together hard under the throw blanket you had pulled over your lap, a fresh slickness already gathering between them at the sheer depravity of what was unfolding on the screen. You reached for the remote on the coffee table with fingers that were not quite steady, an awkward little laugh escaping you as you tried to cover the way your pulse had suddenly begun to throb low and insistent between your legs.
“I… should probably skip this…” You managed, the words coloured by that same embarrassed laugh and the deep flush still staining your cheeks.
Your eyes flicking once more to San’s face only to find him already looking at you, the dark, hungry stare of those heavy bedroom eyes locking with yours.
“Don’t.” San’s voice was low, rough, barely more than a scrape of sound, but it stopped you cold.
San’s hand closed over yours before you could press the button. His palm warm and slightly rough, those long fingers covering yours completely so that the simple contact felt almost shockingly intimate after days of careful distance.
He simply held your hand there, trapped gently against the plastic of the remote, and his thumb slow stroked once across your knuckles. The soft drag of skin on skin sending a visible shiver racing up your arm and straight down your spine until your thighs pressed tighter together and a fresh, warm slickness gathered between them beneath the throw blanket.
Something in his expression had finally cracked open. The careful distance he had worn like armor for days was gone, and what remained was raw and hungry and a little bit helpless, as if he had reached the absolute end of whatever strength had been holding him back. San's eyes dark, almost black in the flickering light from the screen, his plush, sensual lips slightly parted, the rapid pulse beating visibly at the base of his throat.
“I can’t keep doing this.” He said, the words coming out low, honeyed register, scraped raw around the edges.
The confession that followed was more desperate and frank than anything he had allowed himself before, the careful walls collapsing all at once as he finally showed you the full weight of what he had been fighting since the night in the shower.
“I can’t keep pretending I don’t want you—every single fucking day, every time you smile at the boys or lean across the counter or walk past me in those tiny shorts. I’ve been going out of my mind trying to stay away, telling myself I’m supposed to be better than this, that I’m their father and you’re here to take care of them, not to become the only thing I can think about when I lock myself upstairs and still can’t get the taste of you out of my head. I’m a grown man and I’ve been acting like a desperate teenager who can’t control his own cock, and the worst part is I don’t even want to stop wanting you. I want you in my bed, in my kitchen, in every room of this house. I want you soft and wet and looking at me the way you are right now. But I understand if you don’t want this. I understand if I’ve already crossed too many lines, if the way I’ve been looking at you makes you uncomfortable, if you’d rather I keep my distance and never say another word about it. Just… tell me.”
Your breath left you in a shaky rush, the confession hanging between you heavy and irreversible while on the screen the couple kept moving, soft gasps and the slick, filthy sound of sex filling the charged quiet that followed his words, yet neither of you looked away from each other.
His hand was still covering yours. His thumb was still resting against your skin. You could feel the heat of him all the way up your arm, the residual scent of his skin—warm, clean, and faintly expensive, mixing with the low light and the empty-house silence until the entire living room felt too small, too intimate, too full of everything that had been building since the twins left.
“No…” You whispered, the single word leaving your lips before you could stop it, your voice soft and unsteady as the truth rose past every careful boundary you had tried to maintain. “I… I feel the same way.”
Something in San’s expression broke completely at that, the last fragile thread of restraint snapping with almost visible force. The dark, hungry stare of those heavy bedroom eyes locked onto yours with the full intensity of a great big cat of prey that has finally been given permission to close the distance.
♡ 𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤: Single father San x nanny reader
♡ 𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You’ve spent months fighting the undeniable magnetic pull between you and Mr. Choi — the unfairly handsome single father whose house you live in as the nanny for his twins. His heated stares linger longer with each passing day, thickening the air with unspoken desire that makes you blush and touch yourself in bed at night when you think about him. Your twisted game of cat and mouse might have continued indefinitely, if you hadn’t accidentally caught him in the shower one day — hot water streaming over his body as he stroked himself slowly, your dirty panties pressed tightly to his face. A full scene for the unholy hour
♡ 𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 / 𝔄𝔲 / 𝔗𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢: Smut, Dilf!Au, Domestic! AU, Reader x Single father
♡ ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: 18+ / 21+ / MDNI
♡ 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 5.4k
♡ 𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: dom!Dilf San, Soft!reader, impregnation kink, breeding kink, cum play, pussy rubbing, pet names, dirty talk, hand job, praise kink, milking, masturbation, size kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, cock milking, wet and dirty, explicit sexual content, explicit language, and more.
♡ net: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity
♡ 𝔄|𝔑: Well, my sugar bunnies, I didn't plan on writing a full-length, but that's what happened. This is also unedited, so please be gentle with me. I don't usually post rough drafts this rough, but I promised you a full scene for this one, and I really won't be able to edit it anytime soon, at least for the next two weeks, and I don't want my bunnies to get bored. So, I hope you have lots of fun with soft, but perverted dilf San who spends all his free time thinking about how badly he wants to breed his children's nanny.
♡ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 at the end of the post.
♡ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔶 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 - check for more
𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖉 - Your love makes all this possible
Single fatherhood had been grinding San down to the marrow lately, the weight of it crushing him from the moment the sun clawed over the horizon until it bled out behind the city skyline. Work dragged him out before the twins even stirred and spat him back home long after the house had gone dark, so bone-weary he could barely peel off his suit, let alone chase the kind of filthy, desperate release his body had been screaming for.
And then you stepped into the storm — his quiet miracle, his soft-eyed salvation, the one calm heartbeat in the chaos of his life with two wild toddlers. You’d been here for months now, and San didn’t know how he’d survived without you. The house finally felt like a home again instead of a battlefield, and for the first time in forever he could actually draw a full breath without it catching in his throat.
The change had crept in so gradually he almost missed it at first. Mornings where the twins’ laughter no longer grated against his frayed nerves but instead wrapped around him like something warm and safe. Evenings when he came home to the soft glow of lights and the faint scent of dinner waiting instead of cold silence and scattered toys.
Little by little, the constant knot of exhaustion in his chest began to loosen, replaced by something far more dangerous — a slow, heated awareness of the way you moved through his space with such effortless grace. The gentle curve of your smile when one of the boys reached for you, the way your voice softened into something tender and melodic as you soothed them, the quiet competence that made his once-chaotic world feel steady again. Each small moment settled deeper under his skin, stirring embers he had long since buried beneath layers of fatigue and responsibility.
The hunger started as a low, dangerous thrum beneath his skin, something San almost convinced himself was just exhaustion.
At first he only noticed the safe, practical things: how the twins fell instantly silent the moment you cradled them against the soft swell of your chest, how a steaming meal always waited on the counter no matter how late he dragged himself through the door, how the entire house had shifted from a cold, sterile battlefield into something warm, lived-in, and quietly welcoming. San told himself the way his gaze clung to the generous curve of your ass when you bent to gather a scattered toy was nothing more than bone-deep fatigue. The way his cock gave a slow, heavy throb when your soft, genuine laugh drifted across the room at one of the boys’ babbling nonsense was simply the natural response of a man who hadn’t lost himself inside warm, willing heat in over a year.
But the thrum grew louder. Deeper. Hungrier.
And then San started having dreams. Filthy, sweat-soaked, vividly colored dreams that tore him from sleep with his cock rigid and leaking against his stomach, sheets tangled around his thighs like silken bonds, your name already spilling from his lips in a broken whisper.
In one he had you on your knees beneath his office desk during a late-night video call, those wide, innocent eyes gazing up at him while your plush lips stretched wide around the thick, veined length of his cock. He’d twist his fingers into your hair, continue speaking in that calm, authoritative CEO tone, hips rolling in unhurried, possessive strokes while you drooled and whimpered around him, mascara painting dark, messy trails down your flushed cheeks. He’d empty himself down your throat mid-sentence, thick, copious streams and you’d swallow every drop like the perfect, greedy little slut he knew you could be.
He’d wake with his boxers drenched, heart hammering against his ribs, and barely reach the shower, fisting himself with harsh, desperate strokes that never truly eased the gnawing hunger.
The daytime fantasies were even crueler. They ambushed him when he was least prepared.
During yet another endless conference call he’d find his mind drifting, painting you on your knees beneath the oak table in his home office. Eager fingers would tug down his zipper with practiced hunger, that warm, velvet mouth sinking down until the swollen head nudged the back of your throat. While San fought to keep his voice steady and professional for the camera, your tongue would swirl slowly and obscene around the sensitive tip, cheeks hollowing with each deliberate suck, those soft, needy hums vibrating straight through his heavy sac. He’d grip the edge of the desk until his knuckles paled, biting back the urge to moan your name in front of his entire team.
The mere fantasy was enough to make his cock swell and throb insistently against the tight confines of his slacks; he’d have to mute the call, press his palm firmly over the aching bulge, and sink his teeth into the inside of his cheek until the meeting dragged to its end.
And then there were the real moments — the ones that turned restraint into the sweetest, most exquisite torture.
Watching you with the twins always unraveled the last fragile threads of San’s control.
God, the way you played with them — so gentle, so effortlessly tender, every gesture radiating that soft, glowing maternal warmth that sent his his blood boiling hotter than it should.
You’d sink gracefully to the floor in those tiny sleep shorts that rode high on the smooth, plush stretch of your thighs, letting the boys clamber all over you, their delighted giggles muffled against the soft, tempting curve of your chest. San would linger in the doorway, pretending to check his phone, but his eyes stayed riveted on the way your thin tank top stretched tight across those full, heavy breasts whenever you reached for a toy, the way your nipples would pebble into tight, begging peaks the instant the cool air from the vent whispered over them.
In his mind the scene shifted instantly — you softer, rounder, belly beautifully swollen and radiant with his child, those same breasts full and heavy from milk, dark damp circles blooming across the fabric because you were too lost in caring for his family to notice or care.
San’d imagine you settled on the couch, cradling one of the little ones to your breast while he watched from across the room, his cock straining painfully against his pants at the sight. He was the one who had given you that lush, fertile glow. He was the one who had fucked you so thoroughly the night before that you’d still be walking with that delicious, sated waddle the next day, inner thighs slick with the evidence of how he completely claimed a pretty, sweet nanny.
That particular domestic fantasy slammed into him like a freight train on a random Tuesday.
He’d come home early for once and found you in the kitchen, wearing nothing but one of his old, oversized shirts draped loosely over your shorts, humming softly while you stirred something fragrant on the stove. The twins were napping upstairs. Golden late-afternoon light spilled through the windows, bathing everything in a hazy, golden warmth, and for one dangerous, heart-stopping second San let himself imagine you as his completely — his sweet little wifey, wearing only a tiny apron knotted around your waist, full breasts completely bare and swaying gently with every movement, nipples stiff from the cool air.
That soft, puffy little cunt of yours still glistening and swollen from the thick, creamy load he’d pumped into you that morning, slow, shiny trails of his seed tracing lazy paths down your inner thighs while you cooked dinner for your family like the perfect, depraved little housewife you were born to be.
San’d step up behind you, bend you over the counter, and sink back inside that warm, welcoming heat — deep and unhurried, no rush, no tiny voices to interrupt, just the wet, obscene sounds of your slick walls stretching around every thick inch while he pressed open-mouthed kisses of your neck and whispered how fucking exquisite you looked carrying his baby again.
He’d almost done it that day. Almost pressed the heavy, aching length of his cock against the soft, plush curve of your ass and let you feel exactly how desperately hard the thought made him.
Instead San’d cleared his throat, thanked you for dinner in that low, strained rasp, and vanished into his office to fist his throbbing shaft furiously into a tissue, teeth sunk deep into his knuckles so the broken moan of your name wouldn’t echo through the quiet house.
The tension had been thickening for weeks now, slow and merciless, like warm honey spreading beneath his skin until every breath felt too tight, too heavy.
Every accidental brush of your fingers when you passed him coffee. Every time you breathed “Mr. Choi” in that sweet, slightly breathless voice that shot straight to his balls. Every night he came home to find you curled on the couch with one of the twins fast asleep on your chest, your hand stroking the boy’s back so gently while you scrolled on your phone.
San would freeze in the dark hallway, cock pulsing painfully against the front of his slacks, wondering how it would feel to replace that soft little hand with his own — bigger, rougher, calloused from years of barely holding on, sliding under your shirt to cup the warm, full weight of your breast while he fucked you slow and deep, letting you feel every swollen vein, every heavy throb, every inch of the thick cock you’d been secretly aching for.
He was losing the battle.
And today was his first real day off in forever; he was finished pretending.
The twins had drifted off without a single protest, their soft breathing the only sound left in the house. Blissful silence wrapped around everything like a secret. San stood in his bedroom, towel slung dangerously low on his hips, dark hair still damp and tousled from the light sheen of sweat earned chasing the boys across the yard earlier. His cock was already half-hard, thickening against the soft fabric just from the memory of you laughing on the grass, cheeks flushed a delicate pink, shirt riding up to bare that tempting strip of smooth skin along your stomach.
He needed release. Badly. He needed to curl his fingers around his aching length and stroke himself senseless to thoughts of you until the gnawing hunger finally eased.
He padded barefoot into the bathroom, the heavy glass door clicking shut behind him like a promise sealed in steam. Hot water roared to life beneath his fingertips, thick clouds already curling lazily around the marble walls and turning the air with something heavy, intimate, almost sacred in its sinfulness.
And there they were — draped over the edge of the tub like the universe had decided to gift him the most obscene temptation imaginable.
Your pale pink lace panties from yesterday. Still faintly damp. Still carrying that faint, intoxicating trace of your sweet, musky warmth.
San’s breath caught sharply in his throat. His cock surged to full, rigid hardness so violently his vision blurred at the edges. He didn’t hesitate for a single second.
He stepped beneath the scalding cascade of water, snatched the delicate scrap of lace, and pressed the ruined fabric straight to his face, inhaling like a man starved for weeks. The heady essence of you flooded his senses - creamy-sweet and warm and unmistakably feminine, laced with that soft whisper of laundry detergent, and his mind short-circuited completely.
“Fuck…” A low, broken groan escaped from San's lips, the sound reverberating against the wet fabric.
He curled his fist tightly around the thick, veined length of his cock and began stroking it in long, deliberate movements, which made the ridges of his sculpted abdomen flex and his heavy scrotum draw up tightly against his body. Scorching water poured down the broad expanse of his chest, tracing every defined line of muscle, every sharp cut of his hips, making the veins along his forearm stand proud as he pumped himself harder, slower, savoring the deep, pulsing ache.
San ground the lace more firmly against his nose and mouth, tongue tracing lazy, greedy paths over the spot where your arousal had dried, sucking the delicate fabric between his lips as though he could truly taste the warm, dripping heat of your pretty little pussy for real.
The fantasy slammed into him again, vivid and merciless.
You stood there in nothing but that tiny apron, bent over the kitchen table, back arched like an offering, thighs spread wide and trembling with anticipation. That soft, swollen cunt of yours glistened invitingly, puffy lips parted and already leaking slow, creamy trails from the thick load he’d pumped deep inside you that morning. He’d grip your hips with firm, possessive hands, push in deep and unhurried, letting you feel every heavy, veined inch stretch your fluttering walls open while your full tits swayed heavily beneath you, nipples tight and begging for his mouth, his fingers, his teeth.
The image burned behind his closed eyelids, vivid and merciless, every detail sharpened by weeks of pent-up hunger. San could almost hear the wet, obscene sounds your body would make around him — the slick slide of skin on skin, your soft gasps turning into broken whimpers as he rocked into you with that slow, deliberate rhythm, claiming you right there in the golden afternoon light while dinner simmered forgotten on the stove. He could almost feel the way your walls would clench and flutter around his thick length, milking him, pulling him deeper, your voice whispering his name like the perfect, depraved little wifey you were meant to be.
He was so lost in it, so completely fucking gone in his sweet fantasy, that he didn’t hear the soft creak of the bathroom door opening.
The house was blissfully, dangerously quiet for once.
The twins, those tiny whirlwinds with San’s dimpled smile and endless fire — had finally surrendered to their afternoon nap after tearing through the backyard like miniature storms. You’d tucked them in with their favorite blankets, brushed soft kisses across their foreheads, and slipped from the nursery on silent feet, heart still fluttering from the way Mr. Choi had looked at you over breakfast.
Just a glance, really, those dark feline eyes lingering a heartbeat too long as you leaned down to wipe jam from one little cheek, but it had been enough to make your thighs press together beneath the kitchen table, a treacherous warmth already blooming low in your belly.
Mr. Choi San. Your boss. The single father who somehow balanced being the most devoted dad in the world with the kind of devastating, fuckable presence that ruined your panties every single day. Lately, the air between you had thickened into something electric, something alive and crackling every time your fingers brushed when handing him his coffee or when he thanked you in that low, velvet rasp that always sounded like a filthy promise wrapped in perfect politeness.
The two of you had fallen into an easy, dangerously comfortable rhythm. The twins adored you, Mr. Choi was kind and respectful, the pay was generous, and you could almost convince yourself you were content, if not for the slow, simmering heat that had thickened between you like warm, sticky honey, sweet and impossible to ignore.
It started with stolen glances and grew into something far hungrier. You felt it in the treacherous slickness that bloomed between your thighs whenever he was near: every accidental brush in the narrow hallway when his clean, masculine scent made your breath hitch; the way his gaze dragged slowly over your body a second too long when you bent to gather toys or chased the boys across the living room in those tiny shorts.
You pretended it wasn’t there, but the air always sparked when your hands touched or when you caught yourself staring too hard at the way his gray sweatpants hung obscenely low on his hips in the mornings, the soft fabric doing nothing to hide the heavy outline beneath.
Today was different. His first real day off in forever. No work. No schedule. Just him, finally home, finally able to breathe.
You’d heard the shower start twenty minutes ago, the low, steady rush of water through the old pipes, the faint metallic clink of the glass door sliding shut. You should have stayed downstairs. Folded laundry. Prepped dinner. Anything but what you were doing now: creeping down the upstairs hallway like a thief in your own skin, drawn by some invisible, irresistible thread you couldn’t name and didn’t want to fight.
The bathroom door wasn’t fully closed.
Just a careless crack. A single tempting inch left open because San had been distracted when he stepped inside. You told yourself you were only checking if he needed anything, fresh towels, maybe, or a glass of water. But the second you reached the door, you froze, breath catching in your throat.
Steam curled out in lazy, fragrant tendrils, carrying the rich, woodsy scent of his body wash that always made your head spin whenever he passed you in the narrow hallway. And there, through that narrow gap, was San.
Naked. Gorgeous. Leaning back against the cool tiled wall beneath the scorching spray, one of his broad palms pressed against his face, the other wrapped around the thick, heavy length of his cock. Water cascaded down his body in glistening rivers — tracing the sharp cut of his collarbones, the defined ridges of his abs that flexed with every slow, deliberate stroke, the deep V of his hips melting into to where he was touching himself.
God, he was bigger than you’d ever dared imagine in your filthiest late-night fantasies. Thick, veined, flushed a deep, furious shade at the swollen tip where beads of precum mixed with the falling water. His hand moved with lazy, confident glides, long and firm from base to crown, thumb sweeping over the sensitive slit on every upward pass, twisting just enough at the head to make his powerful thighs tense and quiver.
His head was tipped back, lips parted on a silent breath, dark hair plastered to his forehead in wet strands. A low, guttural groan rumbled from deep in his chest as when he removed his hand from his face and instead slid down to cup the heavy weight of his balls, rolling them slowly, tugging with gentle pressure. The sound shot straight between your legs like a spark to dry tinder.
But it wasn’t just him.
Now, you could see it, draped over his face. pressed tight against his nose and mouth like he was drowning in your scent, were your panties.
Your dirty panties. The pale pink lace pair you’d worn yesterday. The ones you’d peeled off after a long, frustrating day of chasing the twins and trying desperately not to stare at the way Mr. Choi’s work slacks hugged his perfect ass. You’d left them draped over the tub after your own shower last night, meaning to grab them this morning but forgetting in the breakfast rush. Now they were soaked — partly from the shower spray, mostly from the way San was grinding his face into the crotch, eyes squeezed shut, breathing you in like a man on the verge of starvation.
“Fuck… you smell so fucking good.” Mr. Choi muttered, voice wrecked and low, barely audible over the steady rush of water. His tongue dragged a slow, obscene stripe along the ruined fabric where your arousal had dried. “My little nanny’s been soaked for me… haven’t you, chagiya?”
Your knees nearly buckled. Heat flooded your face, your chest, your dripping core. Your hand flew to your mouth to stifle the whimper clawing its way up your throat, but your other hand traitorous, desperate — slid down your stomach, under the waistband of your loose sleep shorts, and straight into your panties. You were drenched. Embarrassingly, shamefully drenched. Two fingers parted your slick, swollen folds and began circling your throbbing clit, matching the lazy rhythm of San’s hand on his cock without you even meaning to.
You could see it in the way his strokes turned faster, sloppier, almost frantic — each slick drag of his fist desperate and uncontrolled. His breathing fractured into broken, ragged gasps that echoed off the wet tiles like a filthy confession. One hand gripped the thick base of his cock hard, squeezing viciously at the root as if he could wring out a few more precious seconds of torment, while his other hand rose to his face again, crushing your panties tighter against it.
His nose buried deep into the soaked fabric, right where your swollen clit would have pulsed hot and needy against his tongue if you were spread open for him — thighs trembling, dripping pussy offered like a gift he was dying to devour. The scent of you filled his lungs with every greedy inhale, driving him closer to the brink, until his hips jerked helplessly and that low, wrecked moan slipped from his lips like a prayer.
You thrust your fingers faster and deeper into your soaked pussy, chasing that blinding edge with shameless hunger. Your thumb rubbed frantic, desperate circles over your throbbing little clit, each slick swirl sending white-hot sparks racing up your spine. The wet, filthy sounds of your own dripping arousal—obscene, greedy, soaked—filled your ears, loud and shameless even over the steady roar of the shower cascading down your trembling body.
Your thighs shook violently, muscles clenching and quivering as pleasure coiled tighter, threatening to shatter you. Your free hand braced hard against the doorframe, nails digging deep into the wood until faint crescent marks bloomed across it, the only thing keeping you upright while your legs threatened to buckle beneath the relentless ache.
San’s head dropped forward, forehead pressing to the cool tile as he fucked his fist with brutal, unrelenting need.
“Gonna come… fuck, gonna paint these pretty little panties and make you wear my mess for the rest of the day…” His voice cracked into a deep, animalistic groan that reverberated off the wet tiles like a filthy promise.
His cock jerked violently in his grip. In one swift, desperate motion he yanked your soaked panties from his face and held the delicate lace open like a filthy offering right in front of his throbbing length. Then he was coming—hard.
Thick, heavy ropes of cum erupted in pulsing jets, splattering the inside of your lace, flooding the delicate fabric with creamy white streaks that dripped slowly down the soaked material, mixing with the shower spray and the faint, lingering trace of your own dried slick.
The sight of Mr. Choi, your perfect golden-hearted boss, marking your dirty little secret with his hot, messy load while he moaned your name like a broken prayer, sent you spiraling over the edge right along with him. Your greedy cunt clenched viciously around your fingers as a silent, shattering orgasm tore through you, so violent your vision whited out for a heartbeat. You rode the waves against the doorframe, biting down hard on your knuckle to choke back the cry, legs shaking like the floor had vanished beneath you.
For one long, suspended moment the only sounds were the shower still pounding and the ragged breathing of two people burning alive on opposite sides of the same cracked door, completely unaware of each other.
San slowly lowered your ruined panties, staring at the obscene, sticky mess he’d made with dark, satisfied eyes. A lazy, wicked little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he thumbed a thick streak of his own cum across the lace, spreading it slowly, deliberately, like he was claiming every single thread.
The house was quiet for once—blissfully, dangerously quiet.
And the tension that had been building for months was finally, finally about to snap.
The shower was still running, hot water beating down like a second, frantic heartbeat against his skin, but San wasn’t finished. Not even close.
His first release had torn through him like lightning—thick ropes of cum painting your panties white and filthy where he’d held them open like a sacred, filthy trophy. He’d growled your name under his breath, hips jerking, heavy sac pulsing as he emptied himself in shuddering waves. But the moment the last drop left him, the ache only sharpened, twisted deeper inside his veins like a drug he couldn’t quit. His cock stayed rock-hard, flushed a dark, furious shade, still twitching against the carved lines of his abs like it refused to be denied.
“Fuck… not enough.” San growled, voice low and shattered, raw with need.
He slid down the slick tiled wall until his knees met the wet floor with a heavy thud. Water streamed over the broad expanse of his shoulders, tracing every deep groove along his spine, pooling around his powerful thighs as he knelt there like a man utterly possessed. One hand slammed against the shower wall for balance, veins standing proud along his forearm, while the other curled back around his oversensitive length—still slick with his own release and the endless spray. He gave one slow, testing glide and hissed sharply at the burning sting of overstimulation, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
He tossed your ruined panties onto the shower floor in front of him. They landed with a wet slap, cum-streaked lace fanned open like an invitation, and San stared at them as if they were you—spread wide, waiting, glistening just for him. His hips rolled forward, driving into the tight tunnel of his fist with long, deliberate strokes.
The motion was pure obscenity: powerful ass clenching and releasing with every thrust, thick muscles in his glutes and thighs rippling beneath glistening skin. Rivulets raced down his back, catching on every sculpted line—broad shoulders, tapered waist, the tempting dimples at the base of his spine that vanished into the cleft of that perfect, firm ass. He looked like living, luxurious depravity, like a private performance crafted to ruin whoever was lucky enough to witness it. Every snap of his hips made his thick cock disappear completely into his fist, only to reappear slick and throbbing, the swollen head angry and already weeping fresh beads of precum.
“Goddamn… look at you.” He muttered, eyes half-lidded and dark, staring at the panties like they could whisper back. His voice dropped lower, that velvet growl turning downright filthy. “Such a pretty little nanny… always so gentle and warm with my boys. Bet you’d feel even sweeter bent over my kitchen table, huh? Tiny apron tied around your waist, nothing else. Tits bare and heavy for me… leaking warm milk while I fuck another baby deep into this fertile little belly.”
His strokes quickened, wet sounds echoing off the tiles—obscene, rhythmic, addictive. He was gone now, hips snapping with increasing force, ass bouncing with every powerful drive into his hand. The fantasy poured from him in a hungry, broken stream, each filthy word dripping with raw, possessive hunger.
“Fuck, yes, just like that, my little wife.” San growled, voice wrecked and dripping with raw hunger. “Spread those soft thighs wider for me. Let Daddy see how swollen and greedy your pretty cunt gets after I’ve filled you so full.”
His free hand left the shower wall just long enough to cup his heavy balls, tugging them downward with a firm, possessive squeeze, rolling the sensitive weight in his palm while his hips kept driving into his fist with long, filthy strokes.
“You’d look so fucking exquisite like that… cooking dinner with my cum still trickling down your smooth thighs. Belly rounded and glowing, tits swaying heavy with every step. I’d take you right there—slow and deep, make you feel every thick, veined inch stretching that tight, fluttering hole wide open.”
You were still frozen outside the cracked door, heart hammering so loudly you were sure it would give you away. Your hand had slipped back inside your shorts, fingers buried deep in your soaked, fluttering heat, pumping in quick, desperate little thrusts that mirrored the sinful roll of his hips. You felt shameless, spying like a desperate little pervert from the shadows, cheeks burning, thighs quivering—but you couldn’t stop. Not when he was painting pictures like that, each word sinking straight into your dripping core.
San’s head tipped forward, water streaming off his dark hair in shining trails, and then the switch happened. His saturi slipped out thick and low, that rough drawl wrapping every syllable in pure, filthy hometown heat.
“Jagiya… my little wif.” He rasped, voice cracking as he fucked his fist faster, the words melting together in that thick, rolling accent. “Your tight little cunt… clenching so fucking perfect around Daddy’s cock.” The syllables blurred into half-moaned, half-growled promises of breeding you deep, claiming you completely, making you his forever. “Cum for me… gonna make you my wife… take every last drop of my cum deep inside that greedy little hole…”
You bit your lip until it bled, fingers curling hard against that spongy spot inside your dripping heat, thumb grinding frantic circles over your swollen clit. The coil inside you wound tighter, tighter—your free hand braced white-knuckled on the doorframe, knees shaking so violently you were sure they’d give out.
San’s thrusts turned wild and erratic, hips snapping with raw power, ass flexing in tight, powerful waves that sent water spraying across the tiles. Every muscle in his body gleamed—abs contracting sharply, veins bulging along his forearms as he braced and fucked and completely lost himself.
“Fuck…gonna cum again, gonna fill you up, wife…gonna…ah, shit!”
His head snapped back against the tile with a wet thud, eyes rolling white as a long, broken moan tore from his throat and echoed off the walls like a dark, possessive claim. His cock jerked violently in his grip, shooting thick, creamy ropes of cum across your discarded panties again — splattering the delicate lace, the wet floor, even the tiled wall in heavy, pulsing jets while he kept stroking through every last spurt, milking himself mercilessly until his powerful body shuddered and trembled with the raw force of it.
At the exact same moment, you shattered too — hard, silent, devastating. Your cunt clamped down around your fingers like a vice, a hot gush of wetness soaking straight through your shorts as your vision whited out completely. You biting down hard on your knuckle until it throbbed, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming, shattering intensity.
The second it passed, panic crashed over you like ice water.
You yanked your hand free, spun on trembling legs, and fled down the hallway as quietly as you could — bare feet silent on the carpet, heart hammering so loudly you were terrified it would betray you. You didn’t dare look back. You slipped into your bedroom, shut the door with the softest click, and leaned back against it, chest heaving, thighs slick and shaking uncontrollably.
Nothing would ever be the same. You both knew it.
Inside the bathroom, San stayed on his knees for another long, breathless minute, water still pouring over the broad, glistening planes of his shoulders. His cock gave one last weak twitch in his hand before he finally released it. A slow, dangerous smirk curved his lips as he reached down and picked up your thoroughly ruined panties — now twice as filthy, heavy and dripping with his warm cum and the shower spray.
He brought them to his face one last time, inhaling deep and slow, savoring the intoxicating mix of your scent and his, then folded the soaked lace carefully in his fist.
“Oh, baby…” he murmured to the empty room, voice still husky and dark with promise. “You have no idea what you just started.”
He shut off the water, stepped out, and wrapped a towel low around his waist — your panties clutched tight in his other hand like a filthy little secret he had every intention of keeping.
i also cannot stop thinking about the man thats making everyone gay
bf!san x f!reader
content: morning intimacy, clingy!san, munch!san, san loves talking to his girl(not you 1% of the time), oral, fingering, strong armsmsm...
wc: 1.5k
thinking about san...
you hated to be one of those girls, but your boyfriend was heaven.
he feels like his bones were made to accommodate the slope of your hands along his neck and along his mountainous shoulders. you liked stirring swirls with the tips of your acrylics into his messy black hair in the morning.
the sun streams through the half-broken blinds of your apartment, blanketing san in a patterned ray of light. his gentle eyes closed sleepily, practically purring at the feel of your hands and your body warmth beneath him. you lie with your back against the headrest, pillows stuffed beneath your lower back, whilst san lounges comfortably with his head in your lap.
his big, soft hands hold your thighs together like a pillow he fears will iceberg beneath his ear. the comforter is thrown haphazardly over your bed, the fitted sheet lifting off the corners of the mattress. proof of a… busy night.
every time you all but shift beneath him, he grumbles and holds your thighs together. “move again, and i’ll lock your legs together.”
tempting, but you did not need to rile him up this early in the morning. san was much like a cat. cute, fickle. particular.
you wont sit still? he'll do something to help you to relax.
the fingers on your thighs splay wider as if to grab more of your flesh, and he turns his head and begins dusting the tops of your thighs with kisses.
“my sweet, pretty girl.” san murmurs against your skin, a teasing, pouty tone to it. this is how it starts. with buttering you up.
he moves the blanket so his broad shoulders are exposed to the gold morning light, the grey tanktop doing little to hide the proof of his hard work. he can almost feel the way your eyes laser in on his back, and he can't help but smile as his wandering hands move to slip your panties down your legs smoothly. his warm kisses never cease, sensual and promising.
your hands slip away from his hair in surprise, and he nearly throws a fit as he grumbles and grabs your wrists and brings them back to the top of his head. his hands are back on your body in no time, holding both sides of your waist as you might melt through his fingers and massaging your hips with that perfect amount of pressure.
the feeling evokes a content sight out of you, and you find your upper body stretching subconsciously.
“there we go, big stretch, babydoll. good morning to you too,” san teases you with that stomach-flipping grin, and you narrow your eyes to tease him back. he, however, drags his worked, big hands down your waist, along the curve of your hips, back down to your thighs, where he wastes no time in spreading your legs in a way that can only be described as greedily.
“i wanna say good morning to her too…” he growls very quietly under his breath, hastily pushing your thighs back and up against your stomach. “she's always so happy to see me.”
the evidence of “her excitement” is clear: strings of arousal that cling to your lips, spread nice and pretty from the way san holds your legs open. his hands travel along your outer thighs, up your sides, all the while his head lowers between your thighs, eager.
“you were excited first,” you attempt to retort, to resume some semblance of control. you knew you had none; you were so weak for him. and when his heated tongue lay flat against your cunt, and his thumbs pressed into your lower stomach, you had only been proven right.
he squeezed your body like a stress toy, the muscles in his back twitching with every register of your taste. he moaned, so prettily. his mouth moved slowly and deliberately. leisurely, open-mouth kisses. deep, wide licks and hungry swallows. anyone he could tell he was doing it 100% for you would know he was lying if they saw and heard the way san was making out with your pussy.
your head falls back against the headboard, the bones in your legs liquefying as your boyfriend eats breakfast.
“hello, beautiful,” he purrs into a suckling kiss against your clit, and you feel an overwhelming mix of emotions come over you. you grip his hair harder, and he bites his bottom lip with a grin and a laugh as he spits between your pussy lips.
shame, embarrassment, arousal that burned too bright, it ached low in your stomach. you hated it when he talked to your cunt. but the way your stomach tightened in response spoke volumes every time.
when he starts kneading your lower stomach, deep and slow like he was working knots out of you, and gently kitten licking right under your clit, you pull his hair so hard he hisses in pain.
“aww, baby, you’re making this so hard for me.” san pouts and one of his hands lightly smacks your stomach. “i'm tryna keep you clean, but you won't stop dripping all over the sheets, always so messy!”
you sniffle and moan, one of his hands falling away from your waist and slithering between your legs, gathering the stickiness he's pulled out of you all over his middle fingers.
your body twitches at the new touch, and san moans long and low around your clit as he slides his fingers knuckle deep inside you, quick to scrape against that spot, and stars were bursting at the back of your skull.
“d-oh fuck… s-san, mmm…” your words dissolved into mindless, blissful pleasure. a horny smile spreads across your lips as san pushes his fingers deeper into your cunt.
“my gorgeous, sloppy girl.” san slurs against your pussy, his eyebrows furrowing as he eats you like he was imagining it was your lips. his eyes close and his hand squeezes tighter, his thumb presses deeper. his fingers curl harder inside of you, his tongue turns merciless against your clit, and his moans drag feelings out of you that should be illegal.
for some reason, you just could not take it this morning; it all felt so intense for some unknown reason. your hips bucked against his mouth, his fingers repeatedly caught on the ridge inside of you, and your legs began to shake.
san pouts and clicks his tongue out of pity, moving his fingers in deep, wavelike strokes that made your throat feel like somebody was trying to pull it out of you through your stomach. “aww, babydoll, you’re shuddering. it feels so wrong when you cum without me kissing you.”
this is true. he loves to drink your noises when you cum, feel the warmth of your teeth as you shatter on his dick, fingers, abs… etc. he would normally abandon the meal and just finger you until you snap, but, god. he couldn't stay away from your pussy.
warm and sweet and wet. your plush thighs hugging his ears like muffs. your nails against his scalp like a reminder of how he makes you feel. he frowns, like some innocent, wronged cat whose tail you’ve stepped on. but the way his fingers curl and the way he kisses your clit tell different stories.
the hand still holding your waist, and effortlessly your body against the bed, lands another slap against your stomach, and your limbs jerk.
“c’mon, let go, sweet girl. cum. it'll feel so good if you do, and it’ll make me sooo happy,” and he really couldn’t help himself at this point. his lips suction to your clit one last time, pulling away with a wet pop, wasting no time and lifting himself and swallowing your parted lips in a heavy kiss.
his fingers fucked you faster, his thumb moving up to circle your slick clit in place of his unfair mouth. he nibbles your bottom lip with a grin and kisses you so deep with a desire to take you can’t find your breath.
“don't you wanna make me happy, babydoll?” he practically begs into your mouth, and everything inside of you screams to make your heaven of a boyfriend happy. you cum so hard you would’ve thought he was fucking you.
then again, that's how it is with san every single time, and you still haven't gotten tired of it. he just knows what to do, so assertive, so caring, such a man.
coming down from your high, your grip onto his tanktop and bury your face into his neck, huffing and puffing, whining softly as his fingers slowly circle inside of you, working it out as he whispers praises in your ear.
you breathe in the smell of his cologne from the day before, and it makes your stomach tingle. vanilla, whiskey, patchouli, something so intoxicating it's hypnotic. the sun paints his tanned skin a radiant gold, and suddenly you get overwhelmed with the urge to bite him.
you do. he complains with a return bite to your shoulder, and you moan in response. he pauses and licks the bite and smiles, squeezing your waist with anticipation.
you’ve riled him up again.
btw the fragrance im refrencing is nightclubbing by celine. he mentioned he wore it in an interview one time and im a huge fragrance nerd and the notes are so sexy
₊˚⊹ struggling in your korean class, you're assigned a tutor—but there might be more than studying happening during your private lessons.
warnings: mdni. individual warnings are listed at the beginning of each chapter. this series contains explicit and multi-partner sexual content, dom/sub dynamics, manipulation, dubcon, and other mature themes. read on ao3.
⚽️ summary -> Only a few short weeks after signing a contract to become the new physical therapist for one of South Korea's top soccer clubs, their star player, San, crumbles with a serious knee injury. You're in charge of taking care of him through his recovery process, but San is not exactly the nicest patient to deal with. Suddenly, your life takes a new direction as you get to know the grumpy player and watch him bond with your son.
⚽️ pairing -> physical therapist! (f) reader x injured soccer player! San
⚽️ genre/au -> sports romance, single parent, smut, fluff, angst
⚽️ warnings/tags -> 18+ MINORS DNI, unprotected sex, secret romance (kind of), single parent/divorcee reader, san is such a good father figure, injury warnings, ACL tear, emotional distress with recovery, breeding kink, bathtub sex, voyeurism, longing, forced proximity
for mature audiences only, minors will be stockaded in the town square
⟢ a/n: the long awaited... | this is NOT in any way, shape, or form meant to depict who / how any of ateez are irl. please do not take this fic as fact on their personalities, please and thank you.
⟢ summary: everyone knows choi san. the choi san. and the pornstar wonder boy just invited you to do a collab with him
⟢ word count: 35.7k
⟢ warnings: MINORS RUN FOR THE HILLS | masturbation (f), oral (m,f), p->v, unprotected sex (don't do that), squirting, edging, dirty talk, san makes a Crazy first impression, cowgirl/riding, bondage (f, not reader), slight yeosang x reader (mentioned), porn industry, blowjob, fingering, basically just everything you’d find in a porn
You love that you can wake up whenever you want, and that you have no set schedule to live by. The only deadlines you have to worry about are the ones you make for yourself. You love your beautiful apartment that you didn’t need anyone else’s help to get, and that it is so close to everything in the city. You love not worrying about money anymore. You get to live however you deem fit, taking life one day at a time. Everything in your life is by your own design. Honestly? It’s a dream.
And it’s easy money, giving men a fantasy for the night.
That’s what you sell, the idea of you. In everyday life, you don’t pout nearly as much as you do on camera, nor do you talk as sweetly to strangers. Some of them, though, aren’t strangers to you anymore. You recognize their usernames and their donations, especially the ones who have been fans of yours since you started, and the ones who pay for your highest tiered subscription. Twenty-five dollars a month just to jerk off to your exclusive content. Ah, men.
Your fanbase has grown and grown, skyrocketing somewhat recently when you convinced Yeosang, your hot guy friend, to join you in one of your videos. He’d worn a face mask to protect his identity, but it had been so obvious that he’s attractive even with it on. The black tank top left little to the imagination as your audience watched the muscles in his arms flex as his strong hands fingered you over and over again while he talked you through each orgasm. It was a rather simple video, with no actual sex. Regardless, that became one of your most viewed videos even though it was an exclusive, and the video that ended up paying for this apartment. Men and women alike scrambled to type in their credit card information to see it, boosting not only your ego, but your bank account as well. You gave Yeosang a decent sized chunk of your earnings, seeing as he was in the video too.
His whole face had turned red when you showed him the number of views, hiding behind his hands for good measure. He’s always been shy, it was a damn miracle you even got him to do it in the first place.
Since then, you’ve been living quite comfortably. Yeosang, too. Despite your efforts to convince him to create his own account for people to subscribe to, he’s maintained his ‘innocence’. However, recently he’s been asking you more and more about the details and dynamics of running an account like yours. You’re almost afraid to jinx it, like if you ask him outright if he’s thinking about it, he’ll forget the whole thing and never do it. Who are you to potentially accidentally deny the general paying population of your hot friend?
He may become even more popular than me, you think to yourself, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.
You glance at your laptop, its camera trained at a specific angle towards your empty bed, and you peek at how many people are waiting for your livestream to start. Friday nights are always good to pull in larger crowds, and tonight is no different.
Nine hundred, and climbing.
Whoa.
You let out a low whistle at the number, the highest you’ve ever seen it just for the amount of people waiting. You’re not even due to start for another ten minutes. The number shifts around a couple times, losing some, and gaining more every minute. For the first time in a while, you start to feel a little self-conscious. This newfound fame is still just that: new. Even though you can’t see the audience you’ve gathered, you still feel that there are nine hundred pairs of eyes on you in your bedroom. There’s a nervous flutter in your chest that you can’t seem to shake off in the dwindling minutes before your stream begins.
With only two minutes left, you flit around your room, double checking how you look in your mirror, fixing your hair and makeup, and adjusting one of the straps to the lingerie you picked out for the evening. You sit prettily on the bed, taking a few moments before you start to center yourself, taking deep breaths and focusing on getting your head clear for tonight’s performance.
A ‘performance’ is basically all it is.
Your fingers hover over the trackpad of your laptop, counting down the seconds until there are none left, and you click “Go Live”.
As usual, you allow about ten seconds to go by, waiting for more to join once they get the notification that the stream has started. You read the sudden influx of chat, smiling when you see familiar usernames and knowing that rent will be covered for the next couple of months, just by their presence here. If you wanted something, all you had to do was ask for it. Someone in the chat will gladly donate however much you need – and then some – just for the chance to hear you read their username and thank them in your sweet voice.
So easy.
You saturate your greeting with honey, looking up into the laptop camera, eyes round and innocent.
“Hi, everyone,” you sing, giggling for all of the people vying for your attention. Each comment is sent with the hope that you’ll read it out. Some send tips already, small amounts mostly in the single digits, but there are a couple of doubles sent your way already. The tip counter in the upper corner of the screen increases steadily with each donation as they come. Compliments, questions, requests, and general niceties move up the screen in a constant staccato, making room for the next.
You lean back on your hands, pretending that you don’t know what you’re doing with this angle. The camera is angled down, providing an almost perfect POV shot for the audience. The fantasy begins immediately. You uncross your legs, feigning shyness.
“My day was okay, thank you,” you purr, knowing you just made someone nearly cream their pants by answering their question. “But… I’ve just been so lonely.”
You pout, right on cue to accompany your words. Instantly, the comment section floods with volunteers to cure you of your loneliness. Each one promises they can fix it, that they’ll be there for you, that they’ll never leave. It’s flattering, but none of them really mean it. Maybe they think they do, but again none of them really know you. You doubt most of them want to get to the very root of you and figure you out. No, most if not all just want to get into your pants to say that they have. Bragging rights.
[user75846] will yeo be joining you?
