♡ 𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤: Single father San x nanny reader
♡ 𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You’ve spent months fighting the undeniable magnetic pull between you and Mr. Choi — the unfairly handsome single father whose house you live in as the nanny for his twins. His heated stares linger longer with each passing day, thickening the air with unspoken desire that makes you blush and touch yourself in bed at night when you think about him. Your twisted game of cat and mouse might have continued indefinitely, if you hadn’t accidentally caught him in the shower one day — hot water streaming over his body as he stroked himself slowly, your dirty panties pressed tightly to his face. A full scene for the unholy hour
♡ 𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 / 𝔄𝔲 / 𝔗𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢: Smut, Dilf!Au, Domestic! AU, Reader x Single father
♡ ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: 18+ / 21+ / MDNI
♡ 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 5.4k
♡ 𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: dom!Dilf San, Soft!reader, impregnation kink, breeding kink, cum play, pussy rubbing, pet names, dirty talk, hand job, praise kink, milking, masturbation, size kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, cock milking, wet and dirty, explicit sexual content, explicit language, and more.
♡ net: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity
♡ 𝔄|𝔑: Well, my sugar bunnies, I didn't plan on writing a full-length, but that's what happened. This is also unedited, so please be gentle with me. I don't usually post rough drafts this rough, but I promised you a full scene for this one, and I really won't be able to edit it anytime soon, at least for the next two weeks, and I don't want my bunnies to get bored. So, I hope you have lots of fun with soft, but perverted dilf San who spends all his free time thinking about how badly he wants to breed his children's nanny.
♡ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 at the end of the post.
♡ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔶 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 - check for more
𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖉 - Your love makes all this possible
Single fatherhood had been grinding San down to the marrow lately, the weight of it crushing him from the moment the sun clawed over the horizon until it bled out behind the city skyline. Work dragged him out before the twins even stirred and spat him back home long after the house had gone dark, so bone-weary he could barely peel off his suit, let alone chase the kind of filthy, desperate release his body had been screaming for.
And then you stepped into the storm — his quiet miracle, his soft-eyed salvation, the one calm heartbeat in the chaos of his life with two wild toddlers. You’d been here for months now, and San didn’t know how he’d survived without you. The house finally felt like a home again instead of a battlefield, and for the first time in forever he could actually draw a full breath without it catching in his throat.
The change had crept in so gradually he almost missed it at first. Mornings where the twins’ laughter no longer grated against his frayed nerves but instead wrapped around him like something warm and safe. Evenings when he came home to the soft glow of lights and the faint scent of dinner waiting instead of cold silence and scattered toys.
Little by little, the constant knot of exhaustion in his chest began to loosen, replaced by something far more dangerous — a slow, heated awareness of the way you moved through his space with such effortless grace. The gentle curve of your smile when one of the boys reached for you, the way your voice softened into something tender and melodic as you soothed them, the quiet competence that made his once-chaotic world feel steady again. Each small moment settled deeper under his skin, stirring embers he had long since buried beneath layers of fatigue and responsibility.
The hunger started as a low, dangerous thrum beneath his skin, something San almost convinced himself was just exhaustion.
At first he only noticed the safe, practical things: how the twins fell instantly silent the moment you cradled them against the soft swell of your chest, how a steaming meal always waited on the counter no matter how late he dragged himself through the door, how the entire house had shifted from a cold, sterile battlefield into something warm, lived-in, and quietly welcoming. San told himself the way his gaze clung to the generous curve of your ass when you bent to gather a scattered toy was nothing more than bone-deep fatigue. The way his cock gave a slow, heavy throb when your soft, genuine laugh drifted across the room at one of the boys’ babbling nonsense was simply the natural response of a man who hadn’t lost himself inside warm, willing heat in over a year.
But the thrum grew louder. Deeper. Hungrier.
And then San started having dreams. Filthy, sweat-soaked, vividly colored dreams that tore him from sleep with his cock rigid and leaking against his stomach, sheets tangled around his thighs like silken bonds, your name already spilling from his lips in a broken whisper.
In one he had you on your knees beneath his office desk during a late-night video call, those wide, innocent eyes gazing up at him while your plush lips stretched wide around the thick, veined length of his cock. He’d twist his fingers into your hair, continue speaking in that calm, authoritative CEO tone, hips rolling in unhurried, possessive strokes while you drooled and whimpered around him, mascara painting dark, messy trails down your flushed cheeks. He’d empty himself down your throat mid-sentence, thick, copious streams and you’d swallow every drop like the perfect, greedy little slut he knew you could be.
He’d wake with his boxers drenched, heart hammering against his ribs, and barely reach the shower, fisting himself with harsh, desperate strokes that never truly eased the gnawing hunger.
The daytime fantasies were even crueler. They ambushed him when he was least prepared.
During yet another endless conference call he’d find his mind drifting, painting you on your knees beneath the oak table in his home office. Eager fingers would tug down his zipper with practiced hunger, that warm, velvet mouth sinking down until the swollen head nudged the back of your throat. While San fought to keep his voice steady and professional for the camera, your tongue would swirl slowly and obscene around the sensitive tip, cheeks hollowing with each deliberate suck, those soft, needy hums vibrating straight through his heavy sac. He’d grip the edge of the desk until his knuckles paled, biting back the urge to moan your name in front of his entire team.
The mere fantasy was enough to make his cock swell and throb insistently against the tight confines of his slacks; he’d have to mute the call, press his palm firmly over the aching bulge, and sink his teeth into the inside of his cheek until the meeting dragged to its end.
And then there were the real moments — the ones that turned restraint into the sweetest, most exquisite torture.
Watching you with the twins always unraveled the last fragile threads of San’s control.
God, the way you played with them — so gentle, so effortlessly tender, every gesture radiating that soft, glowing maternal warmth that sent his his blood boiling hotter than it should.
You’d sink gracefully to the floor in those tiny sleep shorts that rode high on the smooth, plush stretch of your thighs, letting the boys clamber all over you, their delighted giggles muffled against the soft, tempting curve of your chest. San would linger in the doorway, pretending to check his phone, but his eyes stayed riveted on the way your thin tank top stretched tight across those full, heavy breasts whenever you reached for a toy, the way your nipples would pebble into tight, begging peaks the instant the cool air from the vent whispered over them.
In his mind the scene shifted instantly — you softer, rounder, belly beautifully swollen and radiant with his child, those same breasts full and heavy from milk, dark damp circles blooming across the fabric because you were too lost in caring for his family to notice or care.
San’d imagine you settled on the couch, cradling one of the little ones to your breast while he watched from across the room, his cock straining painfully against his pants at the sight. He was the one who had given you that lush, fertile glow. He was the one who had fucked you so thoroughly the night before that you’d still be walking with that delicious, sated waddle the next day, inner thighs slick with the evidence of how he completely claimed a pretty, sweet nanny.
That particular domestic fantasy slammed into him like a freight train on a random Tuesday.
He’d come home early for once and found you in the kitchen, wearing nothing but one of his old, oversized shirts draped loosely over your shorts, humming softly while you stirred something fragrant on the stove. The twins were napping upstairs. Golden late-afternoon light spilled through the windows, bathing everything in a hazy, golden warmth, and for one dangerous, heart-stopping second San let himself imagine you as his completely — his sweet little wifey, wearing only a tiny apron knotted around your waist, full breasts completely bare and swaying gently with every movement, nipples stiff from the cool air.
That soft, puffy little cunt of yours still glistening and swollen from the thick, creamy load he’d pumped into you that morning, slow, shiny trails of his seed tracing lazy paths down your inner thighs while you cooked dinner for your family like the perfect, depraved little housewife you were born to be.
San’d step up behind you, bend you over the counter, and sink back inside that warm, welcoming heat — deep and unhurried, no rush, no tiny voices to interrupt, just the wet, obscene sounds of your slick walls stretching around every thick inch while he pressed open-mouthed kisses of your neck and whispered how fucking exquisite you looked carrying his baby again.
He’d almost done it that day. Almost pressed the heavy, aching length of his cock against the soft, plush curve of your ass and let you feel exactly how desperately hard the thought made him.
Instead San’d cleared his throat, thanked you for dinner in that low, strained rasp, and vanished into his office to fist his throbbing shaft furiously into a tissue, teeth sunk deep into his knuckles so the broken moan of your name wouldn’t echo through the quiet house.
The tension had been thickening for weeks now, slow and merciless, like warm honey spreading beneath his skin until every breath felt too tight, too heavy.
Every accidental brush of your fingers when you passed him coffee. Every time you breathed “Mr. Choi” in that sweet, slightly breathless voice that shot straight to his balls. Every night he came home to find you curled on the couch with one of the twins fast asleep on your chest, your hand stroking the boy’s back so gently while you scrolled on your phone.
