Hybrid AU Masterlist
Omega (omega!seonghwa x omega!reader + others | ABO smut)
Ateez and whether or not they'd share you
Diamond (ot8 x princess!reader | Royal AU) Chapter 1 Chapter 2 (Hiatus)
Idol!Dad Ateez Universe
Ateez 9th Member AU
Hongjoong
After "The Point of No Return"
Seonghwa
Animal Crossing (smut)
For My Husband (husband!Seonghwa x wife!reader) (Preview) (Teaser 2)
Yunho
Swing to Me (non-idol!yunho x spiderwoman!reader)
Cursed by Blood (Series Preview)
Yeosang
Mint Chocolate Shakes and The Beach (non-idol!Yeosang x chubby!reader)
Alpha's Christmas Present (alpha!yeosang x omega!reader ft. alpha!wooyoung x reader)
San
Skinny San vs. Titty San Drabble
The Last Straw (angst, fluff)
A Distraction from Gaining the World Part 1 (Discontinued indefinitely)
short choi san angst
jealous san drabble
Prude (14/7/26) (New!!)
Mingi
Crazy (For You) drabble (16/7/26)
Wooyoung
Idelible (Teaser) (idol!wooyoung x txt 6th member!reader) (discontinued until further notice)
Cookie Shop (non-idol!wooyoung x reader)
Wooyoung x girl next door!reader smut
Jongho
Queen of Tears (Hiatus)
Cheer You On (soccer player!jongho x cheerleader!reader) (New!!)
Everything Preview Part 1
pairings: owner!Seonghwa x cat hybrid!reader, seonghwa x oc!Seonghwa's girlfriend (SG)
c/w: wlw, fluff!!
a/n: i hope y'all like this one ;P
When Seonghwa finally finds a partner, she's a very strong woman, and he's nervous that she won't get along with y/n at all, but he really really likes her more than any of his previous partners. He honestly jumped the gun for the first time ever, asking her to be his girlfriend before bringing her home to meet his hybrids so that he could spend more time with her just in case she and y/n really couldn't get along. He's crossing his fingers as his she (I'm not going to give her a name, but I'll call her SG and you can consider her another self-insert) walks into his apartment.
Y/n and San were cuddling on the couch, her eyes closed as San licked her neck, but they both were up when they heard the door click. Knowing that Seonghwa was bringing company over, San dipped and Y/n just threw on a hoodie, nervous to meet another one of Seonghwa's partners.
SG was somehow different, y/n could tell, when they locked eyes. She stared as SG smiled at her in a way that was genuine, but somehow different than the other excited people that would greet her upon entering.
Seonghwa was quick to introduce the two. "San is probably hiding somewhere, but this is y/n, my princess. Y/n this is SG."
Y/n bowed respectfully. "Hello, y/n, it's nice to meet you." She said softly. Y/n only hid behind Seonghwa in response. "She's very shy, but friendly, I'm sure she'll warm up." Seonghwa said, petting her head. He really hoped so, anyway.
They sat in the living room, SG on the couch and Seonghwa on the loveseat, y/n sitting by his feet.
"Go say hi, y/n-ah," Seonghwa pushed her to say hello, and SG held her hand out for her to sniff. Y/n took the invitation and after getting used to her scent, deeming it non-poisonous and actually quite nice, she pressed her head into her hand, prompting SG to pet her delicately. Seonghwa could only watch in anticipation for the rest of the date. This was the stage most people got to, so it didn't ease his worries all that much to see her petting y/n freely, but it was her next actions that had his jaw dropping and his stomach doing flips.
"You're so pretty, aren't you? Such a pretty girl," SG cooed, and y/n blushed at the praise, a bashful smile starting to form on her face. That didn't usually happen.
"Are you a good girl, too?" SG asked and y/n nodded, "I'm a good girl..."
"Then can you be a good girl and give me a kiss?" She asked, tapping a finger on her lips.
:O
Y/n's hair stood up on its ends, not from fear, but from shock, registering SG's words, before looking at an equally shaken Seonghwa for permission. He could only give a quick nod as y/n leaned up and gave SG a peck on the lips.
SG cooed happily, "Aww, such a good girl!" Y/n's tail swayed happily at the praise, blush coating her cheeks.
"Even my Yeosang at home isn't this sweet," She cooed, "Your..." She looked at Seonghwa in question, wondering how you referred to him, but when he was about to answer, y/n did instead, "Daddy."
"Your daddy is so lucky to have such a good girl like you~" She said, placing her hands on y/n's cheeks, not quite squeezing, but definitely holding back her cuteness aggression.
Never had any of Seonghwa's partners treated her like this. They'd usually bombard her with loud excitement, petting her for a good long while, but not really talking to her, before letting her go and forgetting her existence. Even the nicer ones hadn't called her a good girl or even wanted a kiss on the cheek, let alone asked for one on the lips.
SG could tell the two were quite floored with her behavior, but Seonghwa had given her a rundown on the nature of his relationship with her, so she figured if she wanted to stay in Seonghwa's life, it would be best to start building a bond with her right away, letting her be comfortable with giving affection by receiving praise.
Seonghwa almost had an excited heart attack as y/n sat by SG's feet, mindlessly tracing doodles into her stocking-clad skin with her finger as SG continued to pet her, giving Seonghwa a victorious smile.
Whatever the case may be later, SG was definitely getting some from him tonight.
A/n: he's my favorite boy
a/n2: THE HYBRID AU IS SOOOOOO BACKKKKK! Also, a lot of the Yeosang stuff was written WAY before the Yunho Mingi Jongho stuff lmao. Sorry it took so long y'all.
c/w: mentions of sex, illegal fighting ring, abuse
pairings: owner!(OC or self-insert(?)) x doberman hybrid!Yeosang
Yeosang was a more eloquent hybrid than most because he'd been born to and raise for a while by a wealthy family with showdog hybrids. But, as he had a defect, the birthmark on his face, he could not be put up for adoption from their esteemed business due to his ineligibility to participate in showdog hybrid competitions.
Since he was a doberman, he was sent off to a k-9 unit that was meant to train him for the police force, but on one unfortunate day, he and some of the other training hybrids were kidnapped from their enclosure and trafficked. Yeosang didn't know what happened to the others, but he ended up in an illegal hybrid fighting ring. His "owners" assumed he would be useful in this environment considering his breed and his experience in the k-9 unit, and while he did do moderately well there, he never finished training, so they quickly realized he was too timid for real fights after he'd been nearly annihilated in the ring, and abandoned him there.
Considering that he'd survived and his docile nature was very charming, the actual owner of the fighting ring ended up being his saving grace, taking him in and parading him around as his beloved pet. His previous owners were floored when they saw his promotion. His new owner taught him how to fight defensively, but as they had an emotional bond, he never allowed Yeosang to step foot in the ring again.
Yeosang met many many other hybrids and people in his time in the hybrid ring with all different kinds of relationships. Because of the sheer amount he'd witnessed, he ended up learning about hybrid biology despite never actually studying it, which was rare since hybrids, more often than not in this society, didn't care to learn much as opposed to living their cushy lives with their owners, so there were very few institutions in place to teach them.
Despite his demeanor not suiting the underground life, he kind of thrived there and assumed he'd be there for the rest of his life. However, in sketchy places like that, stability was impossible, so he was subsequently displaced when the fighting ring owner got busted.
Under new owners, much more cruel this time around, he wasn't keen on their treatment. He could fight, but he knew the law. There was no way they wouldn't put him down if he fought these people the way he could do in the underground, so he ran away, injured from the abuse, but free.
That's how he met SG. He had buried himself in the snow of winter, the cold flakes numbing his pain. Her kindness moved him enough to trust her and let her take him to a vet where he was patched up. She was going to leave him in their care, but he'd bonded with her in that short time, and asked her to stay. She ended up adopting him within that week, making sure that she got the proper paperwork so that if his old owners came back, they wouldn't be able to take him from her.
Yeosang wasn't excessively horny. In fact, living in such a depraved environment for so like kind of made him numb to it. He didn't crave sexual intimacy as much as he craved emotional intimacy.
But he still had ruts. SG offered to take him to a heat hotel, but he hated the idea of going to another depravity-infested place, worried he might see people or hybrids that he knew and bad people might find him again.
Then SG offered to help him herself. He took that offer. He did have his reservations about sleeping with his owner, not wanting to blur any lines; Hybrid/human relationships weren't uncommon after all, he just wasn't interested in that. She reassured him that she'd only give him want he wanted and take what he was willing to give.
Turns out he was willing to give a lot more than he expected from her.
Im a little mad that that the queue lowkey put the hybrid au fics i had lined up in the wrong order but its okay lol its just one reveal before another 🤷♀️
pairing: owner!seonghwa x ???
c/w: fluff, mentions of sex I guess, not proofread
a/n: WE ARE SO BACK WE ARE SO BACK WE ARE SO BACK WE ARE SO BACK!
The day Seonghwa sends y/n to Jongho's, it's because he has a date.
It's not unusual for him to go on dates, but considering how the last who knows how many dates have gone, he took a long break to build up his mental health again.
So naturally, after such a long time, he was nervous. Nervous not only because of that, but because the woman he was meeting today was beautiful.
There was a look in her eyes that he saw in all of her pictures that melted his bones, his stomach, his everything. When he found out she'd swiped right on him, he did not waste even a second in messaging her to ask her out, and to his delight, she seemed just as enthusiastic, saying that she would have asked him out if he didn't.
Now he was waiting in the restaurant, fidgeting with his clothes as he waited for her.
He was going to be upfront this time. San and Y/n were permanent fixture in his life, and considering how beautiful and perfect this woman already seemed to be, he didn't want to fool her or himself for even a moment if she wasn't accepting of his relationship with y/n.
But God. God, he hoped she was.
The moment he saw her, his heart exploded out of his chest. The way she walked was confident, and her smile was easy as Seonghwa stood up to greet her.
First he shook her hand, but when that felt too formal, she easily allowed him to pull her into a friendly hug.
"H-hi," he said, his nervousness charming her. "Hi, it's nice to finally meet you," she replied, her voice sounding sultry when Seonghwa was sure that wasn't even her intention.
He took her jacket, draping it on the back of the chair, and pulled the seat out for her, pushing it in as she sat.
"I want to be honest with you right off the bat," Seonghwa said, biting his lip.
His date raised her brow in a sexy way that made him hold back a groan. God, she was so hot.
"I told you I have two hybrids," Seonghwa said, fiddling with his fingers, and she nodded, "Yes."
"I want to be clear that I'm not in a relationship with either of them," he said and she tilted her head with an amused smile, "Okay."
"But my female hybrid, y/n," he breathed out, "And I'm telling you this now and not before because I really really like you and I wanted to see you at least once in person before you ghost me or decide that you might not want to be withme, so-"
"Seonghwa," her soothing voice cut through his rant as she reached over to grab his hand. His heart beat wildly in his chest as she looked at him reassuringly.
"I really really like you, too, okay?" she asked and he took a deep breath again, "So just tell me. I doubt it will be a deal-breaker, but I won't ghost you or decide arbitrarily that I don't want to be with you. I think you're a good person so far, got it?"
"If you don't want to be with me, I'd still like you stay so we can be friends and I'll still pay for your meal," he finished his spiel quietly and she chuckled, nodding.
"Y/n and I also have a physical relationship," he said honestly, and her brows raised. "She is someone who basically needs sexual intimacy to feel loved and show love, and I don't even think she really has a concept of romantic love, so I can tell you with my full honesty that it's not that kind of relationship, but... I do have an intimate relationship with her."
She tilted her head before a wide smile broke out on her face, her thumb stroking Seonghwa's thumb.
"I'm happy that you consider her needs in the way she needs them," she responded, "And that you cherish her enough to prioritize that when picking partners."
"It doesn't disgust you?" he asked, and she shook her head.
"Not even a little bit," she replied, "And if it's okay, I have a confession, too."
"Anything," he breathed, "If you can accept y/n, then you can say anything right now."
"You know I also have a hybrid," she said, now seeming nervous herself.
"Yes?" he asked slowly. "Yeosang is... he really tries, but he's not very good at interacting with other hybrids. He's had a harsh past, so he doesn't really enjoy going to heat hotels either because it reminds him of those times... so... I'm also there for him in that way."
She waited for Seonghwa to explode. Yes, he'd basically just admitted to the same thing, but she thought he might have double standards. However, her anxiety was quelled when he let out a breath of relief.
"Really?" "Yes." "That's all?" "You're not mad?" "Why would I be mad when I just admitted to the same thing??"
"I don't know!" she exclaimed, embarrassed, "Maybe you'd think it was different because I'm a girl and Yeosang is male!"
"I don't," he said firmly, though the smile on his face was kind and disarming, "It's actually a relief to hear that. You don't have a romantic relationship with him, right?"
"No, not at all," she said, shaking her head, "He's, at most, a friends with benefits and, at least, a roommate. He's not even my pet, really."
"Yeah, San is kind of like that, too," Seonghwa chuckled, "I'm glad... I'm glad, that's it. I'm happy."
"Me, too," she said, glowing, and Seonghwa could already tell that she was special.
pairings: mingi x idol!reader
genre: fluff, one-shot
a/n: I just wanted to post something so this is what I wrote like when I first started the blog, and I thought I'd write more, but I kind of like it the way it is!
You can only stare at Mingi, who's currently air drumming with pencils and engrossed in his own world, and wonder how this happened.
You honestly thought he didn't like you when you first met, and despite his assurances, you are still not convinced that he did. The cold stare he gave you when you'd knocked on the Ateez's dressing room door to give them your group's album had chilled your bones and you almost cried as you introduced your group. Thankfully, Hongjoong had come out to witness the introduction and thankfully accepted our album. (Mingi once begged Hongjoong to give it to him once you'd started dating, but Hongjoong refused).
From that moment you actually kind of feared him. You'd get nervous when he walked by, and if he noticed, he'd look at you weird. You couldn't hate him, not when he was visually exactly your type, but damn if you'd ever be caught in a room alone with him. You hadn't watched any Ateez content aside from the occasional music video or promo playing on a TV in a cafe, so you didn't know his personality outside of the cool and intense person he was when he was performing.
The day that image of him shattered was when you were in the MBC building, having just come out of the bathroom. Ateez was in the room right beside and Mingi was just coming out, the tone his voice high and scratching as he was complaining about Yunho not coming with him to do something. "COME WITH ME!" He screamed (similar to the way he yelled at Yunho for betraying him in that one show where they put flowers in each other's lockers).
He then turned his head, making eye contact with you, the weird idol girl he'd see around. He saw you stifled a laugh and immediately cover your mouth in shock before he went right back inside, slamming the door shut behind him.
When you saw him later, he avoided eye contact to an obvious degree, prompting Yunho to look in the direction he was avoiding, laughing animatedly and smacking his arm repeatedly when he saw you. You had been so embarassed that you avoided Ateez for a long time.
But for some reason, now that you had seen him to one embarassing thing, it seemed to happen all the time. You had literally witnessed him tripping over his feet as he passed you, his weird laugh when Jongho had said something while you were at the table next to him. You even watched him goofily do Hongjoong's hip movement from Crazy Form from the sidelines during showcase prerecordings as your group was up next.