You read the comment aloud, shaking your head in quiet defeat. “No, it’s just me tonight.”
Some comments beg for his return, others are happy that it’s just you – the jealous types – and the rest are simply impatient to see your body. Your hand trails across the hem of your flimsy, sheer tank top you chose to wear for the evening. It leaves little to the imagination. The quiet pinging of more money being donated motivates you further. You sigh, looking up into the camera again.
“I’ve been so sad and lonely all day… you guys will help me, right?”
You pull your shirt down just a little more, showcasing your cleavage while keeping your face as innocent as possible. The comments spike again, but you don’t pay attention to them anymore. Your hand travels farther up to your mouth, fingers threatening to slip between your glossy lips. Twelve hundred people watch and wait. You hum, parting your lips slightly but not quite giving them the visual they want. Not yet. There’s no rush – not for you, at least. But one comment catches your eye because of its impatience.
[mntn3000]: start.
Very blunt. You don’t recognize the username as one of your regulars or subscribers. Whoever this is must be new. You’ve run and maintained a rather strict program with your subscribers when it comes to what they say in the live chat – politeness being one of the main rules. The lack of a ‘please’ to sweeten the demand nearly twists your face into something less angelic. Maybe whoever this user is is already close, unable to finish his sentence before he finishes himself. You bet once you take your shirt off he’ll blow his load and leave. It happens. For now, you’ll have fun with him. Teach this newcomer some manners.
You dip your fingers in, tongue peeking out to greet them into your mouth. The amount of comments slows just a little, silently telling you that some of your viewers are beginning to work themselves up along with you.
“Oh dear… ‘mntn3000’ just said ‘start’. No ‘please’? Will someone let him know how this works?” You keep your voice sugary, making sure everyone knows you aren’t hurt or being stuck-up, but that you’re rather amused at the comment.
Almost immediately, upon request, you see one of your regulars tag the newcomer in a message explaining the chat rules.
“Thank you, Woo,” you hum, lifting your shirt up even more, just for him, to show your gratitude. Your hand lingers near your breast, a small shudder running through your body as you graze your nipple.
‘Woo’, your nickname for him from his username, has become somewhat of an anonymous friend to you. He’s subscribed to your highest level tier and the VIP extras that you offer, including private shows and a group chat on Discord. He’s always the first to step in if someone says something out of line or disrespectful in any way. Your own personal guard dog.
Whoever he is, ‘mntn3000’ doesn’t say anything to Woo’s message.
Fourteen hundred people now.
You hum again, resisting the urge to squeeze your thighs together. You love the attention. And after doing a rough estimate in your head how much money you’ll make tonight, it just makes you want to put on an even better show.
“If you want something…” you purr, taking your shirt off completely. The comments erupt. “Ask nicely~” you tease, giggling to yourself.
A donation pops up immediately, the sum of which nearly makes you gape.
[mntn3000] has donated $500
Well… that’s certainly nice.
[mntn3000]: start, kitten
That’ll do it.
You’re quick to control your reaction to the generous donation. However, now you can’t help but feel like you’re performing under pressure. Some of your other patrons comment on it, but you’re on autopilot now.
One more deep breath in and your tight little shorts soon join your shirt on the floor.
You exhale audibly, turning the breath into a quiet moan as your hand continues to explore your own body. This time, you don’t tease when your fingers come back up to your mouth, accepting them immediately. Your free hand finds its way to your neglected chest, kneading the warm skin. It’s easy to pretend that the touch belongs to someone else’s manipulation.
It’s more than just a little confusing for you to immediately imagine it’s Yeosang, if not friendship-wise. The two of you have mutually agreed that you’re platonic. The collaboration was just… a friend helping a friend. Moreso than the views and money you earned from it, you’re thankful that there is no awkwardness between you two in the aftermath of it. When you had switched the camera off, he had even joked about graduating to another level of friendship, or something like that. You can’t remember exactly right now, you’re a bit preoccupied.
You pry your eyes open to read the chat, wanting to know if they’re enjoying the view so far.
[user92834]: i keep expecting yeo to show up ㅠㅠ i miss him
You whine, only able to nod once or twice. “I miss Yeo, too.”
Now you’re playing with fire. Multiple people in the chat remind you of their personal favorite parts of that video, giving you a much needed visual to get yourself off. Is it wrong? To use memories of your best friend ‘platonically’ overstimulating you for the better part of an hour? Maybe. You think you just need to get laid soon. Admittedly, it’s been rather long since you have been. Longer than most of your viewers will ever believe.
“I wish someone was here to help me,” you blink slowly into the camera, pouting again.
Your artificial patheticness is like a siren call to these men. It seems that every single one of your viewers suddenly comes alive, flooding the chat and your donations box all at once, each claiming that they should be the one to help you next time. That they have what it takes.
Except one.
You haven’t seen that ‘mntn3000’ guy’s username pop up since he sent the generous donation earlier. You wonder if he’s still watching. Maybe he’s embarrassed from earlier.
Whatever. He’s more likely just another background viewer. You probably won’t hear from him again.
Pushing the thought away, you start to finally trail your hand down your stomach to lightly circle your clit. Your hooded eyes flicker up to the screen, making sure everything’s in view. Satisfied with what you see, you resume touching yourself, continuing to loudly suck on your fingers for good measure.
[user82392] has donated $5
[user01743] has donated $20
[puppyu.u] has donated $50
[mars9843] has donated $50
[puppyu.u] has donated $100
You can’t help but smile, watching the silent competition between your viewers. Every time someone ups the amount they’re willing to drop on you, there’s dozens more who are willing to match it. You feel like you’re at auction. Who will win in the end? Usually, it’s one of your regulars, the ones with access to the private Discord, who come out on top. You’re betting on ‘puppyu.u’ tonight. He seems like he has something to prove.
No one’s quite willing to match ‘mntn3000’’s five hundred dollar starting offer just yet.
You get the feeling that everyone who regularly competes here silently agrees to just… ignore it. Everyone here spoils you, of course. But dropping five hundred dollars straight out the gate is a blatant power move that seems intent to undermine most of the others in here in one fell swoop.
But he’s quiet now. Maybe he spent all he had in one go. It happens sometimes. Rarely, but sometimes.
You’re not sure why you’re so hung up on this random user. You’re not used to being caught off guard like this. Closing your eyes so no one can see you roll them, you decide to not think about him anymore.
And you have just the thing for it.
While they spend money to achieve imagined dominance over the others in the chat, you reach just offscreen to grab your favorite dildo. It’s a fan-favorite as well. You scoot a little farther back on the bed, finally taking your fingers out of your mouth and replacing it with the head of the dildo. You sigh around it, like you’re content, grateful to have something in your mouth again. In reality, this is just so that it goes inside of you easier.
This time, you don’t make them wait.
The blunt head of the toy slips inside easily, and you fight to keep your head up so everyone can see your reaction to it. Halfway in, you give up. Head back, a visible shudder runs through your body that has the donation notifications ringing like crazy. Around this point in your little show, you’ll pay less and less attention to the chat, only focusing on the pleasure you’re creating for yourself.
But this time, something’s off.
No matter what you do, you can’t seem to find that specific angle that makes you cum. Not even playing with your clit seems to be any help. You try to relax, to see if maybe you’re too tense to feel anything, but it’s quite hard to relax when you’re this frustrated already. You’re not about to let the audience know that, but it’s discouraging. You don’t like to lie, but again, it’s all part of a performance. A fake, tailored show to sell a fantasy version of you. The one who always comes for whoever is watching, the one who is just so insatiable for each individual person watching.
At one point, you obtain false hope. You hit an angle that nearly does it for you, getting you closer than you were before to that sweet edge. It’s so close you can almost taste it, quickening your pulse and electrifying every vein in your body. There’s an ache in your wrist that is starting to become strained and uncomfortable, and your eyebrows furrow together to try and maybe will an orgasm into existence. And yet the payoff evades you completely.
You make a sharp, high-pitched noise out of frustration, which hopefully comes across as ecstacy instead. You’re not even enjoying it anymore, and your hand begins to slow down the pumps of the dildo as your fake moans increase again. There’s a trick you know to make your legs look like they’re realistically shaking from an orgasm – learned by ego-boosting one too many failed relationships and one night stands in the past – and you use it now.
Ugh.
The toy slips out of you, and you blearily toss it next to you on the bed. You let the audience watch the slowing rise and fall of your chest as your breaths even out.
What the fuck was that? You think to yourself, tilting your head back to hide your look of confusion. You’re kind of nervous to look at what people are saying in the chat, worried that they somehow caught onto the fact that you faked it. Without any proof, you conjure up images of cancellation, accusations, name-calling, every possible and yet unrealistic bad thing that could potentially happen.
Steeling yourself as best you can, you straighten and take a look at the chat.
All worries melt away at once as soon as you notice the heart emojis that flood the comment section. You’re not sure when this started, nor do you know who began the trend, but it has turned into something similar to applause at the end of a stream. A cute signal that they enjoyed the show. You smile at the screen, even laughing a little from relief. Time and time again, you’re proven to be loved no matter what.
There are a few more donations, although they’ve slowed down now that you’re done. You push your hair back, taking the time to slowly breathe in and out as you read the comments. Most of them tell you how hard you made them bust, which earns you a few more dollars. Still, there’s one username you’re stuck on that you’re not seeing. Not yet. You hope you’re not being obvious, waiting for it to reappear. Maybe with some manners and patience this time. Your eyes stay locked on the corner of the screen.
It’s after you blow a puff of air up towards your hair to move it out of your face that he reappears. Maybe your impatience was received loud and clear to him.
He only sends one word. Four letters.
[mntn3000]: cute
[mntn3000] has donated $1000
[mntn3000] has left the stream
Huh. Your spinning head almost registers that. A good thing about streaming is that you’re not exactly on a time limit. You can take as much time as you need to to calm down and regroup before addressing your audience again. Most will leave during this time, and that’s alright too. Your devoted viewers will stay, still seeking out your attention, praise, and appreciation. You always thank them for watching and of course, donating.
“There’s thousands of others you could have spent your time with tonight, so thank you for choosing me. I hope I made it worth it.”
In the middle of catching your breath, you manage a small grin into the camera. With a whispered, ‘goodnight’, and a kiss blown straight to your audience, you end the live and flop backwards on your bed. Another job well done. Another year of rent earned.
You force yourself to move after five minutes, showering, changing into new, comfier clothes and taking your makeup off in the bathroom until it’s just you in the mirror, and not the character. It’s not until you’re brushing your teeth that you realize how tired you are from that live, nearly drifting off with the toothbrush still in your mouth. Head about to hit the wall, you jerk back to stand upright and finish up quickly. You can practically hear your bed calling your name.
A text from Yeosang lights up your phone, halfway buried underneath a pillow. You pull it out and stand by your bed to read it.
[yeoyeo🌻]: another successful day at the office?
You can’t help but grin, burying yourself under the covers and texting him back quickly.
[y/n🌸]: another small fortune 🥱
[yeoyeo🌻]: still wanna hang out tomorrow?
[yeoyeo🌻]: or is the princess too tired
[y/n🌸]: stfu 😂
[y/n🌸]: yes pls i miss you :(
[yeoyeo🌻]: fine fine
[yeoyeo🌻]: i’ll be over at noon
[yeoyeo🌻]: you better be awake -.-
[y/n🌸]: goodnight pretty boy!
[yeoyeo🌻]: 🖕🏻
[yeoyeo🌻]: goodnight
Exiting the messages app, you reach over to the nightstand and grab your laptop from its perch, keen on transferring your earnings into your bank account as soon as possible. Luckily, the site you use makes it rather easy, just a click of a button, but this time around, you take a second to look at the number in the corner.
$14,601.
You whistle lowly at the sight of it. Nearly fifteen thousand dollars for thirty minutes of ‘work’. If you spend and save wisely, you’ll never have to set foot in an office for as long as you live.
Laptop set aside for the time being, you make a mental note to try and fit in some pilates tomorrow morning before Yeosang comes over. There are certain things you try to do to maintain your beauty and health, especially if the rewards look like this number. The sore muscles, cutting off sugar, and time spent trying to match your wing eyeliner are worth it. Almost… you do miss sugar quite a bit and are prone to cheat if tempted.
You quickly do the math in the calculator app to see how exponentially your bank account is about to grow once the transfer is complete. The total makes you smile ear to ear. Already, you’re thinking of more ideas, ways to keep everyone interested… but also… maybe a vacation. A first class flight to anywhere in the world seems more than desirable. Maybe tomorrow you’ll ask Yeosang if he’d like to come too. The thought excites you, making you want to stay up and look at potential destinations.
Closing out of the calculator and banking apps, you’re just about to go on TikTok to look through your ‘dream vacay’ folder, when a notification directs your eyes upward. It’s from your email, but it's no promotional message from one of the many stores you shop at, nor is it spam.
The sender is simply ‘H.J Kim’, accompanied by three words in the subject line: ‘Exclusive Collaboration Offer’.
That certainly piques your interest, although it could just be a scam. Since you don’t have an agent, you’ve learned the hard way how to filter out those who just wish to take your hard-earned – well… earned – money away from you. When you were just starting out, you had to change numerous passwords more than once. You’re on a first-name-basis with your bank. Usually, you ignore emails like this, but something draws you to it. In what you can see of the preview, the sender doesn’t use more words than he has to, and the word choice seems rather official. Not as scammy as you’re used to.
Hesitant, but intrigued at what this offer could possibly entail, you click on it to see what the rest of the email says.
__________________________
Dear Miss Y/N,
I hope you are doing well. My name is Kim Hongjoong and I am a Talent Agent with Afterdark Productions, representing Choi San. We have been admiring your work for a while now, and would love to extend an offer for a collaboration between the two of you.
If accepted, I will be more than happy to disclose more information regarding the details of the shoot as well as beginning the process of arranging transportation and accommodation. Please feel free to reach out with any questions or concerns, and I will respond as quickly as I can.
Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to the possibility of working together.
Just his name makes your thighs clench together under the plush comforter.
You make a noise somewhere between an exhalation and a laugh of disbelief. You reread it a couple more times, making sure you’re reading it correctly. There’s simply no way someone like Choi San knows you exist, and if he does, then how? Sure, you’re gaining popularity on cam platforms, but you didn’t think the industry on the other side of the coin would take notice. Maybe you’ve just been naive. It’s essentially the same thing but without a script or team involved. You do everything yourself — the lights, the camera, the action. The idea of even attempting what ‘Afterdark’ is known for is quite daunting. The thought of potentially meeting San even more so.
Everyone knows Choi San.
Somewhat of a respected micro-celebrity, he is currently revolutionizing the stigma around adult videos and being an adult actor. Breaking stereotypes, barriers, and backs. Impressive. It also helps that he has adonis-like features and a smile that can universally melt hearts. Very helpful, indeed.
It’s still not fully clicking that you’ve been offered a chance to work with him. Not yet. Most likely, it’ll hit you in the morning when you check your phone for the millionth time, making sure you didn’t just dream this all up in a post-orgasmic haze. Each time you reread it, the words stay the same. The name jumps out at you.
“Fuckin’ hell…” you whisper, pressing your palm to your mouth, reading the email over just one more time. That’s what you tell yourself anyway.
A collaboration… you assume that means on his turf. On his side of the industry, anyway. Your mouth dries. Are you even up for this?
A visual learner all your life, you find yourself opening a private browser and looking up a porn site you know has posted a couple of San’s videos. For research. Literally. Your thought process is to refresh your memory, imagine yourself in the actress’ place and discern whether or not you think you can handle what this offer entails. You pick the very first result after you enter his name in the search box, and settle back against your pillows, nervously biting your nails as the video begins.
It starts off like many others of its kind, a flashy montage of what’s to come – pun unfortunately intended – to entice viewers to keep watching. You skip ahead, like many do, not caring for whatever ‘plot’ has been thrown together to justify why these two hot people are sleeping together this time. Although, from the clips you do see as the video jumps ahead, inching closer to the real action, you have to admit he’s a decent actor. You stop skipping through it towards the end of their conversation, landing at the proposition and steadily rising scripted passion.
San steps closer to the actress, really getting into her space, and holding eye contact the whole time. The type that would make any girl melt. It’s not fiery or intimidating, no, it’s something much worse.
Desire.
He mumbles something under his breath that you don’t catch, too focused on how his hands wrap around her waist, pulling her in closer. What startles you is how… almost vulnerable he looks. Attentive. His head tilted down slightly, looking at her through his eyelashes, enchanting her so effortlessly as his hands gently wander. You cross an arm over your chest, eyes still fixated on the phone screen. You’re getting affected this much just watching him look at her like that? How the hell will you possibly be able to handle it in real life? The short answer is: you probably won’t.
Because the next time you skip, impatience gnawing at you to just see and know what he does, you’re thrown right into the fray.
The camera is almost cinematic, capturing precise angles where everything can be seen, the lighting low and sensual. They’re on a large bed, and San has taken the time to place one of the pillows under her head as well as her hips. A blindfold covers the actress’ eyes, but you can tell right away she’s been steadily crying through the fabric. Her hands tighten in his hair, his mouth latches onto one of her breasts, and his hand between her legs where quiet, constant, wet sounds are being drawn from. Still, he looks earnest. Genuine. Like he cares about her pleasure, and wants to make sure she’s getting just as much out of this experience as he will. At this point, you’re sure the script is thrown out the window, because the way he talks to her, so soft and sincere, praising her closer and closer to the edge, is something that no scriptwriter could come up with. No, this was pure San.
When she’s close, she tells him immediately and he changes nothing. He whispers the same praises, keeps his hand at the same pace and angle, reaching deep and curling up over and over, coaxing her body to release. The automated subtitles are no help, so you turn the volume up just a bit more, so you can hear him clearly. He must’ve been edging her because she starts begging him, trying to not pull his hair out at the roots. He simply covers her mouth with a free hand and leans over her, giving her permission to let go for him.
She shudders violently, thighs pressing into the sides of his body to prevent him from moving. He's not going anywhere, though. That infamous dimpled smile appears as he watches her come undone beneath him.
Your thighs clench. That’d be you.
His voice drifts languidly from your laptop speakers, melting your brain even further. “Yes, baby, that’s it. There you go… such a good girl.”
A girlish squeal gets stuck in your throat and you press your lips together to ensure you don’t let it out. You haven’t even said yes yet. There could be conditions you don’t agree with, payment arguments. He could be an asshole for all you know. Or this could all be a very elaborate and convincing scam.
Still, just in case it is real, and for the sake of ‘research’, you keep watching.
He kisses her chest, slowly making his way up her throat, her jaw, until he reaches her lips. He takes his sweet time, like he knows no one would dare look away. She sighs into his mouth, quiet whimpers leaving her every so often while he gently rubs her clit, just enough to keep her stimulated as she gets used to the feeling of being empty once again. You wonder what it’s like to kiss him. Your hands itch to reach for your phone and text Yeosang to tell him everything, however, you’re rather busy holding them still at the moment.
You appreciate how he doesn’t move onto the next thing immediately. Too many times have you seen other actors in his industry not giving their partner a bit of a breather after such an intense orgasm. Granted, some may like that, the overwhelming and constant stimulation, but the way San allows her to take her time, silently encourages her to follow the deeper rhythm of his breathing, and how he holds her hand and places slow, soft kisses all over her body, it all adds up to make you crave a slower pace. An intimate interaction like this.
San checks in with her quietly, and with a nod from her and another peck on the lips, he’s positioning himself between her legs. Stars in her eyes, she reaches down and strokes his length, whimpering softly. He gently brushes her hair back, admiring the look of nervous anticipation on her face. When he finally pushes inside, the two of them moan at the same time. Buried the way in, he smiles down at her before kissing her deeply. All dimples. A broken moan of his name tumbles from her lips, and you’re almost sure she didn’t realize she even said anything. She’s staring up at him like he’s a deity. Like he’s come down from heaven just for her. And she’s not acting.
One thing you know for sure: you’d be stupid to decline the offer.
You consider your mind made up.
Reluctantly exiting the video, saving it for later, you reopen your email app. Part of you wonders whether or not two in the morning is an appropriate time to email someone, but another part of you simply doesn’t care. It’ll be in Mr. Kim Hongjoong’s inbox first thing when he wakes up tomorrow. Your reply is enthusiastic yet professional, expressing appreciation for the offer in the first place. You thank him and San for taking notice of you and offer praise of his work as well. Wrapping up with the same politeness the original sender used, you sign off with your name. Your fingers hover over the keyboard for a minute before adding a kiss emoji to the side of your name. Before you can second guess that choice, you send it off.
Needing to expel some of these nerves, you get up out of bed to scavenge your fridge for a well-past-midnight snack. Maybe yogurt or something. Standing in the white light of the fridge, you realize food may not be the best choice. Nothing jumps out at you to want at two o’clock in the morning, stomach already doing flips and tricks as it is. You settle on a mini carton of strawberry milk that you may or may not finish and walk back to bed a little too fast. Quicker than your usual leisurely pace.
You glance at your phone, laying face down on your bed like what you just watched on it made it shy. You want to text Yeosang so badly, to get his take on all of this, but you should let him sleep. Just because your sleep schedule is fucked doesn’t mean you have to ruin his as well. Your fingers absentmindedly tap the carton, only two sips deep in your drink. Hm.
You’re just starting to flirt with the idea of calling Yeosang anyway when you get a notification that effectively snaps you out of your thought spiral. Whoever or whatever it is has just unknowingly saved Yeosang’s REM cycle.
Not expecting a response so soon, your eyes widen a bit when you see that you’ve gotten a response back already. The quickness makes you a little wary. Scams usually are quick to respond back too.
Or, this ‘Hongjoong’ guy may have a sleep schedule quite like yours. After all, you responded rather quickly to his first email.
__________________________
Hi Miss Y/N,
Thank you for getting back to me so quickly. We are thrilled to hear that you are accepting the offer.
The next steps in moving forward are rather simple. I will ask you to fill out a form – which I have linked to this e-mail – and send that at your earliest convenience. It is your basic questionnaire, really, and a chance for us to get to know you as well as your preferences for the shoot and scene.
After you have sent that and we go over it, I would like to meet with you – either in person or through video call – for both our safety and to finalize all arrangements. If you choose to meet in person, I will gladly bring along a female member of my team in an effort to make you feel more comfortable and safe.
As always, please feel free to reach out if you have any questions, comments, or concerns. Looking forward to hearing from you again.
‘We are thrilled to hear that you are accepting the offer.’
At first, you assumed he was just referencing the production company, but the specific use of it catches and holds your attention. Did San… ask for this collab to happen? Scrolling up to reread it again, the second line of the first e-mail you were sent strikes you: ‘We have been admiring your work for a while now…’ Not just the company. ‘We’ as in…
You swallow hard, setting the strawberry milk on your nightstand and shrinking back against your pillows again. Your phone burns your eyes in the dark, but you can’t stop reading this new message. There’s so much to unpack, even though it’s so straightforward. As of right now, in regards to meeting with Kim Hongjoong, you’re leaning towards just a video call. You’re still not quite totally convinced this isn’t an elaborate prank of some kind. Maybe a weird fan who wants this to happen but there’s no truth to it. But again… you don’t get that vibe. Not from how professional this seems. And a crazy fan wouldn’t offer to bring along another woman to make you feel more comfortable, he’d insist on meeting alone, under the guise of ‘protecting our privacy’.
And if it is real… then it is really happening. Moving forward, as the talent agent said, a collaboration in the early stages of planning. With Choi San.
Dammit, Yeosang, why can’t you be awake right now, you think and you huff dramatically, burying your face in your hands. He’ll certainly get an earful of all of this tomorrow afternoon.
But you decide you need to talk this through to somebody right now. Or some people.
Even though you just went live, you’re quick to open your Discord app, not even bothering to send a warning message to tell your exclusive members that you’re going live again. This time, just for them. You know they’ll come. They always do.
Once you have your laptop adjusted and headphones on, you’re ready to go. You click the microphone button and wait.
As expected, four of them join immediately. You regularly wonder how they’re all able to drop everything to watch you, no matter what time you go live. Two others join soon after, but they rarely comment in the chat. Silent viewers with open wallets are never unwelcome here.
“Hi guys! I have big news,” you smile into the camera, reading all the messages as they pop up.
[woogoesthere]: tell ussssssss!!!!!
[fix0nmi]: 👀?
[mars9843]: what is it cutie?
[puppyu.u]: hi baby why the secret meeting?? 👀
You take a minute to let them get all their guesses out, increasing their desperation to know what you’re hiding from them. Hopefully they’ll take the news well. As far as you can tell, none of them specifically come across as the parasocial jealous type, but you don’t know for certain. However, they seemed to handle your previous collab with Yeosang pretty well. That gives you some more confidence to confide in them about this.
“I’ve been offered to do a collab with someone from…” You pause before saying the company name for dramatic effect. “Afterdark.”
You’re a little surprised by the lack of comments right away, even worried a little. The thought of them being the parasocial jealous type crosses your mind again. Especially Woo. For a split second, you worry that you may have just angered your most loyal – and charitable – fans. The abrupt absence makes your heart plummet to your stomach.
It takes a full minute before anyone says anything. The longest minute of your whole life.
[woogoesthere]: are u telling us ur collabing w choi san?!!??!?!?! :0
Leave it to Woo to ease any worry you may have. You mask your relieved exhale under a light laugh.
“Should I be worried?” you half joke.
The immediate responses in the comments are overwhelming and collective:
[puppyu.u]: yes!!!!!!
[mars9843]: be afraid, be very afraid
[fix0nmi]: he’s gonna wreck you lmao
[fix0nmi]: icw to watch 🤪
[puppyu.u]: same 😭😏😭
[mars9843]: if you could barely handle yeo………
Your confident smile fades slightly, the corners of your mouth dropping back down as you read the multiple comments confirming what you’ve been wondering.
[woogoesthere]: guys stop ur gonna scare her ㅠㅠ
You try to laugh it off, looking off camera to grab your strawberry milk again. The action gives your hands something to do as worry begins to settle in your chest. Of course, Woo tries to ease your growing anxieties in the chat as you lift the bottle to your lips, eyes still scanning the messages… or rather, the warnings.
[puppyu.u]: well it’s true
[woogoesthere]: we should be encouraging tho >:(
[fix0nmi]: yeah or else she won’t do it 👀
[mars9843]: …
[mars9843]: y/n we’re just kiddinggggg
[fix0nmi]: you’ll be fine~! >:)
[woogoesthere]: -.-
[puppyu.u]: drink lots of water beforehand!
[woogoesthere]: you pervs are so annoying
“I can do it!” You try to regain your previous confidence.
A shroud of doubt begins to creep up over your shoulders, weighing you down. You’re able to hide it well, but you go quiet. Quieter than usual when you’re live. You don’t like silences that last too long. Unfortunately, your sudden silence is noticeable.
[puppyu.u]: babyyyyyy
[puppyu.u]: don’t listen to us we’re just teasing
[fix0nmi]: haha sorry baby
[mars9843]: you’re gonna be great, pretty girl
[fix0nmi]: can’t wait to see it ;)
[woogoesthere]: you ARE gonna be great
[woogoesthere]: choi san has no idea what an honor this is fr ㅠㅠ
That last message brings your smile back, tugging at the corners of your mouth until you give into it. ‘Woo’ is right. You have to remember who the fuck you are. Choi San sought you out specifically. There’s no need to be nervous about anything. It’s a different side of an industry that you’re already accustomed to, that’s all. You just have to adapt to however it operates for one day, and if you hate it, you’ll never have to do it again. And hey, you’ll get to say you’ve had that first and only experience with San of all people.
What a debut.
Your loyal fans must notice the confidence boost you’re experiencing because they’re quick to praise it in the chat.
[fix0nmi]: there she is :)
[woogoesthere]: ugh ur too cute
[puppyu.u]: fr that bastard has no idea how lucky he is ㅠㅠ
[mars9843]: he better be nice to u >:(
“Aww, you guys are so sweet,” you giggle softly, enjoying their attention and their praises. Your nerves are somewhat settled for the time being, though you can’t promise they won’t return once you open your eyes tomorrow morning. You wonder what Yeosang will say about it.
Leaning back against your headboard, you exhale deeply – maybe even adding a little hint of a whine-like noise to keep them entertained. ‘Pervs’, as ‘Woo’ put it, indeed. Not that you minded.
You hum to yourself and mention how much better they’ve made your night, and they eat it up.
“Thank you all for your love and support. Truly.”
You talk with them for a while longer, reciprocating their interest in you by asking them about their days and what they’re doing tomorrow. One of the silent viewers goes offline, and you can’t say that you blame them – no one should still be awake at this hour. You’re not sure if you’ll fall asleep quickly after you log off, so maybe that’s why you linger here and continue to talk with them. The minutes continue to go by and you start to feel guilty for keeping them all up this late. You know it’s their choice to stay and talk, but still. Odds are that at least one of them has to be up early tomorrow morning. They won’t leave until you do.
“I’m gonna go to bed, guys. Thank you for staying up and chatting with me.” You smile, watching all of their usernames simultaneously start typing again.
[mars9843]: goodnight cutie
[fix0nmi]: night babe ;)
[woogoesthere]: aww have a good night jagi <333
[puppyu.u]: sweet dreams baby <3
[puppyu.u]: <3333
You giggle, noticing ‘puppyu.u’’s competitiveness. Before ‘Woo’ can start a war to see how many 3’s they can add to their hearts, you quickly blow them all a kiss and end the call.
The silence of your apartment comes back quickly. Naturally, so do your racing thoughts. You place your laptop on your nightstand and crawl back under the covers, hoping against hope that you can smother your thoughts with your pillow.
Your phone vibrates against your thigh and you sneak a quick glance at it, half-expecting another e-mail, only to find a Venmo notification. It’s from Woo. Your exclusive members have the username of your ‘business’ Venmo account to send you money outside of cams, if they choose to. The message he attaches to the money makes you laugh: ‘i’m not losing to puppyu.u so easily. goodnight<333333333333’
Oh, man.
Make that $14,751 now.
You wince as you notice the time in the upper lefthand corner of your phone screen. Yeosang was very clear in his text: you better be awake by noon. Knowing how late you usually sleep until, it’s not looking good. Hoping it will help, you set several alarms on your phone. Surely one of them will wake you up. You switch your phone off, refusing to check it again until tomorrow morning.
Without your phone to distract you though, all you do is replay that video you watched of San and that actress. The memory of it projects against your eyelids and you can’t look away. A shiver runs through you when you picture how his hands held her with such gentle strength, and the addictive moans he wasn’t afraid to let out. The same thought echoes until you finally fall asleep: that’ll be you.
· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·
Against all odds, and seven missed alarms later, you manage to wake up – albeit, exhausted – around ten o’clock. Plenty of time before Yeosang is due to come over.
After you eat breakfast, you decide to spend the morning researching San, watching more of his videos, listening to interviews, stalking his Instagram, anything you can find to get to know him better. Or at least, to get a better grasp on what you should expect. Hongjoong never clarified if it was going to be just you and him at this future meeting or you, him, and San. You want to be ready.
From what you can find, you’ve come to the tentative conclusion that he appears smart, funny, well-traveled, and handsome. That last one is a given to anyone with eyes, though. It seems like he could’ve succeeded in any field of his choosing, but his candor is notoriously present and blunt whenever he gets asked why he’s gone into this profession: “I like sex. I happen to be good at it, so why not?”
You get it. Easy money.
His Instagram is mostly pictures of him in exotic locations. It seems you and him have dream destinations in mind for the future as well. Nine million followers strong – and counting – he has his comments turned off to them on every post. There is also no message option anywhere. He completely cuts himself off from being accessible. A part of you is a little jealous, but at the same time you like the closeness with your fans. It feels more intimate, it gives you a reason to be punctual and come back and care about what you do. Although some, like that ‘mntn3000’ guy, can sometimes be quite rude in the chat. You have your chat open to all, and your public Instagram is the complete opposite of San’s. Thirst traps, a highlight on your profile for song recommendations, and the ability to comment and message you. Not that you answer most of them. Most are gross, obnoxious, frankly misogynistic men who choose the most unhinged, disgusting words to express their… ‘desires’. You’re thankful for Woo and fans like him. Still… you find yourself wondering if you should limit your accessibility as well. Your popularity is rising. Maybe now is the time.
You still find yourself looking for everything and anything that has to do with him online. Everyone wants to be him or be with him. One of those guys. Of course.
You rest your head in your hands, groaning to no one in particular. After all the women he’s been with, you hope you can meet his expectations. A worthy costar. Same industry, different department.
By the time Yeosang knocks on your door at a quarter past noon, your mind is so far away he has to call you to let him in.
“Hey, sorry.” You apologize, ushering him in and locking the door behind him.
“I knew you wouldn’t be awake,” he grins, making himself right at home on your couch. “Is going live for thirty minutes really all it takes to make you catatonic the rest of the day?”
You roll your eyes, swatting his shoulder as you sit down next to him. “Shut up, it’s not because of that. Well… not exactly.”
Yeosang quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on, then. What’s up?”
You pull out your phone, ready to show him the evidence to back up what you’re about to say. The original email is still unchanged as you glance down at it, which is encouraging. Another reminder that you didn’t make this all up in your head. It didn’t happen in a dream, there’s hard evidence staring you in the face.
Well, now or never. Out with it.
“I, um… I got an offer to work with Choi San.” Your voice toes the line between excitement and cautious optimism. If anyone’s opinion matters to you at all, it’s Yeosang’s.
Yeosang’s eyebrows raise at the name. “Like… the Choi San?”
“The Choi San, yes.” You nod, confirming it’s exactly who he’s thinking about.
Handing your phone over to him, email ready to be read by a fresh pair of eyes, you watch his reactions closely. You find yourself biting the side of your thumb nail, a habit you keep thinking you’ve grown out of, only to be proven wrong in times like these.
Yeosang’s face is serious as he reads it. You can tell he’s searching for any indication of this being a scam first and foremost before he digests the rest of it. Finding no blatant or well-hidden tricks, he pays more attention to the general message.
“Are you gonna do it?” He asks, handing your phone back to you. His voice holds some reservation to it that you clearly pick up on. You take no offense, though. He’s just worried about you. It’s more… public than you’re used to.
“I don’t know,” you shrug, answering him honestly. “I’ve done my research on him and already sent them an email back saying that I was interested and wanted to know more, but… do you think I should?”
You truly value his opinion. Yeosang has been such a good friend to you for the past couple of years. The two of you had met in your second year of college and became fast friends. When you moved to the city, about a year after he did, he helped you find your first apartment, got you a job, and checked in on you to make sure you knew you had a friend here. He made everything easier. He still does.
Yeosang shrugs, “Doesn’t matter what I think. If you feel confident about doing it, then go for it. If something is telling you to not do it, then don’t.”
He makes it sound so easy. Should it be?
“Yeah, but… I value your opinion.” You mumble, not outwardly saying what you’re thinking. But he reads your mind anyway.
“Y/N, it’s not gonna change my view of you if you decide to do this. If I had a problem with my best friend being a mattress actress, I would’ve told you a long time ago. Y’know… before I collabed with you.”
At this, you can’t help but laugh, knowing he’s right. A pressure you didn’t realize was weighing on you is alleviated off your shoulders, making you feel lighter. He grins as you let out a small sigh of relief, glad that he eased some of your worries. Now, to tease you about it. As best friends do.
“I’m just worried that you won’t survive the experience,” Yeosang says dramatically, covering his eyes with his arm and sneaking a smile your way.
“Stop, what do you mean?” You push him, playfully.
“You said you researched him, right?”
You nod, wondering where he’s going with this. Is there something you’ve missed? You feel like you’re the only one left out of a well-known inside joke. You try to think back to the videos you’ve seen of him. Sure, you haven’t watched his whole filmography, but nevertheless, you’d like to believe you know roughly what to expect of him when the day comes.
“Did you watch the ones he’s done for ‘Fantasy’?” Yeosang smirks.
You blink, trying to remember if you did. To be totally honest, you weren’t really paying much attention to which company was posting the videos. Just that San was in them.
“I don’t know… maybe?”
Yeosang shakes his head, already seeming to know the answer. “You’d know if you did,” he says definitively. “If you wanna know what he’s really capable of, watch some of those.”
You stop yourself from rolling your eyes, frustrated that no one will just tell you what they’re talking about. You only have one guess, that it may be due to the fact that you’ve only ever been with two guys before. They each taught you the basics, but everything you bring to your livestreams, you learned all on your own. And it’s not like you’re clueless when it comes to the different kinds of sexual encounters one can experience. You’ve watched porn before – hell, you do a type of it for a living. So why does everyone keep underestimating you? What does San possibly do to make everyone think you won’t survive him?
A part of you kind of doesn’t want to know. You don’t need to give your creeping self-doubt any more ammo. It had taken you a long time to beat it far back enough in your mind for it to not invade every time you hit a little snag in life. A resurgence would make you question everything, make you back out of this quickly. You don’t want that. No, you’re determined even more so now to see this through. To prove everyone wrong. More importantly, though, to prove it to yourself.
“Sounds like he sought you out though,” Yeosang says. His words almost make you jolt. Not only do they pull you out of another spiral, it reinforces something you were thinking in passing last night. Maybe you aren’t reading too much into it after all. “Kinda seems like this Hongjoong guy and San are fans of yours.”
You hide your face in your hands and groan, making Yeosang laugh at your rare display of shyness. It’s frustratingly unclear to you why the idea of him watching your content makes your cheeks burn so much. You’re obviously comfortable with people seeing your body and earning a profit from it, but you like the anonymity of the people watching. You simply don’t want to know. Perhaps it’s because he’s about to not be a faceless viewer anymore. Rather, a colleague of sorts.
Also, in a way, you tend to view cam’ing as more… intimate than porn. The sole focus of the audience is on you. No fake plot, no costar, no distractions. Just you, reading the chat, and existing and getting off in real time.
“Sounds like it,” you agree. “I must’ve done something he likes to pique his interest.”
Yeosang shrugs, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Or he saw the collab and this is all just an elaborate ruse to get to me.”
You’re grateful to relax enough to laugh again. “Oh, I bet.” You say, playing along. Though, part of you does wonder for a brief moment if San had watched the collab and that’s why he thought you’d be a good partner for his next project. It’s definitely plausible.
“So,” Yeosang leans back against the couch, crossing his legs, “what do you have to do now?”
Remembering the phone in your hand, you look down at it, visualizing that attachment Hongjoong sent you. Yet to be opened. “There’s a form I have to fill out, I think it’s some kind of consent form.”
He nods, “Yeah, that’d make sense.”
There’s a small silence between you that follows as he watches you stare down at your phone. You have the most recent email pulled up, analyzing it again. He watches you bite the inside of your cheek, a habit you have that comes up when you’re thinking a little too hard about something.
“Do you want me to go through it with you?” He asks, though he thinks he knows what you’ll say.
“No, I’ll do it myself. It’s gonna ask like… in depth questions,” you insinuate, almost shyly.
Yeosang doesn’t press you on it, which you appreciate. But you know he’s probably thinking there’s not much he doesn’t know about you. After all, he was fingering you to high heaven in front of a camera only a week ago. Still, he doesn’t push your privacy or your boundaries. It’s one of the many things that makes you feel safe with him.
Breezing past the subject, knowing you probably need to relieve some stress, he picks up one of the gaming controllers on your coffee table.
“Rematch?” He asks, referring to a game of Mario Kart fairly won by you, though his opinion of the event is rather different. Something to do with you ‘innocently’ bumping into him, causing him to almost drop his controller, and giving you the lead in the race. His win streak is much cleaner than yours.
“You’re on,” you agree, playfully narrowing your eyes at him as he scoots away from you on the couch.
There’ll be no ‘accidents’ this time. But maybe you’ll think of something.
· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·
The rest of the day is light.
Little by little, the weight of uncertainty you feel fades into the background, instead transforming into unserious frustration as Yeosang beats you in Mario Kart six times in a row. You win the seventh round, but you highly suspect he let you. He had several speed boosts and red shells that would just disappear from his screen the next time you looked, wondering when he would fire one of those shells at you.
You order in, opting to stay inside and just be lazy today, and the two of you eat on the couch. When the sun eventually starts to set late in the afternoon, he takes a nap while you scroll on your phone, half-watching a K-Drama on your TV. Neither of you bring up San or the form still laying in wait in your inbox again. He wakes up around eight o’clock, yawning and stretching as he gets up to go home – he mentions that he promised his friend he’d go out with him tonight. Though he extends the offer, and part of you does want to go, you decide to be responsible and take the night to go through the form with a somewhat clearer mind than last night or this morning.
Almost as soon as Yeosang leaves, you’re back in bed and pulling everything up on your laptop. The attached file on the most recent email takes just a second to load, bringing you to a Google Form sheet, ready to be completed.
But first, you think about what he said about San. You want to know what everyone else already seems to. At least one video. Just for research purposes again.
In another tab on incognito mode, you hesitantly type in the search for ‘choi san redfantasy’ and bite the inside of your cheek as the page loads. The typical ads pop up before you’re able to see any actual content, avoiding the scams and viruses with practiced ease. Trying to not overthink it, you just click on the first video that comes up. In fact, you barely look at the title. It’s in all caps, a bunch of buzzwords and tags jammed together to get as many eyes on it as possible, but his name is always put first. That’s the seller right there. Audiences are in the market for Choi San.
There is no plot this time, at least none that you can discern. The lighting is darker, as well as the mood. There’s less build up, the action begins almost straight away after the company logo screen fades away.
Your chest constricts at the very first shot. A rather pretty woman, on her knees in the middle of a room. Her bare knees dig into the plush carpet beneath her and she looks up at the man in front of her, tilting her head up with a firm hand in her hair.
San.
“...didn’t you?” You barely hear him say to her, and you quickly turn up the volume on your laptop, rewinding the video ten seconds to hear the full question.
“You misbehaved today, didn't you?” He purrs, nodding once to give her permission to speak.
“Yes, sir.” She replies, obediently.
The hand in her hair is taken away, and yet she never takes her eyes off of him. You imagine that’s probably what she was instructed to do… but you’re starting to think a director wasn’t involved in this. Everything seems more intimate, less corporate. Like San just set up a camera in this expensive looking hotel room. A step above amateur porn.
San stalks around her, humming to himself as if sizing her up. The camera cuts to a slightly different angle, farther away, and you only just now realize that her hands are tied behind her back. The multiple static angles all but confirm your theory: everything in this video is by San’s design.
He then sits down on a rather large, black leather couch, facing her. The camera caresses his features, letting you see every detail of the tailored suit he’s wearing that fits him perfectly. The suit itself is probably more expensive than five of those couches. Wordlessly, he beckons her closer with two of his fingers. He almost looks bored. But you think bored is the wrong word… curious actually. Like he’s just taking his time, waiting for her to act first. His tempo is carefully curated and well-calculated. He reacts, even though he knows they’re both just enacting what this company wants to see. Like this isn’t just for the cameras. Every scene is serious to him, and yet it doesn’t come across as corny or too much. You wonder why he doesn’t go into acting. He seems more than able to convince people of real chemistry between himself and his co-star each and every time. And with a face card like his, you doubt he would’ve had many rejections.
Then again, you imagine it’d be rather hard to make a smooth transition into becoming a serious and respected actor after being in adult films.
She manages to make her way over to him, knelt in between his knees, waiting for further instruction. And he makes her wait. The camera cuts a couple of times, documenting the power dynamic from several angles. It’s evident a long time has passed because she keeps shifting her weight, knees never quite finding relief on the floor.
A small whimper leaves her, and it earns her a sharp smack across the cheek. You gasp at the same time she does, not expecting that at all for an action so miniscule. In almost the same motion, San’s grip returns to her hair, pulling her closer to his clothed crotch.
“Be actually useful for once, baby.” He says sweetly, like he’s praising instead of degrading her. “Earn it.”
You can tell she’s holding back another whimper, trying to be good. San guides her further down, until her face is pressed into the front seam of his tailored pants, and holds her there until she realizes what he wants her to do. Rather pathetically, she mouths at his dick through the fabric. He’s not even hard yet. No, he fully expects her to do all the work for him, including getting him ready.