San would freeze in the dark hallway, cock pulsing painfully against the front of his slacks, wondering how it would feel to replace that soft little hand with his own — bigger, rougher, calloused from years of barely holding on, sliding under your shirt to cup the warm, full weight of your breast while he fucked you slow and deep, letting you feel every swollen vein, every heavy throb, every inch of the thick cock you’d been secretly aching for.
He was losing the battle.
And today was his first real day off in forever; he was finished pretending.
The twins had drifted off without a single protest, their soft breathing the only sound left in the house. Blissful silence wrapped around everything like a secret. San stood in his bedroom, towel slung dangerously low on his hips, dark hair still damp and tousled from the light sheen of sweat earned chasing the boys across the yard earlier. His cock was already half-hard, thickening against the soft fabric just from the memory of you laughing on the grass, cheeks flushed a delicate pink, shirt riding up to bare that tempting strip of smooth skin along your stomach.
He needed release. Badly. He needed to curl his fingers around his aching length and stroke himself senseless to thoughts of you until the gnawing hunger finally eased.
He padded barefoot into the bathroom, the heavy glass door clicking shut behind him like a promise sealed in steam. Hot water roared to life beneath his fingertips, thick clouds already curling lazily around the marble walls and turning the air with something heavy, intimate, almost sacred in its sinfulness.
And there they were — draped over the edge of the tub like the universe had decided to gift him the most obscene temptation imaginable.
Your pale pink lace panties from yesterday. Still faintly damp. Still carrying that faint, intoxicating trace of your sweet, musky warmth.
San’s breath caught sharply in his throat. His cock surged to full, rigid hardness so violently his vision blurred at the edges. He didn’t hesitate for a single second.
He stepped beneath the scalding cascade of water, snatched the delicate scrap of lace, and pressed the ruined fabric straight to his face, inhaling like a man starved for weeks. The heady essence of you flooded his senses - creamy-sweet and warm and unmistakably feminine, laced with that soft whisper of laundry detergent, and his mind short-circuited completely.
“Fuck…” A low, broken groan escaped from San's lips, the sound reverberating against the wet fabric.
He curled his fist tightly around the thick, veined length of his cock and began stroking it in long, deliberate movements, which made the ridges of his sculpted abdomen flex and his heavy scrotum draw up tightly against his body. Scorching water poured down the broad expanse of his chest, tracing every defined line of muscle, every sharp cut of his hips, making the veins along his forearm stand proud as he pumped himself harder, slower, savoring the deep, pulsing ache.
San ground the lace more firmly against his nose and mouth, tongue tracing lazy, greedy paths over the spot where your arousal had dried, sucking the delicate fabric between his lips as though he could truly taste the warm, dripping heat of your pretty little pussy for real.
The fantasy slammed into him again, vivid and merciless.
You stood there in nothing but that tiny apron, bent over the kitchen table, back arched like an offering, thighs spread wide and trembling with anticipation. That soft, swollen cunt of yours glistened invitingly, puffy lips parted and already leaking slow, creamy trails from the thick load he’d pumped deep inside you that morning. He’d grip your hips with firm, possessive hands, push in deep and unhurried, letting you feel every heavy, veined inch stretch your fluttering walls open while your full tits swayed heavily beneath you, nipples tight and begging for his mouth, his fingers, his teeth.
The image burned behind his closed eyelids, vivid and merciless, every detail sharpened by weeks of pent-up hunger. San could almost hear the wet, obscene sounds your body would make around him — the slick slide of skin on skin, your soft gasps turning into broken whimpers as he rocked into you with that slow, deliberate rhythm, claiming you right there in the golden afternoon light while dinner simmered forgotten on the stove. He could almost feel the way your walls would clench and flutter around his thick length, milking him, pulling him deeper, your voice whispering his name like the perfect, depraved little wifey you were meant to be.
He was so lost in it, so completely fucking gone in his sweet fantasy, that he didn’t hear the soft creak of the bathroom door opening.
The house was blissfully, dangerously quiet for once.
The twins, those tiny whirlwinds with San’s dimpled smile and endless fire — had finally surrendered to their afternoon nap after tearing through the backyard like miniature storms. You’d tucked them in with their favorite blankets, brushed soft kisses across their foreheads, and slipped from the nursery on silent feet, heart still fluttering from the way Mr. Choi had looked at you over breakfast.
Just a glance, really, those dark feline eyes lingering a heartbeat too long as you leaned down to wipe jam from one little cheek, but it had been enough to make your thighs press together beneath the kitchen table, a treacherous warmth already blooming low in your belly.
Mr. Choi San. Your boss. The single father who somehow balanced being the most devoted dad in the world with the kind of devastating, fuckable presence that ruined your panties every single day. Lately, the air between you had thickened into something electric, something alive and crackling every time your fingers brushed when handing him his coffee or when he thanked you in that low, velvet rasp that always sounded like a filthy promise wrapped in perfect politeness.
The two of you had fallen into an easy, dangerously comfortable rhythm. The twins adored you, Mr. Choi was kind and respectful, the pay was generous, and you could almost convince yourself you were content, if not for the slow, simmering heat that had thickened between you like warm, sticky honey, sweet and impossible to ignore.
It started with stolen glances and grew into something far hungrier. You felt it in the treacherous slickness that bloomed between your thighs whenever he was near: every accidental brush in the narrow hallway when his clean, masculine scent made your breath hitch; the way his gaze dragged slowly over your body a second too long when you bent to gather toys or chased the boys across the living room in those tiny shorts.
You pretended it wasn’t there, but the air always sparked when your hands touched or when you caught yourself staring too hard at the way his gray sweatpants hung obscenely low on his hips in the mornings, the soft fabric doing nothing to hide the heavy outline beneath.
Today was different. His first real day off in forever. No work. No schedule. Just him, finally home, finally able to breathe.
You’d heard the shower start twenty minutes ago, the low, steady rush of water through the old pipes, the faint metallic clink of the glass door sliding shut. You should have stayed downstairs. Folded laundry. Prepped dinner. Anything but what you were doing now: creeping down the upstairs hallway like a thief in your own skin, drawn by some invisible, irresistible thread you couldn’t name and didn’t want to fight.
The bathroom door wasn’t fully closed.
Just a careless crack. A single tempting inch left open because San had been distracted when he stepped inside. You told yourself you were only checking if he needed anything, fresh towels, maybe, or a glass of water. But the second you reached the door, you froze, breath catching in your throat.
Steam curled out in lazy, fragrant tendrils, carrying the rich, woodsy scent of his body wash that always made your head spin whenever he passed you in the narrow hallway. And there, through that narrow gap, was San.
Naked. Gorgeous. Leaning back against the cool tiled wall beneath the scorching spray, one of his broad palms pressed against his face, the other wrapped around the thick, heavy length of his cock. Water cascaded down his body in glistening rivers — tracing the sharp cut of his collarbones, the defined ridges of his abs that flexed with every slow, deliberate stroke, the deep V of his hips melting into to where he was touching himself.
God, he was bigger than you’d ever dared imagine in your filthiest late-night fantasies. Thick, veined, flushed a deep, furious shade at the swollen tip where beads of precum mixed with the falling water. His hand moved with lazy, confident glides, long and firm from base to crown, thumb sweeping over the sensitive slit on every upward pass, twisting just enough at the head to make his powerful thighs tense and quiver.
His head was tipped back, lips parted on a silent breath, dark hair plastered to his forehead in wet strands. A low, guttural groan rumbled from deep in his chest as when he removed his hand from his face and instead slid down to cup the heavy weight of his balls, rolling them slowly, tugging with gentle pressure. The sound shot straight between your legs like a spark to dry tinder.
But it wasn’t just him.
Now, you could see it, draped over his face. pressed tight against his nose and mouth like he was drowning in your scent, were your panties.
Your dirty panties. The pale pink lace pair you’d worn yesterday. The ones you’d peeled off after a long, frustrating day of chasing the twins and trying desperately not to stare at the way Mr. Choi’s work slacks hugged his perfect ass. You’d left them draped over the tub after your own shower last night, meaning to grab them this morning but forgetting in the breakfast rush. Now they were soaked — partly from the shower spray, mostly from the way San was grinding his face into the crotch, eyes squeezed shut, breathing you in like a man on the verge of starvation.
“Fuck… you smell so fucking good.” Mr. Choi muttered, voice wrecked and low, barely audible over the steady rush of water. His tongue dragged a slow, obscene stripe along the ruined fabric where your arousal had dried. “My little nanny’s been soaked for me… haven’t you, chagiya?”