Your personal favorite was when he was in the middle of a gutteral and goofy roar inside of his waiting room, facing the door as Yeosang was going inside. You'd just happened to turn your head in that direction, making eye-contact with through the crack in the door before that roar turned into a screech that was cut off by the door closing behind his fellow member.
The worst part was that every single time these things would happen, he'd somehow accidentally make eye-contact with you and freeze. You'd run away every time. He had to have hated you now that you kept seeing him in embarrassing moments. You figured you'd never talk to him for the foreseeable future.
"You have to take responsibility for me."
You looked at him dumbfounded when he'd approached you after you'd seen him miss the draw six times in a row when attempting to drink from a water bottle. "Huh?"
"Y/n, you've seen me in too many vulnerable positions and my honor is at stake. I don't think I'll ever be at peace knowing that a hot girl has seen me look like a bumbling idiot and she wasn't even my girlfriend."
"WHAT!?" "PLEASE, I'M EMBARRASSING MYSELF ENOUGH IN FRONT OF YOU. PLEASE GO ON A DATE WITH ME."
Mingi got scared as you laughed out loud at the memory.
"What?! What happened?"
"Nothing," you giggled, "I was just thinking about the time you first asked me out."
"Oh my god," he groaned, "Do not even speak to me."
"You know I thought you seriously hated me, babe."
"I did," Mingi admitted bluntly, and your mouth fell open. "Excuse me?!"
"There's a seriously thin line between love and hate, baby. I always thought you were hot and I hate hot people for no reason, they just make me angry. Then you saw me acting stupid with Yunho and I was so mad that this annoyingly beautiful woman saw me at my worst-"
"Your worst-?"
"But then I started paying attention to you and I was trying and failing to look cool in front of you but you never really made fun of me... you were always laughing and it was really cute and asked you out because I panicked."
"There is seriously something wrong with you."
"I know," Mingi sighed, "I am just crazy... for you."
Summary: No sex until marriage was a decision solely for self-preservation, and all of your friends were on the same page... until they weren't. Now instead of your fantasies being your only exposure, your friends are making it much more real, and it has you rethinking your relationship with San.
pairing: non-idol!San x f!reader
c/w: a very very vulnerable conversation about sex; the word "violent" is mentioned, but there is no violence
w/c: 3.3k
a/n: This one is for the virgins out there. keep doing what you're doing as long as it is what you wanna do, even if you feel pathetic sometimes LOL
You were a prude. You could admit it without shame, very staunch in your decision not to have sex or anything adjacent until after marriage. It turned a lot of guys away, but for the better part, the guys who were actually worth it ended up staying.
When you met San, he fell for your frankness, your honesty. You fell for the way he showed love. You'd like to attribute the dynamic as the "he fell first, she fell harder" trope but there was never a moment that San made you feel like you loved him more than he loved you.
Especially considering that with that physique, he looked like he was built for sex. You almost felt bad for depraving him of it, but he reassured you that what he wanted more than anything was a deep emotional connection, and he was more than fulfilled by the relationship he had with you.
The only problem, though. Your friends who were also once prudes, suddenly stopped being prudes.
You should have expected it, they were a lot more adventurous than you, despite never caving in to temptation for so many years, but with the right guy and at the right time, they went for it. Some of them just got fucking married just to have sex with their partners because they were almost if not just as prudish as you.
No, you were definitely more prudish. With San at your beck and call, you wouldn't think that any of your friends would have lasted, married or not.
But now that they were having sex, you were the last one of the bunch that was still a virgin, and you kind of hated it.
You weren't a prude so much in the mindset sense as much as you were a prude in the sense of safety and security. You didn't want to be used for your body and left afterward. Not that you expected San to do that, of course, but the same way you would be basically giving yourself to someone by having sex with them, you wanted your partner to give themselves to you wholly, and since San wasn't a no-sex-before-marriage guy, as most guys were, you felt like taking that willing step to be obligated to you would make up for what you'd be giving to him.
It was complicated, but it was sincere. Your body was important to you, and the thought of not knowing whether or not you could be disposable was a genuine and consistent fear. It was different for guys, and while you could very well just do the same thing guys did, trivialize sex and your virginity in order to remove its power over you, you just didn't want to.
And for San that was okay. You'd had a long talk about it before you'd even started dating, wanting to be completely up front about expectations. Before that conversation, he'd known you as a prude, not in a derogatory sense, but he didn't expect you to be so forward with that kind of conversation without being in a relationship with him first.
Of course, you wouldn't have even considered having that conversation if you weren't seriously considering being with him for the rest of your life, but maybe he was surprised because he'd felt differently. Not about you, but about dating and marriage in general up until that conversation.
Now, you were confident that you were on the same page, and San knew better than to think you were so uncomplex as to just be called a prude.
But... because you had nothing in your own experience to talk about, all your friends thought you were actually a prude.
Truth was that you loved sex. It's always the least expected who are the freakiest or something, right? But it was embarrassing to talk about your theoretical knowledge when your friends were talking about their practical knowledge.
You were quiet as you listened to them talk about all the different positions their partners would put them in. "Did you know that my leg could go behind my head? Me neither!" "Oh my gosh, I scratched the hell out of him, and I felt so bad, but he said that he liked it!" "I couldn't walk the next day. I thought that shit was a myth!"
It was pretty... vanilla? Basic? It was basic stuff, and you'd imagined doing far more nefarious things with San in the comfort of your own bedroom and sometimes in the shower, but hearing your friends' real experiences... the emotional intimacy of it all, freaky or not... the fact that it was real made you sweat a little.
You imagined it with San, your nails raking over his shoulders, your leg being pushed to the limit behind your head as he...
Oh gosh.
You almost left the sleepover early, but you couldn't since it was so rare for all your girls to be together at once like this, but that didn't mean San didn't get an earful from you when they all finally went to bed.
Holy shit, all they were talking about was sex and I had nothing to contribute.
That seems right. Lol
I know this is self-inflicted, but damn. I went 20 something years without desiring it, but now that I'm the only one not in the club, it's kind of lonely out here.
You are cute. I could always help you join the club. I have a membership.
Haha, very funny.
I know you're actually laughing.
I am.
You were giggling at your phone when your friend looked at you dazedly, seeing your smiling face illuminated by your phone in the dark.
"You know, you are pretty smitten for someone who doesn't have sex," Your friend, unmarried, said to you sleepily.
You turned to look at her. "I think that's exactly why I'm smitten," you mumbled, putting your phone down and scooting closer to face her.
Without the light, you could just hear her tired hum and the sound of her breathing.
"I dunno, you seem like you got dumbified once or twice," she chuckled, and you scoffed out a laugh, trying not to be loud. "Where the hell did you learn that word?"
"You, stupid," she chuckled, "Why don't you just go for it? You see your future with San, right? Why not just give in?"
You didn't answer. It was for all the reasons you told San you didn't want to have sex in the first place, but... those were all worries that you had before him. You weren't worried for a second that San would leave you, he'd made sure of it.
"I don't know," You murmured, "I just- I don't know."
"Think about it," she said thoughtfully, "You know I was like you, but things change."
I don't. You wanted to grumble. You were annoyingly consistent to the disappointment of many men. As in love as you were, you'd never once compromised your morals for anyone.
And, yes, the way you felt with San surpassed the way you felt with anyone before, but was that enough?
You were in San's bed as he was playing a video game as the thought plagued your mind again. He didn't play often, but since you were so busy thinking, you didn't mind not having your mind read by him for a moment. Once he looked at you deep in thought, you knew he'd say something. He was very observant when it came to you.
"I enjoy watching the things I love," he'd said softly to you one day, his voice low as if trying to seduce you, knowing full well that it wouldn't escalate to anything.
He was good at that. He was good at allowing you to feel sensual intimacy without engaging in anything physical.
"You enjoy watching?" you asked him, your voice breathless, "What does that do for you?"
"I memorize every movement," he said, leaning closer, his lips a hair's breath away from yours, "every reaction."
"But why," you insisted, and there was a glint in his eyes as he said, "I'm studying."
For what? You'd wanted to ask, but he'd kissed you before you could. It was probably better that way. Despite the endless conversations about boundaries and consent that you'd had with him, you liked it better when these feelings were left unspoken. Something you didn't need to say, something just understood.
You didn't actually need to ask him what he was studying for. You weren't stupid.
It made you giddy to think about. Almost too giddy. Your body tingled with warmth underneath his covers as you giggled at the thought.
San's ears perked at the sound, not used to you acting "girly" so to say. You were usually pretty stoic, loving attention from him while you pretended he didn't exist. It excited him whenever he saw the slightest twitch of your lips at something funny he said, or the way your fingers twitched when you wanted something from him.
But giggling to yourself wasn't a habit you usually gave him the privilege of seeing. You weren't nonchalant by any means, but you definitely didn't emote much when you thought no one was looking.
He immediately turned to look at you and you covered your face fully when you met his eyes. He couldn't help but grin. You were too cute.
"What is my jagiya doing over there?" he asked, and in your giddiness, you couldn't help but let out another uncharacteristic giggle. San's eyebrows shot up in pleasant surprise as he leaned over your covered form, arms trapping you in place on the bed.
You attempted to roll away, but San simply laid down on top of you, his body pressing you into the mattress through the blanket.
You screeched playfully and he laughed as he wrapped his arms and legs around you like a body pillow as if it was just that and not his girlfriend in the mess of fabric he was clinging to.
You could feel him snuggle his face into the blanket above your head, and you couldn't help but wiggle, making him let up for a moment so you could pull the blanket down a little to be face to face with him.
He looked down at you with such admiration it made you want to cry.
This was the perfect man.
"What are you thinking about, yeobo?" he asked, his voice like a comforting hum.
"Nefarious things," you whispered like a gremlin and he laughed, his head thrown back, genuinely not expecting you to say that.
"Take this off," he complained lightheartedly, trying to pull the blanket out of your grip, you held strong, though you knew for certain he wasn't putting his full strength into taking it from you. Eventually, he gave up and collapsed on his back on the bed, next to you.
Satisfied with the outcome of your game of tug-of-war, you threw the blanket off of you to assume a similar starfish position to his, your head barely not touching his.
"Do I have to mentally prepared for whatever you're about to say to me," he asked, and you laughed again, "I don't know."
"Tell me what you're thinking about."
You were blunt. "All my friends are having sex."
He coughed, sitting up quickly as you continued to stare at the ceiling.
"Okay," he sputtered, "I'm happy for them?"
"We had this conversation like two days ago," you huffed.
"Yeah, over text," he grumbled, "Hearing your voice say the word sex always gives me shell shock."
You couldn't help but smirk in amusement when you looked at him, "What?" Your tone was that of intrigued disbelief.
"You usually talk about it so clinically, when your tone is relaxed and you talk about sex, my body doesn't know how to react," he groaned, falling now face first against the bed.
"Aww," you cooed, "Does it make you excited?"
"Yeah, a little," he grumbled, "Anyway, continue. Why are you thinking about your friends having sex."
"Ew, don't say it like that," you groaned, slapping his shoulder, and he laughed against the sheets.
"I don't feel left out of the club," you started, referring to the conversation you had the other day, then turned your head to look at him shyly, "but I guess I do feel a little behind."
"Behind?" he asked, brows furrowed as he got up to sit on his hands and knees, face above yours, "What are you talking about?"
"I dunno," you hummed, "I wanted to contribute something, anything, but it's a step that I haven't taken yet when I know very well that I could just..."
You looked him dead in the eyes as you murmured, "...ask."
"Yes," he agreed, "You could just ask and I'd be on my knees for you," he said, and you smiled pulling his shirt. He let you maneuver him to other side of you, laying down to face you.
"I am very well aware," you whispered, pulling his shirt so that you could press your lips to his. He grinned into the kiss as he intimately peppered chaste kisses on your lips. He eventually shifted to hover over you, his kisses deepening with the position.
You let out a content sigh, and he pulled away to look you in the eyes and put his hand on your face. His thumb stroked your cheek in a tender way that would usually make you squirm, but you decided that receiving his affection gratefully was more important than cringing away from him due to your inability to handle the erratic beating of your heart at the gesture.
"Are you seriously thinking about that?" he asked, "Having sex?"
"Don't act like you don't know I'm always thinking about it," you huffed with an annoyed but cute pout, making him kiss your bottom lip again.
You stretched underneath him, your arms reaching above your head as you continued, "But I guess hearing real stories instead of indulging in my imagination made me think differently."
"Is that so?" he chuckled.
"Yes," You said honestly. "Can I tell you something that I haven't told you before?"
"Like, a secret?" he asked, sitting up on his knees. You sat up with him, shaking your head, your hair cascading around your face in a way that had San's heart swooning.
"More like a fear?" you asked softly.
His brows furrowed in concern, taking your hand in both of his and massaging your palm with his fingers.
"Of course you can," He said, "What's going on?"
"Nothing, nothing," You reassured him, "I'm fine. But I guess..."
You let out a sigh, scooting closer to him. "I know I talk about sex a lot with you," you murmured, pressing your head against his heart, letting him wrap his arms around you. "I think I spoke about it so clinically because it allowed me to remove it from the emotions that can be associated with it, one of them being fear."
"Mm-hmm," He hummed for you to continue.
"The idea of it is so enticing," you admitted, "the ideal version of what it should be... but in practice, I've always felt that it was so inherently violent."
"Do you think I would be violent with you?" he asked and he felt you shake your head again against his chest.
"I think that's the only reason I'm starting to consider it more seriously," you murmured, "Regardless of consent, it's still a violation, a breach of my body. I think I've always been scared of feeling like that was the case in actual practice."
He squeezed you a little tighter. "Especially since I've never been with anyone, but you have... I don't hold that against you, but..."
"I understand," he reassured you, "It's different for you."
"In a morbid way, it's like... imagine if getting stabbed was a pleasurable experience," you said, and he couldn't help his chest from rumbling a bit in humor, "I'd still be the one getting stabbed, you know?"
"I see," he said, nodding his head. "And that's not even mentioning that sex, despite it being a pleasurable experience, can still hurt!" you whined, chin on his chest as you looked up at him.
"Y/n," he said softly, "I'd be abstinent for the rest of my life if that was what you wanted."
You smiled at him, "I know."
"So you don't have to be afraid," he said, running his fingers through the hair along your scalp, soothing you.
"It wasn't a real fear... just... something underneath the surface," You reassured him, "A fear that I knew would leave me with time or experience."
"But you'd have faced that fear alone if you hadn't told me," he murmured empathetically, "If I found out later, I don't think I'd take it well, knowing that you'd gone through that alone, even when I was right there."
You let yourself bask in his love and gentle words for a moment. You loved this man.
"I don't think you have to worry about it that much, anymore," you told him, "I don't think I'm afraid anymore..."
"And why the sudden change of heart?"
"If my friends, who were once like me, could open their hearts and allow the person they love inside... why can't I do that with you when I know that no one could ever love another person as much as I love you."
San's heart swelled at your words. "Y/n-" "I don't think I've ever felt safer with anyone else in my life, Sannie."
"You're going to make me cry," he murmured, turning his face for a moment and bringing his fingers to his eyes.
"Nooo, don't cry," you chuckled, reaching up to pull his face towards you. His teary eyes pulled at your heart and made your stomach swoop in a dangerous way.