While she’s… busy, he lazily takes off his watch, setting it aside and rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt to just above his elbows. You’ve seen him naked about a dozen times in these types of videos, and for some reason, this is what sends an uncontrollable shiver down your spine. Almost on sight, you feel how wet you’ve become, panties starting to cling to you.
His face is stony, refusing to give away what he’s thinking. That’s privileged information. But the harder he gets, the more motivated she becomes, tilting her head to the side to attempt to wrap her lips around his length as best she can. And yet, he never says anything. No praise, no degradation. He lets her actions speak for themselves, lets it burrow into her mind on her own. Pathetic. She doesn’t bother looking up at him for reassurance anymore. He’s not giving her anything to work with.
Abruptly, he yanks her back by the hair, just to see if she makes a noise. She does. Another sharp crack against her cheek makes you squeeze your thighs together. She takes three more slaps until he stops, his hands leave her entirely and one grips himself through his pants, sighing like he’s bored. Or rather, disappointed. From what you can discern from the print against his pants, he’s only half-hard.
“You don’t want it that badly, do you?” He asks like he’s already decided her answer.
Frantically, she shakes her head, denying his assumption. “No, no sir, I do want it. Please, I want it so–”
Unfortunately for her, his mind is already made up.
San rises from the couch, picking her up into his arms easily, like she weighed nothing. The camera cuts, now facing the bed, and San lays her down onto it. He then goes about tying her down to it, on all-fours. The girl’s face presses into the pillows, muffling any noise. San ties her ankles to the bedposts, leaving her spread open for him with no chance of closing herself off. Fully exposed, at his mercy. Or lack thereof.
San then loosens his tie before wrapping it around her throat, fashioning it into a makeshift collar and leash. He tugs it once, testing its reliability. Satisfied, he lets it go for the time being, no doubt planning on using it later. For now, he stalks around the bed, admiring his work, and assessing the best way to deal with the girl tied up in front of him.
“Since you couldn’t wait and just had to touch yourself before you came to me, I’m gonna teach you some patience.”
As if the last few times weren’t enough, an involuntary sound escapes from her lips. Soon enough, her ass is red and bruised, San’s hand quick to punish her for making noise.
“Be quiet,” he reminds sternly, “or you get nothing.”
That’s good motivation. Suddenly, you feel like you can’t make a single noise either.
He disappears offscreen for a while, the camera cutting a few times to capture how the anticipation makes the girl very nervous and wet at the same time. Impatient, you skip ahead thirty seconds and San pops back into frame, holding something.
There’s no warning, no telling her what it is. Only he and the audience (you) know. He holds the vibrator wand right up to her pussy, mere centimetres away and pauses. Her toes curl in an effort to stop the rest of her body from squirming. He waits for any minuscule movement. It’s when she cranes her neck, attempting to look back to see what he’s doing, that he turns it onto the highest setting and presses it against her clit in one swift motion.
Poor thing gasps and screams at the intense, unexpected vibrations, earning her another brutal round of spanks.
“Shhh,” he hushes her softly, “be quiet. Don’t move.”
Your pulse stutters, eyes wider than they were before, and your hand starts to drift downwards, underneath your clothes, to find your clit. The relief is immediate, like scratching an itch. You work yourself up alongside her, trying to follow San’s instructions yourself. Breaths turning shallow, you press your lips together to keep from making any sounds. If you really wanted to immerse and challenge yourself, you’d grab your own vibrator from the drawer, but you can’t tear your gaze from the screen. You don’t want to miss anything, and you feel like pausing it would disrupt the experience. If this is potentially what’s in store for you, and she doesn’t get a break, you don’t get one either.
Her fists tighten and grab at nothing, still bound behind her back. You can tell she’s losing the fight to follow through with his instructions. San notices this too. He moves the vibrator up and down, grinding the head of it harder on her clit before moving it away again. You have no idea how she’s managing to hold on.
San hears it the same time you do, not a gasp or a noise per se, but a hitch of her breath, just audible enough to hear. At the same time, her legs begin to shake, out of her control to stop them from doing so.
He takes the vibrator away, switching it off.
Her toes curl again, burying her face deeper into the pillows to silence any sounds. Your hand stops dead, even though all you want to do is keep circling your clit.
“See what I have to do?” He sighs, trailing the head of the vibrator down the back of her thighs. “If you just waited for me, I wouldn’t have to do this. I wouldn’t have to waste my time teaching you to be patient.”
Damn. Have you ever heard him talk to any of his scene partners like this? The San from the first video you watched as part of your ‘research’ seems a million miles away. A completely different person.
Eventually, the vibrator is returned to her clit, humming at full power. You resume your own administrations as well. San kneads her ass with his free hand, eyes glued to her body, waiting for her to fuck up. Any excuse to take the pleasure away again. An excuse comes when she’s forced back onto the brink of an orgasm, and he switches the toy off again. But he keeps it pressed against her pussy. On instinct, her hips rock backwards, trying to chase the pleasure, and you can’t help but groan out of frustration as you take your hand away. This time, he doesn’t administer spanks to her ass, but right on her pussy. And she can’t help the high-pitched yelp that leaps from her throat. San spanks her pussy until she shuts up. You don’t realize you’ve stopped breathing until the uncomfortable pressure in your throat forces you to inhale deeply.
The girl shudders after the last smack but doesn’t move or say a word. You’re both rooting for her and secretly hoping she’ll screw up again, just to see what he does. Also, you want to see if he’ll actually fuck her.
Rather impatiently, you skip ahead a couple of minutes, needing to know if he’s the type to punish by leaving her empty the whole time. It takes only a second for the video to buffer and when it does, you see that he’s added another toy, keeping it pressed deep into her pussy, right up to the very base of it. The vibrator never leaves her clit. The skin of her ass is bright red and already bruising in some areas. It looks rather painful. She’s moaning but it’s muffled and barely audible – you can imagine San gagged her in some way to keep her quiet after failing over and over again. Possibly with his tie. He doesn’t move the toy at all, instead just forcing her to feel the thickness and weight of it buried deep inside of her, no doubt pressing right up against her g-spot.
If he denies her again in this state, you’ll really be scared of him.
And that, he does.
This time, she wails through her gag, her whole body locking up and then quickly deflating in defeat. But the time in between denials is no longer merciful. San waits maybe ten seconds before starting again, placing the vibrator back where it belongs.
God damn– you think, becoming wetter as your fingers find your clit again, your own pleasure building. The poor girl shrieks into the pillows, incoherently pleading with him to stop. Instead of listening to her cries, San taps the vibrator against her pussy, driving her – and you – even more crazy.
“I’m doing you a favor,” he says flatly, not caring that she’s essentially begging for mercy. “You should be apologizing for making me waste my time to teach you basic manners.”
Your mouth drops open at that. He’s so mean, and yet if you were in her position – which you may be soon – you’re pretty sure you’d start apologizing right away. But she can’t, at least not properly. Not with a gag in her mouth and her face half-pressed into the pillows. You imagine after being denied what must be nearing ten orgasms at this point, her mind is also going a bit blank.
He presses the vibrator harder against her, making her back arch. “Tell me how sorry you are and maybe I’ll stop.”
That grabs her attention. Muffled, garbled, and barely full sentences immediately tumble from her lips, on the off chance that he’ll take pity on her and stop this edging torture. Her body shudders violently, cutting off her voice entirely.
Rather surprisingly, he does let up. Both toys disappear at once, and he watches her body collapse onto the bed, burning muscles unable to hold herself up any longer. But he doesn’t let the relief stay for long. His hand twists in her hair, yanking her upright until her back is against his chest. With the other, he rips the gag out – which was, in fact, his tie.
“I’ll give you one chance to tell me the truth,” he mutters in her ear, his other hand lingering dangerously close to her sore mound. “Did you just cum without permission? Yes or no.”
A sob tears itself from her throat, knowing that she’s been caught.
San pulls her hair again, causing her to yelp again. “Answer me,” he hisses, “and don’t you dare lie to me.”
“Y-yes, sir,” she whimpers, honest.
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t let her go. He just makes her stay with that feeling of guilt, the shame of being caught, and the foreboding knowledge that he’s going to have to punish her again. With his free hand, he runs the pads of his fingers through her soaking wet folds, collecting the evidence for himself. To humiliate her even further, he shoves those fingers into her mouth, pressing on her tongue. She whines around them, which he rewards by shoving his fingers deeper, into her throat. Tears flow down her face and neck, already utterly fucked out and he hasn’t even touched her himself, really. He’s still fully clothed, for fuck’s sake.
San sighs, thinking aloud, “What should I do with you, hm?”
Busy choking and spluttering around the intrusion in her throat, she can’t answer him at all. He probably doesn’t want an answer, though. You have a feeling he knows exactly what he’s going to do with her.
Once again, you’re proven correct when he lets her go and pulls his fingers out of her mouth. He watches her gasp for air and cough violently for a fleeting moment of relative peace before dragging her back towards the edge of the bed.
“Fucking useless slut…” he mutters to himself, just audible enough for her to hear. “You wanna cum so bad? Fine.”
A new toy is brought into frame, this one looking more daunting than the other two. You can tell it’s one of those two-for-one types, and your heart goes out to her. It slips inside of her easily, though it’s thicker than the previous dildo, all but confirming once again that she did cum without his permission. This time, there’s no mystery or question about what he’s going to do to her. She knows. The knowing is almost worse than the not-knowing.
He switches it on without much ceremony. She does her best to not move or make a sound, but another orgasm builds rapidly. Too fast, too soon.
For seven straight orgasms, he just watches her. He doesn’t even touch himself even though you can tell he’s hard beneath those tailored pants. Her pleas fall on deaf ears, like he’s not even in the room. You’ve barely managed to keep up with her, coaxing two weak orgasms from your own body with just your fingers and already feeling exhausted. Fuck, maybe everyone’s right…
You tap the screen to see how much more of the video is left, and your eyebrows raise when you see there’s still ten more minutes. You decide to skim through, just curious if he ever does let her have his cock.
Spoiler alert: he does not.
In reality, the only thing he changes is that he jerks himself off, getting off on her screams and pleas for him to turn the toy off, that she’s had enough. For the last two orgasms he forces her through, he adds his thumb to her clit, circling it mercilessly.
“One more, come on. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To cum?”
Through her tears and scratchy voice, she warbles, “W-want– wanted you t-to fuck me…”
He only laughs at her, and it sends such a blow to your psyche.
“Did you really think I would?”
She screams again, mixing with her sobs and choked groans as the final orgasm rips through her worn-out body. The only act of kindness he gives her is removing the toy and kissing her back, in between her shoulder blades.
He takes his time to untie her ankles from the bedposts, his hands smoothing over the skin where the rope had been. Wrecked and twitching, she curls into a ball on the bed, pussy sore and swollen. Knowing this, San drags her back down towards the foot of the bed, forcing her legs apart again. Her hands weakly try to push him away, but he ducks down, licking a near-fatal stripe up her folds, sucking harshly on her clit. Voice basically gone, her scream is broken and breathy.
That’s a habit he has, you’ve noticed. Or maybe just a signature thing. No matter what, when he’s done with his scene partner, he gives their pussy one final lick. As if he’s sealing the deal. Something they’ll feel long after the cameras stop rolling, along with the ache of their inner walls.
San chuckles, patting her inner thigh with his hand before pulling her onto the floor, back down onto her knees. He doesn't say anything more as he jerks off in front of her, aiming his cock right at her face. He lets her suck on it, much to your surprise, and he eventually comes. Some of it inside of her mouth, and the rest, he smears across her face. The final act of humiliation for her.
You slam your laptop shut.
Holy. Shit.
· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·
You come back to the forms after a cold shower and a half an hour long pacing session in your living room.
With a somewhat clearer head, you decide to take it one question at a time.
At first glance, you can’t help but feel like you’re filling out the forms you’d normally get in a doctor’s office. It covers everything. Height, weight, age, consent for Afterdark to inquire upon certain medical history to ensure the prevention of any diseases or illnesses, and payment information. On the next page, it goes deeper, and you almost want to take another lap before you dive in and check off any of the boxes.
There’s a checklist of kinks, each one with a box to check if any are ‘hard no’s’ or ‘hard yesses’for you. You gotta hand it to Afterdark, they’re very thorough. At the very top, just above this checklist, you notice two more boxes simply labelled ‘Rough’ and ‘Gentle’.
Ah.
This must be the reason that every video with San feels different. Not just because of whatever context they provide in the beginning of the video, but he never exactly has the same go-to way of fucking every time. Except of course, that parting move he’s so accustomed to doing. With some women, he takes it very slow, gentle and caring with lots of praise, and with others, like the one you just watched, he is ruthless and mean, denying orgasms and spanking them until their skin turns an alarming shade of red. They’ve tailored their own experience with him. That makes you feel a bit better actually, gives you more of a sense of control. You’re not just walking into this with no say in what he does to you, nor will you be blindsided. Actually, you’ll have a pretty good idea, and no worries that he’ll do something you’re uncomfortable with.
The empty boxes still taunt you. Which version of him do you want?
After much consideration, you eventually let fate decide. You pick both options. Rough and gentle. Let’s see what he does with that.
Moving on, forcing yourself to breathe slower, you continue down the list of kinks. Again, it’s very thorough, even asking for locations that you’d be okay filming in. You check off ‘hard no’ on most, if not all of the ‘bodily fluids’ section of the kink list. All except creampies, crying, and squirting. You wonder if he’ll be able to make you do that. If so, you don’t want to discourage him from it. You’re okay with toys, cunnilingus, fingers in your mouth, body worship, hair pulling, hickies, clothed sex, light bondage, the traffic light system, and spanking, just to name a few. You also mean to check off a hard ‘yes’ to aftercare. Aftercare is a non-negotiable for you. One of your exes never did that for you, and it’s been a dealbreaker ever since you got out of that relationship. You dislike feeling used after-the-fact. Discarded. It’s an ugly shock to your system, one that you’d like to avoid if possible.
Double checking everything on this page, you go to the third and final page.
In the top half, there’s an interactive calendar so you can input dates and times when you’re free to do the shoot. You’re pretty much free all the time, if you’re being honest. You just have a family wedding to go to in late August, two months from now. Though you’d rather do the shoot later in the day, not wanting to risk sleeping through it with your terrible sleep schedule. So, you mark every afternoon and evening as ‘available’.
In the bottom half of the page, there’s just one last question, accompanied by a text box: ‘Tell us about yourself, and what we can do to better tailor this experience for you.’
You have to admit, you weren’t expecting this kind of question to come up. They want to know about you? Tailor this opportunity for you?
Huh.
Your mind goes blank at first. What could they possibly want to know? What are they actually looking for? There’s really no telling.
Slowly, you type out a vague summary of where you grew up, why you started doing cam-shows, and that your favorite color is purple. When it comes to writing about how they can improve on this collaboration, your fingers hover over the keyboard. Stuck. You could just straight up not say anything, or just put ‘N/A’. But your inner professional tells you to answer it. You search yourself, wondering if there’s anything that would make you feel a little more comfortable while there. You assume they’ll provide a robe for you, or something to cover you up when you’re not filming, but you’ve also heard how ‘fucking cold’ porn sets are kept. Not exactly wanting to show up with a blanket from home, you decide that’ll be your one request.
‘If it’s not too much to ask, I’d like a blanket while on set. Thank you! :)’
You double – triple – check each form page, making sure you didn’t accidentally check something off or type in your information wrong. After you confirm that everything is accurate and spelled correctly, you click on the ‘submit’ button. A ‘thank you’ screen pops up, and you quickly exit the tab, not wanting to think about it anymore. It’s out of your hands now.
But speaking of the hands it’s now in, you have to set up a meeting time with this Kim Hongjoong guy.
Right. Okay, onto the next step.
In a new email, you type out all the dates and times you’re free – you may have made yourself sound busier than you actually are – and send it off to him. Glad to have everything done, you flop back against your pillows and groan. You replay all the images you’ve seen. All the things he’s done to multiple women.
You wonder what on earth he’ll do with you.
· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·
It’s the next day that ends up being the meeting day.
You opt for a virtual meeting, reasoning that it’ll probably be quicker and easier for both of you. From what it sounds like, being employed by Afterdark and Choi San keeps Hongjoong rather busy.
You do your makeup and hair, wanting to look presentable. It’s the shirt that gives you a headache. You’re rather unsure how professional you should look. What does someone wear to a meeting like this? You look down at your chest, trying to mentally calculate how much of it is appropriate to show, and choosing a shirt based on that. Eventually, you just pick a nice triangle lace cami. Kim Hongjoong will just have to excuse the fact that it’s summer and hot in your apartment in the afternoons. You’ve been meaning to figure out how the air conditioning works. It’s hi-tech in a way that truly baffles you. You’ll get Yeosang to figure it out the next time he comes over.
Moving your laptop into the kitchen for the natural light, you try to shake the nerves out of your hands as you walk around the kitchen island. You grab a cold water from the fridge and drink half of it before forcing yourself to sit down. The meeting is set for two-thirty, just a few minutes away. You kind of want to scream into the pillows on your couch. This will be the final stage until you actually go through with this whole collaboration. The last buffer until it happens.
In the upper right hand corner, you see an email notification from Hongjoong, providing you with a link to a video chatroom. For a full sixty seconds, you pretend you haven’t seen it yet. But when that minute is up, and you have to be an adult, you take one more sip of water before clicking on the link and sneaking a glance at yourself in the reflection of your laptop as the camera loads.
There’s a small boop sound from your laptop, signalling that the call has been connected and you brace yourself for a scam. Your hand hovers above the trackpad, ready to hit ‘end call’ at a moment’s notice. When his camera finally loads, you breathe a little easier. He’s in an office based on context clues of what you can see around him, and he’s rather handsome himself. That admittedly takes you aback. He has short, dark brown hair, round eyes, and a charming smile once he sees you on his screen. He pushes his glasses further up his sharp nose, and leans forward in his seat a little bit.
“Miss Y/N! It’s so nice to talk with you today, how are you?”
“I’m doing well, thank you. Are you the one I’ve been emailing?” You ask when he doesn’t introduce himself by name. You just want to clarify.
He laughs to break any awkward tension, “Yes, that’s me. My apologies, I’m San’s agent, Kim Hongjoong.”
“Okay, good.” You smile back, shoulders relaxing a little more. His dress shirt makes you feel a bit… well, underdressed, but when you notice that the top two buttons are undone, it makes you feel a bit better. He’s clearly not going for ultra-professional right now either. Off camera, in your lap, you play with one of your rings, giving your nervous hands something to do.
Unexpectedly, the first ten minutes are spent just making small-talk, especially after finding out you and him grew up around the same area. He asks you how you like the city, and you find yourself telling him about how much you love it, and that you never want to leave. Turns out he shares the same sentiment. It’s starting to feel less like a rigid job interview and more like a casual interaction. Nothing to be afraid of. You feel much more comfortable than you did ten minutes ago, that’s for sure.
Hongjoong eventually looks over to the side, where his desktop computer is and starts clicking around, the light reflecting off of his glasses. And you realize that it’s time to actually start talking about the collab. You fix your earring for no real reason, just to give yourself something to do.
“So, I’ve received the forms you completed – thank you for doing that, by the way – and I was wondering if you have any questions for me about them?”
You pause before you answer. Now’s the time to ask, and with the right person, too. Humming to fill the silence, you think about a good question to ask first.
Hongjoong picks up his phone when it starts vibrating incessantly, and looks at the screen for only a few seconds before placing it face down on his desk. Someone must be trying to get in touch with him, but he doesn’t bother with replying right now. You know it must be important, whatever it is, so you appreciate him keeping you the center of his attention right now.
“I guess I’ve been wondering about… like… if I check off certain boxes will we do all of that? Or…?”
Very eloquent.
Luckily, he doesn’t seem to think anything of it. “Oh, no, no. Usually what happens is we take a look at it, figure out which ones would work best together and with you and San, and take it from there. It’s just to see what you’re comfortable with and to see which direction you want this collab to go.”
That makes sense. And now that you think about it, what if someone puts a ‘hard yes’ next to something that San would check off as a ‘hard no’, obviously they wouldn’t do it. It’s a mutual agreement. They find the things that match between you two and take it from there.
“Actually,” Hongjoong says with a small grin, still scrolling through the forms on his computer. “You two are pretty similar. It wasn’t hard to match up.”
You hear it but your brain doesn’t process what it means yet.
“Oh, really?” You say, not knowing how else to respond.
Hongjoong just hums, nodding once. He pushes his glasses up again before turning back to you.
“Regardless of that, though, I wanted to also let you know that if at any point during the shoot you feel uncomfortable and want to leave, you can, and you will be paid in full, no questions asked. Obviously though, if you leave before, or if you don’t show up at all, we can’t really do anything to pay you. We have this in place because we don’t want you to feel trapped once the scene starts. Does that make sense?”
You nod quickly, “Yes, it does.”
“Perfect,” he says. “So, with your schedule that you sent me, if you’re okay with it, we can set the date relatively soon. Is this coming Friday, at six o’clock alright?”
Friday. As in… Friday, two days from now, Friday? Your mouth dries instantly. Two days from now. Is he not busy? You assumed this wouldn’t happen for a couple of weeks, at least. A delusional voice in your head tells you that maybe he cleared his schedule to be with you sooner rather than later. Oh, sure. Yeah, right.
Still, it baffles you.
And yet you hear yourself say, “Friday’s good for me!”
Well, now it has to be whether you’re ready or not. Your hands itch for your phone, needing to text Yeosang immediately, even though you know he’ll probably find your dilemma rather entertaining. You also need to book a waxing appointment and get your nails done ASAP. Maybe even a facial, too.
Fucking hell, Y/N, the things you get yourself into.
Hongjoong lights up, quickly typing something on his keyboard, scrunching his nose once or twice to keep his glasses from moving down again. A few more clicks of his mouse, and it’s done.
“Okay, perfect. I’ve got you booked for six o’clock this Friday. If you could email me where you’d like our driver to pick you up, that’d be great. Otherwise, do you have any other questions, comments, or concerns for me?”
Your lips part. Driver? Someone from Afterdark is going to bring you to the set? Your right hand grips your phone, turning it over and preparing to call Yeosang as soon as you hang up with Hongjoong.
Fuck, okay. Sure, why not?
“Oh, um–” you suddenly remember one thing he hasn’t mentioned at all. “Is there a script? Like, do I need to know any lines before…?”
Hongjoong answers right away, “Ah, this shoot will be unscripted. It’ll feel more natural that way.”
More natural. Your heart feels like a brick in your chest. To be honest though, you’re really glad there is no script. However, a rubric would be helpful as well. You nod, acknowledging that information. So it really will be like the videos you watched. That’s the experience you’ll be getting.
“Okay, cool,” you reply, desperately needing another drink of water for your dry mouth. “Thank you.”
Hongjoong smiles politely. “No problem. Alright, well if everything sounds good, we’ll see you on Friday! Thank you for taking the time to speak with me today.”
We.
Again, he’s probably just talking about the company, but Yeosang’s words from yesterday are stuck in your head. Your secret delusions and Yeosang’s smart mouth are never a good mix.
“See you Friday! Thank you.” You reply politely, the very picture of calmness and professionalism.
And once the call disconnects, you’re slamming your laptop shut and calling Yeosang to tell him everything.
He picks up on the third ring, yawning and obviously not fully awake just yet. You forgot he went out with his friend last night. Still, it’s definitely time for him to be awake now.
As expected, once you rattle off every detail of the call you were just on, Yeosang laughs his ass off.
“Oh man,” he says with an audible sigh, “you’re fucked.”
· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·
Part of you wishes that the driver will somehow get hopelessly lost on the way to the set.
You’re sure he’s been there multiple times before, but you pray for a random dose of amnesia anyway. It’s not that you’re second-guessing the decision – not at all – you just weren’t expecting the day to come so soon. It’s crazy how forty-eight hours now seems like no time at all. You shake out your hands as you step out of the car, and look up at the building. It’s rather unassuming, blending seamlessly into the numerous ones around it. Nothing about it screams that this is where adult films are produced. Not that you really expected it to.
The driver parks with the hazards on, and gets out as well to let you into the building via a keycard. You thank him quietly as he holds the door open for you. He must’ve told you his name, but for the life of you, you cannot remember it. He points you in the direction of the elevators, and confirms that he’ll see you later to drive you home.
Then, you’re alone. He gets back into the car and drives it around the building, to an underground parking garage you assume.
You take a deep breath in the lobby, finding the elevators quickly and starting towards them. Hongjoong said the shoot is on the eighth floor, so you press the ‘8’ button once in the elevator car.
As soon as the doors shut, the silence and gravity of what you’re there to do settles in immediately. You force yourself to take a deep breath, really dragging out how long you exhale to try and ease your heart rate. The second floor comes and goes, as does the third. But the higher you climb, the tighter your throat becomes. On floor five, you think of bailing. Past the sixth floor, already almost there, Yeosang’s custom text ringtone startles you. Glad to distract yourself, you immediately read the text.
[yeoyeo🌻]: don’t let him intimidate you, you’re the one he wanted for this
[yeoyeo🌻]: remember he’s literally just some guy and you’ll be fine
[yeoyeo🌻]: you’re gonna be great :)
You can’t help but smile, and you roll your shoulders back to stand taller. He’s right, as always. Choi San is many things, but at the end of the day, he is just a man. You have to view this as a very elaborate hookup rather than a career opportunity, just to calm your nervous system if anything else.
When the elevator doors open on the eighth floor, someone is already waiting for you on the other side.
Hongjoong.
You don’t realize until this moment how relieved you are to see a somewhat familiar face.
“Miss Y/N,” he greets, extending his hand out for you to shake, “it’s so nice to meet you in person.”
You smile warmly, returning the greeting and hoping that your handshake is up to par. Before you have time to possibly overthink such a small thing, he asks if you need anything.
“Oh, um…no, not at the moment, thank you.”
“Of course,” he nods once. “If you do need something at any time, please let one of us know.”
You assume that ‘one of us’ probably means the team of people you’re about to meet and be fucked in front of. Forcing another deep breath, you manage another easy smile and thank him again.
He motions for you to follow him, and you have to look down at your feet to get them to move. You beg yourself inwardly to get a grip and soon.
Hongjoong leads you down a long hallway, deeper into the Afterdark floorplan. You’re surprised by how nice it smells in here, like someone is burning incense somewhere. The walls are decorated with miscellaneous artworks and some awards, as well as headshots of the actors and actresses signed with them. At the end of the hallway, there are two huge double doors, and he pulls one of them open with ease, letting you walk into the gigantic room it reveals first.
When you finally enter the large set, you can instantly feel the drastic temperature drop. Just as you had been led to believe, they must have turned down the thermostat in the room, making it several degrees colder than the early summer weather outside, and you rub your arms to try and warm them up.
No more than five seconds after the two of you enter, Hongjoong is suddenly flanked by a young woman with a clipboard. A sticky note flutters as she keeps pace with you and him, and she mutters something to him that you can’t hear.
“No, that’s alright,” he says quietly, “I think he’s good without her right now, but double check for me, please.”
You keep your eyes on the floor, pretending that you didn’t hear anything, but your mind races. Who is ‘she’, you wonder? As quickly as she appeared, the assistant scurries off, past the camera and lighting crews, and over countless miscellaneous wires with practiced ease.
While the two of you walk, you’re rather relieved that no one is staring at you as you go by. You’re just another actress to them, and right now, that’s okay with you. And luckily, the path Hongjoong is taking you on is relatively close to the perimeter of the set, so you’re not exactly the center of attention right now. A part of the wall juts out, making it look like a closet, but once he opens the door, you see it’s a dressing room. Complete with vanity lights, a full bathroom, and a brand new silk robe for you to wear on set, hanging up by the door. There’s also a small, plush couch up against the wall next to the vanity that you have a feeling you will be texting Yeosang on as soon as you’re left alone.
“This is all yours for the day,” Hongjoong says, “someone will come around in a minute to help with hair and makeup, and then we’ll start.”
You nod, swallowing down as much of your anxiety as possible.
“Will you, um–” you ask before you can stop yourself. Hongjoong pauses before he heads out, waiting expectantly for you to finish your question. “Are you gonna be on set the whole time?”
His expression changes into something akin to surprise. Obviously, he wasn’t expecting you to ask anything about himself. He doesn’t answer straight away, taking a moment to try and understand why you’re asking that. You can almost see the professional within him piecing together a corporate response in real time.
“We try to limit how many people are in the room to those who are absolutely necessary. I usually stay close in case someone needs me. Why?”
You wave your hand, trying to brush everything off. “No, I was just wondering. Nevermind. Thank you!”
Hongjoong looks like he’s about to say something, but ultimately leaves you alone, gently closing the door behind him.
As soon as it clicks shut, you’re moving to sit on the couch, ready to call Yeosang, but you stop yourself at the last minute. You’re acting crazy, you do realize that. And you have a sneaking suspicion he’ll tell you the exact same thing.
Instead, to satiate your need to call him, you reread his last three texts of encouragement.
Lock in. Remember who the hell you are. Now.
You put on some ego-boosting music so you’re not just getting ready in silence, and quickly undress before hair and makeup arrive. Folded neatly on the vanity, is your outfit for the scene. A tight, cropped black lace cami, and a plaid mini skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination.
No panties anywhere in sight. No bra, either. Total and easy access.
Your lower stomach starts to heat up, already envisioning how San might go about undressing you. From what you’ve seen, rarely does he let girls undress themselves. No, he wants to be the one to do it. Like he’s unwrapping a present, just for him.
After you throw your hoodie onto the couch with the rest of your pile of clothes, you turn back to the vanity, noticing a small army of mini water bottles lined up and waiting for you if need be. You’re almost positive that if you look in the vanity drawer, you’ll find snacks as well. Maybe you can get used to this. But you’ll wait to give your final verdict after the job you came here to do is done. It’s best to wait.
You’re only waiting for a minute or two before there’s a light knock on the door. Two women wearing face masks enter the dressing room, bowing to you and introducing themselves. You try to remember their names – Youngmi, you think is the makeup artist, and Rina, the hair stylist – but your brain is elsewhere, working double overtime to try to calm you down. Luckily, the Britney Spears song in the background is doing a lot of the heavy lifting. Youngmi and Rina are quick, and good at what they do. Rina makes you laugh by scrunching her nose and singing along to the song as she brushes through your hair. Youngmi only rolls her eyes at her colleague, but it’s all in good fun.
By the time they’re done, you no longer feel like the scared outsider that doesn’t look the part. They made you even more beautiful.
There she is, you think as you admire yourself in the mirror.
You sigh in relief, feeling much more confident than before. And not only that, you feel ready. It’s not the easiest thing to turn your nervousness into excitement, but somehow, this time, you manage to do it. So many girls would kill to be in your shoes right now – or, in your skirt. You had kicked your shoes off next to the couch.
You make sure to thank Youngmi and Rina before they bring you out, not knowing if you’ll have a chance once you’re on set. With one more spritz of your perfume that you brought with you from home, and a last minute decision to bring the robe out with you, you finally follow them out towards the set. Just mere feet from where you’ll be… ‘performing’.
· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·
As you’re walking and looking around, you start to wonder if San makes it a point to surround himself with equally beautiful people. Or maybe it’s a company requirement.
Sure, maybe Hongjoong, Youngmi, and Rina are just coincidences, but even the camera and lighting crew are arguably just as pretty. Speaking of Hongjoong, you look around, noting that he isn’t anywhere to be found at the moment. He’s probably with his talent right now.
When you’re introduced to the director, you almost say something about it. Everyone in this room is attractive. Conventionally, unconventionally, and everything in between.
“Hello Ms. Y/L/N, I’m Choi Jongho, I’ll be directing you two today.” He introduces himself, bowing politely and shaking your hand.
You bow your head and reply, “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”
He offers you a chair to sit in while everyone waits for San to come out, and you take it gratefully. You don’t know how long he’ll be. Youngmi and Rina excuse themselves, heading off in the other direction together, walking with purpose. You drape your robe across the back of it, unsure if you’re supposed to give it to someone or take it with you onto the set.
“Would you like anything to drink, Ms. Y/L/N?” The director asks, noticing that you don’t have anything with you ready for any breaks.
Director Choi only refers to you as “Ms. Y/L/N.” Very professional, cordial even. Makes you feel like more than an object his star is about to fuck on screen. You’re being treated with real respect, which is a pleasant surprise in comparison to what you had expected from the porn industry.
You look around yourself, only just now realizing you didn’t take one of those mini water bottles from your dressing room like you originally planned.
“A water, please–” you start to say. As soon as the last syllable of ‘water’ is spoken, an assistant hands you one. You didn’t even see him standing next to you, much less holding a bottle. Then again, you aren’t really paying attention to whether or not people are carrying water bottles or not right now. Damn.
You try to warm up your arms by rubbing them, now that you’re virtually wearing next to nothing in this arctic-like room. Only a few moments later, a blanket is handed over to you wordlessly by another assistant, a quick bow following the action. You tilt your head down as a responding bow, shocked. You didn’t even have to say anything.
Is this what San is used to? Everything given to him at once, on a silver platter with no questions asked? You imagine every single thing handed to him accompanied by hopeful, round eyes looking at him for his approval, only to be ignored or thanked by a small nod. You’re so used to doing everything yourself, this type of treatment makes you feel… stuck up – and every fiber of your being screams at you to make sure none of the staff think that of you.
“San will be out in just a moment,” Director Choi says, but his heart isn't in it. He checks his watch and glances towards San's dressing room with nearly well-concealed impatience. It is rather late in the day, and you only just now think about the possibility that they may have been here since early morning. Maybe even shooting San with someone else. It’s entirely possible. You can imagine they all just want to get this last one done and go home. None of them would ever let that show, though. No, you have to admit everyone here is quite professional.
Your hands absentmindedly twirl a strand of hair around your finger as you zone out. At least for now, you can zone out with a blanket wrapped around you.
The air shifts just moments later.
It’s like a sudden pressure drop where everything goes still for only a second. That one second feels like a lifetime as you turn your head to see what’s going on. Though, in your heart you know exactly what it is without needing to look – it’s the arrival of the main attraction.
From where you are, leaned back in your chair, you can’t see him too well. He’s surrounded by a team that moves with him like a clump of cells, or maybe in this case, like sheep in a herd. Finishing touchups by Youngmi and Rina, an assistant by his side carrying a medium-sized leather bag and holding his coffee cup when San hands it to him, and other miscellaneous characters that float around the star. Everyone wants to be near him in some way.
Hongjoong stays at the back of it all, looking down at his phone as he walks.
The team finally disperses one by one, revealing more of Choi San to your eyes.
When San finally gets close enough to you, whatever air in your lungs is promptly sucker-punched out of you at the sight of his refreshing beauty. It’s even more pronounced in real life. You’re not entirely sure how to greet him, or what he’s used to. But you remember Yeosang’s encouragement again: He’s just a guy. Don’t let him intimidate you. You’re gonna be great.
He’s just a guy. You’ve dealt with those before. It’s just that this guy in particular is crafted like an apology for creating men in the first place. And a couple of days ago, you were watching him make a girl cry on a bed that looks quite similar to the one on set right now.
You stand up, smoothing down your skirt and standing still, hands clasped in front of you.
“Hey Jongho, sorry we’re late,” Hongjoong calls over, pocketing his phone. He side-eyes San, who bows his head in apology as he walks.
The director waves him off, clearly used to his tardiness and the apologies that follow. “It’s alright,” he says, “you’re actually earlier than we thought you’d be.”
“We need to go over the rules with her,” San says once he’s close enough to you and the director, sounding tired. You wonder if he just woke up. He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt as he speaks, and catches you looking. You don’t see it when you quickly avert your eyes, but his whole demeanor changes. No longer lethargic, he becomes awake and alert at the sight of you.
Director Choi nods and grabs a clipboard from his own director’s chair. You nervously roll your ankle, hearing it crack quietly in the interim.
“Right, number one rule is consent. If at any time you want to stop, just say the word. No questions asked. Second rule is to keep all details of this shoot private, including any conversations with each other,” At this, Director Choi looks up at you. “Third rule is health and safety, but Hongjoong said you covered that with him, and when you sent in the form,” Again, his eyes flick up from the clipboard to glance at you. “Fourth is to be respectful at all times – there’s no room for ego here. And lastly, don’t look at the camera unless told to, otherwise keep the illusion.”
You go over each rule in your head before you forget. Consent, confidentiality, feel safe, be respectful, and don’t look at the camera. Simple enough. You keep your chin up, and shoulders back. You force that annoying inner voice of self-doubt to mumble the lyrics of the Britney song from earlier.
“Follow these, and we’ll have a great shoot day. We should be ready to go in just a few minutes.” Director Choi offers both of you a quick smile before he turns on his heel and walks towards the cameraman, getting everything finalized and ready to shoot. Your heart pounds underneath the robe. Hongjoong steps closer to San, muttering something to him before walking back towards the dressing room.
You’re just about to walk over to the set to get used to it and be ready to go whenever they are, when San steps right in front of you, effectively blocking the way.
Out of the blue, he crowds your personal space, and you have to really dig deep to make yourself stay put. Right where you stand. Don’t be intimidated. At the end of the day, you’re both here to do the same job, and both of you are successful in your own rights. He’s just a man, you remind yourself again.
San towers over you, his shirt opened just enough for you to see his perfectly toned and tan chest right in your face. You keep eye contact, even though all you want to do is look away. It’s much easier to be confident and independent on your own turf, but here on his, it’s more of a challenge. Still, you stand your ground. You have to if he’s going to keep sizing you up. He has been since he walked out here.
“You didn’t cum,” he says matter-of-factly.
…
Pardon? Did you hear him right? What an odd opening line to say to someone you’re meeting for the first time.
Your lips part and eyebrows furrow, rather startled. “I’m sorry?”
There’s no way you heard him correctly.
“Your last liveshow,” he shrugs. “Am I right?”
Well… yes, but– how did–?
Is this how he starts all of his conversations? With a personal accusation?
“That’s alright. We all do it sometimes,” he shrugs again. He leans down so his mouth is next to your ear and lowers his voice. “You’re not gonna fake it with me, though,” he says, and the terrifying thing is that he sounds genuine. It’s not unfounded cockiness or meaningless bravado. He means what he says in all seriousness. He says it like you shouldn’t worry about it. Like it’s a promise.
And you exhibit monumental self-control to not clench your thighs together at this moment.
Your mind races at a million miles a minute. That, you didn’t expect. Isn’t that all that porn is? Fake, overblown orgasms for the girls and endless, guaranteed pleasure regardless for the men? You’re starting to think that this may not be the case with him. You think about the videos you watched as part of your ‘research’, and a bolt of electricity zips up your spine. You never doubted that he made his costars feel good, but you know full well that a lot of porn actresses pretend that they’ve cum with their scene partner. But with him, now you know: all of the girls weren’t acting. In fact, you really doubt that they needed to fake just how good he made them feel. The last video you watched of him comes back to mind… you wonder if he’ll make you scream like that too.
Unsure of how to respond to that, you just take a small step backwards to put some distance between you two. Room to think and process if possible. But he’s relentless, and he seems to like getting up in people’s space. A mischievous glint in his eye tells you that he’s enjoying this particular encounter especially. He’s definitely the type of guy that finds it fun to make girls flustered or nervous.
You swallow hard.
“You sound rather confident,” you note, still trying your best to hold eye contact with him. To not back down or seem weak. You’re sure it’s not working. You just refuse to melt all over him, or suck up to him. Especially not when he’s the one who asked you here.
Surprisingly, he smirks. “Shouldn’t I be? I’ve done my research, I know you probably have done yours as well.”
So you were right. Yeosang, too. San has seen your content before. And not only has he seen your previous works, he was right there with you, watching your last live. Your speculation sounds a lot like confirmation now.
“Does that make you nervous, kitten?” He whispers, tilting his head slightly to the side like he’s about to kiss you. He could if he just leaned forward a couple more inches.
A little, you admit to yourself. Your heart hammers against your chest like it’s trying to push you forward, to get closer to him. At this proximity, you can easily smell his cologne and dammit, somehow it makes him even more attractive. You’re almost getting annoyed with him now. Surely there should be at least one flaw to him, something that makes him human like the rest of the world.
“No,” you lie, “I’m fine.” Arms crossed. Eyes up.
San laughs lightly, and his smile instantly becomes the most attractive thing about him so far, even if it’s at your own expense.
“If you say so,” he shrugs again.
He doesn’t move away from you, though. Not right away. His gaze lingers on your lips for a fleeting moment, which gives you just enough time to come up with a question of your own.
“So, you’re a fan of mine?”
At that, he pauses. But, he doesn’t shy away from it.
“Yeah,” he says, owning up to it immediately. He straightens back up as you nod, taking in the information. “Have been for a while now. I saw that other collab you did with that guy, it was really fuckin’ hot.”
You make a mental note to let Yeosang know he was right about that, as well. To be honest, you weren’t expecting the compliment.
“I’m– glad you liked it,” you say, clearing your throat in the middle of the sentence. You’re doing pretty well on the outside despite your nervousness beginning to rise again on the inside. San studies you once more, like he’s searching for something on you that only he can see. You step back again and turn your face away from him as you take a sip from your water bottle, taking your time to screw the cap back on.
“Mm… you’re even prettier in real life,” he says, so casually it almost doesn’t register.
You nearly swallow wrong, just barely avoiding choking on the small amount of water still left in your mouth. Luckily, Director Choi calls over to you two to start making your way onto set.
The final few minutes begin to tick down.
You don’t attempt to hide the deep breath you take, but you do try to not make it very noticeable. Placing the water bottle onto the chair you were just in, you clear your throat again.
“Any final advice or warnings for me before we start?” You ask, keeping your voice casual and light. It’s a subtle dig to him, but you mean no malice behind the words. Fortunately, he picks up on it.
“Oh, tons,” he grins, keeping pace with you onto the set. It’s almost easy to forget the cameras.
You steal a glance at him as you walk, the floor bitterly cold beneath your feet. With each step the bed gets closer and closer. Now finally getting a chance to see the set in detail, you’re pretty impressed. It’s a pretty realistic bedroom setting, complete with shelves decorated with trinkets and records, but vague enough to have no specific personality. Nobody’s going to be admiring the set design when they watch this. Still, you appreciate the effort made by the production team to make it feel real.
The lights facing you are blinding and you wince when you accidentally look right into one. Good incentive to not look that way, you suppose.
San sits on the edge of the bed. “You get used to it,” he says, nodding towards the lights.
You nod as well, placing a hand above your heart, willing it to stop racing.
Noticing this, San takes your hand and guides you to sit down next to him. You do feel a bit better now that you’re sitting. You keep your eyes down to avoid burning your retinas, and turn your head slightly towards him. He shifts a little closer, positioning his body so he’s facing you.
“Nervous?” He asks rhetorically, knowing full well that you are. He’s still holding your hand, playing with each of your fingers one by one.
“Obvious?” You reply, managing to laugh at yourself, despite your nerves.
San grins, his eyes turning into crescents, and that dimple in his cheek reappearing. “Only a little bit. But, I’ve seen worse.”
You hum in response. Being reminded of his experience, leaps and bounds ahead of yours, does nothing to help your anxiety. You just hope you can live up to the fantasy version of your own self. That’s the version of you he invited.
Where’s Britney when you need her?
You push your hair back, a minute attempt to self-soothe in some way. You only realize halfway through the action that Rina probably just clutched her pearls somewhere past the lights, cursing you for messing up her work. Oh, well. According to what you’ve seen and the information you’ve gathered, your hair’s gonna be plenty messed up anyway.
The room is starting to become a lot less crowded. Just like Hongjoong had said, only the essential people stay on set to make sure everything goes smoothly and safely. Everyone else becomes fading background noise, filtering out into the hallway you first came in from.
But less distractions means you notice the man right next to you even more.
You can feel San’s eyes on you.
It’s not an uncomfortable feeling, quite the opposite actually. The weight of it is light, soft around the edges as he appreciates how he managed to practically will you onto this set with him. You’d been sure you may be insecure around him because of his almost unnatural beauty, but… actually, having his eyes on you right now makes you a bit more confident. He’s not looking at anyone else but you. Not just looking, but admiring.