Your knees nearly buckled. Heat flooded your face, your chest, your dripping core. Your hand flew to your mouth to stifle the whimper clawing its way up your throat, but your other hand traitorous, desperate — slid down your stomach, under the waistband of your loose sleep shorts, and straight into your panties. You were drenched. Embarrassingly, shamefully drenched. Two fingers parted your slick, swollen folds and began circling your throbbing clit, matching the lazy rhythm of San’s hand on his cock without you even meaning to.
You could see it in the way his strokes turned faster, sloppier, almost frantic — each slick drag of his fist desperate and uncontrolled. His breathing fractured into broken, ragged gasps that echoed off the wet tiles like a filthy confession. One hand gripped the thick base of his cock hard, squeezing viciously at the root as if he could wring out a few more precious seconds of torment, while his other hand rose to his face again, crushing your panties tighter against it.
His nose buried deep into the soaked fabric, right where your swollen clit would have pulsed hot and needy against his tongue if you were spread open for him — thighs trembling, dripping pussy offered like a gift he was dying to devour. The scent of you filled his lungs with every greedy inhale, driving him closer to the brink, until his hips jerked helplessly and that low, wrecked moan slipped from his lips like a prayer.
You thrust your fingers faster and deeper into your soaked pussy, chasing that blinding edge with shameless hunger. Your thumb rubbed frantic, desperate circles over your throbbing little clit, each slick swirl sending white-hot sparks racing up your spine. The wet, filthy sounds of your own dripping arousal—obscene, greedy, soaked—filled your ears, loud and shameless even over the steady roar of the shower cascading down your trembling body.
Your thighs shook violently, muscles clenching and quivering as pleasure coiled tighter, threatening to shatter you. Your free hand braced hard against the doorframe, nails digging deep into the wood until faint crescent marks bloomed across it, the only thing keeping you upright while your legs threatened to buckle beneath the relentless ache.
San’s head dropped forward, forehead pressing to the cool tile as he fucked his fist with brutal, unrelenting need.
“Gonna come… fuck, gonna paint these pretty little panties and make you wear my mess for the rest of the day…” His voice cracked into a deep, animalistic groan that reverberated off the wet tiles like a filthy promise.
His cock jerked violently in his grip. In one swift, desperate motion he yanked your soaked panties from his face and held the delicate lace open like a filthy offering right in front of his throbbing length. Then he was coming—hard.
Thick, heavy ropes of cum erupted in pulsing jets, splattering the inside of your lace, flooding the delicate fabric with creamy white streaks that dripped slowly down the soaked material, mixing with the shower spray and the faint, lingering trace of your own dried slick.
The sight of Mr. Choi, your perfect golden-hearted boss, marking your dirty little secret with his hot, messy load while he moaned your name like a broken prayer, sent you spiraling over the edge right along with him. Your greedy cunt clenched viciously around your fingers as a silent, shattering orgasm tore through you, so violent your vision whited out for a heartbeat. You rode the waves against the doorframe, biting down hard on your knuckle to choke back the cry, legs shaking like the floor had vanished beneath you.
For one long, suspended moment the only sounds were the shower still pounding and the ragged breathing of two people burning alive on opposite sides of the same cracked door, completely unaware of each other.
San slowly lowered your ruined panties, staring at the obscene, sticky mess he’d made with dark, satisfied eyes. A lazy, wicked little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he thumbed a thick streak of his own cum across the lace, spreading it slowly, deliberately, like he was claiming every single thread.
The house was quiet for once—blissfully, dangerously quiet.
And the tension that had been building for months was finally, finally about to snap.
The shower was still running, hot water beating down like a second, frantic heartbeat against his skin, but San wasn’t finished. Not even close.
His first release had torn through him like lightning—thick ropes of cum painting your panties white and filthy where he’d held them open like a sacred, filthy trophy. He’d growled your name under his breath, hips jerking, heavy sac pulsing as he emptied himself in shuddering waves. But the moment the last drop left him, the ache only sharpened, twisted deeper inside his veins like a drug he couldn’t quit. His cock stayed rock-hard, flushed a dark, furious shade, still twitching against the carved lines of his abs like it refused to be denied.
“Fuck… not enough.” San growled, voice low and shattered, raw with need.
He slid down the slick tiled wall until his knees met the wet floor with a heavy thud. Water streamed over the broad expanse of his shoulders, tracing every deep groove along his spine, pooling around his powerful thighs as he knelt there like a man utterly possessed. One hand slammed against the shower wall for balance, veins standing proud along his forearm, while the other curled back around his oversensitive length—still slick with his own release and the endless spray. He gave one slow, testing glide and hissed sharply at the burning sting of overstimulation, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
He tossed your ruined panties onto the shower floor in front of him. They landed with a wet slap, cum-streaked lace fanned open like an invitation, and San stared at them as if they were you—spread wide, waiting, glistening just for him. His hips rolled forward, driving into the tight tunnel of his fist with long, deliberate strokes.
The motion was pure obscenity: powerful ass clenching and releasing with every thrust, thick muscles in his glutes and thighs rippling beneath glistening skin. Rivulets raced down his back, catching on every sculpted line—broad shoulders, tapered waist, the tempting dimples at the base of his spine that vanished into the cleft of that perfect, firm ass. He looked like living, luxurious depravity, like a private performance crafted to ruin whoever was lucky enough to witness it. Every snap of his hips made his thick cock disappear completely into his fist, only to reappear slick and throbbing, the swollen head angry and already weeping fresh beads of precum.
“Goddamn… look at you.” He muttered, eyes half-lidded and dark, staring at the panties like they could whisper back. His voice dropped lower, that velvet growl turning downright filthy. “Such a pretty little nanny… always so gentle and warm with my boys. Bet you’d feel even sweeter bent over my kitchen table, huh? Tiny apron tied around your waist, nothing else. Tits bare and heavy for me… leaking warm milk while I fuck another baby deep into this fertile little belly.”
His strokes quickened, wet sounds echoing off the tiles—obscene, rhythmic, addictive. He was gone now, hips snapping with increasing force, ass bouncing with every powerful drive into his hand. The fantasy poured from him in a hungry, broken stream, each filthy word dripping with raw, possessive hunger.
“Fuck, yes, just like that, my little wife.” San growled, voice wrecked and dripping with raw hunger. “Spread those soft thighs wider for me. Let Daddy see how swollen and greedy your pretty cunt gets after I’ve filled you so full.”
His free hand left the shower wall just long enough to cup his heavy balls, tugging them downward with a firm, possessive squeeze, rolling the sensitive weight in his palm while his hips kept driving into his fist with long, filthy strokes.
“You’d look so fucking exquisite like that… cooking dinner with my cum still trickling down your smooth thighs. Belly rounded and glowing, tits swaying heavy with every step. I’d take you right there—slow and deep, make you feel every thick, veined inch stretching that tight, fluttering hole wide open.”
You were still frozen outside the cracked door, heart hammering so loudly you were sure it would give you away. Your hand had slipped back inside your shorts, fingers buried deep in your soaked, fluttering heat, pumping in quick, desperate little thrusts that mirrored the sinful roll of his hips. You felt shameless, spying like a desperate little pervert from the shadows, cheeks burning, thighs quivering—but you couldn’t stop. Not when he was painting pictures like that, each word sinking straight into your dripping core.
San’s head tipped forward, water streaming off his dark hair in shining trails, and then the switch happened. His saturi slipped out thick and low, that rough drawl wrapping every syllable in pure, filthy hometown heat.
“Jagiya… my little wif.” He rasped, voice cracking as he fucked his fist faster, the words melting together in that thick, rolling accent. “Your tight little cunt… clenching so fucking perfect around Daddy’s cock.” The syllables blurred into half-moaned, half-growled promises of breeding you deep, claiming you completely, making you his forever. “Cum for me… gonna make you my wife… take every last drop of my cum deep inside that greedy little hole…”
You bit your lip until it bled, fingers curling hard against that spongy spot inside your dripping heat, thumb grinding frantic circles over your swollen clit. The coil inside you wound tighter, tighter—your free hand braced white-knuckled on the doorframe, knees shaking so violently you were sure they’d give out.
San’s thrusts turned wild and erratic, hips snapping with raw power, ass flexing in tight, powerful waves that sent water spraying across the tiles. Every muscle in his body gleamed—abs contracting sharply, veins bulging along his forearms as he braced and fucked and completely lost himself.
“Fuck…gonna cum again, gonna fill you up, wife…gonna…ah, shit!”
His head snapped back against the tile with a wet thud, eyes rolling white as a long, broken moan tore from his throat and echoed off the walls like a dark, possessive claim. His cock jerked violently in his grip, shooting thick, creamy ropes of cum across your discarded panties again — splattering the delicate lace, the wet floor, even the tiled wall in heavy, pulsing jets while he kept stroking through every last spurt, milking himself mercilessly until his powerful body shuddered and trembled with the raw force of it.