"So, ultimately," you admitted, "I felt behind because I was so scared of sex that I didn't consider that the act would be with you."
He pulled away for a moment to playfully squint his eyes at you in suspicion.
"Then who's in your fantasies??" You barked out a laugh. "I was objectifying you in my fantasies. You were basically just a meat stick."
"Ah-" he cut off his own noise of understanding to make a face at you that you laughed at.
After your laughter calmed down he moved to sit back in his bed, looking at you seriously. "So, what is your new conclusion, then? What is changing or what do you want me to take from this?"
You were quite for a moment.
"We are going to get married."
If San had been in a relationship this long with any other girl, he'd have choked at the suddenness, but with you, he was not even slightly swayed. It was the expectation from the beginning that he was only more and more sure of as time passed.
"Yes," he confirmed, and you nodded your head affirmatively.
"Then... I don't see why that door has to be closed anymore," you said honestly, "So... if it ever happens that we are in that position... and we want to go further... I'd like to explore that with you."
San searched your eyes for any sign of doubt or unsureness but found none, and a smile broke out onto his face.
"That sounds good to me," he said, his arms outstretched for you to fall into them. You snuggled into his neck, leaning up to kiss the dimples in his cheeks.
"Wait-," San suddenly said, "Does that mean after we do it, you're going to go and tell all your friends?"
You pretended to think for a moment, "No." San stared at you, clearly not believing you before you grinned. "I'm going to go and brag to all my friends."
San's lips pursed, putting his hand on your face again, his thumb touching your bottom lip, "I like that."
"I thought you might," you hummed, satisfied.
-------------------------------------------
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Summary: When moving on becomes fathomable for you and Jongho in different ways.
pairings: dad!idol!jongho x mom!idol!reader, jongho x oc!daughter
c/w: angst, divorce, nothing bad this chapter, not proofread
w/c: 3.6k
Realistically, you knew Jongho was right. Aside from the one moment he'd ruined your life, he had usually always been right. And so, subsequently, the forbidden feeling of what had happened between the two of you loomed over your head every time you took care of Eunji.
The guilt was weighing you down. You feel fatigued as if the feeling was swallowing you whole.
You didn't want to give Eunji hope that you and Jongho would ever be together again, but it was more realistic that you didn't want to give yourself that hope. It would only hurt everyone all over again. The feelings and circumstances were too complicated, all about pride and humility and "doing the right thing."
It honestly gave you a headache.
And some other parts of you were aching, too.
Curse that Jongho for giving you a taste of something he had no intention of giving you again.
On the flip side, Jongho was uncharacteristically rotting at his mom's house. Being at his apartment was too depressing and lonely when Eunji was at your place. And even though his mother was still treating him like a homeless bum squatting in her house for what he'd done to you, it was at least better than being alone.
It was a self-inflicted loneliness, but that didn't mean it hurt any less.
Honestly, he felt like a teenager. Back in his old bedroom, staring at the ceiling as he imagined all the ways he wanted to be with you like a lovestruck, hormone pumped, pubescent kid.
It wasn't like he could go back to the company either. He was forced to be on hiatus until the online backlash died down or until he could get his shit together and come up with a statement that could resolve his sins in the eyes of Atiny.
He was seriously scum to a lot of them now.
Honestly, even if you came out and publicly stated that you forgave him, he didn't think anyone would believe you. Who could forgive what I did?
He sighed, turning in his bed and closing his eyes. Yeah. This was his fault. He deserved this. He deserved to be alone.
His mom peeked into his room when she had called him three times and he hadn't come down. His breathing was heavy, he wasn't sleeping.
Then she heard him choke on a breath.
"Oh, my son," she sighed. Jongho didn't say anything as his mother came over to sit by him. She had been upset with him since your last visit, but she hadn't considered how upset he truly must have been with himself.
Jongho had never loved anyone but you, after all.
He wasn't one for affection, but the moment he felt his mom's hand slowly stroking his back, he squeezed his eyes tighter, really feeling like a kid again as he tried his best to cry as quietly as possible.
Maybe he was right that they shouldn't be together, but how could being right feel so wrong?
The next time you saw Jongho was before school started for Eunji. You hadn't talked about it, purposely not sending her to hang out with her friends or do extra-curriculars in the summer while the whole drama was going on online. The excuse was that they wanted her to spend more time with you to make up for the past years.
But now that school was right around the corner, you both had to suck it up and talk.
Jongho appeared at your door to pick up Eunji who groaned at the sight of him.
"I don't wanna go home with you!" she complained and Jongho chuckled, rolling his eyes.
"Okay, I'll tell halmoni to throw the kimchi jjigae in the garbage," he said with a shrug and her head whipped around, eyes wide as her mouth watered at the thought.
"Sorry eomma, I have to go back," she said matter of factly, running to her new room (you had converted the guest room), to get her things.
You smiled at her as Jongho came to stand next to you.
He didn't dare touch you.
"We should talk about what we're going to do for her school."
Your heart twisted. "You're really comfortable with sharing input on that decision? You've been doing it alone for so long."
"I am," he said simply, creating an obvious distance between the two of you. He wanted to pour out his words of praise and self-loathing about how he should have been doing it with you this whole time and it felt more right to make decisions with you than without you, but what would that achieve?
Being friendly led to problems more complicated than just co-parenting. Being civil was the only option.
You pressed your lips together and nodded, "You can sit."
Jongho sat on the couch across from you and you let out a breath.
"Were you thinking of anything particular that you wanted to do?" Jongho asked, "About Eunji's school."
"I don't want her to know about anything that's happened, not even the slightest chance of it," you said, very firm in your words, "But Eunji is so social and energetic... I don't think taking her out of school would benefit her..."
Jongho was surprised, adding his two cents, "I was actually considering the home-school route. Mingi's wife homeschooled Jiyeon her whole life."
"I know, but... I wouldn't know where to start with doing it myself, regardless."
"No, I would never expect you to change your life to that extend, y/n," Jongho said, shaking his head, "I brought it up to Mingi and he said that she was dying to take on another student and feel like she was in a classroom again."
"Oh," you said, thoughtfully.
"You know about Minjun, right?" Jongho asked, and you smiled fondly.
"Yes," you hummed. "Eunji wouldn't be alone if they're doing school together, and she'll have Jiyeon around, too."
"I don't know," you sighed, "I still wouldn't want to burden them. I'm sure they won't feel burdened, but... I still don't think it's enough for Eunji."
Jongho sighed. It was a complicated situation. Eunji was way too outgoing to be homeschooled. She'd likely get bored easily and take it out on poor Minjun.
"If we send her to school, she's guaranteed to hear something," you said softly, biting your nails. Jongho wanted to take your hand away from your mouth, but he couldn't cross the boundaries that he'd set up in the first place. Damn, being civil is so hard.
He had half a mind just to tell Eunji about his sins so you wouldn't have stress over it, but he knew Eunji would probably never forgive him if she knew the true result of his mistakes.
But she'd find out one day. He still didn't know how he'd managed to keep it from her so far. Maybe she didn't want to know. Maybe she wanted to love both of her parents without worrying, even if they weren't together.
"We don't- We don't have to decide right now if it's stressing you out. How about... how about we do a trial run?" he said.
You looked at him unsurely and he could help but smile at you reassuringly. "We'll do a year or less of time with Eunji doing homeschool, and if she doesn't respond well to it, we can always re-enroll her."
"That's true," you said thoughtfully.
"Okay, I'm ready!" You were taken out of your thoughts by Eunji who came back in the living room.
"Look, appa, eomma got me cool science pins," she said, flaunting her backpack at her father.
"Woah," Jongho said in awe, "Those are so cool."
"My friends are going to be so jealous when I see them," Eunji giggled snarkily, and you and Jongho both looked at each other unsurely.
Eunji picked up on it immediately and scoffed.
"You guys are always weird when you're here!" she exclaimed, "What is it now?"
You and your ex-husband had a silent conversation with your eyes.
Do you want to tell her?
No, way, she hates me enough.
You're the one who had it all planned out.
Yeah, but you're the one who doesn't want her to find out.
You sucked in a pissed breath through your nose and Jongho grinned triumphantly.
"Eunji... can I ask you something?" you said tentatively. She side-eyed you. The insecure little girl inside of her worried that you were thinking about leaving again. She didn't like it when you were serious. But she took what you said seriously. You were never going to leave again.
So she nodded, "What is it?"
"You know that appa is a singer, right?" you asked, and she nodded. "Duh."
You chuckled, "And you know he's famous?"
"Yeah," she said, tilting her head, "Well, there are some things happening with the the company right now, and me and appa were thinking that maybe you should wait a little bit to go back to school."
Eunji furrowed her brows and looked at you confused. "What does that mean? Like... more summer holidays?"
"Well, no," You explained, "You'd still be learning, but-"
"Oh, okay," she said with relief, "My friends are annoying anyway. They're always trying to talk to me in class while I'm listening and then I get in trouble!"
"So annoying!" Jongho agreed enthusiastically and you couldn't help but chuckle.
"So you'd be okay if you were homeschooled?" You asked her and she shrugged, "Yeah. I don't care."
"You are too easy going," You huffed, "And here I was worrying for nothing. I thought you were going to be mad!"
"I go to school to be smart, not for friends. I can have friends at soccer camp," she said with a shrug.
"That's my girl. Brains before besties," Jongho said with a proud nod and she looked at him disgusted.
"That was so cringe, appa." He only chuckled.
"So you promise you're okay with it?" you asked her, "If you hate it, we can always put you back in school."
"Yeah! I can hang out with Minjun," she said, shrugging, and she nodded, "He's cool."
"Okay," you breathed out, "He's nice? You like him?"
"Yeah. He's nice, eomma. You should meet him, too," Eunji said, patting your arm suspiciously reassuring for a 9 year old girl.
"Then that's what we'll do then. We can talk to your friends' parents to set up playdates if you want to," you said, but she shrugged, "Okay." It didn't seem that she cared all that much.
You pulled her in and bombarded her with a barrage of kisses, making her giggle as she tried to push you away. "I'm gonna miss you," you admitted to her, "I love you."
"I love you, too, eomma. I'll come back soon!" she exclaimed. You pressed a few more kisses to her cheeks and Jongho wondered how things had changed so much.
Aside from recently, he couldn't really remember the last time the thought of Eunji had brought you joy. Once upon a time, you didn't even want to be Eunji's mother, so deep in your simultaneous self-deprecation and self-preservation that you found it best to just remove yourself for the greater good.
Did you know that you had been depriving yourself of this love? Did you know that you were depriving Eunji of it?
More importantly, did he knew that he'd deprive you both when he decided to leave you that day? Of course he didn't. So of course you didn't. There were no correct answers.
There were no correct answers.
The drive home was silent as he thought about it. Eunji, once upon a time, would fill up the space with her chatter, but now that she'd lost hope, for the most part, that her parents would ever get along, she opted not to talk about you to Jongho and vice versa. She'd come to that conclusion all on her own, not wanting to rock the boat anymore.
So even if her father hurt her mother, at least they were separated so they wouldn't have to hurt each other anymore.
It made her sad to think she'd never get the fairytale love story between her parents like the movies and some of her friends portrayed, but she was at least happy that she had both parents now, instead of just one.
Jongho had minimal contact with you in the next few weeks, and you wondered if he'd finally accepted that you two were nothing but co-parents with no feelings attached. He'd seemed pretty civil when he'd come to the apartment to talk about Eunji's school, almost as if you were a female staff member that he was just collaborating on a project with.
You didn't know how to feel about it. Obviously you loved him, despite everything, and even if he thought it was best you weren't together, you thought he'd at least want to be someone close to you to make up for all the lost time. Or maybe that was just your wishful thinking. Why would he make up for the lost time he threw away himself in the first place.
You huffed at the thought as you knocked on Mingi's door. Eunji was going to do a test run with Minjun and his mother to see if they were a good fit academically.
You hadn't seen your friend in a long time. Any of them, Jongho's members' wives, really. Once upon a time, you'd been almost closer to them than you were to your own members who long lost contact with you in order to preserve their image, ultimately disbanding after realizing that you were the person who kept them together in the first place.
You didn't like to think back on your idol days, too much. It felt like a dream that were forcibly woken up from, leaving an intense fatigue in its wake. Your idol life, your members, it was all something you would never be able to get back, even if you wanted to. They moved on, you moved on, and you'd been given a found family in Jongho and his members.
Another family that had been forcibly ripped away from you.
But now that you were back, you wondered if they still thought of you fondly. You wondered if the woman you'd met so long ago as Jiyeon's nanny would regard you with warmth when she saw you or if she would consider you as someone who was unstable, someone who abandoned Eunji.
Eunji noticed your racing thoughts on your face. She didn't know what to do, much like her father, so she simply hugged your waste and leaned her head on your hip, making you look down at her.
You patted her head with a warm smile. You wondered that even if they did think all those terrible things about you that you assumed they might, Eunji's sincere love was all that you needed, and maybe they'd see that too.
But all your worries were quelled when the door opened and the now Mrs. Song opened the door to find you standing there.
She looked at you for a moment, blinking once, then twice, before a full blown smile stretched across her face and she pulled you in for a hug.
You didn't have many female friends. You didn't have any male friends either, of course, but feminine friendship was something you didn't' realize you had missed so dearly, trumped by how much you'd been missing Jongho.
You wrapped your arms around her, tight as if you two were childhood friends having a reunion after twenty years, when really it had only been 11 years since you met and 9 since you'd seen each other. Still a significant amount of time, but you didn't realize how much love you'd had outside of Jongho, too, at the time.
She pulled away to look at you properly, her hands finding your cheeks as she breathed out.
"I can't believe you're real. You're actually here, y/n!"
"I am," you said softly, "It's been a long time."
"And I hate you for that," she pouted, "I know Jongho's the worst, but I loved you, too, you know."
You gaped, and she couldn't help but laugh, "Come inside!"
You'd forgotten how forthcoming she could be, and memories flooded back as you remembered Jongho telling you about how they ended up together as it was actively happening. You witnessed the love that created Minjun in real time.
You were once a part of this group, but your mental health had declined so rapidly that you didn't even consider them when you and Jongho separated all that time ago.
"Wow," you breathed out as she handed you a mug of hot tea. Your eyes widened at the familiar smell of spices and you looked at her in awe.
"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" she chuckled, "Since you'd had a hot cup of my special recipe?"
"So long," You breathed, pouting with genuine sadness.
"JUNNIE!" she suddenly yelled very loudly, "COME MEET EUNJI'S MOM!"
You heard the sound of hasty steps coming down to see you and you couldn't help but look at the little boy who appeared in awe.
"Woah!" you laughed, feeling as if a part of your heart that had unknowingly been dislocated all this time suddenly snap back into place.
"Hi!" he said cutely and you reached yoru hands out hesitantly, looking at his mother for quick permission that she granted before your fingers found his cheeks, pinching them. "Oh my gosh, you look just like Mingi-ssi."
He yelled in despair, "NOOOOO, I want to look like mom!"
Said mother smacked him gently in the head making Eunji laugh at him tauntingly, causing him to glare at her. You raised your eyebrow inquisitively at your friend and she chuckled, "They're frenemies. It's all harmless."
"Okay," You hummed, "Are you sure you're okay with teaching Eunji? I don't want to burden you."