His gaze drifts down, greedily drinking in the sight of your collarbone and legs – the only skin you’re revealing at the moment. If the crew would just hurry up, he’ll be able to see more.
Fortunately, he’s never been one to wait to get what he wants. Especially not in this industry. And right now, he wants you.
“I meant it, by the way,” he says quietly, “you’re beautiful.”
Without any water to choke on, or an interruption from the director, you simply look up at him, finally meeting his eyes. There’s no trace of irony anywhere. Not in what he said, and not hidden somewhere within his features. The genuinity, and the doubling-down of the compliment takes you aback.
“Thank you… you’re quite beautiful yourself.” You compliment him back, shifting how you’re sitting to face him as well.
By now, your knee is touching his. Even this small amount of contact between you makes your shoulders tense again. You’re not sure why, but you just want to melt into him already. Perhaps due to the undeniable attraction you feel towards him.
Maybe it’s the insane sexual tension between you both, that very well could be the root cause as well.
You remember how real his scenes look… this must be how the chemistry is kindled. Starting before the cameras capture anything, it makes it all seem less like a show. And you know what? Until the director yells ‘cut’, you’re more than willing to match that energy.
His hand moves from yours to rest on your thigh, slowly, like he’s silently asking for permission to continue. When you don’t flinch or push him away, he hikes up your skirt just an inch or two higher, exposing more of your skin. The light ghost of his touch makes you freeze in place. It’s already dizzying enough to have him in such close proximity, and now adding in the electricity of his touch, it’s a whole other level. And this, you assume, is just the warmup. Getting you used to the feeling of his hands on you. It’s nice that it doesn’t feel wrong.
The lighting crew dims one of the lights and one of them loudly asks the director if it looks good on camera. Distracted, you turn back to look their way again, but San gently cups your face with his hand, making you face him instead.
He hums, looking down between your still-clothed bodies. His other hand dips under the hem of your skirt, and your breath hitches. Worrying too much about the crew still, you look back to see if this is alright to do before the cameras start rolling.
“Don’t look at the camera, kitten,” San purrs, “I believe that was rule number five.”
“Oh, shut up,” you mumble without any real bite to your words.
That smile of his returns, and the energy between you becomes even more charged. The moment right before someone gives in after holding back for too long.
San never looks anywhere else, entirely focused on you. It doesn't matter to him that there’s about twenty people still in the same room, all witnessing this ‘warm-up’ unfold. It barely fazes him. He’s experienced in this setting, way more used to it than you are. You just have to roll with it.
His hand on your face drops back down to the mattress as his wrist turns, and you inhale sharply when he lightly drags his fingers through your wet folds. He hums again, clearly satisfied.
“What’s got you this wet already, kitten?”
Your lips part to answer, but he finds your clit before you can speak. This time, you gasp quietly before you can stop yourself. Once again, you glance over at the crew, wondering if anyone is watching the two of you. You can’t see very well because of the lights and the various equipment in the way, but several of the crew and team are.
San smirks, pressing the pads of his fingers harder against your clit. “You like the attention?” He asks, following your gaze. “It’s different from your little camshow isn’t it? Now the audience is only a few feet away…”
His fingers begin to move in small circles, occasionally dipping further down to collect your wetness before bringing it back up to your clit.
“San–” you breathe, catching his wrist in a semi-firm grip. Not to move it away, but just to hold onto something. Jesus, the shoot hasn’t even officially started yet, but you’re about to beg them to hurry up so it can.
San just moves closer to you, his eyes greedily drinking in your cute expression. His voice is quieter, so only you can hear him. “Already thought about all the ways I’m gonna make this pretty cunt cum for me. ‘M gonna make you feel so good.”
Another promise.
A shiver runs down your spine, and that’s the moment the crew decides that they’re ready to shoot.
San pulls away like nothing happened, even smoothing down your skirt for you. You force yourself to breathe through your nose, steadying your pulse. You quickly look down, checking to see if your top is still on straight.
Director Choi walks up to you both for final notes. “Alright, no script so we’re mostly gonna follow your lead, just let us know when one of you needs a quick break. All three cameras are going to be rolling, and one handheld. You remember all the rules?” He looks over to you.
You nod quickly, unable to meet his eye right now. The back of your hand lifts to your cheek to check how hot it’s gotten – as if you need additional confirmation. You hope you didn’t smudge your makeup or wipe some of it off by accident, but you imagine that if it shows up on camera, they’ll stop to fix it.
“Okay, then we’re ready to go.”
San thanks him as he walks off, turning his attention back onto you. Your gaze has dropped down to your lap, breaths kind of erratic from the little show you and him just put on, and from nerves. But you manage to pull yourself together, externally at least. All you really have to do now is look pretty for the camera. You can do that. Except for the live audience, this isn’t much different to a camshow, really.
And aren’t you here for your fans anyway? Sure, you also wanted the opportunity and experience, but it’s also for your fans. The ones who supported you enough to even get noticed by Afterdark and San in the first place. You imagine they’ll make up at least half of the view count whenever this video drops. You’re performing for them. Not for the strangers in the room.
Once that clicks for you, all your anxiety melts away, freeing you to finally just… enjoy this. Why not? You deserve it.
Plus, you’re quite eager to pick up right where you and San left off just moments ago – and it seems that San is too.
His gaze becomes heavier, darker as he shifts into his on-screen persona.
“C’mere, kitten, want you on my lap to start.” He says, moving back on the bed a little more and gently pulling you towards him.
You straddle his legs, slow to sit down fully. Now slightly above and closer than before, you can’t look anywhere else but at him. His hands slowly trail up your thighs again, watching you the whole time. You stop breathing when his fingertips tease the hem of your skirt again. He can probably feel through those dress pants he’s in how wet you are. Equally though, you can feel how hard he’s getting.
Subtly, you grind your hips down onto him. The immediate pleasure of the friction against your bare pussy makes your eyes roll back. One of his hands sneaks to your hip, gripping it tightly, and you meet his eyes again.
“It’s just you and me,” he says quietly, breath fanning across your cheek.
You nod, eyes fluttering closed again as you grind into him once more. “Okay…”
Through your pleasurable hazy fog, you faintly hear someone yell, ‘Action!’.
And San stops holding back.
The hand on your hip pushes you back and pulls you in, encouraging you to keep grinding on him – and to not stop anytime soon. His other hand moves to your hair, keeping your face close to his as he finally kisses you. His lips are pleasantly soft, and he tastes like peppermint. You hope you do too, you probably brushed your teeth at least four times before the driver showed up outside your apartment building. San seems to have no complaints as he moans quietly, his hand tightens in your hair.
Your whole body feels electric, every touch amplified by a thousand. He makes out with you slow and deep, savouring the taste of you, and groans into your mouth with each roll of your hips.
San tilts your chin up to kiss your neck, hiding his face from the camera. “Never answered my question,” he whispers, barely audible so his voice doesn’t get picked up by any of the overhead microphones.
You disguise your response as a moan, “Hm?”
He licks a small stripe up your neck, right up to your ear and looks down between you. You follow his gaze, only to find a wet patch staining his pants already.
Ah.
His question from mere minutes ago: What’s got you this wet already?
“So wet for me,” he murmurs, a bit louder. It’s alright if the microphones pick that up. “Wonder why…”
It’s the knowing smirk that does it. You move to undress him first, intriguing him. He didn’t expect you to be so bold right out of the gate. But, you have an on-screen persona of your own. Now both of your characters are out to play.
In your dwindling patience, you come close to just ripping the shirt off when you fumble with one of the buttons. San finds your lips again as you push the offending fabric off of him, eager to explore his newly exposed body. But you’re next.
Both of his hands lift up your shirt until it comes off over your head, forcing you two to break apart for a moment. Neither of you wait to make up for that lost time. You drape your arms around his shoulders, one of your hands lightly tugging at the roots of his hair. At first, your whole body erupts in goosebumps from the cold air now hitting your upper body as well, and not just your arms, but you can’t blame your reaction entirely on the temperature.
San must notice how your shoulders hunch a little and how you press further into him, because he is quick to warm you up.
One arm around your waist, he pulls you closer, chests touching. The first brush of your peaked nipples against his skin makes you gasp into his mouth. He nips at your bottom lip, distracting you while his hand moves from the back of your head, down to one of your breasts. His thumb flicks over the sensitive bud there and you have to duck your head down to catch your breath for a second. You grind down onto him again, adding to your arousal tenfold.
Refusing to prolong this any longer, San suddenly flips you onto the bed, underneath him. His hand returns between your legs, fingers shallowly dipping into your entrance and circling your clit. He keeps just out of your reach, his lips so frustratingly close to yours. You glance down to watch him. The visual of his hand disappearing underneath your skirt, the veins in his arm beginning to rise and pop, and the heat of his body against yours is all starting to add up.
You tug at your own skirt, looking up at him with doe eyes. He nods twice, understanding. In no time at all, your skirt is unzipped and pulled down your legs, discarded somewhere onto the floor.
Now fully exposed, San pauses.
The tempo of the scene slows abruptly as he takes his time to look at your body, laying so prettily beneath him. He looks at your body like he’s deciding where to start first, with too many enticing options. You drag your hands down his chest, lightly scratching him and making him shiver in the process. This, you realize, is how he makes every scene feel legit. He takes his time to admire his partner, make them feel admired and wanted. You have to admit, it does work its magic. Not just for the audience, but for you as well.
He catches both of your wrists, bringing your hands together to kiss them both before guiding them down above your head.
“Keep them here,” he murmurs, kissing you once more.
You barely have time to enjoy or savor the taste of him again before he moves to kiss your neck. Eyes closing, you sigh into the feeling, wanting to commit this to memory. He doesn’t stay in one place for long, moving down to kiss your chest next. Soft, wet warmth once again wraps around your nipple and you arch your back to try and get more of it. You twist your hands in the sheets above you, keeping them anchored there just like he instructed.
San then moves further down, ghosting his lips past your stomach. You part your legs to accommodate him, and he kneels on the floor, gently pushing your legs further apart. He drags this out, just to torture you, you think. His intentions and what he’s about to do are clear, but he’s a professional at driving his partners crazy. The kisses turn to licks, right next to your labia. So tantalizingly close.
If your eyes were open, you’d see that he’s been watching you the entire time, trying to pace himself as best he can. You’re actually lucky there’s a job to do here because if it was just the two of you alone, he doesn’t think he’d be holding himself back from just taking what he wants.
To him, this is all just a chance for him to prove himself to you. To him, you’re the star. And he’s going to make sure you leave this set more than satisfied. Wanting for nothing.
But he’s not going to start until you beg him to.
His breath fans across your wet lower lips and your hands find his hair again, trying to push his mouth where you need him. You hear him laugh, exhaling through his nose before moving your hands away.
“Thought I told you to keep your hands up there, kitten,” he reminds you, with a slight warning edge to his voice.
Oh, shit, you realize all too late. The last video flashes through your mind, and he feels you tense up. He kisses your hipbone to calm you down.
“Be a good girl and keep them above your head,” he repeats his previous order.
You nod quickly, “I’m sorry–” but he cuts you off by licking a thick wet stripe through your folds. Your breath hitches, and your hands stay cemented to the sheets, to hold on for dear life.
When he repeats the action, the tip of his tongue flicks at your clit, making you see stars already.
“Oh my god…” you moan, eyes fluttering shut again.
Your hands itch to move back down to his hair, wanting to pull him closer and to push him away. You want to touch him again, but the fear of him reenacting the ‘Fantasy’ video keeps you frozen.
As expected, his mouth is just as perfect as the rest of him. The softness of his lips against your core only stokes the dull heat in your lower stomach. He alternates between focusing more on your clit, and dipping his tongue into your entrance. The most addicting part is that he’s moaning while he eats you out, like the taste of you is getting him off. You hope he lets you return the favor.
He readjusts his hands on your thighs when they threaten to close around his head, opting to push them back towards your chest. Your toes curl as he sucks your clit hard, and you can’t help the high-pitched sound that escapes your mouth. He does it again, and again, getting you louder each time.
“Look at me, baby,” he breathes, his nose brushing up against your sensitive clit as he speaks.
You whimper as you lift your head up, resting on your elbows to not strain your neck. He meets your eyes for just a second before shoving his tongue into your hole, rubbing his nose against your clit again. You cry out, throwing your head back as the pleasure increases and squirm in his strong grip. Legs shaking and breath uneven, it’s clear that you’re close. Now you’ll get to see what he has planned for you. The two boxes you checked off, ‘Rough’, and ‘Gentle’ come back to haunt you.
A moan cuts you off as you try to warn him that you’re close, but he can tell without needing to hear you say it. He’s been the cause of enough female orgasms to see the warning signs of one approaching. Two of his fingers suddenly dip into you as he sucks on your clit, hooking deep inside and prodding your g-spot over and over again.
His voice is rough and gravelly against your pussy, “Cum for me, baby. Wanna taste it.”
A bolt of electricity runs through you as you cum, shaking and moaning while it gradually subsides. The heat in your lower stomach cools off but stays simmering now, waiting to be rekindled again. You whimper, raising your head back up to look at him. He’s in his own world between your legs, gently licking your pussy and your inner thighs clean. Your core clenches around his fingers when he slowly starts to drag them out, and he smirks. He lowers your legs back down, kissing your knee and doing a quick check to make sure you’re okay to continue.
You answer that check by sitting up and pulling him towards you, kissing him even more hungrily than before. He hasn’t even wiped his mouth yet, but you don’t care. Without breaking the kiss, he follows you back down onto the bed, sucking on your tongue and wrapping a hand around your throat. Not tight enough to restrict airflow, but just enough to make your head feel light. He grinds his still-clothed erection into you, and the friction makes your head spin. You don’t know if you’re allowed to move your hands or not, but you just want to touch him so badly. You want to grip his length, make him feel just as good, taste him too.
For now, you just roll your hips up into his, moaning into his mouth.
“Want it…want you,” you mumble, parting from his lips for just a second to tell him that.
San hums, lazily kissing your jaw. “What do you want, kitten? Be specific.”
You groan inwardly, but you know he has to prolong this a little. Damn… for a while, you forgot about the reason you’re currently underneath him. You sneak a glance over to your left, seeing where the set ceiling abruptly stops and opens up to the industrial interior of the Afterdark building. He notices your focus straying, and he’s quick to act.
“Tell me,” San redirects you, blocking your view by kissing the left side of your neck and distracting you from everything else by keeping his hard-on pressed right up against your bare pussy. His voice is firmer. A small warning and reminder of rule number five.
You take a deep breath before you voice what you want, “Wanna suck your cock… please, sir.”
It’s the ‘sir’ that nearly kills him. You really have done your research, haven’t you? You know that’s what he likes to be called, especially when his scene partners are feeling extra submissive to him. Are you feeling that way already? Maybe you just really want to do this for him. San studies you for a second, confirming the latter. He can see how much you actually mean it by the way you look up at him, pleading with your eyes.
And who is he to deny you? Especially when you ask so nicely. Plus, he’s been wanting to feel your mouth wrap around his cock since he watched your livestream.
“Yeah?” He asks, biting the space where your neck meets your shoulder and pressing up against you again.
You give him your best doe-eyed look, really tapping into your innocent act. “Yes, sir.”
San helps you sit upright again and stands at the foot of the bed, starting to undo his belt. Wanting to be an active participant, you lean forward, dragging your lips down and across his abs, occasionally licking at his soft, honeyed skin. His belt hits the floor, and your hands are quick to do the rest. It’s a little hard to get the zipper down, but you manage it, successfully removing his pants. You’re just about to deal with his underwear next, but he grabs your wrist, pulling you towards him. You stumble a little as you find your footing on the floor, and let him lead you over to a chair against the set wall. It’s a better angle for the cameras, you assume. For him, he just wants to watch you do this properly. He wants nothing to obstruct his view, or the camera’s.
San pushes his hair back as you drag the final piece of clothing away from his body. You avert your eyes until the very last second, tossing the garment off to the side to join the sad little pile of discarded clothes on the floor. Now you take your time, pressing a kiss to his knee, slowly rising up onto yours the further up you move. You hear his breath shift, and you finally glance up to face his cock.
Somehow, it’s bigger than it looks on camera.
You have no idea how that’s possible – you know about the fish eye lenses and tricks the porn industry will use to make someone’s dick look bigger than it is, but right now, you’re presented with the exact opposite. It’s larger in real life. This, you were not expecting, but it is such a pleasant and welcome surprise. And of course, it’s just as pretty as the rest of him.
Both of these things combined only make you want to put your mouth on it even more.
When you delicately wrap your hand around it, he hisses at the long-awaited contact. A hand tangles into your hair, not pulling you towards him, just resting there for now. San leans back against the chair, his toned body a feast for the cameras and for you. You remind yourself not to rush, and to savor this.
Wanting to give him a taste of his own medicine, you tease him a little by ghosting your lips up his length, watching him shiver and bite his lip. You kiss the tip, and linger there for a second, acting like you’re about to put him in your mouth, only to move away, kissing his hipbone next and stroking him with your hand.
His grip tightens in your hair. Knowing he wants you to hurry up, you let go of him for a moment to spit in your hand before quickly returning to it. He groans a bit louder, head falling back a little as you gently twist your wrist, squeezing at the base of his cock.
Finally, you lick him from the base to the head before wrapping your lips around him. His other hand balls up into a fist, but that’s the only reaction he gives away for now. You relax your jaw as much as you can, trying to accommodate his size before sinking down lower. You can taste his pre-cum in the back of your throat, coating your tongue.
If you were annoyed with his apparent perfection before, you’re pissed now. How does he also taste good too?
As if to get back at him somehow, you wrap your lips tighter around his cock and suck hard, which earns you a choked moan from him. You hum around him, amused and pleased with yourself. His hand shakes slightly as he pushes your hair back, the other one in your hair starting to guide you even further down. The tip hits the back of your throat and you gag on it, forcing yourself to relax and remember to breathe through your nose.
“Fuck, baby…so good,” He groans, starting to struggle to keep his eyes open.
The visual of you choking on his cock is better than he could’ve ever imagined it to be. You don’t try to fight against him when he pushes you down or pulls you back up, simply letting him use your throat as he wishes. Even though you’re gagging and your eyes are watering, you don’t try to pull off. Not even when he shoves you down, making you fit his entire length into your throat, and holds you there for ten seconds. The longest ten seconds of your life. Your nails dig into your thighs, creating angry red crescent-shaped indents in your skin. His cock twitches in your throat and you whimper, keeping your gag reflex at bay. When the ten seconds are up, he lets you pull off of him completely to catch your breath.
You cough into your shoulder, one of your hands wrapping around him again to make sure he still feels good. San can't help but praise you, leaning down to kiss your forehead, cupping your face with his hand to make you look at him. It’s a subtle check-in moment. Nothing between you is said out loud, but he searches your face for any signs of discomfort or stress of any kind. He’s rather relieved to find none, only your glossy eyes staring back at him, lips parted and breath heavier than before. Ready to go again or continue on.
Whatever he wants.
San shivers as you gently twist your wrist again, returning your lips to the head of his dick, kitten-licking the pre-cum that still leaks out there. You hope he’ll cum in your mouth. A rare hope, as you’ve never quite enjoyed the taste of it before, but with his track record so far, you’re willing to bet you’ll enjoy it this time. To encourage this dream to happen, you spit onto the head of his cock twice, collecting some of it with your hand already around his length, and the rest with your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip.
You hear soft footsteps behind you, and naturally, your first instinct is to whip around to see who it is. Luckily, your conscience kicks in, reminding you of where you are, and you’re able to stop yourself before you can even move an inch. It’s probably one of the crew leaving the set, you figure. But it sounds close by.
As if to prove you right, soon there’s a figure or a shadow looming just out of your peripheral vision on your left, holding something. To combat every urge within you to turn around, you close your eyes and steal another kiss from San, who lazily kisses you back. He doesn’t seem to mind that your lips are covered in spit and pre-cum. Not one bit. His groans have increased the more you stroke his cock, one of his hands grips the arm of the chair in an attempt to ground himself. Harder, faster, your wrist begins to burn from exertion, but determination keeps it going. You’ll get a damn brace if you need to.
“God–” he grunts, looking down at your hand.
“Want you to cum too,” you say, looking up at him, almost pleading.
San’s eyes squeeze shut for just a moment, a full body shudder wracking through him before he is able to compose himself again.
“And where do you want me to cum, kitten?” He asks, his volume raising slightly, caressing your cheek.
“In my mouth, sir.” You reply, also loud enough for the microphones to pick up.
He all but shoves you down. You barely have time to make sure your teeth aren’t grazing his dick with every bob of your head as his hand returns to your hair, guiding your movements once again. This time, with just a fraction less of his notorious self control. You’re able to keep up easily, sucking harder whenever you’re closer to the head of it, and using your tongue as much as you can.
San swears under his breath, hissing at your previously unknown skill level. It takes every ounce of composure to not fuck your throat the way he wants to. He’d be so mean to you if you’d let him. He wouldn’t have kept himself down your throat for ten measly seconds, it would’ve been until you tried to push yourself off, desperate to breathe again. That would’ve been heavenly, to feel your throat constrict around his cock, in search of air. But not for the first scene together.
If there’s a next time, maybe that’s when he’ll let go just a little more. Show that side of him and see how you cope with it. For now though, he’s content to just enjoy the sight of you taking him in your mouth, wanting to make him cum. And you’re damn near close to achieving that.
He ignores the cameraman standing barely two feet from you, and leans back again, relaxing his body as his dick twitches incessantly in your mouth. Every time his tip hits the back of your throat, sparks of electricity shoot up his spine.
“Fuck… ah, fuck, I’m gonna cum… mmf–” San moans, head tilting back against the chair.
You don’t change anything about what you’re doing, just continuing until finally, he releases into your mouth. Just like you wanted him to. And it’s just as you predicted. The taste of it makes you want him to cum in your mouth again and again, surprisingly pleasant. Slightly bitter, yes, but not overly so. You swallow around him, not pulling off just yet. You won’t until you suck him dry, until he pushes you off from overstimulation. Maybe subconsciously, it’s because you know he loves to overstimulate his scene partners – a subtle payback for all of them. You try to hide your grin as you finally release him. Not a single drop wasted. You swallowed everything.
San looks down at you through half-lidded eyes, fighting to keep his chest rising and falling in a steadier rhythm. You lick your lips just for good measure, and he snaps.
His hands return to your face and the back of your head, pulling you towards him to kiss you deeply. You moan into his mouth as his tongue slips into yours, not caring in the slightest that can taste himself. As you straighten up on your knees, you can feel how wet you still are, and you can’t help but be a little surprised. You’ve never gotten wet from sucking dick before. If he finds out, it’ll go right to his ego, no doubt.
But before he can, there’s an abrupt, loud clacking sound to your left, and at first, you think someone must have dropped something. San makes a quiet, irritated sound before pulling away, glancing towards the director. The cameraman right next to you moves away, going back over towards the others and adjusting something on his camera. You feel slow to catch up on what’s happening, looking back up at San for help.
“We’re breaking for a second,” he explains, still out of breath.
Ah.
“Are you alright?” You ask him, without thinking. You’re not even sure why you asked that.
San blinks, processing your question as well before nodding once, “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.”
There’s a fleeting moment between you that you can’t describe. Something deeper than the scene now that you’re out of it. It’s the way he’s looking at you, void of any facade or persona meant for the cameras. Almost like he’s curious about something.
No one ever really asks him if he’s alright.
Just as quickly as the moment appears, it’s gone. You hear a flurry of movement and murmured conversations on your left as you sink back onto your heels, processing everything. Your eyes close as you try to focus on your breathing now that nothing is blocking your throat, deep inhales and slow exhales.
“You okay?” San asks as well, eyebrows furrowing in what appears to be genuine concern.
“‘M okay… honest.” You nod as you speak to emphasize that you’re truly alright. One more prolonged exhale, and you roll your shoulders back, heart-rate decelerating back to its default speed. One of your hands reaches up to massage your aching jaw.
Opening your eyes again, you accidentally make eye contact directly to his cock, still right in front of your face. It’s laying against his stomach, still slightly twitching, but… not softening. At least not as much as you’d expect it to. Surely, he can’t still be hard after coming. However, at this point, you wouldn’t put it past him to have a practically nonexistent refractory period. Might as well tack it onto the list of things he has been blessed with in life.
San runs a hand through his hair, looking over towards someone who must be talking to him. You watch his eyes follow them until you see for yourself who it is – one of the assistants that had been in his little circle when he first walked out of his dressing room. He hands him a robe, and quickly walks off. You feel a small nudge at your shoulder and find one of the other assistants – the one that had handed you the blanket earlier – extending a robe towards you. You take it gladly, your body heat crashing down again now that nothing is happening, and the frigid air conditioning reminding you why you asked for a blanket in the first place. He also gives you a water bottle with a straw poked through the plastic cap, and you drink it down gratefully.
Director Choi calls over Youngmi and Rina, and they’re quickly by your side, touching up your hair and makeup. You scoot back a little on the floor, giving San some space as his own team descends around him. Still, through the quiet rush of activity separating the two of you, your eyes stay glued to him.
Once the four hair and makeup girls leave, you hear Hongjoong from somewhere behind you. You both look towards his voice, standing near the director. A young woman you haven’t seen milling around the set before stands right next to him, also in a short silk robe almost identical to yours from what you can see of it past the lights. Your chest burns. She’s gorgeous, and seems to only get prettier the more you look at her. She looks between Hongjoong and San expectantly, as if waiting for a regular cue. Totally relaxed. You look back down at your hands in your lap, toying with the hem of your robe. It’s obvious what she’s there for. You wonder if she’s been watching the whole time as well.
But San is quick to rid you of any worries.
Actually, he seems a little annoyed as he waves Hongjoong and the woman off, before turning his attention back to you. He helps you stand up, slowly to ensure you won’t get dizzy, and leads you back over to sit on the foot of the bed. Back where you started, in your own little bubble together in front of the lights and the cameras.
Once settled again, San tilts your head up, his pointer finger under your chin, and holds it there, effectively disrupting your train of thought. He can almost see the self-doubt threatening to cloud your mind, even if you try to hide it behind your on-camera mask. He simply won’t have it. His other hand cups your cheek, making sure you don’t try to look anywhere but at him right now.
“‘M still hard for you, kitten,” he says quietly, just for you. He moves closer, his thumb running over your bottom lip. “Made me feel so fucking good… doing so well…”
You can’t help but blush at his praise. He’s so attentive, it’s a little shocking. You expected him to be, due to the videos you watched, but off-camera as well?
To thank him, you wrap your lips around his thumb, sucking on it lightly, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time. You want him to snap again. To just fuck you stupid already, to not wait for the production team to be ready. God, you just want to stop thinking and overthinking. You lean into the hand holding your cheek, humming at the comfort it provides.
One of your hands wanders between you, trailing up his thigh. You want to feel it for yourself, even though the robe does little to conceal the truth in his statement. Nevertheless, your confidence is rekindled once more when you feel him through the silk, hard and ready for you. He hisses at the contact, resting his forehead against yours for a moment or two before straightening again. A low groan from him makes your thighs clench together.
“Sorry, sir,” you whisper, grinning mischievously now that you’re the one teasing him.
San laughs once, breathy and short.
“You really have done your research on me, huh?” He smirks, watching you slowly move his robe aside to touch him properly. He tenses a little at the initial contact, but gradually relaxes again as his body gets used to it.
You shrug, playing it cool. “Wanted to see what I was getting myself into,” the corners of your mouth twitch as you slowly stroke his cock, watching for his reactions.
“And–” he clears his throat before continuing, “what do you think so far?”
Your eyes flicker up to meet his, and you’re taken aback again by his genuineness. He’s not just asking to ask or to boost a sky-high ego, he really does want to know. Still, you want to keep him intrigued. Maybe you even want him to try and prove himself to you a bit.
“Well… I’m still wet for you,” you admit, casting your eyes down towards your lap. “But I think I’ll give you a final verdict later.”
San hums, remembering the taste of you, and how wet you were for him to start. His eyes trail downwards, towards your chest, which is slowly becoming more and more revealed as your robe loosens.
“Deal,” he whispers, slowly leaning in to kiss you.
Before he can though, you squeeze his member a little harder, your thumb circling the tip, making his mind nearly go blank. San shudders and leans back on his hands, his robe also loosening little by little, revealing his chest and the top of his abs to your hungry eyes again. He steals a quick glance over to the crew, before just taking matters into his own hands.
As soon as his robe comes off, he tosses it in the camera’s direction. A rather obvious way of telling everyone the break is over. Director Choi quickly stands from his chair, shooing away a production assistant and waving another one over to collect the robes. You take yours off as well, tossing it onto his, and San eases you down onto your back, kissing you just as deeply as before.
You shiver, finally underneath him once more. The promise of what’s to come thunders through your mind. He slots his knee in between your legs, keeping you open for him. You whine into his mouth when that knee raises slightly, pressing against your pussy. You can almost hear his smirk, confirming that you are indeed still wet for him.
Well, he won’t make you wait any longer.
And just in time too, because someone over on the left shouts, ‘Action!’. You feel kind of bad for stressing out the crew this much, but you can’t dwell on those guilty feelings when San is rubbing your clit again.
“Fuck… please…” you whimper, hips grinding up in search of something else.
San moans, working himself up as he feels your pussy slicking all over his knee.
“Are they gonna stop us again?” You ask, whispering in his ear.
“They better fucking not,” San breathes, pressing one more kiss to your cheek before pushing himself up, spreading your legs further apart so he can kneel between them.
You prop yourself up on your elbows again, intent on watching. You clench around nothing as he grips himself, angling his dick down towards your pussy. Every muscle in your body locks in anticipation and impatience. Your brain goes haywire just at the sight of his cock near where you need him most, knowing he’ll stretch you out, and knowing that you probably won’t last too long with his size. Hopefully, you won’t cum as soon as he bottoms out.
San presses the tip to your hole, and you hold your breath. It’s so big, but you’re ready. You’re definitely wet enough to help get him inside without any help from spit or lube. Nevertheless, he spits right on your clit, pausing to make you feel it drip down through your folds. He taps the head of his cock against your clit a couple times, greedily watching your reactions.
And much to your despair, he doesn’t push inside just yet. Instead, he drags his cock up and down your pussy. Slowly. Forcing you to feel every inch of it, just not where you need it. Your clit is so sensitive, every time he rubs up against it, you can’t help but whine pathetically.
San hums, mocking you. “Hm? What’s wrong, kitten?”
“Please fuck me already,” you exhale, whimpering at yet another tap of his cock against your clit.
“Louder,” he instructs, not just to make you beg for it again, but also so the microphones pick it up. You’d forgotten all about them again, to be honest. “Ask me properly.”
Another shiver runs through you, and you gasp when you feel the head of his cock return to your entrance. Just barely enough so you can feel it’s there. But it’s enough motivation. You spread your legs further apart to convince him, holding them up and back by hooking your arms around your knees. Fully exposed to his eyes, open and ready to be filled.
“Please, sir, please fuck me. Want it so ba–”
Your voice is cut off by a choked noise as he finally pushes into you. Quickly, you look down, watching him breach you. All of your air is punched out of you as he stretches you out, sinking deeper and deeper, inch by inch. He takes over the task of keeping your legs apart, and he stills for a second to give your body time to adjust to him. He’s just barely halfway in, and your brain already feels like mush.
Maybe it’s a good thing because the same cameraman from before comes back, aiming the camera right at you two. Your body is so tense from the intrusion that you can’t look towards him, even by accident.
San swears under his breath, watching his cock disappearing into you as well.
“So fucking tight… god, baby…” he grunts, adjusting his knees slightly closer to your ass so he can feed you more of his length.
One of his hands tilts your chin up again, silently telling you to hold eye contact with him. His eyes flicker down only for a split second.
Then he shoves the rest of his cock inside.
A mix of a gasp and a yelp punches its way out of you. Your whole body is like a livewire. Alert, teetering on an electric edge. Your hands grip the sheets next to you, biting your lip. You can feel everything. Every inch, every vein dragging against your walls when he slowly pulls it back again. You both crave and dread the next time he pushes in, knowing it’s going to feel so overwhelmingly good.
The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You’re close to coming already.
Wide-eyed, all you can do is stare up at him as he rolls his hips into yours. Your walls flutter around him, legs already beginning to shake. There’s no hiding it anymore.
Amused, San leans down, pushing your legs back even more, deepening the stretch. He groans as your pussy contracts around him tight, wanting more.
“What, kitten? Already?” San smirks, a windfall of pride rushing through him. As if he needed any more validation for how good at this he is.
Your face burns, having been found out.
The next roll of his hips is sinfully languid, taking his time. Then, he really betrays you. One of his hands leaves the back of your thigh and he uses his thumb to rub your clit. You yelp, body buzzing from pleasure, and he takes this time to start fucking you properly, thrusting into you in a steady rhythm.
“Mm, that’s it,” he says, twisting his wrist so he can rub your clit with two fingers instead. “Let me feel it.”
You’re starting to think all you need in order to cum is for him to tell you to do it. Your second orgasm of the evening is a bit stronger than the first one because of the addition of penetration. It makes you feel very floaty once it hits, clenching around his cock in order to prolong it.
Unlike last time, he gives you no recovery period. The second he sees your eyes refocus, he’s fucking into you again. Like he never stopped. Your hands grip his shoulders, knowing you’re in for it. The tags for this future video flash through your mind, overstimulation being one. You lay flat on your back now, unable to keep holding yourself up as another strong wave of pleasure crashes into you. A third orgasm building up again.
His fingers on your clit press down harder, making tight circles over the sensitive bud. He only relents for a second, just to hook your legs over his shoulders, letting him get even deeper inside of you. Your eyes roll back for a moment, whining at the feeling. Your hands try to push at his chest, to make him stop, to make him straighten up, you’re not entirely sure yourself.
There’s no energy behind your actions, but San still subtly checks in. “Feel good, kitten?”
You choke on another moan, his cock getting dangerously close to hitting your g-spot. “Mm- I’m– good, feels s-so good.”
“Yeah? You liked coming on my cock?”
“Yes…”
“Yes, what?” San punctuates his question by ramming into you hard, unexpectedly.
You’re quick to correct yourself, “Y-yes, sir!”
“There you go,” he brushes some hair away from your face, “my good girl.”
Your body melts at the praise, replaying it over and over again as the feeling builds up higher and higher. You don’t realize until San winces that your nails started to dig into his chest, leaving some red scratch marks in your wake. As soon as you see that, you instantly take your hands away, feeling so bad that you’ve hurt him unknowingly.
But he puts them right back where they were.
And he leans down to your neck to return the favor, biting and sucking the skin there to create dark red and purple bruises wherever he can. His thrusts become more powerful, angling down into you to make you see stars. The simmering heat in your stomach is stoked with each direct hit to your g-spot. It’s getting to be more of a challenge to breathe normally like this.
Especially as your third orgasm begins to crest.
“‘M coming–” you warn him, but he knows already. He can feel it.
He hovers over you, moving his hips precisely and slightly faster. He wants to watch you again. To see you fall apart for him again. Truthfully, he already feels a bit pussy-drunk. Starting to get addicted to the feeling of your warm, wet cunt wrapped so tightly around him, coming for him so prettily. And you don’t disappoint him the third time either.
You’re loud this time, unable to control your volume. The third orgasm hits you like a truck, and it only builds higher and higher instead of gradually diminishing. You cry out, halfway through it. Something feels unfinished about it, and you’re desperate to chase it. Luckily, San knows exactly what you need.
He quickly lowers your legs from his shoulders, jumping right into action to catch this. Your legs are held back, like the previous position they were in, and he returns his other hand to your lower stomach, pressing down hard. You can feel him moving inside of you. Your head falls back and you moan loudly, suddenly feeling everything tenfold.
The sound is obscene, definitely pornographic. Wet, sloshing sounds, accompanied by your loud cries and moans fill the warehouse-like room of the eighth floor. His cock prods your g-spot every single time, building something insanely powerful that you’ve never felt before. You grab his wrist, looking up at him with slight fear in your eyes, but he doesn’t seem concerned. He’s determined, if anything.
“Good girl,” he purrs, so affectionately it makes your brain melt.
He adjusts his hand on your stomach just a little further down. At the same time that you feel him rubbing your clit again, he ducks down to suck on one of your nipples, and fireworks explode behind your eyelids. The quadruple stimulation makes you scream.
“Gonna make a mess for me, kitten? Yeah? Gonna cum all over my cock again?”
You don’t even have time to nod or reply in any way. A strong surge of pleasure smashes into you from all sides, whiting out your vision. It’s a feeling of release unlike any other that you’ve felt before, much harder than any orgasm you’ve ever had. He keeps fucking you through it until your pussy forces him out, watching your body shake uncontrollably underneath him, soaking the sheets below you, and his lower body. Now you know damn well what kind of ‘rough’ you’ll be getting from him: overstimulation. Making you cum until you beg him to stop.
San growls at the sight. It burns into his brain, and he can already say for certain that he’ll be jerking off to the memory of this later tonight and for days to come.
Just to prolong it, he taps his heavy cock against your pussy and clit again, enjoying how you try to squirm away from it.
You’re so wet, it’s audible. Every tap is loud, and a thin, stringy mixture of his spit and your slick clings to him for as long as it can whenever he pulls away. You reach for him, not knowing exactly what you want, but knowing you want him closer to you, and he obliges. He leans down over you again, slowly sliding his length between your puffy, wet folds.
A familiar, faint voice from the left is ignored totally by you and him, too busy coming down from the most intense high of your life, and him holding you through it.
An aftershock rattles you from head to toe, and you gasp when you feel it. The intense pleasure you felt gives way to sudden emptiness, and you realize you do not have anything to clench down on anymore. Though his dick is right there, dragging up and down your outer lips, it feels so far away from where you actually want it.
Thankfully, sensing your dilemma – and hearing you whine for it – he doesn’t make you wait any longer. In your post-orgasmic haze, he guides you over onto all fours, now facing the foot of the bed. Ever the gentleman, he moves your hair out of your face. However, you imagine it’s so the camera can see your fucked out, dazed expression.
His cock slips back inside of you easily, without any resistance, and the two of you groan in unison. In both relief and pleasure.
That familiar, faint voice comes back. Clearer this time, and closer as well. “San… San! We’re taking another break now.”
San kisses your shoulder blade, barely paying attention. “Okay, have fun,” he brushes the voice off, impatiently.
You’d laugh if you had any coherent thoughts or spare energy left. No, you’re a bit preoccupied at the moment, your body trembling around his cock, and so happy that he’s pushed back into you. Truthfully, you don’t even care if you’re stressing out the crew anymore. All of your thoughts are about San.
San smooths a hand up your spine, slowly pushing inch by inch into your soaked hole. He shushes you gently when you whimper, interlacing his fingers with yours when you try to reach back to find his hand to hold.
“I know, kitten, it’s okay. Just relax.”
Easier said than done.
He lightly presses your lower back, signalling you to arch it for him a little more. You nearly regret it when you feel him deeper than before in this position. Your elbows threaten to buckle, body shaking like a leaf. Yet, you still want more. Even though you’re nearing a certain point, wavering between overexertion and exhaustion, you crave more. You want to chase that feeling with him again. Make him glad he asked you to come here. Make him come back for more. So, you grit your teeth and keep yourself from face-planting into the mattress. For now, at least.
San’s powerful pace resumes in no time, stealing every breath from your lungs. Another vague, quiet plea falls from your lips, and in response, he squeezes your hips, pulling them back to meet every thrust. Your throat is raw from all the noise you’re making, and you know you’ll have to drink some tea or honey tonight to get your voice back to normal. Not this thin, broken voice you have now. Your lower back aches from staying in this position, but you do your best to ignore it.
It helps that his cock is basically in your stomach, that does a lot to distract you from a mere ache in your back. It also helps that your pussy is extra sensitive, coming three times – twice in a row without a break – and squirting for the first time. On camera, no less. Your viewers are going to lose their fucking minds. The image of your donation box on your livestreams, and your Venmo accounts skyrocketing after this video releases is motivation enough for you to want him to make you do it again.
Your back arches even more, hips grinding back against his to get more of him somehow.
Such a little natural.
“Mmm, there you go. That’s it. Keep fucking yourself on my cock, pretty girl.”
You make a noise, halfway between a whine and a moan and do as he says. Your chest grazes the sheets below you, chin buried into the mattress and arms gripping the edge of the bed in front of you.
“Fuck,” you whimper, a couple of stray tears threatening to fall. “You’re s-so fucking deep.”
San groans, increasing the pace. You yelp when you feel him smack your ass, and again when he hits it a second and third time. By the time the third strike lands, he doesn’t even give you any time to process the stinging pain he’s left behind before there’s a new one on the back of your head.
Slightly dizzy, it takes you a second to realize you’re upright, on your knees. One hand tangled in your hair, pulling at the roots, and the other rubbing incessant circles on your swollen clit. His chest presses into your back, and he moves your head to face him so he can kiss you again. Mind threatening to wipe completely, you can’t fight to hold back your tears anymore. You shudder violently, and he groans as he feels your body struggle to keep up with him. He knows you can take it, though. You’re a fighter, he can tell.
“Doing so well,” he whispers in your ear, “such a good girl for me, baby. Knew you would be. Knew I’d get this pussy to fall apart on my dick. Thought about it so fucking much…”
You whine against his mouth, tears wetting his face now as well. The blatant admission that he had thought about you like this before today goes straight over your head.
All you hear is his praise. You’re doing well. Good enough for him, like you were so stressed about being. Nothing else matters to you anymore, now that you’ve earned his approval. A proud smile creeps across your face, and he grins at the faraway look in your half-lidded eyes. You’re so far gone. Completely pleasure-drunk.
The hand in your hair tightens again and loosens, like it’s an afterthought now. Just something for him to hold onto. To keep you steady, if anything. Warm pressure building and building again in your stomach, you round your back as another shiver wracks its way through your body, making your spine tingle. His hand moves down to hold you by the back of the neck, and he slows his pace just enough to guide you back down onto the bed. This time, totally flat. Your pussy forces him out at this new position, but his other hand is quick to spread one of your ass cheeks apart, cock sliding back inside of you.
He doesn’t ease you into his pace anymore. The first brutal thrust makes your eyes roll back, and your jaw falls open. Your nails claw at the bedding, every muscle in your arms straining while you hold onto the fabric for dear life.
He’s so fucking deep. Impossibly, almost.
He may just make you cum like this, without even needing to touch your clit. He’s making you learn so much about what your body can do when in the right hands. No wonder people are so obsessed with him. He’s become so in tune with your body so quickly, just by paying explicit attention to you this whole time. It makes you really appreciate his expertise, because he could easily have just used what has worked for other girls in the past. He probably could’ve made you cum like that as well, but he tailors himself for each girl. Adapts for them. For you.
And he’s learning you pretty well. Probably read you like a fucking book.
Every precisely angled thrust punches a moan out from deep within your chest. Each sound is partly muffled by the bedding, and you try to keep quiet, not wanting to be annoying. You can’t help it, though. Not when it feels this good. Certainly not when another orgasm is building, more rapidly than the others.
You squirm under him, toes curling and nails digging into the mattress.
“I– mmf–! You’re… you’re gonna make me cum again,” you have to speak quickly before it hits you.
San leans over you, hands planted right next to your shoulders, fucking you harder. “Give it to me, pretty girl. I want every fucking drop.”
Someone dressed in all black stands right in front of you, pointing something towards you. It doesn’t register that it’s the camera guy with the handheld camera for a couple seconds. You imagine he’s zooming in, capturing everything. He must know the future audience does not want to miss a single second of how you react to coming again, and how San won’t let up on you once you do… again.
Your eyes shut tight once your fourth climax thunders through you. Pure ecstasy erupts in every vein. Euphoria clouds your brain. The sheets beneath you two become even more soaked, and you can feel your release dripping down your thighs. You must’ve been loud because your throat feels scratchy and rough all of a sudden, but your head is in such a rush that you don’t even hear anything.
San holds you by your throat now, making you keep your face up.
Just as you predicted, San doesn’t stop or slow his pace whatsoever. True to his promise that he’s ‘gonna make you feel so good’. Well, that promise is currently turning you into a limp, fucked out mess. You’ve never had this many orgasms so quick in succession before. It’s making your hormones go absolutely wild, and you cry harder, wetting San’s hand with your tears. The camera loves it.