At the exact same moment, you shattered too — hard, silent, devastating. Your cunt clamped down around your fingers like a vice, a hot gush of wetness soaking straight through your shorts as your vision whited out completely. You biting down hard on your knuckle until it throbbed, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming, shattering intensity.
The second it passed, panic crashed over you like ice water.
You yanked your hand free, spun on trembling legs, and fled down the hallway as quietly as you could — bare feet silent on the carpet, heart hammering so loudly you were terrified it would betray you. You didn’t dare look back. You slipped into your bedroom, shut the door with the softest click, and leaned back against it, chest heaving, thighs slick and shaking uncontrollably.
Nothing would ever be the same. You both knew it.
Inside the bathroom, San stayed on his knees for another long, breathless minute, water still pouring over the broad, glistening planes of his shoulders. His cock gave one last weak twitch in his hand before he finally released it. A slow, dangerous smirk curved his lips as he reached down and picked up your thoroughly ruined panties — now twice as filthy, heavy and dripping with his warm cum and the shower spray.
He brought them to his face one last time, inhaling deep and slow, savoring the intoxicating mix of your scent and his, then folded the soaked lace carefully in his fist.
“Oh, baby…” he murmured to the empty room, voice still husky and dark with promise. “You have no idea what you just started.”
He shut off the water, stepped out, and wrapped a towel low around his waist — your panties clutched tight in his other hand like a filthy little secret he had every intention of keeping.
warnings: aphrodisiacs, multiple orgasms, rough sex, so much cum etc.
a/n: yeah...
enjoy.
You really should have put them in a cabinet, or hell, you could've even thrown them in the trash. But you didn’t. And you weren't sure that you regretted it.
They were a childish idea of a gag gift from a game of Secret Santa you had played with your coworkers last Christmas. You were beyond disoriented when you opened your gift to find the pills inside the neatly wrapped box, immediately taking it as your coworkers finding your consistent lack of a partner amusing.
You took them home, with zero intention to use them. It's not like you had a boyfriend, so they sat on your nightstand, collecting dust, untouched, along with a plethora of random items that never saw the light of day. You didn’t know why exactly you never threw them away, maybe because in the future, it was a possibility you might use them. Fat chance. You had completely forgotten about them, the bottle becoming just another item on your “I Spy’’ of a table.
Enter Choi San.
San always comes over unannounced, walking through your front door like he owns the place; that's just what best friends do. Making a home on your sectional and refusing to leave until the cushions swallowed him whole and you had to drag him out by his ear.
You would complain, but you both knew he was always more than welcome. This time was no different, waltzing in just as the sun began to set in the sky. He had brought some Chinese takeout for you, insisting that you needed to spend the evening taking it easy and leaving work alone for a minute, which was really taking a toll on you.
San always noticed these things before you yourself could even catch on. When you are overworked or when you catch a cold. When your cycle was starting or when your hangovers were bad. He knew you better than you knew yourself, and you couldn’t help but feel so loved and cared for with how easily he saw through you.
It started with a headache.
You were both curled up on the couch, a TV show you had been watching together for the past month played on your TV. You had cookies stuffed in your mouth, and San nursed a can of beer. The house was dark, no lights on, just the soft glow of the TV screen. San was close, one arm draped over your shoulders as he leaned against your side. You lay your head on his shoulder, eyes glued to the screen.
“Do you have any Advil or something?” San’s soft voice broke the comfortable silence, slipping his arm away from you and lifting his hands to his forehead to massage his temples, eyebrows knitted in pain.
“Headache?” you ask simply, and he nods, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Yeah. probably all this staring at a screen I’ve been doing all day.” You nod sympathetically, then point towards the dark hallway, “I have some ibuprofen on my nightstand in my room if you wanna go take some.” He smiles and stands, walking behind the couch.
“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.” San’s hand finds the nape of your neck, squeezing the tense muscle there in a quick massaging movement, as a way of saying thank you. His hands are large and warm, easily overtaking the entire expanse of your neck. You’re lucky he was so quick to rid himself of this headache because if his hand had lingered any longer, you probably would have lost it.
San is hot. Anyone with eyes can see that. From the beginning, you may have seen the possibility of a romantic relationship developing, but you didn’t wanna make things weird. So you listed that under the “not gonna happen” category and never touched it again. What made it so hard was that San was incredibly touchy and affectionate; it was like he had a parasite inside of him that fed off of human touch.
San walked into your bedroom, the space cast in shadows. He didn't bother turning on the light, using the dim desk lamp across the room as he made a beeline towards your nightstand. Your sheets were a mess, and a few clothes were strewn about here and there. It smelled like you.
When he saw the nightstand, he sighed audibly at the absolute mess it was. Hairbands, mail, books, and pencils, everything on planet earth crammed onto one small surface. Sitting at the edge was a white bottle with a blue label. He picked it up and twisted the cap off, pouring a couple of pills into his hand. He walked out of your room and walked to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and washing it down.
When he sat back down next to you, you glanced over as he began to make himself comfy again. “Found them?” you asked.
“Yeah," San reached over and took your wrist in his hand, brushing his fingers over the pulse point, pressing down on it gently. "By the way, you should clean that table; it looks like an office depot threw up all over it.”
You rolled your eyes and gently kicked his side. “When you start paying rent, I’ll think about it.” You both laughed and directed your attention back at the TV, that comfortable silence settling once again.
It was about 45 minutes later, San had noticed his headache had gone, but now he was feeling… something else.
Feverish, like someone had poured hot coals into his stomach.
Was he getting sick? You were still lost in the TV, but San had long forgotten as it played in the background. He felt hot, overheated. Sure, his head didn’t hurt anymore, but instead it felt fuzzy. He was sweating, and his knee wouldn’t stop bouncing.
He brushed it off as maybe too much beer, but even 10 minutes later, he only felt worse. Maybe worse wasn’t the right word, but suddenly the nape of his neck burned like crazy, his heart was racing, and there was this strange feeling in his gut that felt like a tug, a pull of some sort.
He turned to look at you, and he swallowed. And that heat all over his body increased tenfold.
You sat prettily, legs tucked underneath you, nibbling on the nail of your thumb absentmindedly. Your shorts rode up your soft thighs, your chest rose and fell with gentle, relaxed breaths, the side of your neck exposed, the light of the TV reflecting in your glassy eyes.
San’s breath hitched, and he felt s strong lurch in his stomach. His mouth instantly dried, every nerve ending in his body was set alight. Then he finally placed what he was feeling.
He was horny. So unbelievably, fucking horny.
He didn’t understand why, and he was less worried about the why and worried about how if he didn’t get out of here now, shit was going to go down. It would be something he couldn't control, and that seemed to only excite him further.
His brain was a mess of thoughts, words overlapping one another, and an unbearable heat dripping down his back. But the one thought that screamed louder than the rest of them, was to ravage. To take and to fuck this heat away, using you.
His skin was ablaze, his breath ragged, his cock straining against the confines of his pants painfully. Everywhere his eyes landed on you only added fuel to the flames; his fingers twitched, itching to touch.
You had heard his shallow breaths, and you turned your head to make sure he was alright. Pure, innocent concern for your friend who sounded like he was literally about to pass out. “San?” you whispered.
His jaw clenched, and his dick jumped in his pants at the sound of your sweet… sweet voice.
He inhaled sharply, and your brows furrowed in concern as you inched yourself closer to him, a hand carefully reached out.
“Sannie, are you alright-“
“H-hands off!” He exclaimed, his voice dropped to a strained low drawl, and trailing off into a pathetic whine as he wiped the sweat that gathered on his palms on his pants. Immediately, he scrambled to apologize to you, to come up with an excuse to explain his freakish behavior.
But when he looked at you again, he felt that need to apologize and explain die on his tongue when he found your gaze trained on the print in his jeans. You swallowed once. Visibly, your body sent a shiver throughout you, and San’s need to gain control of the situation was slipping… fast.
Consequences be damned, San was willing to risk anything to make this ferocity go away.
“Look at me.” A growl, quiet and sharp, that travelled straight through your body like you had just been injected with liquid fire.
You blinked and ripped your eyes away from his lower body, meeting his gaze in a shared, misty look. Your heart was racing, and he took notice of the slight glaze in your eyes, your heavy breathing, the way your fingers played with the hem of your shirt nervously.
Caught and guilty.
“Say no.” San gritted, eyes boring into yours like you might vanish if he blinked.
“Huh?” You whispered, eyes subtly drifting to his clenched fists and his chest rising and falling with labored breaths.