"Of course not, y/n. Never," she said, sitting next to you and placing her hand firmly over yours, "Besides, Jiyeon was partially responsible for the reason she needs to stay home in the first place, so consider it Mingi and my apology."
"Now that is something you shouldn't feel even a little bad about. I'm happy that Eunji trusts Jiyeon that much, but I'm equally as happy that Jiyeon had the emotional intelligence not to tell her. You have an incredible daughter," you sighed thoughtfully.
"Thank you," she said, nudging you with your shoulder, "So do you."
"I had no part in that," you chuckled morbidly, "She's perfect all on her own."
"Hey," she tutted, "Whether you were there or not, she still has your traits. You still created her and that's incredible, too. Okay? Don't let whatever you're telling yourself convince you that you did not contribute at all to the brilliance of that little girl."
There was an easy about being here in the company of another woman, another mom, a friend that for some reason didn't make you want to cry. Instead you looked at her, an almost teasing smile on your face as you said, "How are you so good with words?"
"I'm a teacher," she replied and you let out a breath of relief, "I don't think Eunji will be any more eloquent than that if she has anyone but you teaching her. I still feel bad though."
"What will convince you otherwise?" she asked, rubbing your arm, "They're friends, I love teaching, Eunji is, I'm assuming, okay with the transition so far?"
"Yeah," you sighed, "I just don't like that I'm changing her life so drastically after finally being with her after so long. I don't want her to think that things will never feel normal again because I came in and bulldozed back into her life..."
"Do you know what is supposed to be her normal?" she suddenly asked. And you looked at her questioningly, "Her normal is supposed to be having two loving parents in her life in whatever way that looks like. I know she treated you horribly in the past, but all she has wanted in the last 9 years was to have you back. She's like Jongho in that stubborn nature of hers, but she came around, didn't she?"
You hummed thoughtfully in confirmation.
"I think she knew her life would change the moment you came back into her life, and I don't think she wants it any other way."
You pondered it for a moment, not thinking that Eunji could have such complex thoughts at such a young age, but then you remembered how she must have had to grow up a little quicker, not having a mother, you, around. That on top of being Jongho's daughter, a man who prided himself, maybe a little too much, on his intelligence.
"You're right," you said, breathing out a sigh of relief. She giggled victoriously, "I know."
"Okay, so," she said, standing up, "Let me walk you through the curriculum and see where Eunji is at."
You stood up with her and proceeded to do just that with them.
Being with Jongho, be it before or after he left you, always felt heavy. There was a depth to your relationship with him that never let you felt so easygoing as you did when you were with your friends. Sure, you'd only met her through Jongho, but that didn't change anything for you.
This was the community that you needed when you didn't have Jongho to rely on anymore.
And by the end of the day you felt that maybe not being with Jongho as he was back in your life wouldn't be such a bad thing if you could have this again. As long as you could be civil with him, you could have this again... and for the first time, you felt content without your ex-husband.
That was the first time you'd acknowledged him as your ex in a conscious way.
And you felt a hope bloom in your heart that maybe you could finally move on.
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🎤︎︎ wooyoung x fem!reader | college au, mini-series, part 10/?
🎤︎︎ 18+ | 10.7k words | reader is the host of a sex podcast, wooyoung is the only man ever and a frat boy whore | thank you again for 5k <3 my heart is so full!! this one is dedicated to my sugarplum @svgaplvm ᢉ𐭩 wooyo & baseball is how u summon her in case anyone was wondering
“CONFESSION TIME. But I need everyone to be really normal about it, okay? I asked someone for sex advice four days ago. You heard me right, sex advice, the thing I come on here and talk about weekly. Another thing I need everyone to be really normal about– the guy I asked, I’ve hooked up with before. And I asked him for advice about the guy I’m currently hooking up with. I think I’ve reached a new, different kind of rock bottom… like, deeper than rock bottom. I don’t know where that is, but I’m there, it’s where I live now, in case you guys ever want to come searching for me or something.”
“Do you guys remember Mister Tall from my zip-tie episode? Yeah, me too. Turns out he’s actually Mister Tall and Dominant, but he wasn’t being dominant with me, or at least not as much as he wanted to be. It’s like I could smell it on him, but he wouldn’t do it, like he was holding himself back or something. Now, the obvious answer is to say, ‘Hey, Mister Tall and Dominant, why won’t you just fuck me the way you want to?’ and then it’s a done deal, right? You talk about it, you fix it, sex gets better, you move on. But because my brain works a very specific and certain way, my thought process was: how can I get him to do it, without telling him to? Because apparently just saying the words is a fucking death sentence.”
“It’s all very silly and stupid, and I should have just brought it up to him. He’s a sweetheart, and the moment I told him it was like a switch had flipped. I didn’t know you could have such an extensive conversation about kinks, I didn’t realize how many actually exist, how long a conversation could be about it. I like to think I’m pretty well-versed, but apparently I am not. Let’s just say I’m still learning about kinks, especially about the ones I like the most. The last four days have been very… active for me. My ass hurts. Still. But I’m getting off-topic now.”
“Have you ever had someone straight up ask you what you want, and you can’t answer? You can’t verbalize exactly what you enjoy, you rely on experience, you know what feels good when it’s happening. But when you’re not in the moment, when you’re standing outside of it, what the fuck do you want? What the fuck do you like? It’s weird, it’s like my brain shuts off. I think that’s why I asked the other guy, the one I hooked up with before, because in a very weird and strange and off-putting way, he knows me. I still can’t comprehend how he knows me, if I look back and analyze every interaction we’ve ever had, there’s no logical reason for why he knows me so well. I must be easy to read or something, I don’t know.”
“At first, I thought I asked him for advice because he’s a pretty active guy. And by active, I mean he’s had sex with everyone and their mother, I mean, you’ve probably fucked him. I am not using hyperbole here, I am so serious when I say every-fucking-body. If you need sex advice, you ask the sex guy, right? Logical. I have friends I could have asked, fuck, I could’ve asked on this fucking podcast and had you guys send in your goddamn advice, but I asked him. And it’s sitting with me in a heavy way, why I made that choice, why I trust his advice before even asking for anyone else’s. And the logical reason is because he’s the sex guy, right? But the more I think about it, it’s because he knows me, I trust him. Do you guys fucking know what he told me? That I’m not submissive. What the fuck? He basically said I’m someone who needs to fuck, not someone who needs to be fucked. Again, what the fuck?”
“It’s kinda weird, it’s like he knows me without me giving him permission to know me. I think I always thought that being learned is a conscious thing, like, a choice you make. You tell people your secrets, you show them your vulnerable side, you cry, you laugh in front of them, and they pocket all of these different facts about you. What about when it’s not your own choice? When you accidentally show sides of yourself that you don’t mean to, and now some guy has all this random-ass information about you. He knows what you like, who you are, what you look for, and they’re all facts that you didn’t mean to give him, and they’re all true. It’s fucking weird. But now I trust him, and he’s not someone who seems like he… could be trusted, I guess. I’m not really even sure if he knows my name.”
You pause, thinking. Then you laugh a little, because your listeners don’t press play on your podcast to listen to silence, and a tiny laugh breaks up the seriousness of it all. “That was a lie, he definitely knows my name. I think. I know some things about him too, I guess, weird shit, though. I know his phone number, his Instagram username. I know at least five people that he’s slept with. I know why he fucks so often… kinda. I know when he’s lying, or when he’s intentionally trying to piss me off, I know the difference between his insults. Sometimes they’re real–and they fucking hurt–but sometimes he’s just deflecting, or he wants to get out of the conversation. I know he’s a fucking asshole. I know that he doesn’t like being understood, he fucking hates it if you even come close to knowing what’s underneath all the bullshit– I know– I know it bothers him that I never know what I want.”
Your brows furrow, irritation bubbling in your gut. “But why does that even bother him? None of my choices affect him, nothing I do should matter. Why does he even care? I could literally go the rest of my life letting other people make my own choices for me, and it would have no effect on his life whatsoever. Why is he so interested in knowing? You know, I’ve actually never wondered that, why he even gives a fuck. He came to my–”
You cut yourself clean off, eyes widening. “I’m losing track because he actually pisses me off more than anyone I’ve ever met in my entire life. This outro today is full of my rambling, I’m so sorry if you’re sitting at home thinking what the fuck is she talking about? My bad, for real. Anyways, the point is that I brought it up to MT&D, and he’s been fucking me right ever since, thanks to Mister Piss-Me-Off. I guess. Mister Tall is a good guy, I think the only guy who’s ever put so much into me, figuratively and literally. He lets me figure my shit out on my own, he lets me bring it to him, and he accepts all of it, even me. He’s patient, he’s kind, he’s a fucking sweetheart and I probably don’t deserve him. But I have him, so no one else can, and I’m not sorry about it.”
“I hope you all have a great night, or a great rest of your day, whatever time it is for you. Sorry that the think piece today was… whatever the fuck that was, but it was unscripted, as always.”
You press stop on your laptop. You spent the whole first forty-five minutes talking about backshots which led to libidos which led to fucking Viagra before the confession segment, and for some reason, you don’t really feel the need to listen to it all again. The pauses, the stuttering, everything could stay today. You pull up Spotify, and before you know it, the episode is uploaded.
You check your phone and your lock screen is lit up from notifications, forty fucking two from the group chat Yunjin added you to last night. She planned a night out this Friday, or, Jihyo planned it for one of the girls she’s friends with. The invitation was offered to you and Yunjin, so she passed it along to San, Wooyoung, Yunho and the rest of their frat, who were all now in this orgy of a fucking group chat on your phone. You, Yunjin, and eight men. Eight.
You don’t even read the messages. You pull up your thread with Yunho and see three silver bubbles awaiting your reply.
yunho: is ur car still making that noise?
yunho: i have class at 4 but im free after. oh fuck u work today right
yunho: im going to class now but i can look at it after class!! come over after ur done work
You smile at your screen, immediately typing back.
you: yes it is im scared pls fix it handy man
you: did u ever watch handy manny growing up
you: lowkey thats u
you: but yes ill come over after work have fun at class <3
Checking the time, you realize you’re supposed to be at work in thirty minutes. Thirty.
“Oh, fuck,” you mutter under your breath, shooting up out of your bed like gravity doesn’t apply to you. Racing around your room that was now dirty again, you search for a bright purple collared shirt and a clean pair of jeans. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you repeat under your breath, ripping through the pile of clothes on your floor, no longer caring if what you grab is dirty or clean. You need to do fucking laundry.
You didn’t check the cleanliness of either article of clothing before throwing them on your body, rushing to your bathroom to fix your hair, and applying a little makeup before your shift. There’s a lot of people who go to the gym you work at, a lot of beautiful, gorgeous people. Filling your water, throwing a snack into your purse, you rush out to your car that seems angry at you for even trying to drive it.
“Be nice to me,” you order from the driver’s seat, ignoring the singular, loud click, and the grinding noises that follow when you throw the transmission into drive. You don’t even turn music on for your quick trip, you’re too close to being late, and for you, arriving anytime after fifteen minutes before your shift is considered late.
You’re reminded no one gives a fuck when you walk inside, throwing your purse under the counter, placing your water where you always keep it, beside the monitor that shows you everyone who scans in. You greet the coworker you’re relieving with a smile, clock in, and even though your nervous system just experienced twenty different levels of adrenaline, it all calms when you stand behind the counter, prepared to do absolutely fucking nothing for the next four hours.
The last hour of your shift is when you actually leave the counter. Re-racking weights, mopping the floors, sanitizing machines, it’s easy shit, it’s why you applied in the first place. They don’t give you an extreme amount of hours, the work is the exact opposite of grueling, and you get to stare at gorgeous, muscled people for hours. It’s an easy, well-paying job that you don’t mind working, especially when you get snippets of campus gossip when people walk inside.
The first hour, the gossip makes you feel uneasy. Two women scanned in, giggling about Mister Tall and Dominant and Mister Piss-Me-Off. You had to will your face from going pale as you smiled at them, acknowledged them while they scanned their student IDs.
Then the second, two guys you’ve never seen before smacking each other’s chests about how you can’t trust bitches. You had curses on your tongue, ready to fire before you heard the rest– even Unscripted is a fucking cheater. You actually gasped at that, then they looked at you like you had three heads, so you forced your expression back into neutral. A cheater?!
In the third hour now, you can’t stop scrolling social media, typing Unscripted in every search bar you can think of. It’s filled with discourse: MT&D vs. PMO, is emotionally cheating the same as physically cheating, who is Unscripted, there’s a fucking megathread on r/Unscripted.
“Wow, playing on your phone on the clock? Should I call your manager?”
You smack your phone down face-first against the counter, caught red-handed. Wooyoung stands in front of you, a lazy smirk on his lips, hair pulled back off his tanned, angled face, gym bag over his shoulder. He’s covered in droplets of rain, in your deep internet dive you didn’t even notice that it was pouring outside, slamming against the concrete just beyond the clear, gym doors. Fitting.
“Fuck off,” you sneer, pushing yourself off the counter, crossing your arms. Friends again, yes, but you fear your dynamic might never change from exactly this.
His brow lifts, making sure you see him curiously glancing down at your phone. “Whatcha lookin’ at? Something you shouldn’t be looking at while you’re working?”
“You’re gross,” you throw back at him, picking up on what he’s insinuating. “You haven’t been here to run at night in weeks.”
“Drama,” he sings. “It’s been, like, a little over a week, I just haven’t felt like it.” He throws his elbows over the counter, head tilting as he teases, “Look at you, paying attention to what I’m doing. Do you time me, too?”
You thin your eyes, “I do, and I think you’re really brave for running in public.”
His lips part, brows scrunching, “What’s that supposed to mean?” You immediately laugh, and he stands up straight again, palms braced on the counter. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Come talk to me when you can run a five-minute mile,” you’re still laughing as you say it.
“I run a six-minute mile!” he argues, voice raising in pitch, clearly offended.
“Then go run it, asshole.” You point towards the treadmills. “Stop bothering me while I’m on the clock.”
“Fine,” his lips tighten before a smile curves them again. “Wouldn’t want to take you away from your amateur, homemade videos.”
You roll your eyes, forgoing an answer. Wooyoung leaves and you pick your phone back up instead of starting your closing duties, opening the subreddit and scrolling.
MT&D/PMO MEGATHREAD – KEEP ALL DISCUSSION HERE
unpopular opinion: tall & dominant deserves sm better
Theory: I think PMO is the overstimulation guy
is anyone else wondering who PMO is? if he’s fucked everyone, someone has to know him
“I trust him” LMAOOO she bouta get her heart broken again grab ur popcorn yall
You curse under your breath. Maybe you shouldn’t have clicked post so quickly. Maybe you should have at least listened to the episode before letting the fucking internet get to it first. There’s still no way to connect it back to you, so you take a calming breath, run your fingers through your hair, and leave your phone under the counter while you start your closing rounds.
Your calming breath does absolutely fucking nothing to help you. All you can do is think while you work, you didn’t even notice Wooyoung leaving, and surprisingly, he didn’t bother you before he left. He probably assumes he’ll see you back at his house, which he will, if you can get the fuck out of this building. When you come back to your phone, you’re scared that you’ll touch the screen and a million messages of ‘are you Unscripted?’ will pop up one after another. Instead, it’s just the stupid fucking group chat that you still refuse to open.