There are some sounds near you that you can’t be bothered to discern, and you just lean into San’s hand on your throat. Fully intent on just letting him do whatever he wants to you at this point. He pretty much already is. Although, you’re not entirely sure how many more times you can cum without passing out. You hope he’ll stop before that happens. You don’t want to embarrass yourself like that.
San subtly taps your throat, getting your attention, before raising your head a little higher.
You blink stupidly up at the cameraman in front of you, eyes half-lidded and heavy, struggling to keep them open. You flinch a little when you see that there are two more people in front of you, the director included. When did everyone get so much closer to the bed? All of them, you notice, are at least semi-hard. Director Choi nods behind the camera, muttering inaudible praises. Your hands grip the sheets, knuckles turning white, and pull them up towards your mouth to muffle your screams. Out of frame, Director Choi motions for an assistant to pull the sheets down, ripping your comfort away, exposing how loud you’re being. Tears sting your eyes, both from exertion and from the intense pleasure San is giving you.
“Pussy’s so good… so tight and wet… could fuck you forever.”
Director Choi silently motions for San to keep talking like that.
San grunts, fighting to catch his breath enough to speak again. “Such a good girl… gonna make you cum again.”
And he does.
Before you even realize that it’s been simmering and building, it knocks into you sideways. This time, you can’t even scream. Your mouth drops open but no sound comes out due to your body locking up. San releases your throat, worried that you’re not breathing – and he’s right. He slows down considerably, moving your hair away from your face to check on you. Your body slowly relaxes again underneath him, one muscle at a time, and a low, guttural groan tears itself from your throat.
You can feel every inch of him dragging past your inner walls, and every slightest movement makes your pussy clench, trying to simultaneously push him out and suck him in further. Instead of continuing again, though, he pushes all the way into you one more time, and then stops.
It’s somehow both torture and a relief. You feel so fucking full, but he isn’t doing anything to continue the dull flames that engulf your lower stomach, and yet you know it’s better than being empty. He could pull out, leave you to deal with that emptiness before you felt ready. He doesn’t. Appreciative thoughts swirl around your head and you cry harder, trying to hide your tears in the sheets.
When the camera crew and director see that he’s not continuing, they call for another break. Everyone moves away, and there’s no longer a black cloud in front of you.
San doesn’t move an inch, though.
He brushes through your hair with his fingers, comforting you. He’s intent on waiting until you calm down, not wanting to push you too far before you’re ready. He knows he went a little crazy, instantly getting addicted to the feeling of you coming around his dick, and you deserve a break. As long as you need.
But you’re addicted yourself. A real glutton for the pleasure he’s given you thus far. You push back and wiggle against him, trying to get him to move again. His hands push you down by your hips, keeping them still. You whine at the denial, looking over your shoulder at him with teary, red eyes. He almost gives in.
“I know, baby. Just relax with me for a moment.”
You pout, another tear roaming down your cheek. Deep down, you know he’s right. Your body has been pleading for a break two orgasms ago. It’s high time you listen to it. You collapse, finally letting yourself relax, solely focusing on the quiet murmur of the crew off to the side, and San’s fingers running through your hair.
It’s a nice moment.
Nicer still when San litters your shoulders and back with gentle kisses, helping you calm down. Clearer thoughts slowly begin to reenter your mind, and your breaths even out, relatively back to normal. Better than the mixture of shallow inhales, long periods of holding your breath, and gasps for air. Because of the improved air intake, your head finally feels like it’s stopped swimming. Little by little, your energy comes back.
You take a deep inhale, sighing contently as you exhale it back out. Looking behind you again, you catch him already watching you.
“Hi,” you mumble, half-smiling.
San smirks, his hand cupping your cheek. “Hey, pretty girl. Feel okay?”
You nod, humming, and you subtly push back against him. The feeling of his cock pressing into you doesn’t shock your body as much as it did before. Now it’s a welcome, familiar feeling. Sought after. You really are addicted. Maybe even insatiable when it comes to how well he fucks you.
With the other hand, he places a water bottle in front of your face, the same one with a straw poked through the cap from before. You don’t bother wondering where he got it from. You have a pretty good idea. They’re always everywhere during a break.
Once you’re done with the bottle, he places it against one of the pillows, where it will no doubt be collected by a production assistant within seconds.
You push back again, trying to get him to move. You hear him chuckle behind you.
“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”
Instead of contradicting his statement, you just nod. Why lie?
“Wanna make you cum too,”
San hums, just barely rolling his hips into yours. “How do you wanna do that, kitten?”
You steel yourself for what you’re about to do. Hoping he will let you go through with your plan, you pull yourself away from him, and he slips out of you. The emptiness hits just as hard as you thought it would, and you whimper at the initial feeling. If all goes to plan, you won't be for long.
San watches you carefully as you turn to face him on the bed, gently pushing him back against the pillows. His hands instinctually rest on your hips as you straddle him, and he looks up at you, patiently waiting for your next move. At least, coming across as patient externally. You don’t miss how his dick twitches, eager to be engulfed by your warmth again. He must feel something equivalent to the emptiness you felt when you pulled away.
You’ll fix that gladly.
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the crew start to come back to their spots – lights, camera, microphones. They must have learned not to stay too far away when it comes to filming you two. You do your best to hide your grin.
San helps you line up the head of his cock to your entrance, and you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders as you slowly sink down. His eyes flutter shut, eyebrows furrowing as he exhales shakily. Following his lead, you don’t give him much time to adjust before you start moving.
You swear you hear him whimper. Just once, but you catch it nevertheless.
He keeps his eyes down, locked between you, watching your cunt swallow his dick over and over again. You bite your lip, nails digging into his shoulders as his hands become more firm on your hips. The next time you sink down, he pulls you down hard. You gasp, not expecting it, and he attacks your lips once again.
You kiss him back just as eagerly, increasing your pace. Your thighs already start to protest from the strain, but you can’t bring yourself to care or stop. Not when he’s moaning into your mouth like this. Every noise you pull out of him is pure music to your ears. A rhapsody you could hear a thousand times and not get bored of. You pull away from his lips just to hear him clearer, and he chases you. He nips your bottom lip, one of his hands slowly travelling up to knead one of your boobs again.
Breaths mingling, you shiver in his hold. His other hand dips down to rest on your ass, squeezing the flesh there as you bounce on his cock.
The heat of it all consumes you, drives you to get him to cum. You want to hear him. You want to repay him for making you cum four times, and put in just as much effort.
It’s a battle to try and ignore your own pleasure, building up for a fifth time. You’re not convinced you can cum again. However, now you’re willing to see what happens. If you faint, you faint.
You clench around him on purpose, grinding into him and rolling your hips, your gummy walls massaging his length and successfully driving him crazy. His head falls back against the headboard, and his fingers begin to leave bruises on your skin.
“So fucking good,” he hisses, “such a good girl… gonna make me cum so hard.”
The thought and image that accompanies it gives you a second wind of energy. Your hands move to his chest, and you press down as you continue to fuck him.
“Want you to cum inside me,” you beg him, hot breath hitting his neck. You feel him shudder underneath you.
San only nods, unable to speak. You lick a stripe up his neck, tasting the slight saltiness of his sweat and kissing the hinge of his jaw. Right next to his ear, you moan again, enjoying how he tenses up.
Suddenly, both of his arms are wrapped around your waist, and he sits up a little more. One of his hands presses into your upper back, supporting you as he starts fucking up into you, seamlessly matching your rhythm.
He lets out a choked moan, cutting it off by kissing you one more time before his eyes shut tight.
“Gonna cum…fuck, I’m gonna cum so deep inside you, kitten. Gonna feel me for days.”
You whine at his words, and he seems to have worked himself up further by saying it as well.
“Please, sir, need your cum inside of me. Please give it to me–”
San pushes you down onto your back before you can blink. Your legs wrap around him, and the pleasure increases for you almost instantaneously. When you look down, you swear you can see a slight bulge in your stomach. His lips attach to your neck, sucking and biting to muffle his moans as much as possible. Every sound he makes is so pretty.
He pounds into you without any more room for mercy, concentrating on coming again. And he can feel that you’re close again too.
“Cum with me,” he pants against your neck, “give me one more. Let me feel your pretty cunt cum on my cock one more time, baby.”
One more. You nod, eyelids growing heavy again. Everything is perfect in this moment. The feeling of his cock dragging against your walls, the head of it pressing against your g-spot and fanning the flames of your arousal until it engulfs you like wildfire; his soft, plush lips on your neck, his words in your ear, and his warm, firm skin under your hands.
As if that all wasn’t enough, San spits on his fingers and starts to rub your clit again.
Everything adds up to push you over the edge.
You cry out, body completely spent as you weakly squirt for him again. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, adrenaline and euphoria taking turns to run through your bloodstream. The sheets beneath you are completely soaked through. Every sense is both heightened and dulled. Exhaustion pulls itself over you like a weighted blanket.
And your climax triggers his.
True to his word, he comes deep inside of you, filling you up until it’s leaking. The additional warmth is comforting for a second, until your stomach begins to cramp a little bit. Not enough to hurt, but just enough for you to notice. You’re definitely not used to coming this much.
San shudders violently before dropping to his elbows, careful not to crush you under his weight. Both of you catch your breaths, chests heaving as you coax air back into your lungs. You tangle one of your hands in his hair, holding him close to you as you take this moment to settle down. He buries his face in your neck, small, audible sighs occasionally escaping him.
Unbeknownst to you, he’s never cum that hard before. Years of experience behind him, sure, he’s gotten close to this level, but never was able to reach it until now.
Reluctantly, he slowly drags himself out of your pussy, eyes immediately glancing down to see his cum leaking out. He smirks as he watches you fight to keep it inside, not wanting to let it go yet.
Then, like he does every single time, he ducks down to lick one more long, slow path up your pussy. Entrance to clit. A silent ‘thank you’. You whimper, legs closing when he pulls away.
“Cut! Print it.”
And he’s gone.
You feel you just got a violent slap back into reality.
What…just happened? You slowly push yourself up, with admittedly great difficulty.
Half of the staff flutter around you, while the others flock to San’s side, covering him up in his robe and starting to lead him towards his dressing room. The production assistants assigned to you don’t say much, handing you the same water bottle as before and urging you to drink it all. You watch the cameraman and the director talk, leisurely packing everything up. Just another day at the office. It’s all over just like that.
Meanwhile, you feel… stunned. Maybe even a little empty, and not just physically this time. You never thought about how aftercare is pretty much nonexistent in shoots like this. Everything is strictly business. Professional. Void of any emotion for the other ‘actor’. Still, as someone runs a brush through your messy hair, and someone else wraps a silk robe over your shoulders, you find that you cannot tear your gaze away from the direction of San’s dressing room door. Your eyes threaten to tear up, a dull yet powerful feeling of rejection blooming in your chest.
Maybe you aren’t cut out for this type of thing, no matter how many offers you receive. Not if this is how it ends, as if nothing happened. Like none of it mattered. Another notch in Choi San’s belt.
Director Choi suddenly appears in front of you, and you’re quick to act like nothing is wrong. “You did great,” he says, “thank you for your time today.”
You manage a fake smile and thank him as well, apologizing for any issues you may have caused by being impatient or loud.
He simply waves it off, “Happens more than you think. Have a good rest of your night, Miss Y/L/N. Maybe we’ll work together again in the future.”
‘Maybe’.
His words stick to you, gnawing at your skin like leeches. He truly didn’t mean to make you feel worse, you know that, and yet he really drove home just how… common you feel. Not special whatsoever after all.
You imagine going back home and going live again. The notorious four exclusive viewers will want to know how it went, and you’re going to have to tell them something. You doubt you’ll be able to lie. Woo will probably be able to tell something’s wrong.
Maybe, once this check hits, you can just disappear for the foreseeable future. If you’re astronomically lucky, everyone will forget it happened so you won’t have to relive the very tail end of it. You run a hand through your hair. You’re so fucking dramatic.
It hurts a little extra when even Hongjoong doesn't stick around to check in on you, tending to his star first and foremost. You can’t say you really blame him, though – that is his job. San should be his priority.
It’s just that you desperately wish for a friendly face, or someone to genuinely check in with you. Comfort you.
Not to be surrounded by strangers who won’t look you in the eye.
· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·
You’re not sure what the plan is.
You don’t even know if he’s still here. But here you are, standing in front of his dressing room door like a fucking idiot. Another girl obsessed with him. Nothing new, just another number they’ll have to delete.
Even so, you want to try and talk to him. Ask him why the fuck he left in such a hurry. Your hands readjust their grip on your purse, with half a mind to swing it at whoever opens the door.
Gathering up all the courage imaginable, your hand raises in a fist, and you softly knock on the door three times.
To be honest, you’re not really expecting a response. Half of the staff are gone already, it’s unlikely that he’d want to stick around here any longer than he has to. When you checked the time on your phone in your dressing room, you were surprised to see that it’s already nearing nine o’clock. Your stomach had growled almost immediately upon seeing it. You look over your shoulder, watching the rest of the staff still here turning off some of the lights and gathering wires.
Distracted, you jump about a mile in the air when the door opens, revealing San, now also dressed and looking like he’s ready to leave. His eyebrows raise in surprise at the sight of you.
“Hey,” he says, so casually. “What’re you still doing here?”
Embarrassment hits you like a brick wall. Yep, just another girl on the callsheet that stuck around to beg him for more. Ugh.
“I’m sorry, I don’t want to bother you,” you say, already giving up on the whole idea of confronting him. Britney can’t help you now.
You start to turn on your heel, but he opens the door wider, stepping aside as if to invite you in. “No, no. Not bothering me. What’s up?”
Your mouth dries. Okay, now you got to follow through. But god… does he really not know? You wonder if this has never come up before. If all of the girls before you are just collectively tougher than you emotionally and can handle no aftercare, no follow up, nothing. You should be, too, honestly. You know what porn is and what it isn’t. It’s not exactly a dating service. Two hot people fuck each other and go their separate ways, money wired to them before their heads hit the pillow at night.
Still… you and Yeosang aren’t dating, and after your collab with him, he redressed you and cuddled you for an hour straight. He made sure you knew he wasn’t going anywhere, that the friendship is still intact. You weren’t being used.
You hesitate to step into his dressing room, and ultimately decide to just stay put. Stand your ground. You don’t want to take too long, you just need an answer.
Out with it.
“I was just wondering why you left so quickly? Did I do something to offend you in any way?”
San blinks, slight confusion clouding his face. “Oh, no, I just– I saw your form. Didn’t want to hang around and make you uncomfortable.”
Now you stare at him, just as confused. “Wait, what? What about my form?”
“You checked off ‘Hard No’ to aftercare.”
…Pardon?
No way.
He must see the bewilderment in your face because he fishes his phone out of his pocket to show you.
“Yeah, Hongjoong said…” he trails off, the light of his phone screen reflecting in his dark brown eyes. “Yeah, look.”
He holds his phone up to show you, and you step closer to it, squinting to see for yourself. Sure enough, amidst all of the other dozens of checkmarks, you accidentally fucked yourself over and selected ‘Hard No’ for aftercare. Luckily, you didn’t select one of the bodily fluid options as a ‘Hard Yes’ in your evident past confusion. You bury your face in your hands.
“Oh my god. That was meant to be a ‘Hard Yes’.” You groan. Guilt threatens to eat you alive for all your negative thoughts towards him, and the texts you sent Yeosang while in your dressing room after the fact. You’re going to have to do some serious damage control to get Yeosang to not hate him forever. It’ll surely start with a screenshot of the form you fucked up, followed by a dramatic statement of your stupidity.
San pockets his phone again, almost sheepish. He hesitantly steps closer to you, unsure of how to fix this.
“I’m so sorry,” he says quietly, “I should’ve double checked with you.”
“No, no, please don’t blame yourself when it’s my own mistake.”
“Still…” he trails off, looking down at the floor.
It hits you that he’s really hurt by this. Hurt for you.
“San…” you tilt your head to try and meet his eye. “It’s alright, really. I feel much better now that I know it wasn’t on purpose or because I did something wrong.”
“I’d never do that to you, or anybody. I always stress how important aftercare is to the directors I work with so they don’t try to rush through it.” San runs a hand through his freshly-washed hair as he speaks, exasperated. You vaguely remember him saying something akin to that in one of the interviews that you watched.
Damn, he really is nice. Here you were at the start of this, thinking he’d be a cocky son of a bitch who has the world at his feet, and anything he wants within arms reach. The last two parts of that description may be right, but your assumed attitude is definitely not. Well… maybe not entirely. The cockiness isn’t used to make anyone feel small, that’s the important difference. It’s confidence, more than anything.
“I know,” you smile, trying to make him feel better. “Really, it’s okay.”
He seems unconvinced. “Can I make it up to you in some way?”
You shift your weight from one foot to the other. If you wouldn’t immediately cringe at yourself for doing so, you’d maybe ask for a hug or something. Physical contact in any way to comfort you, make you believe it. But the guilt he obviously feels is enough. The knowledge that he truly thought it’s something you were so against, and he respected it anyway, is more than enough.
“You don’t have to, San.”
“I want to, Y/N.”
Your pulse skips a beat, wondering what he has in mind. The way he said it was so final, like he made up his mind already. His phone reappears in his hand, texting someone quickly and sending it off. He then reaches into his dressing room, turning off the light after doing a quick scan of it and closing the door behind him.
“Can I walk you out?”
That, you’ll allow.
“Sure. Are you going home?” You ask, changing the subject as the two of you start walking towards the exit doors.
“Nah, not yet. There’s a gym on this floor I’m gonna go to first.”
You just nod in response, wondering how on earth he has the energy to go to the gym right now. You have a very special date with your bed for the foreseeable future. It’s highly doubtful that you’ll wake up before three in the afternoon. Truthfully, you can’t wait. Maybe you’ll sleep off some of the soreness you’re sure to have tomorrow.
“Oh, by the way, do you have an agent?” San asks you out of nowhere, right before you get to the doors.
You blink once. Twice, processing. “No…?”
Yeosang’s the only one who may even come close. He’s the one you ask before doing anything, wanting his opinion and blessing. But technically and professionally, no, you’re an independent artist as far as you’re concerned.
“I’d find one soon,” San says, glancing towards the bed, soaked through. “You’re about to get a lot of offers.”
You blush furiously, reminded of everything that transpired between you barely an hour ago. “Maybe I should just take yours.”
San groans, “Honestly, do it. I’m sure Joong could use a break from my bullshit.”
You laugh, trying to hide it with your hand. San pretends to be offended that you agree, clutching his heart in betrayal, which makes you laugh harder. The doors push open, the white fluorescent lights blinding both of you after being so used to the golden studio lights on set.
“Maybe I will let you have him,” he says, a smirk growing across his face. “It’s good manners.”
He looks at you like he knows something you don’t, and it bothers you. The word choice sounds familiar, but you can’t place it. Before you can ask, he steps closer to you, invading your personal space for the first time since being intimate with each other. You hold your breath.
“Goodnight, baby.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before walking down towards the opposite end of the hallway, where you can only assume is the direction of the gym.
Fuckin’ hell…
You stand there like an idiot for another couple of seconds, still processing what just happened in the span of five minutes. You also try to figure out the implication behind his word choice. ‘Manners’. It bugs you so much, you know you heard something about it recently, but can’t pinpoint where or when.
The question of what he meant follows you all the way to the lobby. You press the down button on autopilot, just now remembering to text the driver to tell him that you’re ready to be picked up downstairs and taken home. From down the hallway, you hear the door to the studio swing open again – probably some of the crew heading home as well. You glance towards the stairs, not exactly jumping at the chance to be stuck in an elevator with a bunch of strangers who watched you have sex an hour ago.
But the footsteps that follow the sound of the door closing are what gives you pause. They’re hurried, and headed towards the lobby. The elevator dings behind you. You turn around just as the mystery runner comes around the corner.
“Oh! Hi, Mr. Kim–”
Hongjoong jogs over to you, catching you before the elevator doors open.
“Sorry if I startled you. San is wondering if we can arrange another collab, but this time on your livestream.” He speaks quickly, like time is of the essence.
You stutter, brain trying to connect with your vocal cords.
“What?” You ask, even though you heard and processed everything Hongjoong said just fine. You’re just wondering if you actually heard him right. Today just keeps getting stranger and stranger. More interesting, definitely.
He’s quick to repeat himself, almost pleading with his eyes for you to say ‘yes’.
At least with the emails you had some time to think everything over. Now Hongjoong is staring dead at you, waiting for the response he hopes to hear.
You can’t help it. You want to make him chase you again.
“Tell him I’ll think about it,” you say as sweetly as possible, stepping into the elevator.
You try not to enjoy the perplexed look on Hongjoong’s face until the doors close completely.
· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·
You have no idea how he does it, truly.
Everything in his world is immediate. You’re not used to it whatsoever.
Those are the thoughts you have as you step out of the elevator in your apartment building, walking up to your door. You're more than ready to throw your shit down in the kitchen and go the fuck to bed. Your phone is in the process of being fished out of your pocket, intent on texting Yeosang to ask if he's around for a debrief.
You stop dead in your tracks when you look up, about to unlock the front door. Perched tall and proud, is a beautiful bouquet of purple flowers in a glass vase right outside your door. A card is placed in between the overlapping petals, and you can’t help but gawk at the sight of it.
How the hell did he find your address?
Oh– Hongjoong, probably. Your initial creeped-out feeling vanishes. Hongjoong can just find anything for San, you’re sure.
Punching in the keycode to your door, and switching the kitchen lights on, you place the flowers on the counter, taking a second to admire them. Purple, you note. Your favorite. Again, Hongjoong must have told him, but you can’t help but smile – he really did want to make it up to you.
You pluck the small card from the flowers and read it, sitting down at your kitchen island.
Hope you had a good time today.
Sorry for being such a stupid slut </3
-San
Your smile widens, laughing and rereading it. You flip it over, and on the back is a phone number, scrawled in blue ink.
Perhaps you missed a hidden clause in the forms that makes you promise to not fall in love with him.
"you're playing with fire here, sweetheart," smirks san, large palms holding you steady as you straddle him.
you pout, grinding your clothed heat against his toned muscles. "maybe I'd like to get burned."
how an innocent cuddle-tickle session with you turned into this, san didn't know. all he knew was his girl wants him, and his dick is about to explode.
san groans, pulling you down to make you grind harder. "you bought this onto yourself, baby," he breathes out, nails digging crescent moons on your plum flesh.
"san–!" you gasp, holding onto his bare chest to make you steady. "need you, fuck."
san smile. there she is, his girl, needy and whiny, all because of him. he loved this version of you. "i'm all yours, pretty," he says, eyes turning to hearts as he watched you.
your hands run along his front, nails scraping deliciously against the fabric of his tank. "c-can i ride your muscles? pretty please?" you're almost sobbing from need, your wetness seeping through the feeble barrier of his trunks.
san almost came in his pants at your words. finally, after years and years of going to the gym, he could truly say he was proud of himself. "take whatever you need, my love. every inch of me is already yours," he says softly, caressing your cheeks, your eyes lighting up at his words.
scrunching up his white tank, san wastes no time in taking it off completely. your mouth waters at the sight, fingers running along his chest, nails scraping deliciously against his honey skin.
the ma breathes in sharply, throwing his head back against the pillow. you always knew how to drive him crazy.
it takes a second for you to compose yourself before almost tearing off your panties, setting you bare, soaking cunt against his body, slick and hot. you gasp, thighs clutching tighter against his body.
san curses under his breath, your wetness dripping along his toned muscles. "fuck, baby, shit."
you drag your body along his, moaning endlessly as the raised muscles stroked your drenched pussy. holding yourself up, your nails dig into his chest, eyes rolling to the back of your head.
picking up the pace, you grind harder against his body, desperately chasing your high. san almost tears off your top, your breasts spilling right into his face.
"so pretty," he manages to say, hands immediately groping your tits. pinching and twisting the bud till your back arches, mind buzzing with ecstasy.
san humps up beneath you, hard cock weeping to be let out. quickly ridding himself of the last piece of clothing, san strokes himself to the view; your mouth hung open, ridding his abs like the perfect slut. his slut.
"life your ass, baby," he groans, sitting you down on his red hot cock. your eyes widen as he bottoms out inside you making you feel so terribly full.
"sannie," you choke out a sob, tears rolling down your face. "i'm so full," patting your stomach. san almost fainted at the sight. "you're so big!"
san bites his lip, grabbing a handful of your ass. "i know baby, i know."
head lolling, you somehow manage to start moving, lifting yourself slightly before sinking down on his cock, and each time it felt he was getting bigger inside you if that was even possible.
crying still, you ride him till your legs feel like jelly. your boyfriend, however, remained hard inside you. whispering praises, he helped you reach your high. with a scream of his name, you squirted all over his face, drenching him in your juices.
"s-sorry, sannie, didn't mean t–", san cuts you off with a rough kiss, making you taste yourself on his tongue. he bites your lips as he thrusts inside you, shooting white ropes of cum inside you till they dripped out of your messy, used hole.
"don't say sorry, sweetheart," he reassures you, kissing down your neck.
genre: gamer! jisung x gamer! reader, college au
cw: female reader, fwb to lovers, explicit smut, pervy jisung, male masturbation, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected sex, inexperienced jisung, cum play/breeding kink, pet names, slight humiliation kink, size kink, creampie, probably more
wc: 18.257k
[one] [two]
18+ minors do not interact!
The red letters that flash across your screen read ‘Defeat’, illuminating your dimly lit room with a shy, red hue. The instant the word appears on your monitor, a voice blasts through your headset, erupting in emphatic complaints and protests. You can hear the clatter of a keyboard and mouse being shoved around on the other end of the receiver, and it takes everything in you to stifle your laugh.
“We definitely could’ve won that!” the boy scoffs, “I swear, sometimes it feels like you and I are the only people with any fucking game sense.”
“Wow, thanks for the validation,” you joke, instinctively queuing up for another match. Your eyes trail up to the little icon in the corner of the screen that glows green every time he speaks.
“You know what I mean,” he grumbles, and you imagine he must not look all that different from the little crying cat picture he set as his discord icon. The thought makes you snort, but he ignores you, stating, “I think this is my last game,”
You nod even though you know he can’t see you, “same, I have class tomorrow,”
“First day of the semester for you, too?”
You nod again. “Unfortunately. My days of gaming until four and sleeping until noon have come to an end.”
He laughs, leaning forward in his chair as he realizes something, “You know, I never asked what you’re studying,”
“Oh,” you blink, “Well, the first class I have tomorrow is just a random credit I needed, but I’m actually majoring in-”
It takes less than a few seconds for your words to drown out into a muffled buzz, and the only thing Jisung can focus on now is the silky, smooth sound of your voice.
He would never admit it, at least not out loud, but your voice makes his heart beat just a little faster. The way each and every word rolls off your tongue makes his breath hitch, imagination running wild at the thought of what your lips look like when they mold to form each syllable and sound.
Every night like clockwork, Jisung finds himself rocking side to side in his desk chair, eyes hanging low and round lips curved up into a smile as he listens to you speak.
It’s so easy to talk to him, too. By now, you’ve lost count of how many nights the two of you rambled off in voice chats, watching shows or playing video games or simply oversharing the details of your lives. It’s only been a few months since you met in a game chat, on that night where he practically harassed you for your discord after you carried him up a rank in-game. You’re secretly grateful he did, though you wouldn’t let him know that; the two of you effortlessly became part of each other’s daily routine, and now, calls with you are his favorite way to end the night. Tonight is no exception.
Jisung begins to mindlessly swing in his chair as usual. He’s humming passively between your small pauses to encourage you to keep going as his hands automatically start caressing his torso. It’s a somewhat innocent gesture, or at least it starts out that way: his palms sliding across the ridges of his abdomen as he listens to your voice. It’s better than music to his ears, and it urges his long fingers to dance closer and closer to his waistband.
“–and I thought about changing it, but I think with an degree in Lit, I could probably get a career in–”
Lost in your voice, Jisung slips his hands into his shorts, holding his balls as he fully zones out of the conversation. He knows you’re saying words and forming actual sentences, but his social awareness has dwindled completely and he absolutely can’t seem to get past how sweet you sound, and how much sweeter you would sound under… different circumstances. He moves up to hold his dick gently and furrows his brows. Almost accidentally, his thumb brushes along the underside of his tip, teeth clamping the inside of his cheek and gnawing on it to ground himself. Just as eager as its owner, Jisung’s dick jolts in his palm, progressively swelling up until it’s flushing bright pink.
“You’re into English?” He manages to stop daydreaming and hone into the conversation for a fleeting moment, just long enough to ask you that simple question and keep your attention off of his rapidly shifting breath.
He’s blatantly playing with himself now, ever so distractedly. It’s an autonomous act: the way the pad of his middle finger trails over his slit to collect a bit of the pre-cum that has begun to dribble out in pearly beads. He hisses, then quickly snaps his mouth shut in hopes that you hadn’t heard him.
“Yeah,” he can hear your smile in your words, “I think I always have been. I used to read all the time and—I swear, if you say I’m boring, I’ll personally come over and choke you–”
As he acknowledges reality for a quick moment, his pace falters. His brows pinch, and he feels confused as he realizes he can’t stop or even moderate his actions, despite the shame slowly beginning to wash over him. The more you talk, the harder he grows. His grip is getting tighter, his strokes needier… he must be losing his mind. With a gulp, he thinks to himself, what would you do if you could see him touching himself like this to you? Would you think it’s sick and twisted or would you offer to help him out?
His head begins to throb as the room spins around him, but he really can’t seem to slow his motions. By now, he’s bucking his hips up and into his hand while the other covers his mouth, silencing the whines that threaten to leave his throat. He’s breathing heavily, praying to god you don’t somehow notice his perverted actions. Despite knowing that he isn’t thinking straight, Jisung can’t help the thoughts that continue to fog his mind, rampant and obscene.
Could you hear the squelching of his hand pumping his cock, covered in his pre-release? Or the way he’s practically panting, reduced to nothing at the mere sound of your voice? He’s not sure whether or not his mic would even pick that up, but even so, the corner of his lips curl into a lazy smile as his mind continues down his twisted rabbit hole.
In spite of not knowing what you look like, there’s no denying that he wants to give you all of him. He wants to feel himself buried deep inside your throat, your pretty voice vibrating around him as you choke on his length. He feels himself twitch in his palm and he subconsciously nods, picturing it's your walls around him instead of his own inadequate hand. Jisung huffs out once, fucking his fist wildly, picturing how much he’d like to feel himself bust inside of your warm, tight pus-
“Sung? Sung!”
“Huh? W-what?” As he yanks his hand from his shorts, the waistband snaps against his skin and he yelps out at the impact, “Sorry! I promise I was listening, it-its just, I got a little caught up with–” words are tumbling out of his mouth, before he can catch up to them.
“It’s fine, it’s fine! Hurry, just pick your agent before the match gets–” but the timer runs out, and the lobby screen appears once more as you sigh, “–canceled...”
Jisung glances down at his hand, separating his fingers and watching how the sticky pre-cum leaves webbed strings between each of his parted digits. His stomach is also wet, and the tent in his pants is growing increasingly painful with each passing second.
“What were you fantasizing about, huh?” Oh, fuck. The teasing edge in your words makes his nerves tingle, and he throws his head back as you hum into your mic, “Hmm. Well, I guess it was more interesting than what I was saying. Can’t blame you though, the topic of school is boring me too, and the semester hasn’t even started yet. Also, that can’t count as your last game. I literally won’t allow it.”
You queue up for another game and Jisung sighs, watching the timer on the screen tick away. The picture changes, and the two of you are prompted to start a game. A few kleenex wipes collect the mess on his hand and torso, and he settles back in his chair after tossing them, deciding his neediness will have to wait for now.
Bidding you good night is harder than usual tonight, but he knows you need to get to sleep—you mentioned you had an early class and he had his own, so his selfish urge to keep you talking until he came in his hand would, unfortunately, need to take a raincheck.
After logging off of his computer, Jisung drops his head into his hands with a sigh.
What the fuck even was that?
A mix of shame and arousal take over him as his cheeks begin glowing a deep shade of red. He lets out a small scoff, shaking his head to himself as he gets up from his chair. His dick is still as hard as a rock, and he can’t help but feel flustered at the fact that he has, quite literally, blue-balled himself.
With a towel swung over his shoulder and a clean pair of sleeping shorts clutched in his fist, Jisung walks up to the dorm’s nearest communal bathroom. He turns on the faucet, freeing himself of his clothes. The moment his boxers come down past his thighs, his length slaps against the skin below his navel, making him hiss out as he steps into the shower. The cold water, running down against his heated body, seems to be doing the trick of clearing his mind, that is, until his hands find their way to his stomach, rubbing the soap over it.
It’s so hard to expel the thoughts of you when they’re so intrusive and tempting, and Jisung lets his mind drift off once more, imagining how it would feel to be touched by you, sucked by you. All the soft noises you would make are weirdly familiar; he can practically hear them. His head falls back, lips caught between his teeth as he twitches and gives himself an experimental stroke, shuddering as his thumb glides across the slit of his sensitive tip. He clenches his eyes shut tighter, letting out a shaky sigh and letting the water continue to trickle down his body. He doesn’t know what you look like, other than your hair color which you mentioned the other day. Despite that, he still tries desperately to piece an image of you together behind his eyelids, picturing what your lips are like. And just like that, thoughts of you flood him, and he shudders at the vision of you on your knees, looking up at him with big, innocent eyes, begging to taste him and take all of him. He longs to feel you swallow around him—to grab either side of your face and thrust into your needy mouth until the tears slip from your eyes and your pussy is dripping from the need to be fucked.
Getting lost in the moment, he doesn’t even realize how loud he’s becoming and how fast his fist is working his dick. Jisung's highly anticipated release is only seconds away when a loud knock startles him, lunging him right back into his body.
“Yo, man! How long are you gonna take in there?” His friend and next door neighbor, Mark, shouts from the other side of the door, knocking again and ruining Jisung’s fantasy once and for all.
The boy takes a moment to clear his throat and swallow, not trusting his voice to not crack otherwise, “Uh.. Sorry. I’ll just be a minute.”
It takes everything in him to slow his hand to a stop and pry it off of his shaft, deciding that perhaps, he shouldn’t entertain his filthy thoughts any longer. He quickly finishes showering with another unnecessary interruption from Mark, then drags himself back to his room and gets into his bed, forcing his eyes shut in an attempt to sleep. The longer he lies there, however, the more restless he grows.
His dick feels sore to the touch and it’s driving him absolutely crazy. Every time he adjusts his shorts or moves his legs, his balls throb from how full they are. Knowing he has class to get to the following day, he tries to convince himself that maybe he needs a release to get to sleep. It’ll tire him out, and then finally, he’ll be able to get some rest…There’s at least a bit of logic to that theory, or that’s what he tells himself, anyway.
Against his better judgment that pleads with him to just shut his eyes and count sheep, Jisung huffs out and slips his hands into his shorts to begin touching himself for the nth time tonight. This whole time, he had been unknowingly edging himself and now he’s so, so undeniably and incredibly desperate to cum that it literally hurts.
His free hand brings his phone up and unlocks it, thumb swiping quickly in search of the discord app where your contact resides, the little green bubble next to it signifying that you’re still online. He hovers over the call button, taunting himself with the idea of making a call to you at this time. One little click, and he’d hear your voice again. Just one click and he-
sung ᨐฅ started a call. Today at 11:54 AM
Shit, shit, shit.
He rushes to hang up, but you’ve answered no more than a ring later.
“Hello?”
Jisung holds his rather unsteady breath, staring wide-eyed at his phone. His dick pulses in his palm that now rests still.
“Sung?”
As gently as possible, he lays the phone down on his puffed up chest, letting out his breath slowly so that you don’t hear him.
“I’m gonna assume you called me by accident… ” you sigh out in disappointment, growing quiet in uncertainty. For a second, Jisung is convinced you’re gonna hang up, but when you stay on the line, he peers down at the screen curiously.
Your icon lights up green and there’s some shuffling on your end, presumably from you getting comfortable in bed.
He hears you yawn and smiles fondly.
“I’m tired,” you mumble, “are you asleep? I was actually excited that you called. Maybe it’s my fucked up schedule… or, maybe I’m just dreading tomorrow, but I couldn’t sleep. I don’t know…”
You’re speaking slower and quieter than usual, but you’re speaking, completely oblivious of the fact that he’s thinking of the dirtiest things that involve you, getting off while you think he’s sound asleep.
“It’s always easier to sleep once we’ve talked so,” you pause, then sigh out jokingly, “I guess I'll just talk your unconscious ear off until I fall asleep…You don’t mind, right?”
God, no, he thinks.
Jisung silently celebrates your decision with a pump of his hand, shuffling a bit to get comfortable as you go on about genshin and cats and other things he can barely pay mind to. It takes no more than a few strokes, shallow ones where he caresses the angry head of his dick to the velvety sound of your slurred and drowsy mumbling, for him to bring himself to come so fucking hard.
His knees lock as his cock springs up in his clutched palm, spewing streams of white cum all over his stomach, chest, and thighs. The muscles on his abdomen ache from the way they contract, eyes and jaw shutting tightly as he challenges himself to remain quiet. The sheets aren’t spared from his thick load either, his nut dripping down the sides of his tummy to make dark, round puddles on his bed. His toes curl as he tries his hardest to not gasp out when the pleasure dissolves into sensitivity, digging his head back into the pillow with a hand clasped over his lips.
A few minutes later, the blurriness in his vision is relieved, along with the ringing in his ears. You’ve stopped talking; instead, the receiver picks up your short and shallow breaths, as if you’ve fallen asleep with your mouth open. Cute.
As he assesses the aftermath of his much needed release, he wishes he could snap a picture and send it to you, so that you’d wake up knowing this pathetic mess he made was all for you, because of you.
Alas, he can’t, and he hangs up once he’s completely sure you’re resting. With his eyelids feeling much heavier than before, he manages to toss his phone onto the nightstand before he, too, drifts off to sleep.
•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ
The following morning, Jisung wakes up in a bit of a panic. The first thing that throws him for a loop is the fact that his alarm didn’t go off at all. He quickly realizes he forgot to set it amidst the activities of the night before. The second thing that strikes him is his own hand that rests on his stomach, stuck in some kind of damp, sticky liquid. In his half-conscious state, he lifts his fingers and his puffy eyes widen as he identifies the clear fluid that decorates his tummy as his drying release from the night before.
“Ugh…” He grimaces, sitting up in his bed. His phone, which is less than half full of battery since he forgot to plug it in, blinks back the numbers 8:38 at him. Jisung’s eyes widen as he remembers that his first class of the day, of the semester, is at 9.
“Fuck!” In a flash, his blanket is flung off of him and his legs are swinging over the edge of the bed. He moves to grab some tissues from his nightstand, making aggressively desperate attempts at wiping away his cum. When the Kleenex sticks to him instead, he digs around his drawers for a pack of wet wipes, snatching a pair of pants off of the floor at the same time and practically yanking them up his legs.
Despite almost falling over, he manages to get them on and clean off his torso… for the most part. A random sweatshirt is tugged on over his head and he runs his hand through his hair a few times to tidy it before passively telling his reflection, this will do.
Moments later, he’s rushing downstairs and outside of the dormitory with his unzipped backpack hung over his shoulder. He rushes to unlock his bike, cursing as he fumbles with the keys. Once he’s on, he starts pedaling to the Science building on the other side of campus, heavily dreading checking the time in fear it’ll read some absurd number and he’ll wind up being much later than he anticipates.
The breath that’s been caught in his throat all morning is only released when he steps through the door of the lecture room to see that the professor hasn’t walked in yet, and that the clock reads that he’s 6 minutes early.
Finally slowing his rushed pace, Jisung does a quick once over the room to scan the faces of his fellow students before taking his seat somewhere near the back. Thanking the heavens that his notebook and textbook didn’t go tumbling out of his bag in the midst of his previous hurry, he tugs them out, flipping them open and writing the date on the first page. His laptop, which is where he had planned to take notes on, sits in his dorm room where he left it on his desk. Everyone else has theirs out, but he’ll just have to bring his own next time.
There’s a distant click, and the door on the lowest level of the lecture hall opens. Through it walks a relatively tall and slender lady, heels echoing rhythmically as she strides over to set her dark bag down by the podium. Her hair is tied back high and tight, so much so, that all of her features look like they're blending into her hairline. She looks like she’s somewhere in her mid-to-late fifties, and from the instant she walked in, the entire class went silent.
She clearly has a presence that commands attention and undoubtedly, she fits the visual profile of a strict college professor quite well, especially when she picks up the chalk and scribbles her surname onto the green chalkboard beside the larger projector screen.
“I’m Professor Hwang. Welcome to AST1002, also known as Descriptive Astronomy. If you’re here, that means you took AST1001 with Mr. Kwon last year. He has since transferred to a different department.”
There’s no audible response, although some disappointment does flash across the faces of the students in the room, all of whom did have (and seemingly would miss) Mr. Kwon. Professor Hwang doesn’t seem to notice the lack of responses, and continues speaking as she pulls some papers out.
“Firstly, I’ll take attendance. Then, I’ll pass the syllabus around. I would like for you to note,” she pauses to place a pair of red glasses high on the bridge of her nose, “that attendance is mandatory for my class, and worth 20% of your grade. I’ll go over pop quizzes and weekly quizzes, as well as the initial class project, when each of you have a copy of the syllabus. That being said, I look forward to seeing you all here every class. Please call out when you hear your name.”
As she starts to take attendance, Jisung takes the time to sigh into his hands, both exhausted and dreading the fact that he’d have to spend three days out of the week rotting in a lecture hall to attend a class he expected to be fun, or at the very least a break from his much more difficult core classes. By the looks of it, that’s no longer the plan.
It’s easy to zone out quickly while his mind is still foggy, no doubt from the lack of sleep and the subsequent abrupt awakening that followed. He had just begun an attempt to read the syllabus when something made his ears perk.
Immediately, his head snaps up in pursuit of a soft and airy voice that just responded to Professor Hwang. It’s so quick and in passing that he almost thinks he might have imagined it in his delirious state, but the way the hair on his limbs stands on end is unmistakable. His eyes dart around the room, hitting his classmate’s heads like targets, but there’s absolutely no way to identify the individual who just spoke.
Could it be… No. No way.
Jisung is no stranger to daydreaming about you, but he isn’t completely delusional. He knows the chances of being not only in the same city, but the same university and class as you are absolutely slim to none, so he stops that train of thought dead in its tracks.
It does segway him into thinking of you, though. You’re obviously not here, so he wonders instead what class you are in at the moment. He tries to picture what you’re wearing on your first day of class, trusting you look more put together than him in his old hoodie that is slightly sticking to the dry cum on his stomach. Do you like your classmates? Your professor? He sincerely hopes you have a more tolerable one than he does.
“Park Jisung?”
With a slight cough, he spits out a weak “h-here.” and instantly grimaces, raising his shoulders autonomously as if he would get scolded for stammering so pathetically. The professor, to his relief, doesn’t even glance up from the roster. Then, he feels quite silly for even thinking he would get reproached for that to begin with. In his defense, she’s a rather intimidating woman, and his inner monologue is so loud and flooded with thoughts of you that he fears she may have heard it.
She finishes calling for attendance, resorting to striding up and down the aisles as she begins to dissect the syllabus. In an effort to pretend he’s paying attention, Jisung glances down at the size twelve font on the page, skimming over the words without really taking anything in. During one of the professor’s paces, a pen she had resting on her ear slips and falls towards the ground with a slight clatter, and it seems a student picked it up for her, because there’s a slight mumbling, followed by a sharp “thank you,” and a very, very recognizable,
“You’re welcome, Professor.”
His eyes widen at once. Alright, call him crazy, but now he thinks that it really might have been your voice. The familiar timbre, warm and delicate; a sound he’s heard for months on end and knows embarrassingly well… The thought of being in the same room as you out of sheer luck and coincidence makes his abdomen twist and his palms sweat so bad, he has to wipe them on his pants.