“You heard me.” He sounded wrecked… and if that didn’t make you wet, nothing would. “Say no. Tell me no.” San’s gaze was heated, anything but calm and collected. At this moment, he did not seem himself. The soft, easy-going, gentle San. Instead, he looked hungry, determined, and way too fucking delicious, which was not giving you any peace of mind.
Your eyes fell to your lap, mind racing and heart pounding. You kept your mouth shut.
"I'm not playing with you." San gritted out. His voice was dangerous, a warning. Electrifying. He was giving you an out. A chance to walk away with your body intact tonight.
You didn't take it. You dragged your eyes back up to his, and when your gazes locked, San's nostrils flared, his tongue slipping out and licking his bottom lip. His cock jumped in his pants, and he began to pant slowly, feverishly, his breath shaking with each quiet exhale.
He didn't move. He didn't speak. He stared at you, not once averting his eyes from yours. Assessing, waiting for any semblance in your body language to hint that there was a chance that you didn't want this.
Nothing. If the look in your eyes was anything to go off, San would say you were basically begging for him to lay his hands on you.
And considering that San was sure he might internally combust if you kept looking at him like that, he was ready to take his chances.
“Keep looking at me like that.” He rumbled in a near frightening warning, tilting his head upwards like he was challenging his prey, the gaze he laid on you so intense you felt it in your gut. “I dare you.”
You clenched your thighs, and San noticed.
His eyes rolled and a filthy smile spread across his lips, craning his neck to the side, a quiet cracking sound snapping the deafening silence in two as he stretched himself out.
So much for making out of this in one piece.
"I'm gonna fucking ruin you."
The first movement was a blur, so quick that you immediately started to wonder if you were going to regret this decision. San’s hands gripped either one of your shoulders and hauled you around so your back was pressed against the couch. Your pants were off in one swift movement, and he lay himself between your thighs eagerly, no sign of restraint or patience in his tense shoulders.
You were dizzy with how fast he maneuvered you, and he gave you no time to think before his hot mouth was on you.
Wet, desperate, and loud, San's mouth moved against your quivering cunt between pained groans and needy whines, his tongue swiping through your folds and his hands squeezing your hips, holding them down against the couch cushions. Your fingers dug into the armrest until your nails started to hurt, a long, pitched whine slipping from your lips. San was shameless in his eating, and when your hips bucked in an attempt to escape his ruthless devouring of you, his eyes flashed dark and his teeth bared as he sank them into your sensitive clit.
“Stop fucking moving,” he ordered, flattening his tongue against and licking a long, hungry stripe up the length of you. “If you can’t handle this, there’s no way you’ll survive me fucking you.”
The promise in his words makes you swallow, and he wasted no time devouring you once again. He was starving, famished, and every time your taste flooded his tongue, his blood shot right to his dick, and the heat was unbearable. Like he was strapped down under a heat lamp that he couldn't turn off, his blood buzzed and his brain felt fogged, and the only thing he could think of was you.
“Shit, baby, you taste so good.” Absentmindedly, San’s hips rutted against the cushions of the couch, desperately trying to satiate the straining in his pants while simultaneously trying to quell his fill on your pretty pussy, soaked and creaming for him.
You were coming before you even realized it was happening, your breath catching and your hips stuttering against his tongue.
And yet.
“Fuck me, honey…” he whined. “More, please. Oh god.” and his mouth continued to move, to eat, to consume and whisper sweet filthy nothings against you, like this was just the first course.
He lay between your plush thighs, kneading them with his soft hands, shaking his head back and forth, fucking you on his tongue and drinking you up like it gave him life.
His skilled tongue, flipping, circling. Sucking and obscenely eating, it nearly sounded like he was drowning, moaning unabashedly between your thighs, each heavy lustful groan sending shocks through your cunt and spreading about your entire body.
Consuming for the sake of feeding, he couldn't care less if you were crying from overstimulation, you tasted so damn good, and every nerve in his body screamed at him to make you cum over and over and over to satiate this intense hunger that made his skin burn and his mind haze.
Only when you came for the second time, voice breaking and your whole body shaking, did he reluctantly force himself from your sweet pussy, giving it a few more fleeting licks and kisses, whining in distress like he hated himself for depriving himself from eating you until you couldn't feel your legs for the rest of the night.
He flipped your body over so your stomach was pressed flat against the couch, he ripped his pants off, and pressed himself against your sweltering back. The heat radiating off his skin was insane, the way it soaked into your flesh like he was the sun itself, like he had a burning fever.
His breathing was needy and ragged, the way his voice quietly whined between each exhale of air, like it hurt. San needed to feel your skin on his, needed to squeeze your flesh in his sweltering palms, needed to be inside you.
You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him, his broad chest against your shoulder blades, his soft mouth on the side of yout throat, his throbbing dick pressed right up against the slick entrance of your cunt.
One hand buried in your hair, the other gripping the side of your waist. “Gonna fuck you until we both lose our minds,” he promised breathlessly in your ear, licking your lobe and pressing a wet kiss to your temple.
“It's so hot… too hot." San opened his mouth in a pained groan against your temple, his warm breath fanning over your skin.
"It hurts, baby…” he groaned, just as he pressed his tip past your lips. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, as each thick inch of his cock slid inside of you with little to no resistance from how fucking wet his mouth got you.
The stretch was mouthwatering, and the whine that came from his throat made you flutter around him. Hips flush against your ass, he rolled them, forcing you to feel every vein and every warm, long pulsing bit of his cock against your snug walls. And the moan you let out was downright sinful, enough to break him down right then and there.
If you even wanted to try and stop him now, there was no way he'd be able to find it in him to. He was lost in the feeling of you, your cunt hugged him so tight, and the warmth under his skin only seemed to flare hotter. San dragged his hips back sliding his cock along your walls, thrusting back insde with force enough to shake the couch.
“Oh fuck, yes…” he groaned, immediately setting a rhythm in his body to chase away that burning fire in his body that made him feel like an animal in heat. He fucked you like he was angry, like he was infected with a virus and the only cure was your saccharine moans that fell from your mouth every time his tip kissed that spot deep inside of you.
Your brain was reeling as you searched your thoughts to try to justify how and why this was happening. Why San was rutting into you like it’d kill him not too. Why his skin was so hot that it felt like it was burning you. Why it felt like San's cock was made for you.
The first time you came with his cock inside of you, you squeezed around him so hard that he had to stop for a moment, the feeling so intense that his mouth fell open, and you swore you felt him drool on your shoulder. "Sweeheart, please..." San meweled, his hands sliding from your hips to snatch your wrists and trapping them in his iron grip, holding them down against your lower back to prevent you from moving. "I know it's a lot but stop squirming. Be a good girl-- oh fuck-- endure it for me, baby."
Endurance was the one thing you wished you had right now because San was completely destroying you from the inside out.
When he fucked his cock back up into you again, he was already spilling his cum, hips sliding smoothly, fucking you so full of him your eyes were crossing from feeling so full. The slick wet sounds that echoed around the dark living room were vile in nature, his cum mixing with your slick, your thighs sticky, and your brain melted.
“Shit shit, god… you’re so good… so good for me.. so s-soft…” he was babbling, never losing that punishing pace as he continued to fuck the pain out of his body. Using your cunt as stress relief to relieve this ache in his bones.
But it was like it never let up, the need to fuck like rabbits until both your brains fried from the pleasure only got even stronger.
"'M so sorry, baby," San groaned, dragging his warm tongue up the side of your throat, kissing your shoulder, and squeezing your hips so tight you thought he was trying to snap them so you couldn't run.
"So tight- mmm fuck! So warm... taking me so w-well, oh god, take it baby, take it. Take it..." His voice trailed off into mindless, breathless chants, every stroke of his cock switching off the lights in your brain, your belly warm with him, your poor cunt creaming around him, the pleasure so insane you thought you just might be in heaven. San fucked you until time slipped away, and the only thought you had was to cum, and the only word you remembered was his name.
After what must've been an innumerable number of orgasms for you both, you couldn't keep your body from twitching. He had you on your back, pressing languid, consuming kisses into your swollen mouth, his cock buried so deep inside of you, your stomach felt full of him and his cum. It leaked down your thighs, his thrusts slowed to a sensual, deep roll of hips, the sounds wet and nasty.
“Sannieeee…” you whined softly, voice hoarse and eyes heavy lidded as he fucked another load into you. His eyes were brimming with tears and his cheeks were flushed a pretty pink, lips coated in saliva. Hands roamed up and down the soft flesh of your waist, kneading your stomach and massaging your hips. He had literally fucked you numb.
“S-sorry baby…” he whimpered, and his hips kept moving like his body was in a trance, like he couldn’t control himself. “Can’t help it… it still h-hurts… you’re so warm, baby. Please… just a little more.” He was pathetic, and he just couldn’t even bear to think of slipping out of you. He wanted to stay in your pussy for an eternity.