Instead, you open Spotify, and your heart sinks immediately when the numbers next to your episode are already outperforming every other episode you’ve ever posted. The spike is alarming enough that you shove your phone into your back pocket, sprint around the gym to shut all the lights off, and grab your keys to fucking leave.
“Fuck,” you mutter when you feel the cold rain hitting your back, twisting the key in the door, pulling on it twice because you have to, just to be sure the gym is locked properly. You run to your car, cursing like a sailor with every step, you only let out a breath when you’re seated in the driver’s side. You shove your key in the ignition, turning it, and your car clicks. Once. That's it.
“No,” you mutter, turning it again. It clicks, but it doesn’t fucking start, the dash doesn’t even light up. You refuse to believe it. You try again, click. “Are you fucking kidding me!?”
You fish out your phone from your pocket, hands still covered in droplets of rain, you dial Yunho. It rings five agonizing times before you make the loudest sound of frustration you’ve ever summoned, hanging up.
Before texting him, your eyes catch on the group chat. There aren’t any new messages from the last time you checked, but the thread is still at the top of your screen, begging for attention. The last text sent is from Wooyoung, and all it says is ‘ur fucking stupid san’.
You call him. Three rings, and his confused voice pours into your ear, “Hello?”
“Hi,” all of your frustration is wrapped up into one singular word. “I’m… my car won’t start, and I was supposed to come back to your house anyway, and you just left the gym–”
“I’m on my way. Stay in the car, it’s storming,” he says, and then hangs up. You pause for a second before dropping your phone from your ear back into your lap, a little dumbfounded at how simple that was.
Sighing, you try turning your key in the ignition again, frowning when it clicks back like it’s fucking taunting you. Why did you call him? Why did you ask him for advice? Why did he say yes before you even asked the question?
You shiver for the entire ten minutes it takes for him to get to you. Rain should be comforting, the soft, rhythmic noises of water hitting the glass on your windshield, even the rough pangs slamming against the steel hood of your car, you can’t find any fucking comfort right now. Especially as he pulls up beside you in a low, blacked-out sports car you have to squint to make sure he’s actually inside of.
You curse when freezing droplets hit your back again, jiggling his door handle that’s fucking locked. “Unlock it!” you yell at his window, and it’s raining so hard you can’t even hear it unlock, you tug at the black handle until it finally gives.
“Jesus Christ you’re fucking soaked,” is the first thing he says when you tumble into his passenger seat, immediately greeted by the smell of him. Masculine, not too heavy, mixed with the scent of a thunderstorm.
“No shit.” You hug yourself, cringing at the feeling of your hair sticking to you. At least it’s warm.
“What’s wrong with your car?” he leans forward to look over your body, like he’d be able to see the issue through the rain, from a different vehicle.
“Do I look like a fucking mechanic?” you snap, finally looking at him. Immediate consequences for your actions, for asking him to get you— you don’t have it in you to banter with him, your humor was stolen by the internet. “I tried to start it and it wouldn’t start.”
“Damn,” he stares at it like he might revive it with his fucking eyes. His hair is down again, messy over his face, his tank still on his body, sweatpants on his legs. Fuck him. You feel heat on your backside seeping into your clothes, your skin, and you finally look around, taking in the details of his car.
“What the—?” you mutter, staring at the black leather seats, the manual shifter, the wide, dimmed screen at the center of the dash. “Are you rich?”
“What?” His brows furrow, sitting back in his seat. “No, I’m not rich, why the fuck would I be rich?”
“Your car is nice.” You run a hand over the leather of the center console, feeling the lines in the soft material with your palm. “Your seats are heated and you drive stick. That means you’re probably rich.”
He snorts, “I’m rich because I drive stick? Did you hit your head on the Smith?”
“It would explain why you’re so arrogant,” you shrug, crossing your arms as you sit back in your seat. “Let me guess: mommy’s boy? She gets you everything you want because you’re her smart, perfect son?”
“Where am I taking you, Virgin?” He sits properly in the driver’s seat, right hand moving to the gearstick, and your eyes slide toward it as you hear him press the clutch. His tattoo peeks over his forearm, small, intricate details, thorns of a rose.
“Your house.” You force yourself to look away as you pull the seatbelt over your front. Your eyes betray you as he shifts into reverse, then first as he pulls out of the parking lot.
“Is this the aftermath of watching your amateur videos, or do cars just really get you going?” he asks coolly, not even looking at you as he pulls out onto the main road.
You look up, mortified that he caught you. His hair sits behind his shoulders like he ran his fingers through it as he pulled into the parking lot, but it’s the purple bruising his neck that catches your eye. Purple that wasn’t contrasting his golden skin an hour ago.
Immediately, you grill him. “Where were you?”
He looks at you from his peripherals, for just a split second. “What?”
“Where were you before you picked me up?”
“Getting the skin sucked off my dick.” His lips curve a little as he says it, humored by his own answer.
“What?” You blink at him, dumbfounded. “Why’d you pick me up then?”
Like it’s the only plausible answer, he replies simply, “You called me.”
“Yeah, but I could have called someone else,” you argue. “You didn’t have to leave a hookup, or whatever.”
“Or whatever,” he retorts under his breath in a huff of amusement. “Do you want me to take you back to your car? Or would you rather wait here so I can pick back up where I left off?”
You gruff a sound of irritation instead of answering. You pull out your phone, turning your brightness down before checking your Spotify stats again, then refresh the subreddit. It's all growing— the listens, the posts, the debates, you feel fucking sick.
“Why’d you call me?” he asks. You don’t even look up.
“I don’t know. Yunho didn’t answer.”
There’s a pause before he speaks again, your nail sliding against your screen and the rain hitting the car the only noise. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Huh?” You look up at that, locking your phone, letting it fall into your lap. “Nothing.”
“You’re quiet,” he notices. “Your battery’s probably just dead, Virgin, it’s not a big deal. Yunho can jump it tomorrow.”
“I don’t—” you start, then cut yourself off. “I know, it’s fine. Sorry.”
He looks at you, brows furrowed. “Seriously, what the fuck is good with you?”
“Nothing!” you stress, voice raising. “Fuck, nothing is fucking wrong.”
You fall into silence again. Your phone feels hot in your lap, begging for you to pick it up, to see what everyone’s saying about you. You bounce your knee, looking out the window, teeth clamping over your bottom lip.
“Virgin—”
“I swear to god, if you don’t shut the fuck up I’ll actually fucking kill you,” you finally turn to him, voice so calm it’s almost scary.
His lips tighten, palm leaving the gearstick to raise it in defense, but he doesn’t answer. For what feels like ages you sit there, arms crossed over your chest, mind reeling over every little thing you can’t control. You shouldn’t have posted the episode. If the man sitting beside you listened to it— you can’t even think of that fucking happening or else you might actually throw your guts up.
Staring through the windshield, you realize you don’t know where you are. You should have gotten back to his house five minutes ago. Your body straightens, fight or flight kicking in, head snapping to the side, “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” he answers casually, too fucking casually for it to be down pouring, driving this far outside of campus. He's kidnapping you. He’s kidnapping you and you’re going to fucking die.
“I’m serious, Wooyoung,” you press, tone holding the weight of it. “Take me home.”
He glances at you, your hand gripping the center console, the other tightened in a fist in your lap. “You seem like you need to hit something, Virgin. I’m taking you somewhere you can do it.”
“The only thing I want to fucking hit is you,” you sneer, anger returning to your tone. “I shouldn’t have fucking called you.”
“Well, you did.” He looks at you again, brows high and lips tight as if he’s saying you’re shit out of luck. “We’re two minutes away, just try it. If you want to leave, for real, then we’ll leave.”
Your jaw clenches, unclenches, and you sit back in the seat, defeated. “If you kill me, I’ll haunt you. That's a promise.”
“I don’t need your blood on my hands, Virgin,” he says through a breath, turning the steering wheel with the edge of his palm onto a side street only lit by dim orange every other block. It does nothing to ease your racing heart.
But two minutes he promised, and two minutes it was until he was pulling into a fairly lit parking lot, backing into a space right at the front. You don’t realize how tense you actually are until he turns the car off, your body physically relaxing, melting into the heated, leather seat.
He reaches between you into the backseat, giving you a view of the expanse of his chest peeking out from the tank, his chain that slides with the stretch of his body. You slide your eyes to the parking lot in front of you, silent until he throws something on your lap.
You look at him, brows lifted. He nods at the fabric in your lap, “You look like Barney. Put it on.”
“I’m in my work uniform.” You look down at your bright purple shirt, your Barney-colored shirt. You frown, but pick up the sweatshirt anyway, black with white detailing on the back. You unclip your seatbelt to tug it over your head.
“Better,” he looks satisfied before he reaches for his door handle, grabbing his wallet and keys from the cup holder before getting out. Begrudgingly, you follow, finally looking at the sign over the entrance.
Bat Ball Indoors— with a phone number beneath it. You stop in your tracks, blinking at the sign, putting the pieces together in your mind. Not only did he take you to a fucking batting cage, it’s a janky batting cage?
When you glance at the side, ready to berate him for taking you to a goddamn batting cage instead of taking you home, he’s already at the front door, gripping the handle. “Are you coming, or do you enjoy getting rained on?”
You tug the hood over your head, jogging toward him. “Are you paying for this shit, Mister Rich?”
He opens the door for you, “Get inside.”
Hugging yourself again, you’re greeted by lighting that’s too fucking yellow, somehow still bright enough to make you squint. It’s warmer inside, not heated, but a dry warmth that’s an immediate comfort from the stickiness of outside. Your sneakers scuff against the floor, and when you look down, it’s covered with tracks, other people whose sneakers did the same.
“Jung!” You pick your head up to see an old man behind the counter. Bald, short, he stands behind a register that looks like he’s had it since the nineties. Actually, you’d put your money on the fact that the entire place hasn’t changed since the nineties.
There’s baseball shit on the walls, signs reading something about cleats and helmets, the glass covering the lights is stained with yellow. There's a faint cigarette smell, but it’s not overpowering or uncomfortable, it compliments the scent of rubber and rain.
Wooyoung talks to the man, you can’t be bothered to listen as you finally notice the cages. Separated by old, heavy netting, there’s only three and they’re all empty. Long tunnels of turf, a target made by red tape on ripped, black netting at the back of each cage, a tiny black machine beside the target you can only assume shoots balls at you. You want to go home.
“Thanks,” you hear Wooyoung say at the same time as the cash register rings. You bring your attention back to him and he’s smiling like this is his favorite place in the fucking world. “Come on, Virgin.”
You look behind you and the bald man doesn’t seem to be bothered by the nickname, or he’s so old he just doesn’t hear it. You follow Wooyoung to the farthest cage, still confused enough that you don’t know what question to ask first. He’s holding a bat, a helmet, everything scuffed, clearly worn.
You choose to not ask a goddamn thing. “I’m not putting that on my head,” you eye up the helmet hanging off his fingers. It’s still somehow bright red, even if it’s covered in streaks of black and white, a line of black electrical tape stretching over the front.
“Oh, yes you are,” he says sternly, pushing the helmet straight into your chest. It sends you backward a step, but instinctively your hands wrap around it. The inside looks… used. You cringe. “My bet is that you’ll get hit in the head with a ball at least once. You need it.”
Your top lip lifts, “What the fuck are we even doing here, Wooyoung?”
“You’re gonna hit some balls,” he says, slotting the bat between his thighs. He reaches forward, stealing the helmet from your chest just to pull it down over your head. “Balls that aren’t mine, in case that wasn’t clear.”
You push your hair out of your face, scowling under the helmet. “I wouldn’t give me that bat if I were you.”
He hands you the bat automatically, amusement glimmering in his eyes. “Go take your anger out on something that isn’t me.”
You take the handle cautiously and it’s heavier than you expected it to be, your eyes go wide as you fix your grip. It’s silver, or it used to be, now covered in scratches, small dents, patches where the metal has worn off, leaving asymmetrical marks of black. The handle is sticky, covered in old athletic tape, you hate how it feels in your hands. Looking back up at Wooyoung, you fantasize about how satisfying it would be to swing it at the side of his head.
You glance at the cage instead, specifically the small square of turf that’s basically nonexistent. That's probably where you stand. Like he can read your thoughts, Wooyoung points to it, “Stand there. I’m gonna put a token in, then you hit the ball with the bat. Easy enough, right?”
“How many?” you ask, walking towards the spot of nonexistent turf. He answers twenty-five as he grabs the token from his pocket, sliding it into some kind of control panel. The machine turns on and you jump at the sound of the mechanical noise until it clunks, a ball shooting straight out.
You yelp as it flies right past you, jumping backward. You whip around to Wooyoung, “What the fuck?!”
“You were supposed to hit that, by the way,” he points to the ball now on the ground, the hit saved by netting along the back wall.
“Oh, go fuck yourself,” you sneer, turning back to the machine that was making noise again. You try to fix your hold on the bat, staring at the hole the ball comes out of across the turf, but it flies past your head before you’ve even registered that it shot out. You stand straight up, turning back to Wooyoung who looks fully amused. “It’s fucking broken.”
“It’s not broken, dumbass,” he points his hand towards the machine. “You just wasted two balls. Focus.”
You push a breath through your lips, focusing. You swing the bat over your shoulder, aligning your hands, and as the ball shoots out after the clunk, you swing. And miss.
Refusing to look behind you, your lips scrunch in frustration, gripping the bat harder. You swing, it shoots past you. You actually fucking growl in frustration, and Wooyoung’s laughter follows.
You refuse to feel embarrassed. Turning around, you sneer, “You think this is fucking funny?”
“Extremely,” he’s grinning, leaning up against the side wall, arms crossed over his chest. “Keep your eye on the ball, Virgin.”
“It’s too fucking fast!” you shout just as another ball whips past you. You jump again, and his snorted laughter just pisses you off more. “This is fucking bullshit, and you’re an asshole.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he muses from behind you. “Keep your legs shoulder-width apart and bend your knees.”
“I’ve played Wii Sports, thanks,” you huff, but as you look down at your feet, you need to spread them. And bend your knees more. Fixing your stance, you stare at the machine again, and for the sixth goddamn time, you miss.
“Nineteen left, in case you can’t count.”
“I can fucking count!” you shout back, ignoring how quickly his laughter follows.
“Relax your arms, Virgin. Keep your body solid, but let your arms be loose.”
You don’t change a thing as you miss the seventh ball. Jaw locking, you brace your core, relaxing some of the tension in your arms. On your eighth swing, you feel a little resistance, you can hear the ping of the ball just slightly connecting with the metal of the bat.
You stand straight up, eyes wide. “Oh my god.” Turning to see where it landed, watching it roll along the floor, you ask him, “Did you hear that!? Did you see it!?”
“Try hitting it next time.”
“I’ll fucking kill you,” you bite back. “I’ll hit you with the fucking bat, with my shoulders squared and my grip fucking loose you bitch—” Another ball swings past. “Fuck you, look what what you did. You made me miss another one!”
You can hear his smile as he says, “You missed the one before it, too.”
“I fucking hit it!” you yell back, fixing your stance again. You don’t even graze the tenth ball, and your shout of anger reverberates through the entire fucking building.
“You’re swinging too late,” Wooyoung’s tone is direct, guiding. It wouldn’t help even if it was nice.