He hates that he can’t fully tell, in fact, he’s almost ashamed that he can’t; before today, Jisung would have sworn up and down that he knew your voice better than even his own, but you sound so far and so quiet that he can’t completely bet all of his marbles. Then, he quickly realizes calling it ‘your voice’ definitely makes him sound delusional, even in the safety of his own forgiving conscience. He decides to call it ‘the voice’ for now, at least until he’s a hundred-percent sure.
An irritatingly long hour and half later, the only sound that continues to ring around the lecture hall is Professor Hwang’s monotone one, reciting each and every itemized assignment and rule on the never-ending syllabus. There’s less than fifteen minutes until class is over, and she shows no signs of stopping her dissertation.
“As for the class project: In pairs of two, you will research a constellation extensively to create a presentation on its formation, who cataloged it, and the Greek myth that may accompany it. Please note that this is the first and last time we will talk about constellations in this class, since they are not cosmic phenomenons but instead, a mere roadmap to the objects and themes we will be focusing on. Consider this strictly as an opportunity to familiarize yourselves with another classmate and show me your interest and effort in the subject. That concludes our syllabus,” Thank God, Jisung thinks.
“Any questions?” She glances around at a hand that floats in the air, near the front of the room, “yes?”
“Will we be able to select our partners?”
“No. Partners will be assigned at the end of the week. Yes?” She calls on another hand.
“As for the constellations,” Wait, that’s it! That’s the voice—that’s your voice, he’s completely sure of it! “Will you assign those as well?”
Jisung elongates his neck to try and peek over the heads in his way. It is you, he’s positive now, but you’re turned away from him, and he can’t fully make out which ‘back of the head’ is your ‘back of the head.’ The echo in the hall makes it nearly impossible to pinpoint who just spoke which means he can’t pinpoint you. For some reason, he finds himself slightly panicking, desperate to finally see you in person.
He follows Professor Hwang's line of sight as she answers that she’ll assign the constellations on Friday too, and finally finds you, seated between a few other students. A few more questions are thrown around, but his eyes never leave you, anticipating the moment he catches a glimpse of your face.
Naturally, his first instinct is to approach you as soon as class is out, but when he sees you spin around to pick up your bag that hangs off your chair, he finds himself glued to his own flimsy seat. Feet stuck to the ground, legs not budging, and air hitched in his throat at the sight of you.
You’re so, so much prettier than he could have imagined with whatever unoriginal features he tried to piece together in his lacking mind, and that fact makes him both exhilarated and completely nauseous.
He’s barely been looking at you for a few seconds when he feels his insatiable cock growing fast in the confines of his pants, with no regard for its owner and the fact that he has to stand up within the next minute or so to exit the hall. Jisung curses under his breath, awkwardly rising to his feet when most of his classmates leave, his bag clutched tightly in front of his groin. He prays you don’t glance over, not even because he has a semi-hard on he’s failing to hide with dissimulation, but because he’s staring at you like some sort of freak and can’t seem to look away.
There’s nothing he wants more than to come up to you and say hi and confess he’s the person you’ve been gaming with for months. He’s pictured it countless times before, you’d think he’d have it down by now, but your beauty is intimidating, and he simply cannot and will not make a fool of himself in front of you by greeting you with a raging boner.
You walk out of the classroom and Jisung’s heart settles in his chest as he sits with his decision to stay anonymous for now.
•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ
“She was obnoxious, you have no idea!”
“My teacher wasn’t much different,” he admits, a small, knowing smile toying at his lips, “she seemed like a real bitch,”
It’s later that same evening, and talking to you doesn’t really feel the same anymore. It’s much harder, because now, Jisung can vividly picture you, sitting in your chair with your hands on your keyboard and mouse. Every word you say, his imagination is right thereafter, picturing your pretty face clear as day in the forefront of his mind.
The moment he got home, he fucked his fist until he came in his hand. It took about five minutes, and then he pumped another one out in the shower, (a much needed shower, at that) where he finally washed away the remains of the night before.
After he had lunch with Mark and the other boys from his floor, they had invited him to play basketball. At the same time, however, he received a direct message from you, explaining you didn’t have any other classes for the day and asking if he could get on earlier.
It’s a little ridiculous, but now that he’s seen you, now that he knows you’re so much closer than he initially thought, he can’t wait to talk to you again. And so he quickly came up with an empty excuse related to his studies, took the berating from his friends like a champ, and rushed upstairs to log into his PC and open up your chat.
“Not only do we already have a project, but we don’t even get to pick our partners.”
I know! He thinks.
“Like,” you start, and he pictures the way your cheeks fill up with air as you let out a huff, “what if I get stuck with some weirdo?”
Instantly, Jisung stops palming himself, letting his hand climb back up to the mouse slowly.
He probably shouldn’t let that innocent statement affect him as much as it does, but he can’t help it. He has the advantage, right? Or, at least it seems that way.
When everything is laid out, he has the upperhand of knowing who you are—you haven’t seen him, yet… but what if you did see him, and he wasn’t at all what you were expecting? Or even worse, what if you got paired together for the project and you thought he was weird or the two of you didn’t get along? That option is far less likely, since there are well over fifty students in AST1002.
“I don’t know,” you start, “I’m considering switching out of the class-”
“No!” Wow. Good going, Jisung.
He catches his slip-up and quickly blurts out, “I-I mean, it might not be that bad! You should… at least give it a shot before you try to switch out, right?”
“I guess you’re right… The add and drop period at my school is until next Friday, so I'll try it out until then.”
Great! Perfect! Good save. The only problem now is: Jisung has a little over a week and a half to somehow convince you to stay in his class and at the same time, not completely butcher his introduction to you. Approaching you now seems practically impossible, but he needs you to stay in the class, even if it means he has to come up to you first. He can’t be bothered to care that his insistence is for his own selfish intentions, if it means getting to see you three times a week.
“But anyway,” he clears his throat, changing the topic as quickly as possible, “how did your other class go?”
“Much better than the first, the teacher let us out early once he covered the books we’d be analyzing this semester and attendance isn’t mandatory since most of the material is online or in the library. I think I’ll swing by there one of these days to see if I can get ahead on some of the assignments.”
“Oh, so you’re a nerd?” You gasp and smack his character in-game a few times. He laughs, calling out, “okay, okay, truce! You’re not a nerd then, just an overachiever.”
“How so?”
“We’re barely a day into the semester and you’re already trying your homework that I’m sure isn’t due for at least a few weeks,”
You roll your eyes, knowing he’s right. With a bit of playful flirtation twisted into your tone, you hum out, “What can I say? I like to please.”
One of his eyebrows perks up, “is that right?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He can hear your smirk through the screen, and now, he can vividly picture it, too.
Jisung scoffs, backing away from your character so that he’s out of your sight. He cowers into a corner in game; this way, you don’t notice how he stops moving when his left hand leaves the w,a,s,d keys to cup and rub his needy bulge.
•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ
Wednesday’s class is somehow packed and entirely uneventful at the same time. The first of Professor Hwang’s dragging lectures is so loaded that Jisung actually thanks the heavens that he remembered to bring his laptop. Otherwise, his notebook would have been about halfway full already, and his hand? It would have fallen off.
On another relevant note, he’s struggling to stay focused because today, he is sitting much closer to you. Intentionally, of course. There’s still a few rows between him and you, but in this new seat, he can glance at you as often as he’d like without straining his eyes or stretching out his neck to make his gawking painfully obvious. He can clearly make out your smooth skin, along with other details he wasn’t able to notice before like your beauty marks and your dainty earrings. You’re paying unfaltering attention to the class for the first hour, but after the sixty-minute mark, you appear to have become bored. He catches the way your pencil starts doodling along the corners of your notebook and it takes everything in him not to snort when you scribble down a wonky looking cat.
He’s so distracted by you, that every couple of slides, he glances back to the projector to see that the class is now on an entirely different topic than the one he last managed to jot down. He doesn’t mind, though. You’re a much more enthralling sight than quasars and supernovas.
Halfway through the lesson, you decide to peel off your little black cardigan and hang it on the back of your chair, exposing your arms and neck and shoulders to him. Your hair is tied up neatly right after, giving him all the more to gawk at and envision. Jisung has to remind himself that he’s in a classroom just so that he doesn’t start fantasizing about how it would feel to grip your hair up in a similar fashion and fill your throat up with his dick.
With great difficulty, he directs his focus to the board instead, typing quickly into his laptop all the notes he manages to catch before the slide changes again and Professor Hwang’s narrow eyes can scan the room to see who’s paying attention.
When the class is over, you start talking with the girl next to you, aimlessly reaching back for your bag. The gesture makes your cardigan fall, and Jisung has to fully bite his tongue to keep himself from calling out your name and giving himself away. He waits to see if you’ll notice, or if someone nearby will alert you, but neither one happens. Instead, you stand up, still engrossed in your conversation, and make your way towards the door. Instantly, he jogs down the aisle and between the seats to grab it and wordlessly hand it to you, but by the time he makes a move to head in your direction, you’ve already left.
He feels disappointed at first, but the feeling quickly shifts into relief. Wordlessly hand it to you? Does he want your first impression of him to be awkward and borderline rude? No and definitely no. This problem has a simple solution—it’s a blessing in disguise; he’ll take your cardigan home and bring it to you on Friday and maybe, if his courage allows, he can introduce himself then.
“Hey! I noticed you left your sweater here last class. I brought it for you. Oh, and by the way, it’s me! I’m @sung.ie. How did I know it was you? I can recognize your voice across a huge lecture hall.”
Yeah… he’ll think more on that later.
With your cardigan clutched in his fist, Jisung sighs, making his way outside and towards his bicycle. He tucks the clothing item into his backpack and pedals back home, wondering how he’s going to manage to give it back to you since you always get to and leave class before him.
He knows some of his friends and dorm-mates have their own class today, they had exchanged schedules during lunch a few days ago, which leaves him to hope and pray you’ve decided to skip your class and get online. As he parks his bicycle downstairs and locks it, he slips his phone from his pocket and opens discord, but your bubble remains gray and cold. You’re offline.
Maybe you haven’t gotten home yet. He checks his phone again when he gets upstairs, and again when he goes inside his dorm, tossing his bag aside and crashing on his bed. He checks after losing a round of candy crush, and again after replying to a text from his mom.
By the looks of it, you were in class, or at the very least, not available for the moment. Jisung sighs, pretending he’s not actually as disappointed as he feels. It seems a bit dramatic to feel the need to kill time until he gets to talk to you again so he resorts to doing physics homework—a short baseline his teacher assigned that wouldn’t be graded—and tricking his brain into thinking the former is not what he’s actually doing.
When he pulls his bag off his desk chair to grab his laptop, your cardigan comes into view, and he pauses to look at it. He sits like this for a moment, wondering if he should fold it nicely on his dresser so he can remember to take it to you, but his hands act before his mind can catch up, reaching in and basically shoving the material toward his face.
With his nose buried in your scent, Jisung inhales deeply, sinking into his chair as his legs grow weaker. The trace of your floral softener is the first aroma he gets, and then, the smell of your perfume peeks through, soft and sweet and very fitting for you. Once more, his treacherous hands are acting for themselves and he’s suddenly undoing his belt single-handedly.
Once his dick, growing by the minute, is out and clutched in his palm, he finally retracts your sweater. With little hesitation, he wraps it around his erection and pumps once, throwing his head back in immediate relief.
It’s a fucking miracle that his room is the last one at the end of the hall, and that his next door neighbors, Renjun and Jaemin, are both in their afternoon lectures, because nothing would have been able to muffle the wanton moan that rips from his chest as he strokes himself with your scent. His hips are bucking up into the air, and in only a few minutes, he’s broken a slight sweat. His balls tighten from sheer sensitivity at the act of fucking something directly related to you.
A cry of your name, followed by a few more pumps and he’s coming inside your mangled cardigan, his white release breaching the thin material. It seeps through it like light through a veil, gathering thickly on top before spreading into a dark, wet patch. There’s a shudder that passes through his bones as he sits back, burying his cock into the fabric and keeping it there until he’s given up every last drop.
The only thing that snaps him from his post-nut bliss, is the distinct discord ring-tone that blasts through his headset. His computer monitor turns on as your icon appears and simultaneously, his heart and dick both twitch.
“Hello?” With his output device swung over his head, he presses the green ‘answer’ button and speaks into the mic, hiding his slight shortness of breath with a yawn.
“I’m so glad you answered,” you beam, and he does too, “I was worried I had called while you were in class or something,”
As he speaks, he wipes the remnants of his cum off with your cardigan and puts it aside on his desk, tucking his softening (and still very sensitive) dick away into his boxers, “No, you’re good. I had a class earlier today but now I’m free.”
“What a relief,” you sigh, “Would you want to have a little homework ‘sesh’ with me? I just found out the library doesn’t have any available labs. I doubt I’ll be able to concentrate much with you but at least I'll be in good company.”
“Like an e-date?”
“We can call it that,” you grin, then he pictures your expression becoming a gloom one to match your slightly sadder tone as you admit, “Sometimes I wish we went to the same school so we could meet up and study at a coffee shop.”
He snorts, unable to help but crack a joke, “Like a real date?”
Your laugh makes his heart swell slightly. When you reply, “Maybe,” it starts flipping wildly in his chest.
God, you can’t even begin to imagine how badly he wants that.
“That would be nice,” he agrees humbly, a blush creeping on his cheeks. “What class are you gonna study for?”
There’s a pause before you speak again where you hum in thought, flipping through a few pages and shuffling through your bag. Jisung joins you, grabbing his laptop and school supplies, “I have a project for my astronomy class. It’s related to constellations and I wanna start researching them so that I can make an outline for the assignment,”
He looks through his math notes with his brows furrowed down, “I thought she was gonna assign them on Friday?”
Your icon flickers as you reply, “She is, but I want to—wait. How did you know that?” At your words and the realization of his untimely slip up, Jisung’s body goes rigid. He can only imagine the confusion on your features, and he’s quite relieved you can’t see the look on his. If his eyes were to open any wider, he’s sure they might just slip out of his head.
“Oh, um,” he clears his throat mechanically, then gulps in an effort to lubricate it and keep his voice steady, assertive, certain. “You mentioned it on Monday, remember?”
“Did I?” You didn’t, but he really hopes you think you did. “Probably,” At that, he lets out the air he’s holding, shaking his head slightly at himself for being so careless.
“But um, yeah,” he starts before you can give it any further thought, “If she’s assigning them Friday why are you working on it today?”
“Cause she’s also assigning partners on Friday, and I don’t really know anyone besides the girl who sits next to me and I doubt I’ll get paired with her. I want to make sure my grade is secured, you know? I’ve never liked group projects. I feel like all the work gets dumped on me.”
He’s still not entirely sure what you mean to do, or how you intend to create a blueprint of sorts without knowing what it was for, and so he stops flicking through his page of notes to look up at his monitor and ask, “But if you don’t know which constellation you’re gonna work on, how are you gonna make an outline?”
You ponder his question for a moment, then mumble out, “She didn’t mention a rubric or anything, so I figured that as long as I plan out the different sections and give the project a structure, half of the work is cut out, right? I can just assign parts at that point.”
“You’re that kinda person in a group project? I’m sorry to whoever gets partnered with you,” He’s not sorry, not at all. He’s rather envious, actually, despite his attempts to sound indifferent or amusing. Being granted time to spend with you at your place or his, or at the library or the local campus cafe, would be a no less than perfect ice breaker. Jisung would make sure you never felt like all the research and assembling depended solely on you—in fact, he could see himself now, spending countless hours perfecting the details of his assigned part and inquiring about other suggestions to improve the project, just to impress you or at the very least, satisfy you. The reality that someone else would get to do all of that in his place is disheartening.
You guys had rarely ever talked about school before now, since neither of you actually were enrolled in any classes when you started chatting, but now that it’s relevant, he feels like he understands a whole different side of you. You’re organized, and obviously very studious. Hell, you’ve been itching to get started on assignments that haven’t even been assigned yet. You’re responsible, dependable, funny, beautiful, and every time he thinks of you lately, he realizes that his innocent crush is slowly becoming an insatiable one.
“Hey! I’d be very nice if it was you, you know. Show you some favoritism,” the corners of his lips twitch upwards—“But I’m also glad it’s not you,”—and fall down again.
“What? Why?” He tries to not sound too offended.
“I’d end up talking your ear off, Sung.”
“I’m already used to that, don’t mind it. Kinda like it, actually.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He nods curtly, even though there’s a monitor and an entire school campus between you and him and he knows you have no way of seeing his gesture. There's a moment of silence that you spend taking a brief breath as a glow tinges your cheeks.
With a stifled laugh, you open your mouth again, “I think it’s just because you like me that you tolerate my rambling,”
“No.” He’s quick to clarify, “I really do like it.” He loves it.
“And me?” your voice is much quieter, almost giving the impression that you’re shy in asking something so decisive and direct. Jisung, emboldened by your vulnerability, and the distance the screen puts between you two, answers with certainty.
“I like you, too.”
•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ
“The constellation project, as I mentioned during your first class, is a tool for you to acquaint yourself with your classmates. It will be due in 3 weeks, and you can check the syllabus for specifications regarding that. After today, there will be no changing partners or constellations so should you need any changes to be made, you have until class is dismissed. Listen closely as I read out the pairs for the project. I will not repeat myself.”
The sharp tone he’s growing more and more distaste for by the day drowns out as Jisung glances over at you. Today, you’re sporting a bone-colored long sleeve and corduroy pants with half of your hair held back in a shiny clip. You look ravishing. Truthfully, he can’t really tell if you’re wearing makeup or not—although he concludes it doesn’t matter. Your features are soft and pretty nonetheless, and your cheeks have turned rosy from the dropping autumn temperatures.
“Yu Karina will be partnered with Lee Heesung. Your constellation is Cassiopeia.”
When you walked into the lecture hall this morning, there was a hot coffee cup with the campus cafe’s logo on it clutched in your hands, which you sipped on while shivering. Taking your usual seat, you greeted the girl next to you, who Jisung now knew was called Yu Karina.
The dark haired girl perked up when Professor Hwang called her name and waved down the aisle at who he can only assume is Lee Heesung, her partner, then whispered something to you. You looked over at the boy and back at Karina, nodding and giggling with her.
“Jennifer Huh, partnered with Ning Yizhuo,” Professor Hwang referenced her other list, “Constellation: Cancer.”
The two girls greet each other with a look and a smile, but Jisung pays little mind. He’s listening intently—for the first time—in anticipation of hearing one of your names be called. He doesn’t exactly know your full name, only a nickname he refers to you as, the one attached to your discord handle. Otherwise, pinpointing you that first day of class would’ve been much easier.
“Park Jay and Lee Sohee, your constellation is Orion.”
Sitting there, he realizes that in all the months you’ve talked, he’s never once asked for your full first name. Is that strange? What kind of friend is he if he doesn’t even know your name? In all fairness, you never asked for his, either, so he supposes it’s okay. Would have been useful to know, though, at times like this.
After his small confession of ‘like’ on Wednesday, the two of you went on studying your respective subjects, with the occasional (and inevitable) distraction here and there. Admittedly, he thought his comment would be forgotten rather quickly. It wasn’t like he outwardly poured his heart out to you, so he figured you’d move on and just crack a joke or two about it later. There was a change, though; a strikingly obvious one to Jisung, who hangs on your every word like it’s a tether that keeps him from floating. And, even if he didn’t pay such close attention to you, there’s no way he could have missed the new flirtatious ambiance that flourished afterwards. Flirting with you is not uncommon by any means—the two of you playfully tease each other with frequency, but it’s nothing he’d allow himself to look into too much, for his own sake.
That changed in the hours following his comments. All of Wednesday evening, the two of you went back and forth, feeding each other compliments in the form of banter. Again, he thought it would end there, but on Thursday afternoon when you logged on, he asked how your progress was going with the outline, to which you texted back, “I was thinking of you all day. Didn’t get around to doing much else.”
It wasn’t the only message from you that nurtured his feelings, either. There were enough substantially flirty messages from your conversation that night, that he was able to scroll through them and reread them a few times before bed.
ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 6:49PM
hi
did you smile when you saw my name pop up on your phone just now
ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 8:22 PM
you’re so cute
i can barely think
ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 9:14 PM
i feel like my day doesn’t make sense if we don’t talk
ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 10:58 PM
i should get to sleep
but i don’t wanna stop texting you
ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 12:02 AM
goodnight, sung <3 miss you til’ you’re back
Now, as he eyes you with a boyish, lovesick gaze, watching you doodle your stupid little drawings as you await your assignment, he finds himself praying for the courage to come up to you after class.
Professor Hwang calls your name next, something he only realizes at the fitting similarity of your nickname and the way your pen meets the table in alert to being called on, head lifting up and eyes blinking expectantly.
“Your partner will be,”
Jisung holds his breath, chanting in his head ‘please, oh, please let it be me,’
“Lee Chan.”
Wishful thinking never got anyone anywhere, then. He ignores the way his heart sinks into the pits of his stomach, unable to help but observe your curious gaze as it looks around the filled seats. For a fleeting moment, you meet his eyes, but he doesn’t react or claim to be Lee Chan who you so evidently are in search of, and so you pass him and keep studying the aisles. After a few seconds, you find no one gazing back, even after you slightly stand to peer above the nearby heads that obscure your view.
“Your constellation is-”
With a cautious raise of your hand, you interrupt Professor Hwang gently, “Excuse me, Professor, but I don’t think my partner is here.”
For a moment, her lazer-like gaze looks like it could light you on fire, a consequence of daring to interrupt her, but it softens only slightly as she realizes the truth in your statement, scanning the room herself and calling out for the missing boy. Upon receiving no call back, she thinks for a moment, then looks back down at her clipboard and crosses something out.
“I did mention attendance was mandatory, didn’t I?” This she mutters to herself, “No matter. Instead, you’ll work with,” she gives the paper another once over, then clicks her pen and speaks, “Park Jisung.”
In an awkward burst of both excitement and confusion, Jisung darts out of his chair. His knee hits his desk with a clang, and his laptop would have gone flying if it wasn’t for his quick hands that catch it before it can fall. The loud ruckus turns several heads in his direction, including Professor Hwang’s and more importantly, yours.
Feeling an awful lot like a deer caught in headlights, Jisung blinks as the two of you make eye-contact, then he takes his seat again, very quickly by the way. “Uh, that’s me,” he announces, heat spreading across his face and eyes darting around, “Sorry.”
Does he feel more sorry to his teacher and classmates for disrupting the classroom, or to himself and you for the absolute fool he has just made of himself? As much as he’d like to tear his gaze away from yours and cast it to the ground in embarrassment, it remains stuck on you, awaiting your impending reaction.
You’re rather unsure how to feel, though given, a little surprised at the commotion. You offer him a small smile through pursed lips, and Jisung nods, willing with all his might for a hole to open in the ground beneath him and swallow him.
“Thank you, Mr. Park, for your remarkably clear confirmation. Your constellation is Gemini.”
You turn in your chair to face the front again, scribbling down his name in the corner of your notebook, as well as the constellation you’d been assigned.
“He’s cute,” Karina comments to you as you look over at her, and you finally let out a small laugh you had been holding in.
“He is. Clumsy,” you snort, “but cute.”
“We both got cute partners. We should meet up at the library later and all get started on the project together,”
You nod enthusiastically, going back to your outline that sits at the ready on your laptop screen and making quick work of labeling the different sections evenly. If it wasn’t so obvious for you to spin around and steal a glance, you might have done so again. You’re certainly tempted to, thinking back to seconds ago and realizing you hadn’t really noticed him the last two classes.
Jisung watches your exchange with his dignity at serious risk. He’s entirely unable to hear or make out what you’re saying to each other, and it makes his pulse pick up and his mind race. He considers many things as he watches the two of you talk: firstly, asking to change his partner, but then realizing that would be an awful idea. Once you knew who he was, how would you ever forgive him for immediately ditching you? Absolutely not. Cowering had gotten him nowhere so far.
Then, he considers switching out of the class himself, and disappearing, never to reveal himself to you—but that wasn’t the right thing to do either. Incapable of checking out of your life so quickly and denying himself the treat that is seeing you three times a week (and now, possibly more), he cans that idea, too.
As Professor Hwang finishes reading off the list of names, he begins planning what he’ll actually say to you, as that conversation is just minutes away. There’s less than a half-hour left of class, which means he has to think hard and fast.
As he busies himself with the grueling task of picking an appropriate and redeeming introduction, he doesn’t hear the new instructions from Professor Hwang, which are to find your partner and begin brainstorming, as well as exchanging schedules to set aside time outside of class to work on the presentation. A shadow falls over his desk and consumes his work space in darkness. When his curiously squinted eyes trail up to find the source, only to land on you, hovering above him with your things clutched in your arms, he grips his seat to keep from jumping out of it for the second time today.
“Is this seat taken?”
So much for having time to figure out how to approach you. His heart does a leap of surprise in his chest in place of his physical body, and he resists the urge to clutch it.
“No.” He replies shortly.
With your unfaltering, kind smile still present on your face, you laugh softly and place your things down, introducing yourself.
“You’re Ji-sun, right?”
“—Sung.” he politely corrects you. When you don’t immediately react, he wonders if you had even heard him. He doesn’t put it past himself to have imagined that he replied to you, between his sweating palms and nervous jittering, and your pretty self sitting just a foot away, he’s barely keeping it together. After a moment that feels infinitely longer than it actually is, you raise your eyebrows slightly, round lips parted to ask your question with a palpable hesitance.
“W-what?”
“Jisung,” he quickly replies, pronouncing the ‘g’ clearly and masking the way his eyes widen with a heavy blink that honestly, may not serve as any better of a guise. He pleads with himself to get his shit together but luckily, you don’t seem to notice.
“Hi, Y/N.” He savors the way your name feels on his tongue but keeps his enjoyment brief.
“I hope you don’t mind,” you start, lifting the screen of your laptop to reveal the very same outline you had started working on during your last call with him, “but I already made an outline. If you wanna scrap it and start all over, we can—”
“No, It’s fine, we can use this,” when you give him an unsure look, he smiles reassuringly, “It looks brilliant.”
“Thank you.” There’s a pause that is filled only by you clearing your throat, “Ok, I have a literature class right after this one on Mondays and Wednesdays. The rest of my classes are online, so I’m free at any time, really. I usually like to study at the computer labs in the library, it’s nice and private there and I find it much easier to focus. But if you don’t want to go there, we could always go to the cafe or the square for some fresh air. Oh, and either one of our dorm rooms works fine if you’re okay-”
To experience your presence on a phone call is one thing, but to experience it in real life, with your clear voice so arresting and your silky, smooth lips within reach, is absolutely mesmerizing. He’s fighting the urge to glance down at your mouth, but it’s becoming increasingly harder to sustain eye contact, as lovely as he decides your eyes are. Another thing that is becoming exponentially harder, and more sensitive all the same, is his cock, springing to life with an eagerness to greet you.
There’s a bit of panic that flashes across his features as he senses the strain it’s causing in his pants, and only when you look down at your outline does he dare to sneak a glance down at his own groin where as expected, a noticeable imprint was beginning to develop. In a desperate gesture, he slides his notebook over his lap, suppressing a hiss, and leans forward to pretend to use his own laptop.
“Any of those work for me,”
“Okay, great,” You notice the time and turn back to him. “You can just message me when you’re free.”
“Sure.”
“And here’s my number—” you reach over, sliding the protective notebook from his lap and placing it on your desk, scribbling your number in the corner. Jisung immediately readjusts his hoodie, throwing the hem of it over his boner. Professor Hwang dismisses the class as you pass it back.
“Call me whenever you’re free.” With a spin of your heel, you wave goodbye to him and rejoin Karina, who waits for you at the door with her partner.
Jisung lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and looks down at the number you wrote. Beside the digits, written in very neat handwriting, might he add, sat perched on a wobbly branch a little black cat that he recognized from his hours of staring as one of your doodles.
•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ
The time is 4:33PM, and Jisung has drafted over a dozen messages on the iMessage app addressed to your number. None of them have exactly made it to you yet, courtesy of his thumb that keeps pressing backspace and wiping out any trace of a remotely embarrassing text. It’s the next day and no introduction or invitation to meet up seems like it’s good enough to send, though he knows that inevitably, he has to text you first. You left your number behind with the doodle that he has since stuck to the corner of his PC monitor, but you never took down his; so now, the ball is in Jisung’s court, and he knows that if he waits too long, you’d think he was avoiding you or the project altogether.
Realistically, he knows a simple “Hi, it’s Jisung,” will suffice, but he can’t bring himself to send you such an unoriginal and boring message. After pondering for a moment, he then decides the best solution would be to do some research, and then call you with his findings—this way, his interest in the project would be clear, and he knows how important that is to you.
At once, he peels your cum-stained cardigan off of his lap, though not before stealing a glance at the day’s new additions, and places it aside. He tucks his spent dick into his short and turns on his monitor, typing the name of the constellation into Google and investigating nearly every website he could find with any useful information.
In the nicest handwriting he can manage, Jisung bullets a list of all the facts and history he could find on ‘Gemini’ within the hour, including the stars that make up the constellation, the myth behind it, and other relevant statistics. It isn’t until he has filled up an entire page front and back—partially—that he picks up his phone again and makes another attempt at contacting you.
Feeling slightly more confident, he types up his message.
To: 555-111-0205
hi, it’s jisung from astronomy. i did some research and i wanted to show you what i found. let me
know if you’re free to exchange notes.
Sent at 5:52 PM.
Jisung rereads over his message for any flaws, though there’s nothing he can do about it now that it’s sent, anyway. After he deems it an okay first message, he takes a breath and moves to put his phone down, but it buzzes in his hand instead.
Incoming call at 5:54 PM From: 555-111-0205
“Hi-”
“Hi! Sorry to just call unannounced but I’m walking to the library with all my stuff and I can’t really text. I was able to book us a computer lab for the next two hours so If you want, we—can you hear me?”
He sits up straighter, “Yeah! Yes, I can hear you,”
“Oh, good, so—wait, hello?” Your voice shifts in volume and proximity, as if you pulled your phone from your ear to check the call screen, then brought it back, “Oh, sorry. I-I thought I had accidentally called someone else… nevermind.” Instantly, Jisung realizes instantly that you must have recognized his voice. It makes sense, seeing as you’re used to hearing it specifically on calls. You seem to show no further suspicion as you continue speaking, though, but perhaps, he should keep talking on the phone with you to a minimum.
“Do you think you can make it? Otherwise I can go work on my own. I saw your text and instantly booked the room. Sorry for not checking in with you first,”
“I’ll meet you there,” He replies quickly, grimacing at the instinctual effort it takes to try and make his voice deeper.
“Okay! Great. I’ll see you there, then.” You hang up, and then your text message comes through with the lab room information just minutes later.
Jisung all but lunges out of his chair and rushes to face himself in the mirror, taking in his reflection. Besides his hair that looks slightly disheveled, he looks alright. He doesn’t want to make you wait long for him, so he quickly grabs his laptop and his notes, shoves them all into his bag, and flies out of his dorm room with the laces of his sneakers left untied.
In the brightly, yellow-lit hallway, Mark and Chenle are popping out of their respective rooms, a basketball clutched under the younger boy’s arm.
“We were just about to come grab you,” Chenle starts, “Let’s play some ball. Jeno’s meeting us at the court,”
“Can’t,” Jisung shakes his head, “I’m going to the library,” he tries to not get offended at the way the two boys snort loudly in disbelief, looking at each other as if they’ve both had the same thought.
“Yeah, right.” Chenle scoffs.
With a blink, Jisung replies meekly, “I’m serious.”
“Since when do you go to the library?” Mark brows pinch and he adds, “It’s the start of term. You’re already studying?”
“Since now, I guess. I have a project for a class so I’m gonna go meet up with my partner at the library, but I’ll catch you guys later.”
“Alright, alright. Oh—remember there’s a party next week at Jaehyun’s frat for syllabus week.”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.” His answer doesn’t seem to fully convince Mark, Chenle, or even himself, but they seem satisfied enough, because they let Jisung go without any more pestering. He flies down the flight of stairs and out the front door of the dormitory.
The cold September air is biting at this time in the evening, feeling particularly cool on the apples of his cheek, which glow from the light layer of sweat that develops during his jog over to the library. It’s a considerable distance away, which is part of the reason why he, in his two years of being a student at the university, has never seriously stepped foot inside of it. Studying in his room is much more convenient, but you seem to like the library, so the twenty-minute-walk there, or in this case, fifteen-minute-jog, will simply have to be adopted as a new way to get in some brief exercise a few times a week.
More than likely, you have already arrived, and Jisung doesn’t want to make you wait too long for him, especially since there’s a two-hour time limit on the room and he intends to spend as much time with you there as he can. He wipes his cheeks with his gray sleeves and climbs up the stairs of the building quickly, swiping his student card at the door and stepping inside.
The ceiling is massively tall, seemingly taller than when he once saw it during freshman orientation, and the endless rows of shelves are filled with books, ranging from thin, colorful novels to thick, leather-bound classics. It’s quieter than he expects it to be, even for a library, and he clearly can hear the pitter patter of his feet as he follows the sign labeled ‘Study Rooms and Computer Labs.’
The guy at the reception desk in this section seems to be a volunteer, his student ID and name tag shining on his shirt. He glances up from his book when Jisung approaches, nodding once. There’s an awkward silence that feels rather loud as Jisung fumbles with his phone, flipping it between his clammy hands as he searches for your message.
“Computer Lab 4C?”
Wordlessly, the boy nods again, then slides over a clip-board with a sign-in sheet clamped to it.
It’s surprising to see how many lab spots are filled up so early into the term, names scribbled along the lines and time-slots. Your name stands out, partly because of your familiar handwriting, but particularly because of the empty line beside it, where he signs in before handing the clip-board back.
“Down the hall, second door on your right.”
It’s Jisung’s turn to bob his head once and the boy looks back down at his book. He makes his way down the hall until he reaches the correctly labeled door. His hand reaches for the handle, but he withdraws it. Should he knock? Or maybe send you a text? Or both?
To: 555-111-0205
hey again. i’m outside :)
Sent at 6:18 PM.
The door creaks open from the taps of his knuckles bumping against it, and he peeks his head in timidly, finding you sitting in one of the desk chairs, nearly hidden behind your laptop and a stack of books. You look up over the screen, eyes squinting in a smile.
“Oh, I had left the door open for you,” you stand up, holding out a cup for him, “and I got you coffee… didn’t know how you liked it so I just got you the same thing I order,”
There’s a fluttering in his stomach as he sets his bag down. There’s no chance he can manage to meet your eyes after such a gesture so he casts them to the ground instead, graciously reaching out to receive with both hands the drink you offer him, “You didn’t have to,” he mumbles, “but thank you. I’m sure your order is great,”
“I wanted to! It’s just—I mean, I did drag you out of your room in the cold and on really short notice—A hot coffee was the least I could do,” you shrug, “One of my friends works at the cafe and I was there doing some work for my literature class before I got your message and I figured I’d grab us both something before I headed over here… Sorry, I’m talking too much. Here, sit down.”
He’s not exactly sure what to say, so he takes his seat beside you in silence, but not without a small smile decorating his face. The notes he had taken down to show you are retrieved from his bag, as well as his laptop. There’s a low screech of your chair dragging across the floor, and he turns to find you’ve scooted closer and you're leaning forward with your cheek resting on your palm, eyes intently looking at his research.
“It isn’t much. I’m sure whatever you found is much more substantial, but I couldn’t show up empty handed.” Jisung explains, sliding the paper over to you. As your eyes scan the page, you make a few comments along the lines of ‘Oh, this is a good point,’ or ‘We should mention this.’
You seem to be very carefully reading his work. Meanwhile, he takes advantage of your preoccupation to let his eyes rake over your person.
The first thing he notices is that you’re wearing a different cardigan, and he suddenly remembers your black one is still on his desk, unwashed and covered in his cum. Your hair looks soft, and when you mindlessly swing it over your shoulder, he catches a whiff of your lavender scented hair wash, and it makes him gnaw the inside of his cheek. You’re not quite close enough for him to catch the perfume you’ve decided to wear tonight, though he can vividly picture the gentle florals that linger still on your cardigan. His eyes trail down, and it’s only then that he notices your skirt—or blatantly, the length of your skirt. Your smooth thighs are exposed, full and fleshy and pressed together, and he suddenly wishes they were wrapped around his head.
“Jisung? You okay?”
“I–Yeah, sorry.” It’s clear that you’ve noticed his staring, and he all but rips his eyes away in embarrassment, “I was just wondering if you were cold,” He gestures down at your legs shyly, pretending the content he’d written on the paper was more interesting the sight of your plush thighs.
For a moment he expects some harsh comment or outburst, but you laugh instead, smoothing the material down a bit, “No, not in here, at least. And the walk over was short, so,” His lips are pursed and his cheeks are burning, but you spare him from any further humiliation when you reach across him to turn the page over and quietly gasp, muttering some surprise under your breath at how extensive his work is. “This is really good. We can use pretty much all of it.”
Failing to hide his beaming at your praise, he snaps his head over to you, “You think so?”
“Yeah, I mean—,” The screen of your laptop changes over to a page of notes, “I pretty much wrote down all the same things. I’m actually so relieved, I was worried I might get paired up with someone who wasn’t gonna contribute.”
“Bet you’re glad you didn’t switch out of the class now, huh?”
Distracted in the notes and in the taste of his coffee, he misses your quick, confused glance his way. Smoothly recovering before he notices, you slowly nod and present to him the layout where you had already taken the liberty to assign him his designated parts. Not that he expected anything else; it’s endearing to see his name labeled over specific sections, color-coded in a blue, bolded font. He wastes no time in pulling up the screen of his computer, exchanging emails with you so the two of you can get to work on the shared document.
The time passes quicker than he hopes, and he realizes just how much he likes spending time with you. Talking with you online is one thing, but sitting beside you as you sip your drink and hum mindlessly, fingers typing away or flipping pages in a book? Completely different game. He’s sure that if it wasn’t because he relieved himself earlier today, he might have popped a boner from the simple act of being in your presence.
Every once in a while, you make an occasional comment regarding a point or two you thought was worth mentioning or adding, and he’d oblige, making a note of it and sharing his thoughts here and there. Occasionally, he manages to steal a look at your thighs, which he swears you’re bouncing and squeezing together on purpose, but for the most part he keeps his focus on the task at hand.
Towards the end of the night, there’s a moment where your hands brush his as you point something out on his screen, and Jisung swears he’s never felt more like a teenage boy in his life. He practically flinches at the contact, failing to mask his awkward reaction and pretending he really meant to fix his hair.
Bidding you farewell is possibly the most difficult of the tasks this evening, even more so than pretending he isn’t completely infatuated with and aroused by you for a whole two hours. When you stand from your seat and walk with him out of the study room, and subsequently, out of the library and into the cold, Jisung faces another of his many dilemmas related to you. He’s not sure if he should offer to walk you back to your dorm, or at the very least halfway there. Perhaps, offering you his jacket would be appropriate, since your skirt wasn’t doing much of a job at keeping you warm.
“You live close by?”
“Yeah! Just a 5 minute walk,” you point your index finger, “In that dorm right over there.”
Jisung nods once, then decides to indulge his impulses. “Here,” he slides his hoodie off with a little less coordination than he would’ve liked, holding it out for you to take, “so you aren’t cold.”
He can’t tell if your cheeks are red from the temperature again or from his gesture, but he hopes it’s the latter. The moment you take his sweater, pretty eyes wide in thanks, he sucks in a breath. It’s much chillier now that the sun is gone, and he fights the urge to chatter his teeth when he offers you a lopsided smile.
“T-thank you,” you tie the sleeves around your waist, covering your lap.
“I’ll see you in class?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you nod, flashing him a final grin before you spin on your heel to head home.
The twenty-minute-walk-fifteen-minute-jog back to his room feels eternal. All of his hair is standing on end, but picking up his pace too much means that the icy wind, which has so graciously decided to blow in his direction, would just become harsher. His palms soak up the little warmth on his stomach, tucked under his t-shirt, as he alternates between speed-walking and jogging. The minutes drag on and on until finally, his building comes into view and he breaks into a run.
•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ
The following morning when he walks into his astronomy class, he follows his usual routine of checking for you in your seat and is almost distraught when he finds it to be empty. It’s not like you to miss a class, and he contemplates reaching for his phone to check-in on you. It isn't until he pans his vision over to his own chair that he spots you. You’re accompanied by Karina and her partner, Heesung, taking up the empty seats beside his own.
On your desk sit two coffee cups like the ones from last night, and he pulls his lip between his teeth to hide the grin that fights to break out.
You look up when you spot him, and Karina and Heesung look up, too.
“Hi…”
“Hi! Jisung, right?” Karina extends her hand out and he takes it, nodding to confirm, “I’m Karina and this is Heesung.” He mumbles another small hello to the boy, who acknowledges him before looking back at his computer.
“Good morning,” you greet as he sits, placing his cup on his desk. “You never told me whether you liked it or not, but I figured you’d grow to like it eventually.”
“I-thanks but,”
“I know: Didn’t have to, but I wanted to. So just say thanks, yeah?”
There’s a familiar burning on his cheeks that always seems to make an appearance when you’re around, but he doesn’t bother masking it this time.
“I wanted to ask you if you would be free to study tonight?”
Instantly, he bobs his head up and down, and you book the study room on your computer just moments before Professor Hwang strides inside the classroom, her glasses on the tip of her sharp, pointed nose.
•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ
The frat house where the seniors stay is practically next door to Jisung’s dormitory, which is why when Mark, Chenle, and Jeno come banging on his door on Saturday night, he realizes he can’t use walking so far in the cold as an excuse to stay home. He also can’t use studying as an excuse anymore, since Mark had already caught him leaving the dorm a few times throughout the week to go study with you. That, and he ran into Jeno as he was entering the library just the night before.
“You’ve been studying plenty,” they’d say, or “We told you about the party last week, no way you’re not going.”
Anyway—the point is, he’ll have to endure tonight, despite his wishes to stay close to his PC for the chance that you’d want to hop into a game. He’d prefer to spend the night talking with you, but that’ll just have to wait until tomorrow. With a somber look on his face, he shrugs on a jacket and opens the door for his friends, who practically drag him outside.
Jeno slings his arm over the taller boy’s shoulders as if to prevent him from fleeing, and the four of them climb down the stairs and onto the path toward the frat. If Jisung strains his ears, he can already pick up on the sounds of the party, even from here.
“You think Chaewon will be there?” Mark asks no one in particular, but the boys all respond simultaneously with groans of distaste.
“You dated her three semesters ago, why do you care?” Chenle starts, “isn’t she seeing Jungwoo now, anyway?”
“That’s exactly why I care,” Mark grumbles, foot kicking a rock along the pavement. “He’s one of the RAs. If he’s there—”
“He’s always there,” Chenle interjects, earning a glare.
“—then she’ll be there, too.”
“So, what happened with… what’s her name, Minjeong? Why don’t you hang out with her?”
“Nah,” He turns to Jeno, “She’s sweet and all, but I found out from Giselle that her and Chaewon are friends, so,”
There’s a chorus of understanding, albeit a bit pitiful, “aah’s” and “oh’s” as the building comes into view. A few people are gathered at and around the entrance while others litter the parking lot with phones and solo cups in their hands as they wait for friends. Among them, and Jisung has to do a double take to make sure, he spots Karina, who waves someone down from the direction of the main courtyard. For a moment, he thinks it might be you who appears from between the treeline, but it’s Heesung who jogs over to meet her and he realizes how silly his thought was in the first place.
In the months he’s known you, you’ve never once brought up a party. In retrospect, you don’t seem like the type to like partying at all. He can picture you clearly now, tearing through textbooks or novels for your literature class, or maybe even typing away to him on Discord and asking if he was online.
He isn’t and can’t be tonight, and he’s very sorry about that, for the record.
Maneuvering through the crowd of tipsy college students isn’t too difficult,and neither is their entry. The door is propped open, and Jaehyun, with his signature snapback that he wears backwards on his dark hair, calls them over from the drink bar.
“First problem I see here,” he starts, “is that none of you have a cup in your hand.”