Your body was spent, and so was San’s, but he just kept going. Like he wasn’t already sore, like his brain wasn’t mush from pleasure. Like you weren’t absolutely fucked dumb, like your thighs didn’t shake and twitch with every slick stroke of his cock inside of you.
San kept using your body like it was the only thing keeping him alive. You had definitely connected the dots by this time and ultimately decided that those pills needed to be rid of as soon as possible.
As soon as San’s dick was no longer turning you inside out.
summary: You’ve never been the most lucky person, and when your AC breaks on you in the peak of a southern summer, you think you just might have seen it all. But when your temptation in a bottle of a neighbor offers to help fix it for you, the sweat on his skin makes you reconsider your hatred for the heat.
warnings: neighbors to lovers, older!san, comedy, fluff, biceps, tan skin sannie(drools), sweat, tension, suggestive popsicle eating(lmao), flirting, pet names, (beautiful, sweetheart, babydoll, etc.) oral(m! & f! receiving), against the wall, sloppy makeouts, kinda feral, desperation, choking, eye contact, fingering, creampie
wc: 7.9k
notes: is it december? yes. is this a summer fic? also yes. hop off, i live in the south it’s still hot down here
tracklist: r.e.m., hands to myself, talk
It started with your ring camera.
When a very feline man showed up on a clip while you were checking your footage one day.
Your cat had gone missing a few days prior, and you had never been more broken up about something in your life. You spent days searching far and wide around the neighborhood, but to no avail.
As much as you were perturbed about the disappearance of your cat, you still had to drag yourself to work every morning.
But when you came home that day, a notification sitting untouched on your phone about your ring catching a recording, it all flipped around.
“Hey, I found this little lady wandering around my apartment somehow? I think she got in through an open window, but I remember her being yours. She’ll be with me for now, but come over when you have the chance to scoop her up? She keeps trying to start hissy fits with my cat.”
A warm, charming smile and pretty little dimples. Freckled caramel skin and a strong jaw.
Tousled black hair and sweet eyes that crinkled at the corners, his large arms holding your cat up to the birds-eye camera, giving her a silly look. She meows, seeming content in the strange man’s arms, and he walks away to his own apartment, cooing softly at her as he cradles her in his arms.
That’s how you met San.
He had found your cat and ever so graciously stopped by your door in hopes of dropping her off while you weren’t home. As soon as you saw the recording, you ran out of your home and down the hall to San’s door, knocking gently, trying to mask your excitement.
When he opened the door to your face beaming with happiness, he knew right then and there, he had to find some way to make sure he kept seeing you.
He’s asked to cat sit a few times. You’ve asked him to water your plants while you were out of town. He’s offered to fix your fridge when it started to leak. You offered to collect his mail when he was on a trip.
You scratched his back, and he scratched yours. A sweet and simple relationship that sometimes has blurred lines.
Like when he looked at you like you were beauty embodied, but you brushed it off. Or when you literally felt your heart stop when he held your cat in his arms, littering her little face in kisses, but the heart was a weird thing. He was a little older than you, and sometimes his age showed in the conversations he would hold with you.
But San was always pleasant to talk to, inviting you over for coffee, letting you rant about work, and listening to his stories about his travels around the world with his buddies. All this time living next door to him, and you had never spoken a word to each other until now.
It was a soft, platonic, crutch of a relationship. A person you could talk to after a long day and just be real with. San made you feel real.
Well, things would change very quickly.
And it was all because of a near heatstroke, the electrifying power of the sun, and a broken AC.
It was the dead of summer, one hundred degrees outside, and asphalt you could fry an egg on. And your AC gave out on you, the shitbox.
You had done everything you could to try and remedy it, but no matter what you tried, it was useless. Every YouTube video provided no help, the toolbox under your sink looked like an airplane cockpit to you, and you were so overheated it was getting hard to form thoughts.
Stripped down to just a thin sweat-soaked tank top and volleyball shorts, you rested your forehead against the edge of your balcony, the door wide open as you tried to catch any breeze that the gods felt generous enough to grace you with.
You tried standing in front of your open fridge, but you knew that would raise your bill, so your last resort was begging for wind on your balcony. You closed your eyes and sighed when a moment of fresh air washed over your wet skin, but it was gone just as quickly as it arrived.
“You look like you’re having fun.”
You nearly let out a moan of relief, the familiar voice flooding your ears like God himself was sent to help you.
“San…” you whined weakly, not lifting your head from your balcony. “I need you to rescue me.”
His sweet little laugh hits your ears, and you turn your head to see him standing on his own balcony, smiling at you fondly. “You know I’m just a door away; you could have just knocked and asked.”
You pouted and winced guiltily. “But I’ve been bothering you so much lately and-“
San interrupts you with a raise of his eyebrow and a snort. “You’re never bothering me, sweetheart. I’m always more than willing to help you out, you know that, don’t you?”
An angel, really.
“San, you’re the best.” You hang your head, and droplets of sweat fall onto the hot wood of your balcony. San is already walking back inside his apartment with a knowing smile.
“Let me grab my things.”
-
“How are you alive?”
The moment San stepped into your home, he immediately began to sweat. Your apartment really was that hot. Carrying his toolbox and a determination to bring coolness back to your abode, he nearly soaked his grey tank top upon stepping through your door.
You laugh dryly. “I guess I’m really resilient.”
San runs his free hand through his hair, inhaling deeply as he takes in the situation. “How long has it been like this?” he murmurs, still seemingly in shock over the temperature of your home.
“A few hours, maybe.” You bite your tongue and avoid looking at him, arms crossed as you take a sudden interest in the ceiling.
San scoffs, “It should have taken you 5 minutes to decide to come ask for my help (Name).” You could feel his eyes on you, and it was burning more than the sun.
“Well, excuse me-” before you could finish your sentence, he whistled loudly.
“Hey, over here.” He snaps, and you whip your head in his direction. Your eyes lock, and you watch as they fall from concentration to a strange softness.
“There you are.” His voice lowers to something so gentle it makes your stomach flip. “Hi, neighbor. So you want this fixed or not?” San lifts his bag and raises his eyebrow in question. Your arms remain crossed, and you nod silently, words seeming to have left you.
“Alright then, c’mon. I want you to watch so you know better next time you’re too embarrassed to ask for my help.”
Your nervousness leaves you as he walks away from you, and you follow with a pep in your step and an annoyance in your tone. “I was not embarrassed, I just didn’t want to drag you out of your comfy air-conditioned home to come sweat off ten pounds trying to fix mine.”
San laughs as he makes a beeline to the closet in your hallway where your air conditioner is located, the metal in his bag clinking with each step. "Sounds like you’re jealous, actually.”
San gets to quick work to diagnose the problem, his head disappearing in the closet as he begins to poke and prod around the broken contraption, murmuring things to himself as he works. Some clanking around and a few screws loose, and he pokes his head from out of the closet.
He looks down at you, your eyes wide and hopeful at the chance of finally being able to feel air conditioning again. He smiles sheepishly, and you already knew bad news was coming.
“Bad news, the entire thing is frozen over.” You let out a defeated groan, and San rests his hands on your bare upper arms.
“Don’t pitch a fit, it’s an easy fix, but you may not like it.” San’s voice is gentle, his hands softly squeezing your arms. You try to ignore the way his skin sticks to yours from the sweat. Pervert.
“What?” You ask dejectedly. San lowers his voice to a whisper.
“You have to turn the heat on.”
You blink a few times, and you feel your entire body go into fight or flight.
“I’d rather you shoot me.” You deadpan, and San squeezes your shoulders one last time before slipping away.
“I’d rather not, babydoll, you give me work to do with my hands. I’d be bored without you.” His grin is genuine, his dimples on proud display, the tendons in his neck flexing, the sweat dripping off his brow. His eyes flick over your face and along your jawline. He licks a drop of sweat off his bottom lip.
And he wants to turn the heat on?
“Is that your way of saying I cause enough trouble to keep you busy?” You gnaw on your bottom lip as San reached behind him and turned the thermostat onto the heat, full blast.
“You could say that.” He smiles and shuts the closet to the AC, and you could immediately feel the heated air start to flow from the vents around the house.
“I’m gonna die in here.” You whine, wiping the side of your neck with a disgusted face.
San sets down his toolbox, which it seems he brought for almost nothing. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay, and we can die together.”
You can’t help but crack a smile as you walk away and fall onto your carpeted floor with a tired thud. “You know you don’t have to, San.”
He only nods and lies down right next to you, spreading his limbs like a starfish and turning his head to face you. “I know.”