“No fucking shit,” you shoot back.
“Swing earlier, then.”
You stand straight up, brows tied together as you turn around to look at him. “Why are you acting like my fucking coach? Do you want to come do it yourself?”
He pushes off the wall, uncrossing his arms, “I played for fourteen years. Ball.”
You turn just as the ball shoots past you. “Fuck!”
He comes up beside you, holding his hand out for the bat. You hand it to him, then the helmet as you ask, “You played in high school?”
“Four to eighteen,” he explains as you switch positions with him, backing up to where he stood leaning up against the wall. You can only assume his stance is perfect. Knees bent, knuckles lined up along the bat, fingers flexing and unflexing along the handle.
“Why’d you stop?” you wonder, letting your head rest against the wall. From where you stand, it’s like slow motion, the sound of the machine, the muscles in his back flexing as he swings, his biceps, his forearms… he hits the ball perfectly. “You’re a fucking asshole.”
He laughs, stepping backward, “I quit because I didn’t want to play in college. Everyone thought I would, but I was over it. I’m a finance bro now.”
When he pulls the helmet off, you push off the wall, taking it from his hands to put it back over your head. “Finance bro doesn’t really suit you.”
He hands you the bat, “Yeah? What would suit me, then?”
“A master’s degree in sex education,” you quip. He huffs a laugh and you smile, too, because you know that joke was fucking funny. You quickly realize you didn’t learn a thing from watching him as you line yourself back up, and he knows it too when you miss another goddamn ball.
“You’re still doing it wrong, Virgin.”
You know. Yet you bite back anyway, “Wooyoung, I literally just fucking copied you.”
“You were watching me,” there’s amusement in his tone, accompanied by the truth of it. “Not watching me.”
You feel heat in your ears, you blame it on the helmet. Feigning ignorance, you mutter, “That’s what I was supposed to be doing.”
You swing again.
“Swing earlier.”
You loose a steadying, cool breath, and swing earlier. The following crack through the building confuses you until you feel the vibration in your arms, watching as the ball soars through the cage.
“I hit it?” You whip around to face him and he’s already smiling. Running straight to him, you scream, “I fucking hit it!”
You don’t even process that you’ve wrapped yourself around him, that he’s laughing with one arm around you. “I’m a fucking professional. Draft me for the fucking NHL.”
He lets you go, laughing harder, “That’s hockey, Virgin.”
“Who fucking cares?” you shout, pointing back toward the cage. “I hit the fucking ball!”
He nods his chin toward it, “Go do it again.”
So you do. In the last remaining ten balls, you successfully hit six, and even though it’s out of twenty-five, you feel like a goddamn professional, ready for the big leagues. What was only supposed to be one round quickly turned into two, trading places with him just to scoff and berate him for his skill. Your palms sting, your arms ache, the helmet is glued to your fucking forehead, at one point your hoodie was thrown in the corner, sweat sliding down your spine. Your body is tired, but your mind is alive; you aren’t ready to go home yet.
“Thanks, Mr. Choi,” Wooyoung gives baldie a wave on your way out, and you thank him quietly from behind Wooyoung in the midst of pulling his hoodie back over your head. It had stopped raining at some point while you were inside but the air is still heavy with humidity, the cool air meeting the warm pavement leaving a thick layer of fog on the ground.
“Spooky,” you mumble absentmindedly, watching the fog rising as you walk toward his car. “Are you hungry?”
His hair is frizzy now, curling at the ends, golden skin flushed with exertion from slamming the last eight balls across the cage. He shrugs, one hand for the handle, “I could eat.”
“Well, I’m hungry,” you shoot him a look from across the roof of his car, one that says I was only asking you to be nice. “Get your wallet out, Mister Rich.”
He’s smiling by the time you sit in the passenger seat. “Are you ever going to let that go?”
“Nope,” you answer plainly in a single huff of breath. “Where are we going?”
He turns his key in the ignition, and the engine comes to life beautifully in a smooth, effortless sound. You wish your car sounded like that right now.
“There’s a diner up the road,” he offers, pressing the clutch, throwing the gearstick into first.
“Wow,” you scoff. “Just a diner? Mister Rich is taking me to a measly little diner?”
He shakes his head, upshifting when he pulls onto the main road. You fuck with the screen in the center of his dash, swiping through the different apps, pulling up Spotify. You ignore Unscripted’s logo as you scroll up, looking for his liked songs, shuffling them.
“Risky,” he mumbles, brows raised when you look over at him. “All my liked songs? Do you know how many liked songs I have?”
Something rock starts pouring through the speakers, it’s soft, easy, the perfect song to fill the cabin of his car. “This one’s nice,” you shrug, settling back into your seat. When he pulls into a parking lot right after, you huff a laugh. “You weren’t joking when you said around the corner, huh? You’re very precise with your distance calculation.”
“I’m very precise with a lot of things,” he responds coolly, and you think it might be the third time today that he’s beat around the bush with intentionally vague language. You know just how precise he is with a very certain thing.
You don’t comment on it, you let the silence speak instead as he pulls into a parking spot, killing the engine. The diner is cute, older than the batting cage place, maybe. Checkered floors, booths, red stools lining the counter, everything about the space is warm and inviting. The hostess barely looks up from her phone as she tells you where to sit, pointing to a table two booths down from the entrance.
Your stomach growls the moment a menu lands in your hands. Feeling heat in your cheeks, you comment on it before Wooyoung has a chance to, “I literally have not eaten a singular thing today.”
“Don’t order the entire menu,” he eyes you over the top of his menu. “I’m not wealthy enough to satisfy the kind of hunger I just fucking heard.”
You can’t help your grin as you open your menu, landing on breakfast foods upon opening it, forever your favorite. It’s nostalgic for you, it reminds you of home, it’s always been a diner staple no matter what time of day it is. Lifting your eyes to look at the man across the cream-colored table, you wonder if he has a diner staple. If there’s anything on the menu that reminds him of home.
It’s kinda weird, you think. Sitting across from him in a diner, of all places, and not feeling the familiar Wooyoung-induced rage in your chest. You’ve never been around him for so long, other than the night you spent together in the bedroom of a frat house, this is different. A nice kind of different, though, like tonight exists only to make you reconsider everything you’ve ever thought about him. The shield, the hookups, the arrogance, you’ve never had a reason to think about Wooyoung beyond sex or wit, but sitting across from him reminds you that there’s a person inside him, too.
He can feel your gaze. Without looking up, he asks, “Do you want to take a picture?”
“Maybe,” you lower your menu, head tilting. “I’ll show it to the rest of your frat, let ‘em know you’re capable of interacting with a woman outside of a bedroom.”
He mimics you, lowering his menu, brows furrowed. It’s clear he remembers when you said the opposite of those words verbatim the night in your apartment. “I’ve always been capable of being friends with women.”
Your laugh is obviously sarcastic. “Sure.”
He almost argues back, but he’s cut off by the waitress who says absolutely nothing about the sheer amount of food you order. Wooyoung, on the other hand, as soon as she walks away he’s on your ass about it. “Do you think I’m made of money?”
“Definitely,” you nod, bringing your glass of water up to your lips. “Bands and a bitch-ass attitude.”
His laughter is obnoxious, dripping in amused disbelief as he retorts, “Bitch-ass attitude? Are you sure you’re not projecting?”
“My attitude has been fixed and cured,” you lower your water back to the table, brows high.
Without missing a beat, he quips, “Yeah? And who fixed it?”
“Some rich asshole with a bitch-ass attitude,” you muse, and you can’t fight the smile that curves your lips. He smiles, too, and there’s a pause between you before you both snort your laughter. You feel it more, the absence of rage, the fact that there’s absolutely nothing forming beneath your skin, you feel light. When has being around Wooyoung ever felt fucking light?
“Can I ask you a question?” Your chest feels tight as the question forms on your tongue. He nods, brows lifted, tongue swiping along his upper row of teeth beneath his lips. “Why did you come get me?”
“I already told you.”
“You said it’s because I called,” you start, leaning forward, crossing your arms over the table. “But you were fucking someone and you didn’t even tell me you were fucking someone, you just came as soon as I called.”
His brows furrow. “What answer are you looking for here, Virgin?”
“An honest one.” You don’t know what kind of answer beyond that. “Why’d you come get me?”
“Because you called me,” he repeats, voice tight like he doesn’t know how else to say it.
Your lips flatten. “That’s not a fucking answer.”
“That is the fucking answer,” he argues. You say his name like you’re threatening him. He sighs, deflating back into the booth. “What else was I supposed to do? It was storming, your car died, and you called me.”
Your lips scrunch to one side, “You could have said no.”
“Why the fuck would I say no to you?”
“Because we’re barely even friends!” you argue, exasperated. “I barely know anything about you, yet you came to get me as soon as I called.”
“You’re making it out to be more than it is,” he shakes his head, picking up his own water. There’s sarcasm lacing his tone as he continues, “Would you rather me say it would break my fragile heart to leave my friend’s girlfriend in a dead car during a storm? Is that the answer you’re looking for?”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” you just about growl. “That’s how you look at me? I’m suddenly reduced to being Yunho’s?”
His face morphs into utter, sheer fucking disbelief. “You’re the one who literally just said we’re barely friends!”
You can’t answer. You don’t even have a witty response. “Okay, fine. You’re right.”
“Then what the fuck are you mad about?”
You run your hands over your face, “I’m not mad, Wooyoung.”
“You asked me a question and now you’re getting pissed the fuck off at every single answer I give you. What do you want from me?” When you look up at him, you can’t answer. He huffs out a punched, hollow laugh. “Right, almost forgot, you don’t know what you want. Why does there have to be more? Why can’t you just leave it for what it is?”
“You’re a fucking hypocrite,” you sneer. “You don’t accept any answer I give you about anything and now you’re asking me to accept your bullshit answer.”
His lips tighten in a line. Your grin might be actually fucking evil.
“Answer,” you taunt, even nodding your chin toward him as you lean back in the booth. “You’re obsessed with explaining me to me, Jung Wooyoung. Explain yourself instead.”
“I–” his lips part, then close. Instead, he blurts, “Ask me something then. Something different than why I came to pick you up.”
You sit with it for a second, then you’re forced to sit with it longer as your food arrives. Seeing it in front of you, a display that could probably feed a family, even if you’re starving it feels absurd and you can’t help but fucking snort. Wooyoung has a grin on his cheeks, too, one he’s obviously trying to hide, looking up at you through his brows, acting like he’s focused on his own food.
“You’re helping me finish all of this,” you announce, rearranging your plates.
“I don’t even think the two of us could finish all of it,” he’s shaking his head as he says it. “Just wasting my money for fun.”
You hum your amusement, reaching for the syrup, pouring the perfect amount over your plate. Picking up the knife, you cut into your stack of pancakes while asking, “Why didn’t you kiss me back?”
You lift your eyes to see him looking at you surprised, confused, his mouth full of food. “Hm?”
“I asked.” You drop the knife back onto the table as if your cheeks aren’t on fire. “Your turn."
He finishes chewing, swallowing before he answers just as plainly, “I did kiss you back.”
Like asking wasn’t humiliating enough. “Okay, then you stopped. You left. Why?”
He fucks around with his food before answering, his tone even. “You didn’t want to kiss me.”
“Here we fucking go again,” you mutter under your breath, shaking your head. “How did I not want to kiss you if I kissed you? What sense does that make?”
“You were trying to prove me wrong, Virgin. You didn’t kiss me because you wanted to kiss me, you kissed me because I backed you into a corner,” he explains while not even looking at you. He keeps playing with his food, finishing his sentence by taking a bite.
Your ears are so fucking hot they hurt. “I thought– I assumed you would jump at the– why did you care what my intentions were? I kissed you.”
“You think I didn’t know you were using it– using me to win the argument?” his mouth is full as he asks. “I wasn’t gonna fuck you just so you could prove a point.”
“You fuck people you don’t even know,” you argue, even if you aren’t sure why you’re arguing.
“I fuck people who want to fuck me,” he says with certainty. “That’s the difference.”
You don’t know why you’re still talking. “Maybe I wanted to fuck you.”
“You didn’t want to fuck me,” his voice lowers. “You wanted to win.”
Your jaw clenches, “Why do you care so fucking much?”
“I have my own rules, believe it or not,” he tightens his lips, raising his brows. “I don’t really take well to being a pawn anymore.”
“A pawn?” your head jerks forward with the question, offended. “I wasn’t using you.”
“You kissed me to make yourself feel better,” he shrugs, taking another bite. “That’s pretty much the textbook definition of pawn-ism, no?”
“I think this is the definition of dramatic,” you quip, brows tied together. “What do you mean by ‘anymore’? Were you once emotionally available enough to actually have a girlfriend?”
He huffs amusement through his nose, “Nah. When my parents split up, I was in the middle. I was sixteen– it’s a long story. It was ugly.”
You see him stiffen after the revelation, his body going rigid, staring at his plate like he can’t believe the words left his mouth, like he can’t bring himself to look at you. Your stomach drops, you weren’t expecting an honest answer.
“Well,” you start, picking up your fork again. “I still think calling yourself a pawn because I kissed you is dramatic. What if I just wanted round two?”
“Everyone wants round two,” he looks up through his brows, and it’s relieving to see a glimmer of amusement. “You’re not special.”
“Sure,” you muse. “That’s why you stopped getting–and let me repeat it verbatim–the skin sucked off your dick to come pick me up.”
“You’re a pain in my fucking ass, Virgin,” he gripes, pointing at you with his fork. “Shut the fuck up and eat your breakfast.”
You’re giddy as you shove your fork into a pancake, a smile on your cheeks as you house it down. You swear it tastes better now, as do the rest of the four sides you ordered along with it. At one point Wooyoung poked into your food, his plate already cleared, and your bickering picked right back up where it left off because naturally, you knew the two of you could finish all the food, even if he doubted you.
Mister Rich he is, Wooyoung slid his card over the counter at the front, making you impossibly more giddy that he did it without complaint. Your belly full, your limbs growing achier by the minute, by the time you get back in his car, you’re ready to go home. Not his home, though, you need your own bed, you need your shower, you need to wash the rain and the sweat and the Wooyoung off of you.
For the first time in three hours, you check your phone. You didn’t notice that you left it on the floor of his car, only finding it after it dawned on you that you haven’t seen it in hours. Before pulling up your stats or the orange app that beckons to you, you check your messages.
There’s six from Yunho, and you can’t believe you haven’t thought about him once.
yunho: handy manny what is that
yunho: ok i just googled it thats actually funny as hell
yunho: im so sorry i fell asleep after class
yunho: i just saw u called, are u ok? isnt ur shift over by now
Enough time had passed for his newer messages to have a time stamp written on the screen between them.
yunho: ok now im worried
yunho: i called u three times pls answer asap before i report u missing
“Oh, fuck,” you mutter under your breath, fingers typing at lightning speed.
you: im so sorry my car died wooyoung picked me up
you: im alive omg im sorry i didnt text u
“What’s wrong?” Wooyoung asks, eyes sliding over your screen. “Oh, Yunho?”
yunho: fuckkk im so sorry i didnt answer
yunho: thank god he picked you up
yunho: wyd? are u still with him?
“Fuck,” you grind out harshly, again. “He’s so fucking nice.”