“We’ve barely made it through the door, man,” Mark laughs, clapping up Jaehyun and moving aside so he can greet the rest of the guys.
“That’s no excuse, you should be sipping on something by now.” He waves his arm, “Take a look around, boys! This is what life is gonna look like for you guys next year—and the year after for you, Jisung.”
Jisung gives a curt, disinterested nod amidst being handed some fruity, fizzy, white claw resemblant that probably wouldn’t taste much different from an Alka-Seltzer. He cracks it open upon being prompted to by Jaehyun, who initiates a “cheers” between the friend group. The moment the alcohol touches his tongue, Jisung grimaces, taking a few long chugs in hopes that the effect will kick in quicker and make the long night that awaits him a little less long.
“Do you know if Chaewon is here?”
Wordlessly, Jaehyun fixes his cap and points a single finger toward the couch, where Chaewon sits besides Jungwoo, leaning in to hear him over the music and giggling at whatever he says in her ear. The boys look over at the couple, then quickly glance back at Mark, whose face falls despite the fact that he knew to expect this.
“Tough,” Jeno gives him a pat on the shoulder, “Hope you have better luck the rest of the night. I’ve gotta bounce,”
“Yo, what do you mean bounce?”
He gestures toward a girl standing near the beer pong table, who looks slightly familiar to Jisung, though he can’t quite put his finger on it, and smirks, “She smiled at me the moment we walked in. I’ll see you later, but I honestly hope I don’t.”
The realization that his friends, in search of their hook-ups for the night, would eventually be abandoning him one-by-one kicks in just then, inviting Jisung to down the rest of his bubbly drink in one go.
Mark rolls his eyes, “You ever notice Jeno is always the first one to get a girl?” His comment earns a few hums of agreement.
“I’m gonna go find Jaemin,” with his phone clutched in his hand, Chenle turns towards the door, “he just texted me he’s outside with Sullyoon and her friend.”
“Wait, Jaemin is—he’s setting you up and not me?” Chenle only shrugs at Mark’s question, replying with a blunt and concise “yeah.”
“I’m not a dog like Jeno though, so I’ll definitely see you guys later.”
As if noticing he was facing the same unfortunate fate as Jisung, Mark turns to the youngest boy with a fearful look in his eyes. Jisung only shakes his head and takes a quick look around, “I’m not planning on hooking up with anyone here, so…” At this, the boy sighs in relief, handing Jisung another drink in solidarity. The two lean against the counter as Jaehyun looks between them, snorting.
“Mark, there’s so many girls here.”
“I know, but—”
“But Chaewon.”
Mark nods, echoing Jaehyun in a quiet, maybe even embarrassed voice, “But Chaewon…”
“Don’t worry, I get it,” he adds sympathetically, “I’m caught up on my ex, too.”
“Uh…” there’s a pause. “Which one?” This comment lands Mark a shove, playful, for the most part. He rubs his shoulder and hisses while Jaehyun, on the other hand, sloshes around the little liquid left in his cup and grabs the closest bottle of alcohol to him, along with whichever random mixer he finds first.
“The only one that really mattered.” He tilts his newly filled red cup back to drink from it, but his eyes peek over the rim and he pulls it from his lips to sigh out, “Speak of the devil and she doth come,” he raises his brows and announces, “there she is now.”
Following his line of sight, Jisung trails his vision toward the front entrance and at once, the sight makes each and every one of his limbs seize up. There’s a twisting and turning in his stomach that almost invites the seltzer he chugged to make a reappearance, and he’s pretty sure the color has drained from his face as he watches you walk inside the frat house behind Karina and Heesung.
So many things go through his mind in such a short amount of time that he fears he may have had some sort of out-of-body experience or hallucination episode; it wasn't really you he was seeing, it couldn’t be. The way your skirt clings to your hips makes him grip his cup tighter within his sweating palm, and the lacy, corset top you’ve decided to wear, which shows off a tasteful bit of cleavage, causes him to swallow down the saliva that had pooled on his tongue.
It was a more provocative outfit than he’d even seen you wear, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Jaehyun opened his mouth to speak, he’s sure he would’ve instantly become bricked up.
“And of course she’s wearing that shirt…” Jaehyun fixes his cap for the second time tonight and straightens out his shirt, “Alright, wish me luck.”
It’s not like Jisung would have interjected anyway, he didn’t really have the grounds to, but he couldn’t even entertain the thought before Jaehyun headed in your direction with decisive confidence. Part of him hopes he was referring to someone else as his ex, perhaps even Karina, since there isn’t another girl in your immediate vicinity besides her, but his bit of hope is crushed as he spots Heesung’s hand intertwined in hers. Surely, Jaehyun wouldn’t be coming up to her if she showed up with someone to his party. It leaves him to reach his regretful conclusion just as his friend and you make eye contact, recognition flashing across your features, along with something else.
Unable to torture himself further by watching your exchange, Jisung tears his eyes away and grabs another drink to make this very, very long night ahead of him somewhat bearable. He turns to Mark, who he didn’t even realize had been talking this whole time, but the loud music and the cloudiness in his mind muffle out his speech.
“—I mean this just sucks! I guess we still have each other, maybe we can find some girls who—”
When did you even date Jaehyun? You hadn’t mentioned him once in the months he had known you. And also, why did you date Jaehyun? Not that there was anything wrong with him, other than his habit of cycling through girls every semester. Mark’s “Which one?” comment had some truth to it, but he would have never expected you to have been on Jaehyun’s roster. It takes him a second to remember that Jaehyun is still his friend, but even then, he can’t fight the bitterness that settles in his bones. What did he mean when he said that you were the only one that mattered? How significant was your relationship with him? There’s too many questions circling his mind, and it isn’t until he downs the fifth drink that they start to blur.
Currently, he’s passing the time conversing with Mark and following him around the party, but more importantly, avoiding you in fear he’ll steal a glance and you’ll be locking lips with your ex. He spots Jaehyun by the bathroom a bit into the night, but thankfully, you aren’t near him. It’s in the middle of a beer pong game with Mark when he dares to glance around in search of you.
First, he spots Karina and Heesung, making out on the couch where Chaewon and Jungwoo once sat. You aren’t near them. Then he spots Jaemin and Chenle dancing with the girls they had met up with, but you aren’t dancing, either.
He’s relieved to find you aren’t with Jaehyun when he spots him, finding instead that his friend is flirting it up with a different girl who is certainly not you. The sight completely pisses him off, and somehow makes him feel immense relief simultaneously. Right around this time, he decides he’s had more than enough of the party. You aren’t here anymore, and Jaehyun’s face is making him fucking sick. Mark is slurring his speech enough that he wouldn’t notice if Jisung just slipped, so he does just that, though he does make sure to mention to Chenle that he’s leaving on his way out so he can keep an eye on Mark.
Outside, the cold is unbearable. The previously crowded lot is empty for the most part, except for a few people puffing clouds of smoke into the air by a bench. Not even the alcohol in his system is enough to warm him up, so he can’t even imagine how a joint could be worth sitting outside for.
The only other person sitting outside is squatted down by the curb with their knees curled up to their chest. As the autumn leaves crack under Jisung’s feet, they turn their head around.
“I told you I don’t wanna—Jisung?”
Your big eyes widen in his direction, and you shoot up from the ground. Jisung’s brow lowers in concern and he notices the only thing you have to cover up is a flimsy cardigan. You and your damn, flimsy cardigans.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Sorry for snapping I—sorry,” you shiver involuntarily as a gust of wind blows through, wrapping your arms around yourself, “I thought you were someone else.”
There isn't a sliver of hesitation before Jisung shrugs off his leather jacket and begins to wrap it around you, grumbling, “Are you crazy? You must be freezing,”
“I’m fine—“
“This should help,”
“But- Jisung, how many of your jackets am I gonna take—”
“As many as you need to.” Your lack of a response makes him look back up to meet your eyes, round and much warmer than the rest of you was right now. He clears his throat, guiding your sleeves into the arms of the jacket as he jokes, “or until you bring your own.”
You smile, muttering a small ‘thank you’ as the warmth engulfs you, along with the smell of him and some cheap cologne only a college student would buy. He’s tugging the collar closer to cover up your exposed neck and chest, eyes flickering down at your bare skin despite being well aware that you’re looking. Where this newfound boldness came from tonight, he doesn’t know. What he does know is that his boldness is always rather short-lived when it comes to you, and tends to appear and disappear like random spurts of energy—he’ll take advantage of it this once. Especially now that he knows you’re Jaehyun’s ex and the most he might even get to do is gawk at you, he intends to make it worth it.
“You must be freezing now, though,” you start, “should we go somewhere warm?”
“How about the library?”
You laugh, looking at him in disbelief, “The library isn’t open at this time, much less on the weekend,”
“Right…”
“Wanna go to mine?” Your suggestion makes his breath hitch for a second, but he manages to respond with decent clarity.
“You live by the library, though. That’s like a half-hour walk. I don’t think you’ll make it that far without turning into an icicle,”
“Well, I don’t really wanna go back inside…” he knows why, so he offers something else.
“My dorm is five minutes away. We could go there if you want, b-but if you’d rather go somewhere else—”
“Okay,” you nod eagerly, “let’s go.”
As Jisung leads the way, speed-walking to beat the chill that spreads through his newly uncovered limbs, he turns his face to you, watching as you tuck the lower half of your face into his coat.
“I don’t know if you want to work on the project or—”
“God no,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “I’m not that much of a buzzkill, dude.” You jog a little to catch up to his longer strides, “Besides, I have like three shots of Pink Whitney in me,”
“Foul.”
“I know. Can’t think about a project right now,”
“I’ve had a bit to drink, too.” he admits.
“I can tell. You’re stumbling.”
He snaps his head around, down to his feet, then back to you. “What? Am I?”
There’s a small, stupid smile on your face as you shake your head. “No.”
He can’t pinpoint why this banter with you is so easy, why it feels so right. Or perhaps, he can, but regardless, his heart leaps in his chest as he scoffs, not fighting the shit-eating grin that spreads on his frosted cheeks.
"It’s that building right over there,” he points.
“You weren’t kidding when you said it was close,”
The two of you climb the stairs and he opens the main door for you, watching you sigh out in bliss as you step into the warmth of the hall. You bounce around in a cute way that once more tugs at his heart-strings, still looking all puffed up and adorable in his jacket that entirely engulfs your frame. He leads you up another flight of stairs and onto the floor his room is at, and once the two of you stop in front of his door, he pats his jean pockets.
“Oh my uh- my keys are in the pocket of the jacket.”
You mimic his recent action, patting around until you find his keys, holding them out for him to take.
Somewhat awkwardly, he fumbles with them until he manages to fit it into the lock, opening the door with one hand. He gestures for you to enter his room with a small shrug, “Make yourself at home.”
As you step inside, Jisung makes it a point to quietly thank whatever higher power compelled him to make his bed this afternoon. The rest of his room wasn’t perfectly organized by any means, but at the very least, his bed, which you now sat at the foot of with your legs bouncing, was neatly made.
“You have your own room?” You mutter in surprise as you look around the small space and notice the lack of a second bed. The tall boy beside you just shrugs again, toeing off his shoes in the corner as he pulls the door closed.
“Yeah, uh… I’m one of the RAs for the sophomore class.”
“Wow,” you sigh, “I wish! I mean, I love sharing a room with Karina, but it’s nice to have space for myself sometimes.”
“That’s why you’re always at the library?”
You nod, sliding your palms across his duvet, “It’s nice and quiet,” your fingers move to grip and release the material, and he blinks harshly to erase the sight of that from his mind before it causes him to spiral. It didn’t prove to be very useful, though, because your still-exposed thighs move and press together, just as they did at the library, and his dick gives a little twitch in response.
“I’ll get you some clothes to change into, that way you’re more comfortable.” he decides, more for his sake than yours. You don’t answer, continuing to look around, taking in the details of his computer that flashes in a bunch of different colors.
“You know I gave up extra storage in my bedside table to be able to keep my PC? I let Karina take it to her side of the room so I’d have space for my setup.”
Rummaging through his drawers, he pipes up, “you game?” as if it wasn’t something he already knew about you.
“I love it. I stayed here for most of the summer just because I had my computer here.”
Jisung picks out a pair of sweats for you and one for himself, along with a t-shirt he knows he recently washed, then he turns, handing it over to you. “I’ll change in the bathroom down the hall and then wait outside. You can crack the door open when you’re done,”
“Thank you, Jisung.”
There’s a gentle sincerity in your tone that makes him wanna say “anything for you,” but he settles for pursing his lips instead, leaving to let you change before he can embarrass himself with any baseless comment you wouldn’t really get. The effect of the drinks still hadn’t completely faded, and he fears he’s capable of saying just about any of his stupid thoughts out loud right about now.
You weren’t completely sober either, not by any means. The trashy vodka your ex offered you in an attempt to reconcile was as bitter as the end of your relationship with him, and it was flowing through your veins and giving you that light-headed buzz. You stand up and slip off your boots and Jisung’s jacket, along with your skirt. Your top requires a bit more precision, the lace getting twisted and tangled in your uncoordinated fingers. There’s little huffs and puffs of frustration that leave your lips during your struggle, and you’d almost consider asking for help if it wasn’t completely inappropriate.
Finally, though, you manage to get it off and slip on the change of clothes Jisung has so graciously provided. They’re warm and they smell good, and they’re much more comfortable than your outfit which is now folded on Jisung’s gaming chair, alongside your purse.
When you look up in admiration of his impressive keyboard, which looks to be custom made, and your eyes trail up to his monitor, you notice something on the corner of the screen. The mindless doodle you had drawn beside your phone number that day in class had been very carefully cut out and stuck onto his screen with tape.
“You okay?”
His voice calls from outside, quietly as if not to disturb you even though it’s you who is occupying his room.
“Yeah, I’m almost done!”
“I thought that she was gonna assign them on Friday?”
Sung had asked you that on call, in regards to the constellation project you mentioned you wanted to start working on. Not Jisung, Sung. Sung, who is not in your astronomy class and would have had no way of knowing when or even what your professor would be assigning.
“You’re Ji-sun, right?”
“—Sung.”
The nickname sounded very right coming from his lips, from his voice. You never gave his nickname too much thought, because truly, Sung could just be a display name. And if it is his real name, it could stand for anything: Sungmin, Sungwoo, Daesung, Ilsung, Jaesung… Jisung.
And then, you recall the time you spoke on the phone—specifically, the time you had to do a double take at your screen to make sure you hadn’t actually called Sung. It was the first time you had spoken to Jisung on the phone, and it’s the only way you had even spoken to Sung… something about it seemed so, so strangely familiar.
Could it be…
“Alright, I’m done!” Your announcement comes after the realization that he’s been waiting outside for a few minutes already.
“Coming in…” He warns, eyes still cast to the ground in case you weren’t decent. They slowly make their way up, and something flashes across his features at the sight of you. You try to ignore it, still preoccupied by your growing suspicions. His computer is on… meaning…
“Let me let Karina know I left… I kinda just walked out on her.”
Jisung nods and takes a cautious seat on his bed a few feet away from you.
As you open the discord app on your phone, you scroll to the top to find his contact and type out a simple Hi, clicking send with your heart beating faster than usual. It’s an impulsive act, but you can’t help yourself. If there’s even a chance…
Instantly, his screen lights up and through his headphones you hear the familiar chime of the notification coming in.
“I knew it! I fucking knew it!”
If it’s possible, Jisung’s face grows even paler than it already was naturally, and even more gloom than it appeared earlier in the night when he identified you as Jaehyun’s ex. All of his features are alert and in shock, watching as you spin around to face him.
“Sung? Right? That’s you?”
He’s struggling to read your expression, and it’s beyond obvious. The only change in his demeanor is the now tensed up shoulders and the redness that takes over the white on his cheeks.
“I—” Are you mad? Should he apologize?
“Did you know all this time? That it was me, I mean?”
He nods slowly, unable to find the appropriate words to say.
Two things happen just then. First, your hand smacks his arm, hard. “You fucking idiot!” and Second, you topple into his arms, hugging him. Initially, his hands hesitate to wrap around you, hovering above your waist as you squeeze his neck.
“You’re not mad?” He asks shyly. You shake your head against him, then lift off with your hands on his shoulders to take a real good look at his face.
“No! I’m so glad, I thought I was going crazy. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugs again, a gesture he seems to do a lot around you.
“Since when did you know it was me?”
“Since I heard you speak on the very first day in class. I recognized your voice.”
Your eyes soften at this small confession, and you look back towards his desk, “So, this is where you were this whole time while we played? This close? A twenty-minute walk away?” You shoot up from the bed and cross the small distance to the desk, swiping an index finger along the surface, then his mouse, then his keyboard, and all of his other equipment. Your eyes are beaming, looking around and familiarizing yourself with his things. All the things you wondered about him are now laid out in front of you, and it’s exhilarating.
“I was so excited when I found out,”
“You should’ve told me,” you repeat, still taking in his pictures and personal items, your profound curiosity surfacing within you.
“I was worried about making a good first impression, you’re…”
“I’m…?” you press, turning to him for a moment.
“You’re really pretty in person.”
In that moment when you turn away to hide your blush, with the words “you’re really cute in person, too” ready to spill from your tongue in a sweet and shy whisper, a small black pile on the corner of his dresser catches your eye.
“What’s that—”
“Oh nothing! It’s just—”
“Is that my cardigan?”
Forget distraught, forget embarrassed, forget every possible synonym for the word humiliation. Not a single one would do what he’s feeling in this moment even a sliver of justice. Jisung is convinced his soul has left his body, that he’s passed on or that the ground has swallowed him whole. In fact, he’d prefer it that way. He has never felt more panic in his life as you quickly approach the cum-stained cardigan that he took from you, that he pleasured himself with countless times, that he still hasn’t washed…
“You dropped it in class, and I-I meant to give it back to you, you know, a-after I washed it, but then—”
As you turn the material over in your hands, taking note of and examining the stains, Jisungs breath completely cuts off. You spin slowly on your heel, facing him. There’s an unreadable expression on your face, and it takes every bit of the little pride he has left to not squeeze his eyes shut.
“Are these—”
His voice is no more than a sputtering squeak, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. Fuck, you must think—”
“Jisung.”
“I didn’t mean to keep it for so long, or-or at all, really, it’s just—”
“Jisung.” He’s pretty sure you can hear him gulp. “Were you using my cardigan to get off?”
“I-”
“Were you?” You ask sternly.
He sucks in a breath, unable to look at you any longer as the faintest of yeses leaves his pouty lips.
There’s a moment of silence. A terribly long, excruciating moment of silence where Jisung can think of no way to make this up to you. He’s beyond ashamed, palms clasped together and sweating, face red with horror, inside of his cheek clamped tightly between his teeth, the whole nine miles. So much for mulling over how he’d reveal who he was to you, and so much for all the overthinking he did, all the times he planned out exactly what to say to you and how. Now, it’s all coming to an end because of this damned cardigan. He should’ve just washed it and given it back to you after the first time—no, he shouldn’t have used it at all. His mind is filled with thoughts of everything and nothing at the same time, and he’s already beginning to mourn the loss of your friendship when you say the unthinkable:
ꕥ drunk jisung is clingy… and kiss-driven - @asteroidsung (you didn’t take bestfriend!jisung to be an affectionate drunk, thinking he would be the type to be sleepy and quiet. clearly, you’re mistaken. and oh how good it feels to be wrong.)
ꕥ Heart Band-Aids - @tynct (you and jisung separate from the others at an amusement, and he buys you heart band-aids)
ꕥ HAUNT ME, BABY! — PJS - @ukiyoexo (when you see a ghost, you’re supposed to be scared right? yeah, that’s what jisung thought too until he met you. a night spent in boredom leads you to lighting random candles and attempting to summon a ghost. you never expected it to work — or for the spirit to be so cute.)
ꕥ 8 letters | park jisung - @xiaodejunletsact (4 years ago, you and jisung’s long term friendship came to an abrupt end. now in senior year, the two of you find yourselves being forced together again by your mothers. suddenly, jisung begins to ask himself what is more important: his reputation or you.)
ꕥ sweeter than honey. - @luvdsc (you and jisung are too busy being the biggest simps for each other that neither one realizes that, well, both of you are the biggest simps for each other. or alternatively, diamonds (and park jisung) are a girl’s best friend.)
ꕥ fwb!park jisung x reader - @jenosbigtoe (fwb!jisung but he desperately wants to make you his so he goes the extra mile to show u how much he really wants you)
ꕥ perv!jisung x reader, braces - @neocentral
ꕥ Too Young - @loudstan (You thought avoiding Jisung after what happened during his first rut would make the problem go away (SPOILER ALERT: it didn't.)
ꕥ at midnight with you - @hyuckbeam (your boyfriend just recently got his driver's license, and boy, was he adamant to take you for a ride (with you being just as eager as him).
ꕥ DO IT AGAIN - @taexoxosgf (your brother’s best friend can never get you alone. that’s why he won’t miss an opportunity— even if your brother’s on the other side of the walls.)
ꕥ dance practice ; 박지성 - @martiniblues (with you and jisung’s time running thin due to his schedules, you decide to go visit him at practice. when the two of you finally have some time alone, jisung thinks this is the perfect time to mess with you.)
ꕥ texts w/ bf!jisung! - @haespoir
ꕥ flirty bf texts. - @ohmygs-blog
ꕥ FULL MOON — PARK JISUNG - @moonjella (your boyfriend, jisung has his rut and has been avoiding you all day. for the first time his rut has aligned with a full moon making it much more powerful than usual. he's afraid of hurting you, but you show him just how strong you can be and how much of him you can take.)
ꕥ SCORE THAT GOAL! — smau - @lqfiles (after your college had announced that all the students were required to join a club and attend it twice a week, you were planning on either a) dropping out, or b) join the art club and pretend to be sick most of the times. that was before you discovered that park jisung is a long time member of the football team. change in plans: you LOVE football.)
ꕥ Teach Me || P.JS - @ihaechans (It's been about ten months since you and Jisung started dating, and not once has he fucked you properly. Yes, he's fucked you multiple times, but you're always on top riding him, or simply using him as you please, leaving him no room to fuck you how he wants to. Finally, he musters the courage to talk to you about it, and the outcome makes him wish he'd done it sooner.)
ꕥ jealousy | pjs - @heyjwi (your boyfriend loved watching you perform but today something was different. that angered expression and glaring eyes, what’s wrong with him?)
includes most of the fics from my old rec list. not all are on this list because those fics have either been deleted/privated or the account themselves has deactivated.
recommendation masterlist
my masterlist is here if you want to check out my jisung fics!
chasing pavements , part two [ brother’s best friend!jisung x fem!reader ] s,a
let me teach you how to smash [ badminton player!jisung x fem!reader, enemies to friends to lovers ] s,f,a
the quiet boy has a big dick?! [ quiet bad boy!jisung x fem!reader ] s
gooner [ jeno's younger brother!jisung x jeno's fwb fem!reader ] s
more than i should [ idol!jisung x stylist fem!reader ] s
louder [ jealous boyfriend!jisung x fem!reader ] s
8 letters [ baseball player!jisung x fem!reader ] f,a
arcade [ boyfriend!jisung x fem!reader ] s,f
(ask) [ fwb!jisung x fem!reader ]
auralism, part two, part three [ voice actor!jisung x fem!reader ] s
teach me [ established relationship ] s,f
the one that got away [ best friend au, unrequited love au ] f,a
full moon [ werewolf!jisung x fem!reader, established relationship ] s
1:29 AM [ friend’s brother!jisung x fem!reader ] s
testing… [boyfriend!jisung x fem!reader ] s
20cm [ childhood friends au, summer love au ] f,a
first snow [ boyfriend!jisung x fem!reader ] s,f
jealousy [ boyfriend!jisung x performer fem!reader ] s
sweeter than honey [ private prepschool au ] f,a
(ask) [ secret fwb au ] s
too young [ werewolf!jisung x witch fem!reader ] s,a
lollipop [ perv boyfriend!jisung x fem!reader ] s
park jisung x bimbo!reader [ park jisung x bimbo!reader ] s
gameboy [ gamer!jisung x gamer fem!reader, fwb to lovers au ] s
mask off [ boyfriend!jisung x fem!reader, role playing au ] s
no hands [ idol!jisung x fem!reader ] s
untitled [ best friend!jisung x fem!reader ] s
(ask) [ boyfriend!jisung x fem!reader, dreamies thinks he’s a virgin ] s,f
i.l.y. [ boyfriend!jisung x fem!reader, first time ] s,f
🍭Summary: when your gut tells you that there's something more between two of your friends, you get caught in the crossfire
🍭Pairing: Reader(f) x Park Seonghwa x Choi San
🍭Genre: smut
🍭Au: non idol
🍭Trope: friends with benefits, secret relationship, situationship, slow burn throuple, forbidden love
🍭Inspired by this nsfw fanart, my brain just can't help itself. Go give this some love
🍭Rating: 18+, MDNI
🍭Word Count: 9,112 (help I SAY HELP WHY IS THIS SO LONG)
🍭Warnings: weed smoking, drinking alcohol, mxm, anal (m), implied sex with protection, top! Seonghwa, bottom! San, voyeurism, mean! dom! Seonghwa, brat! sub! reader, blushy! switch! San, petnames (Seonghwa calls you Lover), Seonghwa=Hyung to San, kinky physical overpowering, oral (m), face-fucking, dacryphilia, degradation kink, foot up the leg under the table kink?, sexual innuendos, Seonghwa's got anger issues loads of anger issues, Seonghwa's a jealous prick too?, he's pretty much high on power in this, exhibitionism, somnophilia, questionable pre-negotiation of kinks, dub-con, cum drinking, dick tapping on tongue, seonghwa calls reader a good girl at some point, love bites, oral (f), restrained by San's big muscles, pussy slaps, fingering (f), the illusion of noncon, breast play, mental check-in/aftercare
🍭Author's note: TO WHOM THIS MAY CONCERN (me @ my brain) can we GET OFF THIS RIDE PLS i had to chip away at this like i was a sculptor with a boulder until it was expelled from my brain. thanks to @potatomountain i'm here once again highlowkey blaming ares for letting my imagination run away from me. i'm still in pain, much love, topaz
🍭divider by @/cursed-carmine
Something is different between Seonghwa and San. You can't put your finger on it. It isn’t quite a gut instinct. Seonghwa lets his hands linger on San, like he’s admiring the smooth sanding of a handcarved item. For just a brief instance, of course. On the shoulder. Around San’s waist. But it is remaining for just a second longer than friendly. You can tell no one else notices because you don't meet anyone's eyes as you scan the room. In fact, you start to convince yourself that you're looking too deep into it.
But you cannot shake this feeling. It's not just the lingering touches. Or their eyes keeping locked with secret messages. It's the way San seems to defer to Seonghwa and the reaction of doing so makes San pink and Seonghwa smug. It's the way they both seem to disappear at the same time but come back separately. It's the way they won't even acknowledge each other after; that's what's drawing your attention.
You observe them for a while, quietly, not speaking to anyone about it because you know they'll brush you off. ‘It's just San with his favorite hyung’, they'll say.
Then it happens during one of your get-togethers. Yunho and Yeosang are hosting, having been roomies even after they both graduated university. Everyone's here. Wooyoung is quietly focused on rolling a joint. Hongjoong and Mingi are arguing about politics. Yeosang and Yunho are playing a versus game of FIFA on the big screen, Jongho observing as if he's a professional. San has already slipped away, and Seonghwa has followed him. It was time to prove how wrong you've been about this. You were eager to rid yourself of this mystery.
Making an excuse, you get up between Hongjoong and Mingi, passing the kitchen and taking a turn. Down the hallway, you can see the bathroom is open. You pass it and pause, peering into Yeosang's room. His setup for gaming is goals but not what you're looking for. Yunho’s bedroom is at the end and the door is closed.
San and Seonghwa could have gone for a walk. Gotten some air. Yunho could have closed his door because his room was a mess. There's a dozen reasons for your current predicament. But there was only one current reality. That sky comes falling down on your head as you crack open Yunho’s bedroom door.
Your mind almost breaks at what you see occurring on poor Yunho’s king-sized bed. San is face down, pink with pleasure, small puffs of air leaving his plush lips. His jeans and underwear are pushed down barely past his generous ass. And Seonghwa? His pelvis is pressed against San’s bottom. His back is arched and the small accessories he clipped into his hair last week to celebrate the start of summer tinkle merrily as he rocks into San.
“Ah,” San whines. “Hyung!”
It's almost as if a car is crashing. You want to look away but you absolutely cannot. That is ultimately what fucks you over.
Because Seonghwa, despite the focus he should be lasered in on being beneath him, his eyes are raised to meet yours. They widen for a fraction of a second before he gets a malicious glint in his eyes, almost competitive. The pretty boy's hands curl under San’s hips, adjusting the angle slightly, and then he sharply thrusts into San. The result is San’s quiet whimpers being blown into a husky, loud moan. San slaps his hand over his mouth, clearly worried about someone hearing him. But Seonghwa’s grown a smirk, so proud and so powerful, and it's aimed directly around you.
You fall backwards, pushing away from the taboo scene in front of you. You were right. You had been horribly, accurately right.
You half crawl, stumble and eventually get to your feet. You move back to the living room, feeling like a ghost that just left their body. You weren't attached to reality right now. There was no way in hell this wasn't some fucked up daydream that you concocted because what do you mean Seonghwa was fucking San?
The golden rule was that no one canoodled with each other. It was an easy way to fuck up a friend group. Everyone depended on each other so much. Young adult friendships blossoming into adult support systems. This was everything, and at all costs, could not be sacrificed for some hormone-induced fun.
Apparently not, if Seonghwa was fucking San.
You sit down, Hongjoong and Mingi having moved closer, leaving you on the end of the couch now. Wooyoung’s finished his joint rolling. He grabs one and puts it in his mouth. The simple act of pulling it out, looking to dampen the paper so that it will evenly burn on all sides, has you falling apart at the seams. Did San do that with Seonghwa, or was that another act of supremacy Seonghwa did to San?
“I gotta go,” You say abruptly.
Hongjoong cocks his head at you? “Before we smoke?” Clearly not the norm for you.
“I just finished rolling!” Wooyoung protests. “At least smoke one with me! No one will bother to Potterhead talk with me, please!”
You shake your head, pulling your sweater up your shoulders. “I'm not feeling well.”
San enters the room at this exact moment, something you had been hoping to avoid. Ever the gentleman, he says “I'll walk you home.” Used to this, he doesn't even anticipate an answer, he simply moves to the side table by the door where he had thrown his keys.
“Nah. I live so close. You don't have to bother,” You say, shifting by him, making sure you don't brush against him even by accident.
That's clearly the wrong answer because suddenly everyone is staring at you. You like when San walks you home. You feel safe. The last time you said no was the first time San offered, feeling like he only extended it because you were a girl. It felt insulting. You had come to enjoy the quiet time, two introverts not having to fill the space.
You shove your shoes on. “It's nice out. I just want to…have my thoughts to myself. Okay?”
You look around and Jongho nods in understanding. “Yeah. Whatever you need.”
You leave but that doesn't settle everything.
San is staring at the door like a dog whose owner just left them behind.
“Something's wrong,” Yeosang says.
“No shit,” Wooyoung snorts. “She didn't even take a joint for the road. I rolled one for her walk back.”
Seonghwa strides into the living room as if there isn't anything going on. “I'm going to the convenience store. I need something for my sweet tooth.”
No one questions that remark. Except for Wooyoung, who lost Potterhead number two.
Seonghwa’s on you before you can even leave the driveway from Yunho and Yeosang’s apartment building.
“Wait up!” He calls after you.
Your shoulders hunch and you start to walk faster. He curses under his breath and starts jogging to catch up with you.
“Where are you off to in such a rush?”
Was that how it was going to be? The two of you pretend like nothing ever occurred?
“I'm going home, Seonghwa.”
“I'll get you a fizzy drink. What do you want? Some limited edition thing that's going to make San wrinkle his nose at when he sees the calories?”
Seonghwa’s abreast with you. Your eyes slide to his face but there’s nothing malicious there now. Like it's just another night.
“No. I'm fine.”
Seonghwa shrugs. “Suit yourself. Text the group chat when you get home. You know Yeosang will worry.”
Your paths fork and your shoulders relax. For a moment.
Then you get to your home. With your thoughts. Nothing but your thoughts. That swirl and twirl and haunt you. What the fuck had you just seen? You felt like you were holding a bomb. No, like you had stepped on a landmine and if you took your foot off, your entire friend group would splatter into a million pieces. No one was ever putting Humpty together again.
You start to avoid everyone. How are you going to look San in the eyes ever again? Yunho would be able to sniff your unease in an instant, try to comfort you, most likely break down your walls and get you to talk. You knew beyond a shadow of a doubt you couldn't do that.
But your friends aren't exactly easy to ditch. Busy and sick and tired only work for so long until it's one message from Hongjoong telling you that if you don't get your butt over to Yunho and Yeosang’s Friday night, he's hauling you there himself. You know that's not an empty threat.
“There she is!” Yunho announces with gusto, hand already wrapped around a beer glass with a shot of soju at the bottom. He must have just performed the little ritual. He bottoms up as you move further inside.
Your eyes move around. Wooyoung’s already melted into the couch, clearly opting for Indica instead of Sativa tonight. Maybe he's your best chance at skating by scottfree.
You bounce down beside him on the couch. Wooyoung smiles lazily. “Hey best friend,” he greets you.
“Hey Woo,” You say back.
“Hey Woo,” he parrots back. “How about you hey woo me some chips. I'm starving.”
You gaze around but you don't see any chips. Or San for that matter. Seonghwa is studying a hand of cards, playing with Hongjoong and Jongho.
“I don't think--”
“Hey, you're here,” Yeosang says, sitting on the other side of you.
“Of course I'm here, we had a whole conversation--oh, you mean the ghost.” Wooyoung thumbs in your direction.
“I'm not ghosting you guys,” You say, falling further into the couch. “I told you, I was--”
“Yeah yeah save it for the gullible ones,” Wooyoung swats your words away. “Hey, what happened to the chips?”
Yeosang ignores Wooyoung, gentle eyes on you. “You'd tell us if something was wrong, right?”
“I'm fine,” You reiterate. “Wooyoung, did you smoke everything already?”
Wooyoung limply gestures to the table in front of you. “Help yourself.”
You snatch a joint and make your way to the balcony. You gulp the air greedily before fishing your lighter from your pocket. You put the joint to your lips, flick the lighter, and inhale sharply. You hold it for a few seconds before exhaling. Much better.
San arrives with his arms full of bags. “The munchies have arrived!” Mingi’s behind him with more drinks. The latter peers around. “Did she come?”
Yeosang gestures with a jerk of his chin. “She's on the balcony smoking.”
“Did you ask her what's going on?” Mingi says, putting the drinks in the fridge.
San comes over to sit on the massage chair Yunho isn't frequenting currently. He throws a bag of chips at Wooyoung, who happily pops it open. That causes San to jump and Wooyoung to cackle.
“She says she's fine.” Yeosang’s eyes are back on you again.
“You know…” Yunho sits on the arm of the couch. “She's always more honest with San.”
Mingi and Yeosang both look at their friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Yunho shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe she's more comfortable with him. Or maybe she likes him better than you two peppering her to spill her problems.”
Mingi stiffens at the implications. “Hey. We share a Spotify Playlist. We're close!”
“Will you try?” Yeosang asks San.
San runs a hand through his hair and then immediately begins to fix it. “Okay.”
The balcony door slides open and you know the questions are about to start up again.
“Hey.” San leans over the balcony guardrail, eyes trained to the dusky sky.
“I was wondering when they’d resort to you,” You say.
San’s warm hand skims over the small of your back. He’s warm, no, he’s hotter than a furnace. And in the cooling night air, the touch makes you shiver for multiple reasons. That was the same hand that clenched the sheets while Seonghwa--
You jolt out of San’s touch. “Nothing is wrong. They can send you with popcorn and my answer will still be the same. Because that’s the truth.”
San’s hand was hovering in the air where it had previously been burning your skin. He lets it fall to his side. “Yeah.” He sends you a smile, one that usually breaks you with its dimpled-kindness. “Of course.”
He doesn’t leave and that frustrates you. San is comfortable in the silence when your shoulders rise because of it. You tap out the joint, put it in the slim cigarette tin you carry for that very reason, and slide open the balcony door to go back inside.
This secret, it’s wiggling inside of you. It’s like a maggot under your skin. You can’t dig it out either. It keeps replaying and replaying over and over in your mind.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” You mutter under your breath, avoiding the questioning gazes of your friends.
The others look at San expectantly when he enters back into the room. He shakes his head in defeat. “Whatever it is. She doesn’t want to talk about it. Just let it go.”
Seonghwa’s not going to, however. He knows exactly what’s going on. And if you keep acting up like you are, you’re going to ruin his fun. He stands up. San tilts his head in question, the line of his jaw and the veins in his neck alluring. But Seonghwa ignores the younger man, eyes on the prize. He needs to talk to you again.
The bathroom used to have a lock on the door before Yeosang had broken it. No one had bothered to fix it so Seonghwa had no problem slipping into the bathroom with you.
You’re sitting on the toilet, seat down, face in your hands. You didn’t even hear him come in, you're so overwhelmed with your thoughts.
“You’re going to ruin it,” Seonghwa intones.
“Ruin what?” You say through your hands.
Seonghwa’s fists tighten. “Don't be coy with me. You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not your secret keeper so fuck off,” You say blithely.
It takes two steps for Seonghwa’s long legs to bring him to your place on the toilet. Seonghwa judges Yunho for a brief moment about the Spiderman themed cupholder for his toothbrush and then focuses. He slaps your hands out of the way and grips your chin between his fingers.
“I didn’t say anything when I saw you. I could have. But I didn’t.”
Your face burns hot, exploding down your chest and rumbling in your stomach, almost making you sick with embarrassment. “You did that for yourself.”
One side of Seonghwa’s lip creeps up in a shadow of a smirk. “But I also didn’t ruin your fun. Don’t ruin mine.”
You shake your head, denial filming over your eyes. “I can’t make it leave,” You whisper, part confession, part shame.
Seonghwa’s eyes narrow down on you. What’s running through your head? He can’t get a good read on you. “Use your words,” he says.
You swallow loudly. “No.”
Seonghwa’s not quite sure what overcomes him. Perhaps he’s gotten too comfortable with being in control with San. But suddenly he’s knocking your legs apart and tipping your head backwards.
“What is your problem?” He hisses.
You struggle in his hold, his fingers digging painfully into your jaw. Your hands wrap around his wrists and even though you tug, his grasp does not falter. “Let go of me!”
“I will facefuck your mouth until you agree to stop acting like there’s an issue here.”
You freeze at the blatantly sexual threat. Your eyes slowly roll upwards until you meet his eyes. There’s a mean glint in them, just like when he had caught you watching him with San.
“What?” is all you can manage at this moment.
“Is that your problem?” Seonghwa lets out a spiteful laugh. “Were two items taken off your menu?”
“No--that’s not--”
You squeal as Seonghwa presses his body forward, invading your space. He’s directly between your legs now, crotch level with your face--if you were in fact able to look forward.
“Then tell me what’s got you acting so spacey that no one can shake the issue.”
You whimper. Seonghwa’s never heard you make such a soft noise before. San folded like a house of cards for him, but he wasn’t surprised by it. But you… you were a different matter entirely.
You speak before you can even act on any instinct to remain self-conscious. “All I can picture is your back arched as you fuck into San. San’s pretty flushed face at the pleasure. The way your hair swayed--” You lick your lips, eyes glazed and far away.
Seonghwa feels your legs tighten against his. Were you attempting to clench your legs together? His knee props up on the lid of the toilet between your legs and you flinch at the sudden noise.
“It turns you on, doesn’t it?” Seonghwa coos.
Shame washes over you like a cold shower. You shouldn’t. Those are your two friends. You shouldn’t have even seen what you saw. They shouldn’t have broken the golden rule of your friend group. And now you were mixed into this whole fucked up affair. You wanted to escape but you couldn't.
“Fuck you,” you spit out weakly.
You make a noise of distress as Seonghwa’s knee slides along the top of the toilet lid, inching closer to your core.
“Is it that you want to be Sannie? Is that it?” Why Seonghwa feels the need to keep digging is unclear but there’s something twisting him to.
“No! No, Seonghwa, stop this!” You beg.
Oh, he likes that.
His knee wedges against your clit and you let out a depraved moan that’s been threatening to spill from your treacherous lips. Seonghwa lets out a brief sigh, like he’s felt a release as you admit defeat.
“There you are,” He murmurs.
“What are you going to do now?” You can’t help but wonder. Your fate is in Seonghwa’s hands, the same way your head is, in a tight, demanding grip.
Seonghwa releases you like you've suddenly burnt him. “Nothing,” he says coldly.
And then he leaves the bathroom.
You let out a shaky breath. You splash some water on your face, hoping to wake the fuck up from whatever dream that just was. Or was it a nightmare?
You look at yourself in the mirror and you almost don’t recognize her: your pupils are blown, your face is pink, and you look like you just had the best sex of your life. But you hadn't. Seonghwa had barely touched you in that regard. So why did you look so… undone?!
Three days later, when Mingi goes out for his DJ gig, Seonghwa has San's head against the wall of his bedroom, as he slowly fucks into his younger friend's mouth. But Seonghwa's only doing it because San’s eyes were practically begging to be used; seonghwa’s mind is still on you. Why did he do what he did? He's got San wrapped around his pinky finger, what more does he need?
Absent-mindedly, Seonghwa cards his hands through San’s hair as he thinks things through. San’s in his headspace but hums happily around Seonghwa’s length at the touch.
What was it that Seonghwa wanted? He wanted San, compliant and willing for him. That much was evident. The serotonin he got, that blow up to his ego, coming so hard he'd make San blush? That was all worth breaking the stupid cardinal friend rule.
Something that Seonghwa was still chewing on, however, was that depraved little noise you had made when his knee had pushed against your hot core. Was it just his imagination or had he felt you clamping down on nothing?
Seonghwa shakes his head. That didn’t matter when he had Sannie right where he wanted him.
Roughly, he fucks San's throat, enjoying the wet chokes and the tears that run down the apples of San’s cheeks. San's eyelashes sparkle with the tears and Seonghwa knows he's got San in the perfect place because San is whining breathily. San is so turned on right now, Seonghwa bets if he just patted San’s fat cock, he'd come in his pants. How cute.
“That’s it, Sannie. You love taking my cock down your sweet throat, don't you? I bet your balls are aching for release right now. So high against your body, ready to unload into something. Should I buy a pocket mouth for you? You can relieve yourself that way when I leave.”
San protests noisily but doesn't have any wiggle room as Seonghwa thrusts harshly one last time and unloads down San’s throat. He lets out a loud grunt, slowly fucking San’s throat. When he sits back, he wraps his hands around San’s throat and feels as San swallows everything he gave him.
San pouts, cum obscenely clinging to the corners of his red lips. “Hyung!”
The corner of Seonghwa’s lip curls cruelly. “What?”
“Just…” San’s eyes look away. “You don't have to say all that.”
“Oh please,” Seonghwa scoffs. “That's half of the pleasure right there.”
Seonghwa gets off his bed and leaves San there, breathing heavily, to clean himself up. He does so methodically, even to the point of checking himself in the mirror. Maybe he should change the beads in his hair next week.
The way your hair swayed--
Was it that his hair had moved with the trinkets in them? Or was it the reason for the movement that made your cheeks pink?
“Hyung?” San leans against the doorframe. “You talked to her yesterday, didn't you?"
Seonghwa continues to fix his hair in the mirror. “What makes you say that?”
“She was… lighter when she came back from the bathroom. Whatever was weighing her down wasn't as heavy. Did she tell you what's wrong?”
“Something like that.”
San smiles to himself. “Good.”
“Why are you smiling like that?” Seonghwa snaps.
San startles and meets Seonghwa’s eyes in the mirror. “Like what?”
“Whatever.” Seonghwa breezes by San to exit the bathroom. “Let’s go get some food.”
You're not sure either what happened in the bathroom with Seonghwa. In fact, you're really fucking confused. You understand Seonghwa not wanting you to spill the beans on his benefits situation with San but what were the extra bits for? To really dig in that he was the one fucking San?