-
The rickety rotating fan San brought over from his apartment did little for your sweltering skin. You sat on your knees directly in front of it, sighing each time the rotation made it to your face, and groaning when it started to spin away.
San was sprawled across your couch, lips wrapped around a blue popsicle you had offered him from your freezer. His arm draped over the back as he watched you on your knees in front of the fan, the sweat trickling down your shoulder blades and leaving streaks on your tank top.
San’s eyes were lidded as his tongue traces absentminded patterns along the icy treat, his gaze fully trained on you. You were too focused on catching the flow of the fan to notice how intensely San was staring at you. His eyes followed the slope of your neck and the divots on your lower back where your tank top rode up over your hips.
The way your hair sticks to your slick skin and how your shoulders rose and fell with each breath you took. The way your whole body would relax when the air finally reached you, and how it would tense right back on when it moved away.
The AC was not the only thing that was making San feel hot all over; he couldn't take his eyes off you. Dribbles of sugary blue melted down his wrist, and just when he lowered his mouth to clean up the mess, you turned to ask him a question.
His eyes lock with yours as you turn, but his mouth doesn't cease its movement. His pretty pink tongue slips out and licks up the trail that dripped down his tan wrist.
He mumbles out a low ‘hm?’ as his tongue lies flat against his skin and drags it up his wrist. Your words fail you once again as your eyes fall to his mouth against his skin, and yet San can’t find it in him to rip his gaze away from your pretty, desperate eyes.
“Do- is it good?” You stumble over your question, completely forgetting what you were originally going to ask him. San smiles and licks up the side of the popsicle until he stops and bites the end off of it with a silent snap.
“Very, thank you, sweetheart.” He chews on the blue ice, and you swallow.
“It's the best I can do since you won’t let me pay you.” You swirl your body around so you can fully face him, and grin as he bites off another small piece.
“Your company is payment enough.” He tells you that every time, because every time it goes the same way.
Something breaks, and San comes to your rescue. While he fixes it, you chat idly, and after he’s done, the conversation just seems to flow on even longer. He considers that his payment, always insisting that your time was his currency.
You’ve tried to shove at least a 20 down his throat, but he’ll never take it. You opened your mouth to argue some more, but as you did, your cat walked around the corner of the couch with a soft meow.
“Oh, and where have you been?” You call to her as he rubs herself on San’s man spread legs with a happy meow. San sticks his ice cream into his mouth and reaches down to scoop her into his arms.
“Hello, little lady.” He coos at her, rubbing his nose against hers and scratching her neck as he cradles her. She purrs contentedly, and you watch in near awe.
“Your mom's grumpy about her AC.” He whispers to her, and you roll your eyes. Almost as if she could understand, she meows quietly.
“I hope you’re not conspiring with my cat.” You narrow your eyes playfully, and San gently sets her down back on the ground. She meanders her way over to you, placing her front paws on your knee as you reach down and pet her gently.
“I would never.” His popsicle is dripping again; it’s gotten down his chin this time, along his strong jaw, and dropped onto his tank top.
You inhale sharply. “You’re making a mess on my couch.” Your cat bounds away quietly, off to whatever little secret spot she’s been hiding in this entire time.
San looks down at the blue spot on his shirt and laughs softly. “Oops.” He lifts his thumb to his chin and wipes the river of blue on his chin. But as he moves to dip his thumb into his mouth, you move quicker.
You stand from your spot and snatch his wrist, and slip it into your mouth without hesitation. You clean the sticky sugary mess off his thumb, swirling your tongue around it slowly, keeping your eyes on him. San’s eyes are wide, surprised, and intrigued.
You’re not sure what on earth possessed you to do that, so you move back away from him. But San doesn’t let that happen.
His fingers curl around and grip your jaw, keeping your head in place, his thumb pressed down against your tongue, and he guides your head closer to him. You were trapped in his strong hold, and you felt your head begin to swim.
His fingers press into the flesh of your cheek, pursing your lips around his thumb, and the heat in your blood increases substantially when he keeps your head still so you can’t direct your embarrassed gaze away from him.
“Was that worth it?” He teases with a small grin, the hand with the popsicle lifting to slip the pop back into his mouth, running it up and down his tongue, which had turned blue by now. All the while, the thumb in your mouth mimicked his movement, stroking your tongue slowly.
You totally don’t notice the way his legs slightly spread further open, how he readjusts the angle of his hips. He totally doesn’t notice the way your thighs clench together and how your teeth scrape against his nail. You also don’t notice the way he looks at you like he wants to eat you, and he for sure doesn’t notice how you look at him like that’s all you’ve ever wanted in the world.
He slips his thumb out of your mouth so slowly it seems like time itself has been paused, a very thin trail of saliva connected between his nail and your parted lips, snaps like a silent cue.
Your eyelids flutter, and San’s tongue darts out and licks a stripe up the pad of his thumb, before popping the ice cream back in his mouth.
He stands, leaving you dumbfounded on the floor below him. “Let’s go check and see how much that AC has thawed; this heat is getting unbearable.”
-
“I’d give it at least another hour before we can run the cool again.” San peers into the closet, and you feel a sigh of relief rack your body, wiping your chest to clear it of the sweat that had gathered there.
San turns to see you looking at him with eyes glimmering with adoration and hope, and he doesn’t catch the way your heart leaps when your eyes follow the droplet of sweat that clings to his chin.
“I really can’t thank you enough.” You sigh, trying to gather your bearings.
“I promise you, as easy a fix this was, I mean you could have done it yourself-“ San’s lips spread into a sly grin, and you’re already rolling your eyes.
“You literally insisted on helping me.” You turn around to walk away, but his arm reaches out to grab your wrist as he drags you back to his chest.
“I know- hey, I’m talking to you, don’t walk away from me, c’mere…” he stops you from leaving, and you're standing in front of him again, much closer this time. He looks down at you, and your words die in your throat; his hand on your wrist doesn’t leave, it only squeezes tighter.
“Hi there.” San murmurs. “Listen to me.” You swallow quietly and nod slowly.
“I love helping you out. Love working for you, babydoll.” His thumb rubs gentle circles over the pulse in your wrist, and his soft voice sends shockwaves to your belly.
“It’s a privilege if anything, I want you to always come ask for my help. But I am expecting a thank you.” He raises an expectant eyebrow, and you force your voice to come out, albeit small.
“Thank you, Sannie.” You speak lowly, and you feel his hands squeeze your wrist only slightly. He inhales slowly and lowers his lips just shy of your earlobe.
“You're welcome, beautiful, anytime.” You stifle a whimper when you feel the way his warm breath travels over your ear, and suddenly, you want to rip your skin off because you feel like you’re burning from the inside out.
You needed to divert.
“You should change your shirt, you look a mess.” You clear your throat, but San wasn’t done having fun with you.
“What, you don’t like me all messy?” He smiles and drags his fingertips every so gently across your exposed collarbone, and your skin shivers beneath his touch.
“You’re even messier than I am now, sweetheart. You’re soaked.”
You know he’s talking about your tank top, which was, in fact, soaked with sweat. But you both knew he knew it’s a lot more than just that.
You bite your inner cheek nervously, and your limbs twitch. San’s fingers trail over your collarbone, along your shoulder, down your inner arm until he’s intertwining his fingers with yours.
His other hand cups around the back of your neck, gently massaging the nape, and a small, satisfied moan slips from your lips. Your eyes fall shut, and San keeps his gaze on you, enamored with every expression you make.
“San.” You whisper, your eyes still closed.
“Yeah?” He purrs, continuing to massage the tight knot on your neck with purpose. He subtly pulls you closer by the grip on your neck, and you can feel his nose ever so gently brush yours. His breath fans over your lips, and you can smell his scent. The sweat, the warm, woodsy notes of his fading cologne.
“It’s hot.” Your eyes flutter open, and your knees nearly give out on you when you see just how close he is to you. You can point out every freckle on his face, every discoloration of skin, and every pore. And his eyes are so intense that it makes your stomach fall.
Lidded eyes and low lashes, his lips just barely quirked up into the slightest of smiles. “I know, baby, I know.”
“How much longer until we can turn the AC back on?” You're inching closer to him as you speak, and your breaths come shallowly.
San's lips move away from yours, and he’s pressing them in featherlight kisses against your neck. “You’re shivering like you’re cold, sweetheart.” A kiss below your ear, and one in the crook of your neck.
“M not cold.” You murmur, and you do in fact shiver each time his soft lips make contact with your skin.
“You hot, baby?” He coos against your ear, and your arms grab the thick straps of his tank top and pull him away from your ear, back to face you. You nod.
“San.” You whine, your eyebrows knit together in desperation. “Please.”