Wooyoung huffs a laugh. “Yeah, that’s like, his entire attraction.”
“You forgot the tall part, and the big dick part, and the angel sent from heaven part,” you add.
Wooyoung doesn’t respond, one hand turning the wheel, the other upshifting as he pulls out onto the main road.
you: yes we just got food
you: im gonna go home tho if thats okay with u
you: im so fucking exhausted
yunho: of course sunshine
yunho: ill come get you in the morning and then we can go look at your car
you: thank you <3 yes pls
you: see u in the morning
You sigh, slapping your phone against your denim-covered thigh, sinking back into the passenger seat, looking straight through the windshield. Your head turns to the side, “Can you take me home? Like, to my place?”
“You don’t wanna see your tall, big dicked angel sent from heaven?” Wooyoung teases.
Your eyes thin out. “I’m tired, I’ll see him in the morning. He’s gonna fix my car.”
“Of course he is.” It sounds like a jab, but there’s no irritation in his tone, nothing malicious. It’s the truth, because of course Yunho’s first objective would be to fix your car as soon as he found out you’re safe and sound.
Picking up your phone, ready to open Spotify, you catch the sight of Unscripted’s logo still on the wide screen on his dash. Your lips scrunch to one side, debating before you ask him, “Why do you listen to Unscripted?”
“I don’t,” he answers quickly, irritation returning tenfold to his tone.
You pop a brow. “You know I can see it on the screen, right?”
He takes his hand off the gearstick just to swipe it off the screen. It shows what’s playing now instead, the same rock song as before. “Look at that, it’s gone now. Magic.”
He’s so fucking stupid that you laugh. Instinctively, you quote, “Yer a wizard, Harry.”
He looks at you wide-eyed for a second before erupting into laughter, body folding forward, into his steering wheel. “Shut the actual fuck up.”
You laugh with him, mainly because his laugh is funny, your quote was so innate you weren’t even trying to be funny. Looking at him, his wide grin, seeming so unshielded, so free… a door is opened that you’ve deliberately kept closed since that first night with Yunho.
The laughter dies down, and you let the feeling die with it. “Okay, but seriously,” you press again. “Why do you hate Unscripted?”
He pulls up to a red light, downshifting until the car comes to a full stop. He looks at you expressionless as he says, “I think she’s full of shit.”
Your top lip lifts. Monotonous, you rebut, “Really?”
“She is,” he shrugs like it’s obvious. “She says all that personal shit, but won’t say who she is. Seems like there’s a reason for it.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want the entire campus to know her personal business,” you argue.
Upshifting, pressing on the gas, he fires back, “Maybe she doesn’t want the entire campus to know it’s not real.” Your stomach feels heavy, and it’s not the food. Before you can get the chance to respond, he’s already continuing, “I can respect the need for privacy because she’s a woman, but I don’t think she’s hiding from all the douchebags on campus that would harass her. I don’t know.”
Your brows furrow, “Then who else?”
“The people who know her,” he responds simply. “The people who would know it’s not true.”
Your head shakes, brows tied together, stomach souring with every word he speaks. “But it is true. She’s gone to your parties, she was there with us–”
“Some of the shit she talks about I can believe,” he waves a hand between you. “It’s the way she talks about it. I just don’t believe the persona or whatever the fuck.”
You hate that you ask, “What persona?”
“I have sex, I have a lot of sex–”
“Wow, ground breaking journalism happening–”
“Listen. Who she is aside, I have a lot of sex, but I get a lot of shit for it. I caught chlamydia over a year ago and I’m still berated for it almost every fucking day. She has a lot of sex and she’s praised for it. She avoids consequence because she’s anonymous, and it just feels really fucking fake to me.”
Your lips scrunch. “That’s actually fair. Double-standard.”
“It’s usually the opposite,” he leans back in the driver’s seat, downshifting as he turns onto your street. “It’s never a man who gets shit for fucking, but for some reason, I do.”
“Maybe it’s because that’s all anyone knows about you,” you say quieter, almost like you aren’t sure if you really want to say it. “I once told you that you curated your own reputation.”
He makes a face, one that says yeah, I know. “My reputation is what it is, Virgin. Nothing I can do about it now.”
“That’s not true,” you argue, brows scrunching. “You proved today that you can have a friendship with a woman. That’s a step in the right direction, no?”
Pulling up in front of your house, he throws the gear into park and shoots you a blank stare. “What’s the use of a step in the right direction if I’m never going to take another step?”
“Why can’t you?”
His head tilts, debating. “I can, I just won’t.”
You turn in the seat, facing him. “Because…?”
“I don’t want to be responsible for how someone else feels,” he says simply, only his head turned toward you. Then his lips curve, “I don’t want to end up in a sex-less marriage like the one you were about to get yourself into, Virgin.”
You scoff through a smile, “Asshole.” Unclipping your seatbelt, you bend one knee up into the seat as you say, “I think you might have a fucked up view on relationships, Mister Rich.”
His brows raise, lips tightening. No shit. “If you’re happy, your partner is happy. If you’re sad, then you’re bringing down your partner, too. Everything you do, you have to be conscious of the other person. If they give something up for you, if they move for you, if the relationship fails and it’s not your fault, it’s your fault anyway because you’re the only person to blame.”
Your brows raise at the rant. “Can I ask?”
He’s quick to answer, “No.”
“Can I at least point something out?” your head tilts, smile playing on your lips. He sighs, and to you, that’s a yes. “You just spent, like, four hours out of your Wednesday night to make someone you’re barely even friends with feel better.”
“That’s different,” he argues.
“Yeah?” you ask, smile growing. “How about all the times I asked you for advice, and you gave it? Or when you came to my apartment because clearly something was so wrong that I left the Penny?”
His face stays flat. “What are you getting at, Virgin?”
“Nothing,” you shrug, voice light, high-pitched like the word is a song. “Just noticing and realizing things.”
“Oh,” he laughs the word, finally turning to face you. “You figured me out, huh?”
His car is too small for him to be this close to you. You can still smell him, the storm, you can taste every single word, every emotion that’s passed between you tonight. Grasping onto nonchalance as hard as you fucking can, you shrug, “It’s not as hard as it seems.”
His eyes drop, but they’re back on yours before you can register it. “You think so?”
Your heartbeat picks up, you can feel it knocking on your breastplate, begging you to pay attention to it. You can’t look away from him, you’re stuck as your chest fills, as your breath turns shallow. Your eyes drop to his pretty, full lips, lips you’ve kissed before, lips you want to kiss again.
You don’t think you’ve ever been more honest with Jung Wooyoung than when you tell him, “I want to kiss you.”
He says your name like it’s a warning, like you’re nearing dangerous territory. You let him see it, the want in your face, your eyes. He watches, letting you see the debate in his.
His voice is almost airy as he says, “You wanted to kiss me last time, too.”
“Last time, I wanted to be right,” you whisper. “I want you, Wooyoung.”
He clenches and unclenches his jaw like he’s fighting his own instincts. He turns, sinking back into his seat, muttering a rough “Fuck” under his breath. He runs his palms over his face, sorting his fingers through his hair, and he doesn’t look back at you as he says, “Yunho’s my friend, and he likes you.”
Your body blooms with warmth, but it’s embarrassment instead of the heat you wish was washing through you. You feel still as you uncurl your body, reaching for your purse, your keys, your water bottle. “Right,” you mutter, almost automatically, as if your brain has shut off entirely.
He speaks as you reach for the door handle. “What are you doing?”
You look back, confused. “Leaving?”
“Why are you leaving?” he sits up a little, face twisted with enough emotion you can’t pinpoint it.
“Hello?” You look around as if you’re missing something. Embarrassment twists into frustration, “I just finally fucking told you what I wanted and you rejected me.”
“Because you’re dating my friend–”
“I’m not dating him!” you nearly explode.
“You’re exclusively together,” Wooyoung says matter-of-factly. “Don’t get out of the car thinking that I don’t want you, because I fucking want you. I can’t do that to Yunho.”
“Goodnight, Wooyoung, thank you for tonight,” you say in one big shoved together breath, and climb out of his stupidly fucking low car. He’s in the middle of calling your name when you slam it behind you, forcing yourself to turn on your heel and walk up to your apartment.
Your brain feels like static with every step. You can’t piece together words, thoughts, you can’t function all the way up to your door, opening it just for all the lights to be on. Food is spread across the coffee table, the TV is on, Yunjin’s laptop is open on the couch, her phone right beside it.
Her face is grave. You glance at the TV, the Unscripted logo, your own fucking voice pouring out from the speakers. Your body feels like ice. This is it.
She doesn’t even let you close the door behind you before she’s asking, “Is it you?”
Summary: When moving on becomes fathomable for you and Jongho in different ways.
pairings: dad!idol!jongho x mom!idol!reader, jongho x oc!daughter
c/w: angst, divorce, nothing bad this chapter, not proofread
w/c: 3.6k
Realistically, you knew Jongho was right. Aside from the one moment he'd ruined your life, he had usually always been right. And so, subsequently, the forbidden feeling of what had happened between the two of you loomed over your head every time you took care of Eunji.
The guilt was weighing you down. You feel fatigued as if the feeling was swallowing you whole.
You didn't want to give Eunji hope that you and Jongho would ever be together again, but it was more realistic that you didn't want to give yourself that hope. It would only hurt everyone all over again. The feelings and circumstances were too complicated, all about pride and humility and "doing the right thing."
It honestly gave you a headache.
And some other parts of you were aching, too.
Curse that Jongho for giving you a taste of something he had no intention of giving you again.
On the flip side, Jongho was uncharacteristically rotting at his mom's house. Being at his apartment was too depressing and lonely when Eunji was at your place. And even though his mother was still treating him like a homeless bum squatting in her house for what he'd done to you, it was at least better than being alone.
It was a self-inflicted loneliness, but that didn't mean it hurt any less.
Honestly, he felt like a teenager. Back in his old bedroom, staring at the ceiling as he imagined all the ways he wanted to be with you like a lovestruck, hormone pumped, pubescent kid.
It wasn't like he could go back to the company either. He was forced to be on hiatus until the online backlash died down or until he could get his shit together and come up with a statement that could resolve his sins in the eyes of Atiny.
He was seriously scum to a lot of them now.
Honestly, even if you came out and publicly stated that you forgave him, he didn't think anyone would believe you. Who could forgive what I did?
He sighed, turning in his bed and closing his eyes. Yeah. This was his fault. He deserved this. He deserved to be alone.
His mom peeked into his room when she had called him three times and he hadn't come down. His breathing was heavy, he wasn't sleeping.
Then she heard him choke on a breath.
"Oh, my son," she sighed. Jongho didn't say anything as his mother came over to sit by him. She had been upset with him since your last visit, but she hadn't considered how upset he truly must have been with himself.
Jongho had never loved anyone but you, after all.
He wasn't one for affection, but the moment he felt his mom's hand slowly stroking his back, he squeezed his eyes tighter, really feeling like a kid again as he tried his best to cry as quietly as possible.
Maybe he was right that they shouldn't be together, but how could being right feel so wrong?
The next time you saw Jongho was before school started for Eunji. You hadn't talked about it, purposely not sending her to hang out with her friends or do extra-curriculars in the summer while the whole drama was going on online. The excuse was that they wanted her to spend more time with you to make up for the past years.
But now that school was right around the corner, you both had to suck it up and talk.
Jongho appeared at your door to pick up Eunji who groaned at the sight of him.
"I don't wanna go home with you!" she complained and Jongho chuckled, rolling his eyes.
"Okay, I'll tell halmoni to throw the kimchi jjigae in the garbage," he said with a shrug and her head whipped around, eyes wide as her mouth watered at the thought.
"Sorry eomma, I have to go back," she said matter of factly, running to her new room (you had converted the guest room), to get her things.
You smiled at her as Jongho came to stand next to you.
He didn't dare touch you.
"We should talk about what we're going to do for her school."
Your heart twisted. "You're really comfortable with sharing input on that decision? You've been doing it alone for so long."
"I am," he said simply, creating an obvious distance between the two of you. He wanted to pour out his words of praise and self-loathing about how he should have been doing it with you this whole time and it felt more right to make decisions with you than without you, but what would that achieve?
Being friendly led to problems more complicated than just co-parenting. Being civil was the only option.
You pressed your lips together and nodded, "You can sit."
Jongho sat on the couch across from you and you let out a breath.
"Were you thinking of anything particular that you wanted to do?" Jongho asked, "About Eunji's school."
"I don't want her to know about anything that's happened, not even the slightest chance of it," you said, very firm in your words, "But Eunji is so social and energetic... I don't think taking her out of school would benefit her..."
Jongho was surprised, adding his two cents, "I was actually considering the home-school route. Mingi's wife homeschooled Jiyeon her whole life."
"I know, but... I wouldn't know where to start with doing it myself, regardless."
"No, I would never expect you to change your life to that extend, y/n," Jongho said, shaking his head, "I brought it up to Mingi and he said that she was dying to take on another student and feel like she was in a classroom again."
"Oh," you said, thoughtfully.
"You know about Minjun, right?" Jongho asked, and you smiled fondly.
"Yes," you hummed. "Eunji wouldn't be alone if they're doing school together, and she'll have Jiyeon around, too."
"I don't know," you sighed, "I still wouldn't want to burden them. I'm sure they won't feel burdened, but... I still don't think it's enough for Eunji."
Jongho sighed. It was a complicated situation. Eunji was way too outgoing to be homeschooled. She'd likely get bored easily and take it out on poor Minjun.
"If we send her to school, she's guaranteed to hear something," you said softly, biting your nails. Jongho wanted to take your hand away from your mouth, but he couldn't cross the boundaries that he'd set up in the first place. Damn, being civil is so hard.
He had half a mind just to tell Eunji about his sins so you wouldn't have stress over it, but he knew Eunji would probably never forgive him if she knew the true result of his mistakes.
But she'd find out one day. He still didn't know how he'd managed to keep it from her so far. Maybe she didn't want to know. Maybe she wanted to love both of her parents without worrying, even if they weren't together.
"We don't- We don't have to decide right now if it's stressing you out. How about... how about we do a trial run?" he said.
You looked at him unsurely and he could help but smile at you reassuringly. "We'll do a year or less of time with Eunji doing homeschool, and if she doesn't respond well to it, we can always re-enroll her."
"That's true," you said thoughtfully.
"Okay, I'm ready!" You were taken out of your thoughts by Eunji who came back in the living room.
"Look, appa, eomma got me cool science pins," she said, flaunting her backpack at her father.
"Woah," Jongho said in awe, "Those are so cool."
"My friends are going to be so jealous when I see them," Eunji giggled snarkily, and you and Jongho both looked at each other unsurely.
Eunji picked up on it immediately and scoffed.
"You guys are always weird when you're here!" she exclaimed, "What is it now?"
You and your ex-husband had a silent conversation with your eyes.
Do you want to tell her?
No, way, she hates me enough.
You're the one who had it all planned out.
Yeah, but you're the one who doesn't want her to find out.
You sucked in a pissed breath through your nose and Jongho grinned triumphantly.
"Eunji... can I ask you something?" you said tentatively. She side-eyed you. The insecure little girl inside of her worried that you were thinking about leaving again. She didn't like it when you were serious. But she took what you said seriously. You were never going to leave again.