“So stupid,” You grumble under your breath.
“Can you please stop with this, you're driving me insane,” Hongjoong complains. “I don't care what's wrong anymore but you carry it around like you're nursing it. It's not healthy.”
You sigh heavily. Hongjoong is right, of course. He's always right. “I'm sorry,” You apologize immediately.
Hongjoong glares over the meat he's grilling. “Don't apologize, just ditch it.”
“If I knew how to do that, don't you think I would have already?” You glare right back at him.
Hongjoong grabs a piece of meat with the tongs and holds it out for you. “Then stuff your mouth at least.”
You prepare a piece of lettuce with some of your favorite fixings and offer it. Hongjoong drops the meat and you promptly shove it in your mouth. Your eyes roll back into your head, the flavors bursting through the heat of the meat.
Hongjoong snorts. “Much better.”
The bell for the door of the shop chimes and one of the staff greets the newcomers. You're busy enjoying the food, you don't realize Hongjoong has nodded his head in acknowledgement.
“What are you two doing here?”
You choke and cough, San's voice surprising you. San pats your back. When you can't seem to recover, he leans over, grabs your water and offers it to you. You drink it deeply, dislodging the food in your throat. And still San's hand lingers on your shoulder, gently kneading it.
“I needed to get away from Jongho and Wooyoung bickering,” Hongjoong explains, frowning as Seonghwa sits down and helps himself to the food.
“Ahjumma, two more beef combos, please!” San shouts to the kitchen.
Finally, he sits down beside you, across from Seonghwa. “I'm starving!”
Seonghwa’s eyes don't even glance your way. But he talks directly to you. “You finally decided that it wasn't worth it to ditch all of us anymore?”
You open your mouth but Hongjoong answers for you. “Good food will get her out anywhere.”
Seonghwa nods, contemplating Hongjoong’s words. He stuffs his face again before choosing his next sentence. “Stuffing her face does provide good results.”
San laughs, the depth of that sentence going over his head. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep your emotions in check. “If you're going to eat all our food, at least buy some soju.”
“A bottle of blueberry and strawberry soju too, please!” San shouts a second time.
Hongjoong sends a look of disgust. “So sweet.”
There's an ugly feeling in Seonghwa. He knows the strawberry flavor is for him. The blueberry must be for you. Had Seonghwa never noticed how much San catered to you or had it just not mattered that much to him up to this point? Regardless, the possessive dragon inside of him unfurls its wings.
Seonghwa wiggles his foot out of his shoe and easily finds San’s legs under the table; the younger man is always sitting with his thighs wide open. Seonghwa puts his head in his hand and watches San. As his foot travels higher up San’s inner thigh, San becomes more and more pink.
The ahjumma who runs the BBQ place brings the extra combos and the soju, bustling the table and teasing Hongjoong about his short hair and how handsome he looks now.
It's not until San reaches for the blueberry soju bottle, undoes the cap and reaches for a shot glass to pour for you, that Seonghwa presses hard down on San’s hard-on. The soju sloshes against the metal table as San cries out. He's beyond red and his eyes are on the floor.
Your eyes swing to Seonghwa who happily takes over grilling the meat. You observe San who is apologizing profusely to the ahjumma for spilling the alcohol. In some fucked up way, it was nice to know you hadn't been paranoid previously.
Hongjoong clucks his tongue, ordering two regular bottles of soju before the ahjumma leaves. “Geez, you're so clumsy, San.”
With your stomach full, the soju gives you the finest buzz, the blueberry soju coating sweetness along your tongue. You relax a bit, Hongjoong loosens up as well, and San and Seonghwa gorge themselves on the food they ordered. It's companionable and back to normal.
Except San got coerced into one drink and now he's the one that's sloshed. And it is getting messy. Hongjoong pays the bill and excuses himself, muttering about trying to get away from all the noise of his place was pointless.
And then there were three.
San makes the mistake of focusing on you as the three of you walk down the street. “You'll let me walk you home tonight, right?” San pouts, arms wrapped around you from behind.
“I can’t walk anywhere with you clinging to me like this San,” you grumble.
San leans even more forward, his front pressing against your back. “I'll protect you,” he whispers into the shell of your ear.
He's so fucking warm. If you closed your eyes for just a moment, you might be able to imagine--
“Oh my god, San!” Seonghwa scolds your drunk friend. “Get off of her.”
San stumbles as Seonghwa practically rips San’s arms off of you. In fact, he lands on his butt and blinks up at Seonghwa as if he's not entirely sure why he's looking up to him right now.
“Seonghwa, you don't have to be so rough with him,” you murmur, leaning forward and reaching under San’s arm to help him up.
You can't see Seonghwa’s face but you can certainly hear his tone of depraved glee. “But he likes it that way.”
Fortuitously, San heavily pulls back on you, and with Seonghwa’s barbed comment surprising you, you fall forward into San.
San simply smiles up at you like he doesn't have a care in the world. Your knees are on either side of San’s legs and your hands braced under San’s arms. He's gorgeous like this; hair haloing around him.
That's when you feel Seonghwa’s foot on your ass as he shoves you forward even more. “As a matter of fact, don't you like it rough as well?!” San lets out a very attractive ‘oof’ as your body falls against his, hips digging into his.
“Seonghwa, this isn't funny,” you growl.
“Who’s laughing?” Seonghwa snaps.
“I’m getting up now,” You announce, but Seonghwa doesn’t let up, his foot now on the small of your back. The pressure makes you grind against San, who lets out a whimper. “Seonghwa! You’re--”
“Hurting him?” Seonghwa leans out a mean laugh. “No, I’m not. He likes it. Look at how his eyes blow.”
San’s eyebrows furrow with soft worry. “Wait, Hyung--!”
San’s eyes meet yours. “You know? You…saw?” His lips part and you feel him stirring beneath you.
God damn it.
You throw back your arm and shove Seonghwa’s foot from your back. You push off of San and start to run. You can’t do this. You can’t.
“That’s all you can do is run, isn’t it!” Seonghwa shouts at your back.
That stops you. You turn around slowly, your anger swirling around in your heart. “What gives you the right?” You say, low and harsh. You stride towards Seonghwa, who’s standing with his arms crossed over his chest. “What gives you the fucking right to judge me when you ran the other day?! You can face one yearning but you can’t face the other?” Your finger pokes and prods and digs into Seonghwa’s chest. “What gives you the fucking right, Seonghwa?”
“I wasn’t running,” Seonghwa denies.
“What’s she talking about now?” San wonders, sitting up from the asphalt.
“Nothing,” Seonghwa denies.
You snort mirthlessly under your breath. “Just another secret for you to keep, hmm? It seems you’re good at that.”
San puts his hands on the ground and stands on his feet like a toddler with new legs with a grunt. “Tell me what’s going on. Now.”
You raise your chin. “Yes, Seonghwa. Tell San everything. Or maybe I might. Seeing as how you like to vaguely air everyone’s dirty laundry suddenly. Do you like provoking San in front of Hongjoong? Do you like sliding my secrets to San like it’s a note in class? Is it the power you enjoy? You just like lording over everyone, like you’re the only one with the right and the privilege.”
It’s like you have the key to Seonghwa’s rage. You pull and pull and pull at his resistance until finally it snaps, just like a rubber band, stinging you something awful.
Seonghwa shouts wordlessly. His fingers grip your upper arms and he shoves you against the tall wall in the alleyway. “You know nothing, you dumb fucking cu--”
“Seonghwa!” San slams his hand down on Seonghwa’s shoulder and retches him backwards. “What are you doing?!”
Seonghwa’s shoulders are heaving with his wrath. His eyes are wild and his hair moves slightly by a relieving breeze. He ignores San completely. “What time is it?”
You roll your eyes. “Typical.”
Seonghwa digs into his front pocket, finds his phone, and presses his thumb down on the button on the side. It’s still early evening. “We’re going home.”
San shakes his head. “No. I’m going to walk her home.”
Seonghwa smirks and your previous fury slides down your chest, down your leg and pools onto the floor because of it. “No. She’s coming home with us.”
“I don’t fucking think so. Haven't you sucked me into this deeply enough? No. Fuck you.”
You and San watch like onlookers to a hypnotized snake as Seonghwa’s hand cups the front of your neck. “You’re. Coming. Home. With. Me.”
San looks like he’s trying to translate what Seonghwa’s saying, as if it’s an entirely different language he’s speaking. “What…?” The words prematurely die on his tongue as you let out a whimper.
“See?” Seonghwa quirks an eyebrow at San.
“Will you run again?” you whisper.
Seonghwa licks his lips, looking down his nose at you. “No.”
Your heart is beating a mile per minute as you meander to San, Seonghwa and Mingi’s place.You have a sneaky suspicion what Seonghwa is planning in that head of his but you’re not entirely sure with the three of you. Seonghwa with you and Seonghwa with San seem to be similar but what about Seonghwa with you and San?
Seonghwa’s fingers are tight against your wrists. He can feel your pulse going crazy fast and it fuels his feet to move faster. San keeps up, despite his random trips and protests that Seonghwa is going far too fast. Seonghwa doesn’t care. Right now, he needs the both of you in his bed. Which is ridiculous, because San’s bed is by far the bigger, but it needs to be Seonghwa’s room--he needs to be in charge.
Once you arrive at the guy's place, having taken two steps at a time to get to the third floor, it's clear San has had enough of this.
“Hyung! Stop.” He braces his hands on his thighs and sways a little inside the entrance.
There's a flush on your cheeks too, lips parted as you've kept up with Seonghwa’s long legs. “Seonghwa, maybe…”
Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “Do both of you need motivation?”
With a tug, Seonghwa brings you back towards San. San slowly stands up. “What's happening?”
Seonghwa grips the back of San’s neck and brings his forehead to his. San’s eyes get big and Seonghwa feels his ego grow. “We’re kissing.” He yanks you against his body, curving his arm around you. “WE are kissing.”
“Hey, where did you guys go?” Mingi calls out from the living room.
Seonghwa curses under his breath. He pushes you away, non-too-gently, and puts his arm under San’s to brace the still-swaying man.
“Uhhh, yeah, I was out with Hongjoong and ran into your bozo besties,” You call out after ditching your shoes. Angry at Seonghwa once again, you can’t help but lash out.
“Bozo!” San protests.
You settle down beside Mingi on the sectional. He's already changed from his bling and brands, to comfortable clothing. You snuggle your cheek against the cotton baggy sweater on his shoulder. It's nice. “What happened? You're usually not home until 3 or 4 in the morning.”
“A fight broke out,” Mingi rolls his eyes. “It evolved into a thing. They shut it all down.”
Seonghwa dropped San unceremoniously onto the other side and sat at the end where San’s legs had slid off. “San got drunk, the usual. Our friend was helping me get San home.”
Mingi’s arm goes around your shoulder. “Thank you for escorting our pretty princess home,” Mingi laughs, popping a loud kiss into the crown of your head.
“What are friends for you,” You chirp back.
“I'm not a pretty princess,” San mumbles, already clinging a pillow to his chest, eyes closed and smacking his lips tiredly.
“Do you wanna crash?” Mingi offers kindly. “You can take San’s bed. He'll probably fall asleep there.”
You lick your lips. “I'm not sure that's a good idea.”
“Why not?” Seonghwa says, slapping San’s ass without a mumble from the now sleeping man. “He's out cold.”
“I've got clothes for you,” Mingi gets excited and gets up, the subject closed.
Seonghwa reaches for the remote and starts to look through options to watch. “San’s bed is pretty big.”
“San’s a pretty big guy,” you agree.
Seonghwa’s eyes slid slowly to meet yours. “That's not what I meant.”
“Well, that’s how I'm taking it because Mingi is here, Seonghwa.”
Seonghwa puts the remote down and stands, mouth opening and closing as Mingi enters the room with an armful of clothes and a happy grin. “Here, you can change into these. I've got some songs I wanna add to our list, do you wanna listen?”
You breathe in and sigh heavily. “I'm sorry, Mingi. Maybe another night. I drank too. I'll just down a glass of water and go to sleep.”
Mingi nods. “Yeah, that's valid.”
You make your way to San’s room, Seonghwa’s gaze burning into your back. You change. You down a glass of water and you fall asleep in San’s bed. It smells like him. It's almost like falling asleep on his shoulder. It's comforting.
“Oh shit.”
You wake up to a heavy weight beside you, making your body tip forwards. “San?” You mumble, still half asleep.
“Why are you in my bed?” San whispers like he's worried he's going to get caught.
“You fell asleep on the couch. Mingi said I should sleep here.”
“Oh.”
That's enough to tell you San doesn't know what to do. “I'll leave.”
“No. Wait.”
“San, it's okay. It's your bed. I'll sleep on the couch. It's fine.”
“I don't want you to sleep on the couch.”
“Well, two seconds okay you weren't okay with me AND you sleeping in the same bed. So?”
“I just. I didn't know.” San sighs. “Where is Seonghwa?”
“Probably in his room?” You ask rather than tell.
“Weird.”
“What's weird about Seonghwa sleeping in Seonghwa’s bed?” You demand.
“Well, if I had known you were sleeping in another room in my apartment, I wouldn't have stayed in my room.”
Well shit.
“We all drank. We all needed to sleep. It was a bad idea.”
“You think Seonghwa’s plan was a bad idea?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“Stop saying oh!” You hiss, getting angry.
“Are you gonna sleep here now I don't think it's a bad idea?”
“No,” you snapped immediately, pushing the blankets off you and sitting up.
“Why?”
“Because, San, I don't know if you haven't noticed but any time you pay me special attention, Seonghwa goes ballistic so excuse me if I want to avoid that.”
“Did Seonghwa know you were sleeping in my bed?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, well then, it's fine.”
“And you just expect me to take your word for it?”
“Do you think I would lie to you to get you to stay?”
He had you there. “No.”
“Then go back to sleep.”
Easy for him to say. Your heart was hammering at your rib cage like it was a damn wild bird trying to leave. You could hear San’s nose whistles as he clearly fell into a slumber without any issues.
Eventually, as you didn't sleep for the next hour or so, the door pushed open. “San?”
You flinch and sit up. The early morning sun filters in past Seonghwa. “He’s sleeping,” you respond.
“Good.” Seonghwa enters and closes the door behind him.
“No, not good, what are you doing?”
“What I want.”
Seonghwa’s in a ribbed tank and soft basketball shorts as he walks to the foot of San’s bed. His eyes are on San’s sleeping form, like a predator stalking a killing field. His hands, then his feet balance on the bed and he lays next to San. San’s arm is curled around a pillow again, cheek smushed cutely, with his back towards Seonghwa.
You watch with that same bated breath of the car crash scenario earlier as Seonghwa smoothes his hand right under the front of San’s underwear. You can’t look away, even though you know it’s wrong; whether Seonghwa and San already have an understanding, or it doesn’t feel right to be watching Seonghwa touch San so intimately for your own viewing pleasure, either could be debated.
“He gets hard so quickly,” Seonghwa murmurs under his breath, eyes already hooded and dangerous. “Eager even in his sleep to get fucked.”
It’s not long before Seonghwa is effectively stroking San under his boxer’s, the susurration of skin along skin so loud that you swear it’s louder than your own heartbeat in your ears.
When San lets out a tiny noise of pleasure, you jolt upwards. “I can’t watch this anymore.”
“You’ll stay where you are,” Seonghwa commands.
You shake your head, miniscule and dainty. “I can’t, Seonghwa.”
“You didn’t stop before,” he coldly points out.
“That was different!” You protest.
“Why?” Seonghwa’s hand moves differently under San’s underwear, causing the sleeping man to groan. “Because now you’re close enough to participate?”
“Stop it,” You hiss before Seonghwa tempts you once again.
It’s too late for that. Seonghwa smirks. “That is what you want? Wanna put your mouth around his cute little dick and take all his hot cum?”
“No! He’s asleep. I’m not doing that.”
“No?” Seonghwa presses his cheek almost adorably against San’s. “Sannie?” He whimpers in response. “You wanna come in our girl’s mouth now?” The pout that extends from San’s lips is angelically lush. He hums in acknowledgement and all the moisture in your mouth vacates. “You’re gonna come, aren’t you, Sannie? Gonna come soon? You gonna fill our girl’s mouth with your sweet juices and she’s going to swallow it all, isn’t she?” Seonghwa juts his chin out. “Better get ready, or he’s going to make my fist more sticky than it already is.”
You make the worst decision of your adult life and stumble forward, yanking San’s underwear down and wrapping your lips around his cock. Seonghwa’s hand, squeezing San’s length, moves upwards to meet your lips and San is moaning loudly, unloading into your mouth. Seonghwa wasn’t kidding, there’s so fucking much to swallow, you feel like it’s endless. When at last you judge it to be done, you pop off San’s cock.
“Ah ah ah, make sure he’s clean. Stick your tongue out.” You do it without even questioning the order, and Seonghwa taps San’s cockhead against your tongue. San’s eyebrows furrow, his sensitive head brushing against your tongue, but you sweep it along his slit to make sure you’ve captured everything.
“Good girl,” Seonghwa purrs.
And that’s when San’s eyes open. He blinks several times and then that sunshine smile of his, with dimpled-kindness, comes out. “Good morning to you too.”
You back off suddenly, falling off the bed with a squeal. “Is she okay?” San asks Seonghwa.
“Oh, get off the floor,” Seonghwa says.
You don’t really want to rise from the ground ever again.
When you don’t move, you can hear Seonghwa grumbling. “Ridiculous, honestly, you’d think I forced her to drink your cum.”
“Hyung!” San whines.
“Not you too. Please. If it weren’t for me, you two would be hopeless.”
You crawl under the bed. Maybe if you hid here, the other two would forget about you and eventually you could crawl out, say goodbye to Mingi and never come back to this apartment ever again.
“Hey!” San’s visage appears upside down and frowning. “Why are you hiding? Was it that bad?” San raises himself back up on the bed. “Was it bad?” He asks Seonghwa for verification too.
“How would you feel if I fingered her and then made you lick up her slick?” Seonghwa shoots back, sounding half pissed and half amused.
“Like I’d want to hide under the--ohhhhhhhhh,” San says as his brain catches up with his mouth.
“Exactly.” Seonghwa reaches under the bed, grabs your ankle, and yanks you from under the bed. “Get up here right now or I’ll make you, and you’re not going to like my way.”
You shiver and scramble to get back on the bed. You immediately start to embed your thumbnail into the pad of your forefinger, a painful distraction from your current inability to deal with whatever situation was before you.
“Well?” Seonghwa clearly directs towards San.
“Can we?” San wonders.
San and Seonghwa have that odd telepathy that couples tend to develop and it annoys you in the way you'd rather not be left out of the loop. “What?”
“We're going to keep you,” San says happily.
Your head snaps upwards so quickly your teeth click. “Pardon?”
Seonghwa’s hand snakes out and grips your face, akin to your time in the bathroom together. “You're ours now.”
“Hyung!” San protests, hand on Seonghwa’s forearm. “Be nice.”
“Why?” Seonghwa says haughtily. “She likes it when I'm nasty. Just like you.”
“Hyung,” San draws out the syllable, his cheeks going pink, and his hands covering his pelvis.
“What does that mean?” You ask, eyes moving between your two friends.
“Whatever I want.”
That's when Seonghwa yanked you forward, wretched your head at an angle, and sucked a lovebite in your neck. “There. Now you.” San, with a lot more softness and sensuality, gave Seonghwa’s lovebite a twin.
“Oh my god.” Upon being released, you snatched up your hoodie from last night, pulled up the hood, and yanked the string tight. “What are you trying to do, get us all in trouble? I'm leaving.”
“Wait.” San looks at Seonghwa hesitantly.
“We have only one rule. Fair trade,” The elder of the two reveals.
“I'm not marking you two. This is barbaric. And a good way to get caught!” Your feet are itching to leave this room and quickly.
Seonghwa rolls his eyes with no hint of amusement. “This is getting old real quick.”
With the speed of a striking snake, Seonghwa has your wrists in between his hands and is yanking you onto bed back with him and San, pinning your arms above your head as you land on your back. “Fair trade.”
You look up at San with a wish to be set free. San was your comfort, San was your safety net. San was… looking at you like you were that last piece of cake that he wished to eat.
“You gave some pleasure to San. And I already took my pleasure from San, so…” Seonghwa’s free hand smoothes over your hair before he grips it hard. “Time for you to get some.”
“Seonghwa,” You whimper.
Why does this happen every single fucking time? You are trying to preserve yourself and your friend group and Seonghwa somehow reaches into your body and yanks your spine out. Is this how San feels? Is this why he would lie down on a bed while Seonghwa tucks his hand under his hips and--
You struggle physically within the confines of Park Seonghwa but to no avail. Whether it’s because Seonghwa is completely capable of keeping you where he wants you or whether you truly do not want to leave those confines, is left to be said.
“I’m not running away anymore, Lover, why are you?” Seonghwa says.
This knee jerk reaction, this pull, this inertial tug that makes you want to submit for Seonghwa, is fucking terrifying. You lose yourself for a moment, an hour, a century. That’s what makes you want to run. You’re not sure how to deal with it, even though it promises a good thing. Potentially. Probably.
“When I first saw you and San. It felt like I was watching a car crash,” you expose your soul to the air at Seonghwa’s prompting.
San sputters into laughter, taken surprised by your blunt confession. “A car crash?”
“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” Seonghwa calls you out immediately.
You nod in his tight grip. What else was there left to hide now?
“I take good care of San, I’ll take good care of you,” Seonghwa says.
“We will take good care of each other,” San adds.
“But our lover doesn't want us to be gentle, does she, Sannie?”
You hear San’s loud gulp. “No.”
“No,” Seonghwa repeats. “She likes to be treated like she’s been bad, doesn’t she?”
San’s fingers skim over Seonghwa’s and take their place pinning you down. You don’t fight it. Instead, you’re looking into Seonghwa’s eyes. You’re trembling, waiting, anticipating his next move.
Seonghwa’s free hand, the one that wasn’t keeping your head in a fierce grip and straining your neck, hovered over your body. It avoided your neck, your breasts, your stomach and then remained stationary over your cunt. One second you were counting the beats of your heart in your ears, and the next, your back strained as Seonghwa slapped your cunt.
San’s sharp intake of breath let you know he liked what he saw. In fact, he whispers, “Do that again, Hyung.”
The next slap urges a moan from your lips and your ass lifts off the bed in reaction. San closes his other hand over your mouth. “Shhh, you don’t want to get caught, do you?”
You look from San to Seonghwa. If you had known that trying to squish that niggling suspicion that Seonghwa and San were up to something would have gotten you here… would you still have followed them down Yunho’s hallway?
Seonghwa rewards your inner thoughts by slapping your cunt once again. “Get. Out. Of. Your. Head.” By the time he’s done with his sentence, your pussy is throbbing and you’re panting with need.
“How wet is she?” San asks, making your face heat up with embarrassment.
You squirm but nothing can halt Seonghwa's lithe fingers as they push down the front of the pants Mingi had given you, circumvent the waistband of your underwear and dip between your folds. The absolutely diabolical grin he gets when the pad of his finger meets the slickness there makes you whine.
“Someone likes getting her pussy slapped.”
You turn your head stubbornly. “Fuck off,” You say weakly.
San's eyebrows raise into his fringe and he shoots a nervous look at Seonghwa. Clearly he doesn't fight the elder, by that reaction.
Seonghwa’s testing finger slips into your wet hole and he wiggles there. “Say that again, Lover,” he purrs dangerously. “I dare you.”
“Fuck you and the man you fuck,” You annunciated clearly and concisely.
“Oh that's it.” Seonghwa has that mean glint in his eyes, the condescending one that can mean two things at the same time: one, you're about to get exactly what you want, and two, you're going to regret it. “It’s time to show who owns this body now, San.”
San gulps loudly. “Yes, Hyung.”
You fight like a hissing cat, to the point where San has to pin your arms down with his knees to keep you restrained. It also gives him completely free access to palm your tits, preferably with Mingi’s huge shirt pooling up along your collarbones. He's greedy for them, hands massaging them, alternating between teasing your pebbles nipples or avoiding them just to get a needy whine from you.
Seonghwa is busy with your lower half. With your legs kicking, he's barely been able to pull Mingi’s pants and your underwear down far, but he gets far enough. Right now, the tip of his tongue is circling your clit, his dark eyes on your face to drink in any falter in breath or furrow of your brow.
“Let go of me,” You say faintly.
San ignores your demand completely. “Do you think you could make her come with those pussy slaps?”
Seonghwa lifts his head and his eyebrow at San. “Do I make you come by slamming into your tight little hole?”
San colors at the sentence. “ ‘course you do, Hyung,” he pouts.
“I don't want to come,” You decline. “We can forget this ever happened. I can forget I ever saw you two. This can be our little secret.”
Seonghwa smirks, only one corner of his lip quirking upwards. “Now my tongue in your cunt and San’s hands on your tits is our little secret.”
“I want a taste!” San whines again, pushing his luck with a deeper pout. “Please, Hyung, I've been good. Haven't I been good?”
You all freeze, like an erotic Renaissance painting, as Mingi clearly drops something in the kitchen and curses loudly.
“There's no time, San!” Seonghwa hisses.
Seonghwa’s skilled tongue flicks your nub again and again and again as San tugs on your nipples and you come undone by their touches. Your body strains against their bigger bodies, your orgasm hitting you like a two ton truck. You bite down on your lower lip and your throat hurts from the way you have to suppress your groan. You let out a tiny ‘fuck’ as your body finally relaxes from you orgasm from hell.
Your eyes open quickly, having closed them when your orgasm hit, when Seonghwa does his favorite thing which seems to be gripping your jaw roughly so you pay attention to him and only him.
“Sealed with cum and spit,” he croons at you. “You will come when you're called.” The double entendre causes you to shiver.
“We'll take care of you,” San repeats for the umpteenth time, like this time it'll finally settle the anxiety in your stomach.
Seonghwa must read the anxiety in your eyes because he makes an offhanded comment about fucking you next time with new pretty trinkets in your hair. Then he pops off the bed and yanks the door open.
“Just don't touch my fucking display case with your grimy paws,” Seonghwa barks blithely and slams the door.
San leans back on his heels and releases your arms. Those ‘grimy paws’ massaged your arms. “He's just doing that to cover for us.”
You sit up, pulling down your sweater and Mingi’s shirt. “I get that.”
San tilts his head. “You liked that, right?”
You cannot look San in the eyes right now but you nod slightly. “Of course.”
San wraps you in a hug, one that makes all the air in your lungs disappear. “Good. Because I liked your mouth on my--”
“Please! San!” You choke out in protest.
San lets out a high pitch giggle, then rubs his cheeks against the crown of your head. “Now be a good girl and Seonghwa won't feel the need to punish you.”
You push at San’s biceps. “That's not going to happen.”
San holds you by your upper arms and pushes you away until he can meet your eyes. “But you are going to come when we call, right?”
“I already caught on when it was only the two of you. Don't you think adding me will only up the ante?”
San releases you, reaching for a tank top to put on. “Isn’t that part of the fun? I'm going to go work out. Leave whenever you want. Mingi would probably love it if you hung out.” San frowns, realizing you're still in clearly the wrong friend's clothes. “Also put something of mine on. Everyone does think I'm your favorite after all.”
Your gobsmacked and satiated and fucking terrified all at the same time. Isn't lust grand?
Summary:
“Don’t get me wrong, I love what we have," he exclaimed, his hands displayed in front of him in an almost defensive position.
“It’s just that..." he trailed off.
"I want you to try being the, uh, dominant one next time we do it," he said softly, averting his gaze from your now widened eyes and shocked expression.
Oh
Author's note: Hi loves! As you can tell this is my first post on this account (hihi), so if the formatting is weird or something just looks off I gen apologize cause I have no idea how tumblr works ngl.
But that aside, I hope yall will enjoy this mess of a fic that I just had to get out there cause a subby, whiny san is the best san <3
— ᨳଓ Pairing:
sub!choi san x fem!reader
— ᨳଓ Audience:
explicit, smut
— ᨳଓ Word Count:
3.7k of pure filth
— ᨳଓ Tags:
whiny!choi san, sub top!choi san, oral (f!rec), whipped!choi san, creampie, usage of good boy (once cause san is, indeed, a good boy), slight body worship, choi san gets drunk by eating you out (not lit dude just loves tasting you), filth
Your boyfriend of two years was sitting right across from you as a peachy-red color creeped over his cheeks all the way to his ears. He diverted his gaze down, almost afraid you'd hear his thoughts out loud, teeth lightly grazing his own bottom lip as he bit down in embarrassment.
San’s hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing it in what he thought was a soothing motion; a deep sigh escaped his slightly parted lips, now with faint residual marks of his teeth on the lower lip from the sheer strength he’d used to bite down on it. You mentally noted that it was a little plumper, a little more red, than it had been a few seconds ago. But you let him take his time, not wanting to bother the man over something that so obviously affected him. You knew he’d tell you in the end, however long it took. There was no reason to pry.
The two of you were seated at the table in your apartment, enjoying the meal that San had practically begged to make for you—claiming it was a special recipe that Wooyoung had recently taught him back at their dorm. He was dressed in a black t-shirt with sleeves that wrapped comfortably around his biceps, revealing the years of hard work he had put in at the gym. The shirt was paired with a basic pair of washed-out blue jeans, hugging his absurdly—and unfairly—small waist perfectly.
Afraid you had stayed quiet for too long, you gave him an encouraging nod to keep going. The hand that previously occupied his neck had now made it to his eyes; his thumb and index finger simultaneously found their way to each eyebrow, circling their way to the bottom of his eyes in a furrow. It was weird seeing him this flustered. Especially when it came to something he was mentioning himself.
“Well, I've been thinking about our, uhm—" he started, the last sound coming out almost like a whisper as he used his hand to motion back and forth between the two of you.
“Well, our sex life," he finished hurriedly. The subtle blush on his cheeks had deepened into a vibrant crimson as he finally lifted his gaze to meet yours.
"O-okay," you let out, a small hint of an underlying question filling the air. The feeling of a familiar warmth spread across your cheeks. It was your time to avoid his gaze, not wanting him to see how easily a simple word could turn you into a blushing mess.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love what we have," he exclaimed, his hands displayed in front of him in an almost defensive position.
“It’s just that..." he trailed off. "I want you to try being the, uh, dominant one next time we do it," he said softly, averting his gaze from your now widened eyes and shocked expression.
Oh
"If it's not something you like or want to do—that's, you know, completely fine," the man said hastily, as if he were afraid of scaring you away.
Of all the things your boyfriend could have said, you did not expect for even a second that it would be…this. It's not like you had distinct roles of dominant and submissive in the bedroom. But San did lean towards being in control of your pleasure, his larger build allowing him to easily toss you around as he pleased. It was something that came naturally to the two of you and required little thought.
Not for San, apparently.
You adjusted yourself in your chair; heat blossomed through your body subconsciously as a shiver traveled from your spine to your core. You probably both looked a mess with tension so thick you could cut it and cheeks so red a poet could spend his life writing about it.
Where did this come from, though? You knew San was a very soft and naturally cute person, but he also liked the idea of having control. He loved having people listen to him as he oozed confidence and a sense of authority. Memories flooded your mind, trying to find a glimpse of something, anything that could have anticipated the words that left his lips mere seconds ago.
Your expression softened as you glanced at your boyfriend in front of you; he looked so disheveled and nervous. San's hands were placed on the table in front of you, fingers intertwined as he nervously played with his thumbs. The pout that came so naturally to him, almost as if it were the default shape of his lips, was obvious as his eyes quickly scanned yours for any indication of how you were feeling.
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't surprised," you began with a soft smile as your hand came to touch his, giving it a light squeeze to indicate that you were fine. A mental image of San on his knees suddenly popped up, eyes lidded as he stared up at you in almost a plea. His naked chest was heaving up and down, lips slightly parted as if he were about to begin begging any moment. Fuck. Is that what you had been missing out on?
With your eyes fixed on Sans, you went on, "But I'd like to try." A comforting, gentle smile appeared on his lips as his eyes grew wide. You giggled as your boyfriend stood up, the chair he had sat on not even a second ago long forgotten as it fell behind him from the mere force of his excitement. You followed, walking over to the side of the table where San stood.
“I promise I’ll make you feel so good, baby—I’ll be so good." He breathed out. His eyes darted between yours and down to your lips as he cupped your cheeks, his gaze growing darker.
He said he’ll be good.
Fuck—
Before you can even think of what to say, soft lips are pressed against yours. You lean into the kiss as San showed a hunger you've never known before. He quickly found your bottom lip, teeth grazing the soft, wet flesh, making you gasp in return. All the idol saw this as was an invitation to slide his tongue in, exploring the familiar warmth of your mouth as his tongue meets yours. Your hand slowly traveled up his chest, applying a light pressure that caused San to let out the neediest of whines when you accidentally grazed his nipple.
So sensitive, you thought. Had he always been this sensitive?
San was now kissing you like his life depended on it. Like he grew needier for every graze of your tongue against his, only stopping the kiss to gasp for air and then back again to chase your lips. And it felt so good. It’s like San had gone completely pliant and was kissing you not just because he wanted to but because he needed it—like he couldn’t live without it. He needed to feel your warm, soft mouth against his. He needed to feel your hot, radiating body against his to prove that this is real. That you want him the way he’s wanted you for such a long time.
Your hand, which had just led to the man in front of you making the sweetest of sounds, now found its way to the back of his neck, right where his hair grows longer. To test the waters, you lightly grabbed whatever hair was long enough to welcome your grasp and gave it a solid tug. What you didn’t expect was a loud moan escaping San’s lips, his whole body going still as he submits to your touch.
“Nghm—” he whined as he furrowed his brows; the lips that had chased yours were now flushed red and so fucking swollen as he bit down on his bottom lip. The heavy weight of his cock was now evidently straining against the tight fabric of his jeans. Your non-occupied hand made its way to the outline, touching the tip with only enough force that San would know your touch is there, but not enough to give him any relief.
“Please baby—nngh, ah,” he gasped. And holy fuck he was so pretty like this. His eyes were locked shut, the furrow of his brows never faltering as he tried to rock against your hand, desperate to feel anything at this point. His swollen, perky lips opened oh so slightly to let the tiniest drop of saliva pool against the opening of his bottom lip. So needy, so pliant, and so fuckable. Just for you. You were going insane.
You used the leverage you had from pulling his hair to guide him back to your mouth, instantly grazing your tongue against his lips to know you were entering. San whined in response, giving you access to whatever you needed.
“Please what? Use your words, San-ah.” You broke free from the kiss to say, squeezing the tip of his cock through the jeans. A wet patch was already forming where the head of his cock lay against; he was already so wet. And all you did was tug his hair.
“I want to—ah, eat you out—Nngh, please… please, I need it.” San was a blabbering, hot mess. He looked at you; no, he begged you with glossy, half-lidded eyes. His breathing was ragged, and he looked so desperate like this. Like the smallest of touches would tip him over the edge. You gave him a quick nod along with an 'okay,' so quiet you could barely hear it yourself. You could barely hear anything over the loud sound of your beating heart.
You were nervous, you had to admit. This was a completely new experience to you. The few relationships you had before San were all the same: vanilla with an occasional doggy, and that was it. The thought of being in control of someone like this, of someone's pleasure, had never crossed your mind. But right now it was all you could think about. San whined at the loss of your warmth as you pulled away, but you quickly took his hand as you led him to your bedroom. Your nightlight was already on from earlier, as San had interrupted your reading session to tell you dinner was ready and served. Something about seeing San in the dim light of your bedroom just fueled your arousal even more.
San closed the door behind him as you sat down on the edge of the bed, the cool comforter a clear contrast to your hot, aching body. Since it was in the middle of June, you had decided to go for a short dark green skirt, lace covering the hem of it. It reached the middle of your thighs, not dangerously short but not long either. It simply gave you enough movement to feel comfortable and sexy; the lighter breeze it gave you in the hot weather was just an added bonus.
Your gaze never left San’s as you slowly spread your legs; the cold air that hit your aching heat made you realize just how aroused you were. You had been so focused on San and his pretty sounds, how he had just submitted to you the second he got manhandled. And oh my god, why did you not think of this sooner?
San looked at you like he was waiting for a command, for anything that would let him touch you right now. You lifted the hem of your skirt to reveal your panties, already soaked through, and motioned for San to sit down on the floor.
“F-fuck,” he growled, eyes now glued to your glistening cunt. He followed your order; of course he did. This man was so lost in his own arousal it looked like he didn’t know what to do. He licked his lips eagerly as he lowered himself enough to be at eye level with the thing he so desperately needed right now. You chuckled at his reaction.
“C-can I? Please, baby, you look so good—fuck, I know you taste so good.” And he was gone. There were no thoughts behind his fluttering eyes other than your throbbing cunt displayed so prettily in front of him. Like a full course meal he couldn’t wait to devour.
You took that as a cue to remove your panties—they were soaked anyway and served no purpose as of this moment. As you threw your panties aside, you put your hands on your thighs, making a show of spreading your legs. San looked up at you, waiting for permission to finally touch it, to devour it. You scooted a bit further towards the end of the bed to give San easier access as you leaned back on your forearms to stabilize for what was about to come.
“It’s all yours, baby, go ahead," you breathed out as your eyes carefully scanned the bigger boy in front of you. San whimpered just at the thought of it, wasting no time before devouring you.
The moment his tongue met your slick folds, he moaned like a man starved, lapping it with worshipful devotion, his whines vibrating against your clit as he lost himself in the task. Utterly devoted, utterly yours. You pulled your leg up to rest the sole of your foot on the bed, making your folds separate even further as San continued. A loud moan left your lips, throwing your head back as you reached down to thread your fingers through his hair—gripping firmly to guide the angle of his mouth exactly where you wanted it. San just moaned in content as he carried on working his tongue through your folds, a little whimper escaping here and there when you teasingly hardened the grip on his hair.
You lifted your head to see the filthy image in front of you. San was palming himself through his jeans, not hurriedly, but enough to make his own hips buck into the touch. His other arm was wrapped around the outside of your thigh as he leveraged himself. His nose, the area around his mouth, even parts of his cheeks were glistening with a growing sheen of saliva and your own arousal while his tongue worked in broad, flat strokes.
“Mhmn—’tastes so good,” he whined as he broke free to gather just enough air to allow him to keep going again. Your hips began a steady rhythm, rolling in time with the wet sounds filling the room: the soft, rhythmic lap of his tongue; the occasional choked gasp when you shifted to let him catch a full breath; and the low, continuous whine that built in his throat and traveled straight into your core.
You could feel every detail of his mouth—the rough drag of taste buds along your folds, the way his lips sealed around your clit and sucked with just enough pressure to make your thighs tense, and the slick push of his tongue curling inside as you tilted forward to grant him deeper access. Your free hand slid down your body, fingers tracing the curve of your breast, pinching a nipple lightly before traveling lower to spread yourself wider for him, holding your folds open so his tongue could lap directly at the sensitive inner skin.
Minutes stretched as you used him like this, chasing the building heat low in your belly with patient, unhurried movements. San had unbuckled his jeans without you noticing, his cock springing free against the tummy of his shirt, glistening with precum. So pretty, so wet for you.
“Such a good boy, baby—ah, just like that," you moaned and felt San’s whole body respond—hips rutting uselessly against the air, cock leaking steadily onto the floor beneath him, thighs flexing as he fought to stay still. The small, muted whimpers leaving his lips are sending vibrations deliciously through your core. He was eating you out like he was drunk—drunk on you.
But this wasn’t enough. You needed to feel him. Not just his magical tongue (cause holy fuck), but all of him. You groaned as you caught sight of his neglected cock, the tip flushed red while producing heaps of precum, begging to be touched. You sat up and used the grip on his hair to pull him away from your aching cunt. San straight up whined, his head frantically trying to find its way back to the beautiful sight in front of him.
“Up, baby, n-need you, please. Inside me, now,” you gritted out without any real power, just pure desperation to feel his throbbing cock inside you. And San growled; he growled. Fuck, you were so whipped for this man.
San yet again wasted no time as he stood up, shimming out of his jeans with a bit of resistance from the sweat sticking to his skin. Reaching back to the neck of his shirt, he quickly pulled it over his head and threw it across the room. You made your way back to the head of the bed, feeling the weight of San sink into the bed as he towered over you.
“Sit with your back against the headboard, baby. Wanna ride you.” San whimpered in response the second those words came out of your mouth. You pushed his chest and guided him to sit against the headboard of the bed, throwing your leg over his lap as you straddle him.
His cock lies heavy on his stomach as he breathes in heavy, ragged breaths. You scooted closer to where your leaking cunt was hovering just above his length.
“Mhmm—touch me, please, baby; I’ve been so good.” San whined, hips bucking up to give him any sense of relief. But his hands remained on each side of your thigh, not moving an inch despite the whimpering mess he was, desperate for any friction. The thought of teasing him flashed through your mind, but you decided it was for another time. You needed him, and you needed him now.
You shifted to make yourself more comfortable, taking San’s cock in your hand to guide it to your entrance. San’s eyes rolled back in pleasure as he moaned, finally giving his neglected cock attention. Still, he sat there without moving, panting as you lowered yourself onto him in one slow, relentless slide. The stretch pulled a broken sound from the both of you. You moved your hands to brace against his shoulders and began to move, rising until only the head remained inside before sinking down again, taking him to the hilt each time. His hands clenched hard where they rested on your thighs, veins appearing like they’d pop any minute, letting you set the pace you needed—deep grinding rolls.
You leaned forward to catch him in a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, and, fuck, it was so dirty and so hot you couldn’t help but moan into the kiss. Pulling away, you watched San’s face as you rode him in earnest. His eyes were glassy, mouth open and glistening, cheeks flushed darker than before. Every few strokes you would pause, fully seated, and clench around him, savoring the way his cock twitched inside you and the desperate whimper that followed. You could feel the sweat gathered along your spine and between your breasts.
You could feel the familiar tightness forming in your core, but it wasn’t enough. Your pace was faltering as your thighs grew tired, not realizing the tear sliding down your cheek from the sheer desperation of needing to cum. It was like San could read your thoughts as his hands suddenly grabbed your hips, gaze meeting yours as if to ask if he could take over.
“Please—nngh,” you whined, and it was the only confirmation San needed before planting his feet and fucking into you with hard, fast thrusts.
And holy fuck was he fucking you good. You threw your head back as San nibbled on your neck, wrapping his arm around your lower back to get better leverage and actually fuck the shit out of you. A mix of ah’s and oh’s was filling up the room along with hard, wet skin slapping against each other.
San suddenly reached down to circle your clit with his thumb, and the position you were both in should've made it uncomfortable for him to do it, well, comfortably. The thought of him accepting slight discomfort just to please you, to make sure you feel good, elicits a loud, almost porn-like moan from your lips. San sees it as encouragement and uses the arm around your lower back to get a better grip as he picks up the pace and fucks you so hard you're seeing stars.
San is a moaning mess too, face flushed from arousal as sweat pools on the sides of his face, dripping down to where your bodies intertwine. You can tell he's just as affected as you are when you feel his cock twitch inside you. And, fuck, he feels so good inside you, cock grazing right where you need it the most.
You're so close, heat blossoming in your core as you grow more desperate for your release. Without much thought, you clench around San's cock because it feels so good, and he's hitting all the right spots with his thumb still abusing your clit, and fuck, your orgasm hits you hard and fast—inner walls fluttering, and the tight, rhythmic squeeze pulled his own release from him—hot cum pulsing deep as his whole body twitches, and a hoarse cry tore from his throat. You stayed seated through it, rocking gently to prolong the aftershocks for both of you, until the tremors subsided and the only sounds left were your slowing breaths and the faint creak of the mattress.
You eased off him carefully, resting the side of your face on the top of his head and drawing him into your arms. His face pressed into the curve of your neck, damp with sweat and arousal, and you stroked his hair in long, soothing passes while his breathing evened out.
Outside, the city hummed on, but here the world had narrowed to the shared warmth of skin, the slowing thud of heartbeats, and the quiet certainty that the night still held hours more for whatever the two of you did next.