So she nodded, "What is it?"
"You know that appa is a singer, right?" you asked, and she nodded. "Duh."
You chuckled, "And you know he's famous?"
"Yeah," she said, tilting her head, "Well, there are some things happening with the the company right now, and me and appa were thinking that maybe you should wait a little bit to go back to school."
Eunji furrowed her brows and looked at you confused. "What does that mean? Like... more summer holidays?"
"Well, no," You explained, "You'd still be learning, but-"
"Oh, okay," she said with relief, "My friends are annoying anyway. They're always trying to talk to me in class while I'm listening and then I get in trouble!"
"So annoying!" Jongho agreed enthusiastically and you couldn't help but chuckle.
"So you'd be okay if you were homeschooled?" You asked her and she shrugged, "Yeah. I don't care."
"You are too easy going," You huffed, "And here I was worrying for nothing. I thought you were going to be mad!"
"I go to school to be smart, not for friends. I can have friends at soccer camp," she said with a shrug.
"That's my girl. Brains before besties," Jongho said with a proud nod and she looked at him disgusted.
"That was so cringe, appa." He only chuckled.
"So you promise you're okay with it?" you asked her, "If you hate it, we can always put you back in school."
"Yeah! I can hang out with Minjun," she said, shrugging, and she nodded, "He's cool."
"Okay," you breathed out, "He's nice? You like him?"
"Yeah. He's nice, eomma. You should meet him, too," Eunji said, patting your arm suspiciously reassuring for a 9 year old girl.
"Then that's what we'll do then. We can talk to your friends' parents to set up playdates if you want to," you said, but she shrugged, "Okay." It didn't seem that she cared all that much.
You pulled her in and bombarded her with a barrage of kisses, making her giggle as she tried to push you away. "I'm gonna miss you," you admitted to her, "I love you."
"I love you, too, eomma. I'll come back soon!" she exclaimed. You pressed a few more kisses to her cheeks and Jongho wondered how things had changed so much.
Aside from recently, he couldn't really remember the last time the thought of Eunji had brought you joy. Once upon a time, you didn't even want to be Eunji's mother, so deep in your simultaneous self-deprecation and self-preservation that you found it best to just remove yourself for the greater good.
Did you know that you had been depriving yourself of this love? Did you know that you were depriving Eunji of it?
More importantly, did he knew that he'd deprive you both when he decided to leave you that day? Of course he didn't. So of course you didn't. There were no correct answers.
There were no correct answers.
The drive home was silent as he thought about it. Eunji, once upon a time, would fill up the space with her chatter, but now that she'd lost hope, for the most part, that her parents would ever get along, she opted not to talk about you to Jongho and vice versa. She'd come to that conclusion all on her own, not wanting to rock the boat anymore.
So even if her father hurt her mother, at least they were separated so they wouldn't have to hurt each other anymore.
It made her sad to think she'd never get the fairytale love story between her parents like the movies and some of her friends portrayed, but she was at least happy that she had both parents now, instead of just one.
Jongho had minimal contact with you in the next few weeks, and you wondered if he'd finally accepted that you two were nothing but co-parents with no feelings attached. He'd seemed pretty civil when he'd come to the apartment to talk about Eunji's school, almost as if you were a female staff member that he was just collaborating on a project with.
You didn't know how to feel about it. Obviously you loved him, despite everything, and even if he thought it was best you weren't together, you thought he'd at least want to be someone close to you to make up for all the lost time. Or maybe that was just your wishful thinking. Why would he make up for the lost time he threw away himself in the first place.
You huffed at the thought as you knocked on Mingi's door. Eunji was going to do a test run with Minjun and his mother to see if they were a good fit academically.
You hadn't seen your friend in a long time. Any of them, Jongho's members' wives, really. Once upon a time, you'd been almost closer to them than you were to your own members who long lost contact with you in order to preserve their image, ultimately disbanding after realizing that you were the person who kept them together in the first place.
You didn't like to think back on your idol days, too much. It felt like a dream that were forcibly woken up from, leaving an intense fatigue in its wake. Your idol life, your members, it was all something you would never be able to get back, even if you wanted to. They moved on, you moved on, and you'd been given a found family in Jongho and his members.
Another family that had been forcibly ripped away from you.
But now that you were back, you wondered if they still thought of you fondly. You wondered if the woman you'd met so long ago as Jiyeon's nanny would regard you with warmth when she saw you or if she would consider you as someone who was unstable, someone who abandoned Eunji.
Eunji noticed your racing thoughts on your face. She didn't know what to do, much like her father, so she simply hugged your waste and leaned her head on your hip, making you look down at her.
You patted her head with a warm smile. You wondered that even if they did think all those terrible things about you that you assumed they might, Eunji's sincere love was all that you needed, and maybe they'd see that too.
But all your worries were quelled when the door opened and the now Mrs. Song opened the door to find you standing there.
She looked at you for a moment, blinking once, then twice, before a full blown smile stretched across her face and she pulled you in for a hug.
You didn't have many female friends. You didn't have any male friends either, of course, but feminine friendship was something you didn't' realize you had missed so dearly, trumped by how much you'd been missing Jongho.
You wrapped your arms around her, tight as if you two were childhood friends having a reunion after twenty years, when really it had only been 11 years since you met and 9 since you'd seen each other. Still a significant amount of time, but you didn't realize how much love you'd had outside of Jongho, too, at the time.
She pulled away to look at you properly, her hands finding your cheeks as she breathed out.
"I can't believe you're real. You're actually here, y/n!"
"I am," you said softly, "It's been a long time."
"And I hate you for that," she pouted, "I know Jongho's the worst, but I loved you, too, you know."
You gaped, and she couldn't help but laugh, "Come inside!"
You'd forgotten how forthcoming she could be, and memories flooded back as you remembered Jongho telling you about how they ended up together as it was actively happening. You witnessed the love that created Minjun in real time.
You were once a part of this group, but your mental health had declined so rapidly that you didn't even consider them when you and Jongho separated all that time ago.
"Wow," you breathed out as she handed you a mug of hot tea. Your eyes widened at the familiar smell of spices and you looked at her in awe.
"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" she chuckled, "Since you'd had a hot cup of my special recipe?"
"So long," You breathed, pouting with genuine sadness.
"JUNNIE!" she suddenly yelled very loudly, "COME MEET EUNJI'S MOM!"
You heard the sound of hasty steps coming down to see you and you couldn't help but look at the little boy who appeared in awe.
"Woah!" you laughed, feeling as if a part of your heart that had unknowingly been dislocated all this time suddenly snap back into place.
"Hi!" he said cutely and you reached yoru hands out hesitantly, looking at his mother for quick permission that she granted before your fingers found his cheeks, pinching them. "Oh my gosh, you look just like Mingi-ssi."
He yelled in despair, "NOOOOO, I want to look like mom!"
Said mother smacked him gently in the head making Eunji laugh at him tauntingly, causing him to glare at her. You raised your eyebrow inquisitively at your friend and she chuckled, "They're frenemies. It's all harmless."
"Okay," You hummed, "Are you sure you're okay with teaching Eunji? I don't want to burden you."
"Of course not, y/n. Never," she said, sitting next to you and placing her hand firmly over yours, "Besides, Jiyeon was partially responsible for the reason she needs to stay home in the first place, so consider it Mingi and my apology."
"Now that is something you shouldn't feel even a little bad about. I'm happy that Eunji trusts Jiyeon that much, but I'm equally as happy that Jiyeon had the emotional intelligence not to tell her. You have an incredible daughter," you sighed thoughtfully.
"Thank you," she said, nudging you with your shoulder, "So do you."
"I had no part in that," you chuckled morbidly, "She's perfect all on her own."
"Hey," she tutted, "Whether you were there or not, she still has your traits. You still created her and that's incredible, too. Okay? Don't let whatever you're telling yourself convince you that you did not contribute at all to the brilliance of that little girl."
There was an easy about being here in the company of another woman, another mom, a friend that for some reason didn't make you want to cry. Instead you looked at her, an almost teasing smile on your face as you said, "How are you so good with words?"
"I'm a teacher," she replied and you let out a breath of relief, "I don't think Eunji will be any more eloquent than that if she has anyone but you teaching her. I still feel bad though."
"What will convince you otherwise?" she asked, rubbing your arm, "They're friends, I love teaching, Eunji is, I'm assuming, okay with the transition so far?"
"Yeah," you sighed, "I just don't like that I'm changing her life so drastically after finally being with her after so long. I don't want her to think that things will never feel normal again because I came in and bulldozed back into her life..."
"Do you know what is supposed to be her normal?" she suddenly asked. And you looked at her questioningly, "Her normal is supposed to be having two loving parents in her life in whatever way that looks like. I know she treated you horribly in the past, but all she has wanted in the last 9 years was to have you back. She's like Jongho in that stubborn nature of hers, but she came around, didn't she?"
You hummed thoughtfully in confirmation.
"I think she knew her life would change the moment you came back into her life, and I don't think she wants it any other way."
You pondered it for a moment, not thinking that Eunji could have such complex thoughts at such a young age, but then you remembered how she must have had to grow up a little quicker, not having a mother, you, around. That on top of being Jongho's daughter, a man who prided himself, maybe a little too much, on his intelligence.
"You're right," you said, breathing out a sigh of relief. She giggled victoriously, "I know."
"Okay, so," she said, standing up, "Let me walk you through the curriculum and see where Eunji is at."
You stood up with her and proceeded to do just that with them.
Being with Jongho, be it before or after he left you, always felt heavy. There was a depth to your relationship with him that never let you felt so easygoing as you did when you were with your friends. Sure, you'd only met her through Jongho, but that didn't change anything for you.
This was the community that you needed when you didn't have Jongho to rely on anymore.
And by the end of the day you felt that maybe not being with Jongho as he was back in your life wouldn't be such a bad thing if you could have this again. As long as you could be civil with him, you could have this again... and for the first time, you felt content without your ex-husband.
That was the first time you'd acknowledged him as your ex in a conscious way.
And you felt a hope bloom in your heart that maybe you could finally move on.
--------------------------------
Taglist: @ad0rechuu @spooo00oky @jaerisdiction @soso59love-blog @potatos-on-clouds @intartaruginha @hwasa28 @stacey-stonem @skersey33 @altxrr-ego @sunnyhokyu @sunnysidesins @that1sadgrl @vixensss @yoonbroom @thedistractedwriter @miracle-sol @kixxxm16 @londonbridges01 @amazingpersonever @cup1dhwa @choizlover @hobiswifrof5 @yothangie @d3kstar @hobiswifrof5
Part 1 Fics (in chronological order):
- Y/n's Adoption
- Y/n and San play together for the first time*
- Y/n helps Seonghwa*
- San feels left out
- When Seonghwa got mad at y/n
- Y/n's first heat*
- Hongjoong pet-sits y/n for a weekend*
- Y/n and Wooyoung*
- Wooyoung vs. San*
Part 2 Fics (in chronological order):
- Y/n gets lost
- Y/n's first playdate at Jongho's house
- When the pups are distracted*
- Y/n and Mingi*
- The aftermath of the bite
- Wooyoung meets Y/n's new friends
- Y/n and Yunho*
- Seonghwa goes on a date
- Mingi loves to humiliate y/n an audience*
- Y/n catches Yunho at a bad time*
Part 3 Fics (in chronological order):
- Yeosang (18/7/26)
- Seonghwa's Girlfriend (21/7/26)
Drabbles (in order of release):
- Y/n at home with Seonghwa and San*
- Seonghwa and relationships
- When Seonghwa and Hongjoong Switch Hybrids*
- San, Y/n, and Wooyoung
- San and Y/n's heat*
- San's Adoption
-Jongho pet-sits for Seonghwa*
TBA
- Y/n and Mingi don't get along
- Mingi and Yunho
- How Jongho adopted his hybrid hyungs
Asks
- (Feel free to ask or request or share your thoughts! I'll definitely answer and it'll inspire me to write more!) :)
Recs that inspire this AU
- "Furry/Hybrid - Wooyoung" by @kitten4sannie
- This pup!san and owner!seonghwa ask to @thetypingpup
- This fox!wooyoung smut by @atinycafe
- "Gentle" by @cheollipop
- Yeosang and Darling's relationship in @beenbaanbuun's addams!matz au (specifically this and this)
Hybrid AU Masterlist
Omega (omega!seonghwa x omega!reader + others | ABO smut)
Ateez and whether or not they'd share you
Diamond (ot8 x princess!reader | Royal AU) Chapter 1 Chapter 2 (Hiatus)
Idol!Dad Ateez Universe
Ateez 9th Member AU
Hongjoong
After "The Point of No Return"
Seonghwa
Animal Crossing (smut)
For My Husband (husband!Seonghwa x wife!reader) (Preview) (Teaser 2)
Yunho
Swing to Me (non-idol!yunho x spiderwoman!reader)
Cursed by Blood (Series Preview)
Yeosang
Mint Chocolate Shakes and The Beach (non-idol!Yeosang x chubby!reader)
Alpha's Christmas Present (alpha!yeosang x omega!reader ft. alpha!wooyoung x reader)
San
Skinny San vs. Titty San Drabble
The Last Straw (angst, fluff)
A Distraction from Gaining the World Part 1 (Discontinued indefinitely)
short choi san angst
jealous san drabble
Prude (14/7/26) (New!!)
Mingi
Crazy (For You) drabble (16/7/26)
Wooyoung
Idelible (Teaser) (idol!wooyoung x txt 6th member!reader) (discontinued until further notice)
Cookie Shop (non-idol!wooyoung x reader)
Wooyoung x girl next door!reader smut
Jongho
Queen of Tears (Hiatus)
Cheer You On (soccer player!jongho x cheerleader!reader) (New!!)
Everything Preview Part 1
Summary: Your sense of justice had always been the outlier among your personality traits until one fateful school trip to Oscorp. Paired with newfound friendship with your longstanding crush, Yunho, how are you going to handle it all?
c/w: bullying, slight violence, spiders, eventual smut, not proofread
Pairing: non-idol!Yunho x fem!spiderman!reader
Status: ongoing
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Swing to me taglist
@ssangx @satsuri3su
Let me know if you want to be on the taglist and I'll add you!
This is so random, but I feel like at this point my relationship with Ateez as a fan has become a fan/idol relationship where I think of them as unreachable and above myself as a person. Someone who would be lucky to get their attention if ever I did. Like I don't actually, but I kind of do basically worship the ground they walk on. Watching them makes me inexplicably happy in a borderline parasocial way, which I don't blame myself for because that's the inherent nature of the kpop industry.
Secondly, I see them as a competitor (even tho I am nowhere near on their level). Like, I simultaneously see them as just human beings who are doing cool things that they love for the sake of doing it because it's what they love to do, and I'm at a point in my life where I don't know why I'm just not doing that, and it puts me in a deeper and deeper spiral every day.
I both watch them for comfort and yet am still affected in the way of "this is what you should be doing, but you are literally sitting there and watching other people do it." How can something be both a source of incredible inspiration and joy and also intense feelings of self-doubt and distance from what I want in life?
I know I'm not articulating this well, and that's okay. I don't think articulating it well makes the feelings any less clear to me. And no one needs to respond to this, but I do wonder if I am the only person who feels like this. If I am the only person who feels insane.