“I’m gonna make it worse, beautiful.” He pouts playfully, poorly masking the want laced in his words. “You want me to make it worse?”
You can’t help your honesty. “I want you to do whatever you want.” You pull him closer, and your lips are just thin skin brushing thin skin, your breaths mingling, and your noses bumping.
“Oh, you shouldn’t say that to me.” He groans against your lip, his eyes locked on your hazy eyes. “I don’t want to do very gentlemanly things.” The hand he had interlaced with yours slips away, and you feel it trail up your inner thigh, and he’s pressing against the thin fabric of your volleyball shorts.
You whimper against his skin, and San’s lip parts in mock surprise. “Knew you were soaked.” He sighs, and he finally gives you what you want.
A slow, tasting kiss, savoring every flip of your tongue and soft whine. Your mouth is warm and sweet against his, the faint taste of your lip gloss and your sweat dancing on his taste buds. His fingers slip beneath the waistband of your shorts, wasting no time.
You were so unbelievably slick, it was mind-baffling. San’s fingers immediately become soaked in your arousal, his eyes closed, and eyebrows knit in concentration as his fingertips slip all over your cunt.
When he pressed up against your clit you accidentally bit his tongue in surprise, and you ripped your mouth away from the kiss and pressed your forehead against his broad chest. Your breath comes heavy, and your hands slip away from his tank top straps and ball into fists against his pecs, your legs already beginning to shake.
San moves around so your back is pressed against the hallway wall, forcing the back of your head against the wall. “Uh uh.” He bites out, rubbing slow circles against your clit, your thighs squeeze around his wrist as the pleasure flows through your blood.
“At me.” His hand on your neck forced your head to crane upwards, and you locked eyes with him again and simply melted. His eyes are heavy and hot, looming over you as he plays with your cunt. “Here, baby, right here.”
You let a pathetic moan slip from your mouth when he trails his fingers down and slides one inside of you, thick and full against your warm walls. Your knees buckle, but San keeps you up by your neck.
“Don’t look away from me, babydoll.” His presence overwhelmed you, his body molded to yours, and his fingers knuckle deep inside of you, curling and pressing spots so deep it made you lightheaded.
Your eyes watered, and San bit his bottom lip, a smirk spreading across his face. “So fucking pretty, yes, you are, baby.” He curls his fingers deeper, and your mouth falls open. San takes the opportunity to kiss you nasty and deep, sliding his tongue over yours and groaning down your throat. “Yes, you are...” he purrs into your mouth, and your whole body feels like it’s on fire.
You were both overheated, but the broken AC had no contribution. You wanted your clothes off, you wanted to feel his skin on yours. You wanted San-
“You want me to fuck you, baby?” He growls into your mouth, slipping his fingers out of you to tease your clit, before they’re right back inside of you, stirring up your guts with deep, pressurized drags.
You nod breathlessly, giving him the sweetest little puppy dog eyes you didn’t even know you were making. San just had that effect on you; he awakened your instinct to beg.
His hand slides up and buries its fingers into your hair, gently pushing you away from his lips. His fingers slip out of your cunt, and you whine in protest, but then he’s pushing you to your knees.
You watch as he gradually grows taller the further you sink to your knees, and your hands grip his massive thighs through his jeans until you’re eye level with his bulge.
He cocks his head to the side, looking down at you like you were the sweetest thing. His fingers massage your scalp in slow circles, his other fingers sinking into his mouth as he slowly licks your slick off of them, all while never diverting his heated gaze from you.
Once clean, he wipes his saliva across his shiny chrome belt buckle, leaving a wet streak across the metal. Then he’s slowly unbuckling it, teasingly slow.
“I’ll consider this my thank you.” He says as he lets his belt fall open. You reach your hands up and unbutton his jeans, sliding down the zipper and letting your hands slip into his boxers.
You can feel him twitch as soon as your palm finds him, and as you pull him out, San’s breath hitches. Thick, heavy, and hot in your hand, you hold San’s cock, and you’re barely able to wrap your fingers around the length of him.
Pretty and pink, San runs his tongue over his lower lip when he catches the way your throat bobs as you take in the size of him. You raise your eyes to look at him as you stroke him languidly, and he's groaning under his breath.
His thumb hooks on his belt loop, his hand in your hair slipping from your hair and gripping himself at the base. “Tongue, baby.”
You obey, letting your tongue fall from your mouth. San lifts his cock and oh so gently slaps his pink tip against your tongue, drops of pre falling into your mouth. San can’t help the low giggle that rumbles from his chest at how willing you were for him.
“Relax for me, okay?” he whispers, and you grab either of his hips to hold yourself steady. “You gonna let me fuck that pretty mouth?”
“Yes, Sannie,” you whimper, and he slaps himself against your tongue a few more times before both of his hands wound through your hair.
“Alright, sweet girl, breathe through your nose.” You relax your jaw and keep your eyes on his as he slides his cock past your lips, along your tongue, and into your mouth. You feel the thick vein against your tongue and the way he twitches when you hollow out your cheeks for him.
His grip in your hair tightens the further he glides into your mouth, and he comes to a stop just before his tip hits the back of your throat. Your eyes watered, and tears gathered on your lower lashes, and San was doing everything in his power to be a gentleman and not fuck your mouth to tears, but you were making it so hard.
Your tongue twitches against the underside of his length as he slowly slides out of your mouth, then thrusts back in in a muted, gentle rhythm.
He gnaws on his bottom lip, his flushed, sweaty skin giving him a glow that makes your thighs clench below you. His eyebrows are knit together, and his lips part in a quiet moan when he slips further down your throat. “Oh baby…” he sighs, rewarding you with a soft moan that makes your stomach do flips.
He pushes himself deeper into your mouth, and your nails dig into his thighs, but you’re taking it so well.
“Yeah… atta girl. So fucking precious,” he praised around hitched breaths and whiny groans. Drool slips down the corner of your mouth the further he pushes himself further down your throat. His scent, his taste, everything about him was overwhelming you to the point of painful arousal, and all you wanted to do was feel him everywhere.
You moan around his cock, and San’s grip on your scalp tightens, the vibrations of your sweet voice making it impossible to keep it together. “Make too much noise, and I’ll cum down your throat, sweetheart. Let's have manners, please.” He moans lowly as he pulls himself out of your mouth, your lips suctioning around his tip with a wet, dirty kiss.
You let your tongue fall out and drag it along the underside of him, and he shivers in bliss when you drag it up and gently tease his head.
San can’t take it any longer, and he’s lifting you by your hair and practically throwing you against the wall. He’s on his knees next, spreading your thighs and hiking one over his shoulder. He doesn’t even bother to take off your shorts or your panties, as he’s simply pulling the flimsy fabric to the side and cupping your dripping cunt with his mouth.
Warm and wet, his tongue dives between your folds, licking up, down, left, and right. Your hands bury themselves in his hair. His large, rough hands hold your thighs open for him as he bullies your pussy with his mouth, open kisses, and greedy licks. His lips wrap around your clit as he buries his face as deep as he can between your thighs like he can’t get enough. He’s groaning and cooing into your cunt, getting off on how wet he’s managed to make you just by being here.
His tongue swirls around your clit, and you gasp aloud, your head falling back against the wall in desperation.You could see the blue that the popsicle he had earlier stained on his tongue.
Muffled and heavy, San’s voice travels through your cunt when he speaks. “Babydoll, look at me.” You force your head to crane back down and look at him.
His mouth between your thighs and his eyes stare up at you with a burning intensity that you can feel in your stomach.
“There she is, hi baby.” Keeping his eyes on yours, he teases your clit with suckling kisses, his fingers gently dragging through your slick folds as he watches your face fall in pleasure.
The sweat on his brow and your arousal on his lips, you feel like falling apart. “Keep looking at me while I eat this pussy. Please?” he whines as he begs, but the sly smile on his face is all telling as his fingers slip inside of you and curl up, his tongue laving flat over your puffy clit.
The hand on your thighs rubs gentle circles against the soft skin, all the while his tongue draws patterns on your clit, and his fingers work you inside out like he knows your body like the back of his hand.
“F-fuck… San…” you whine, tears threatening to spill from your eyes, his warm mouth almost too much for you.
“Don’t whine,” he groans, curling his fingers harder inside of you. “You’re not nearly wet enough, and I’m a big boy baby.” He smiles around your clit, his teeth nipping at it gently.
Your muscles tense, and you moan drunkenly at each press and prod of his thick fingers; each slip of his tongue has your brain fogging over.
“Need you to cum at least once before I fuck you, I might hurt you, beautiful.” All sweet sugary words, but the sinful grin and the precise way he works out your cunt make everything he says fall on deaf ears.
“So get nice and wet for me, soak yourself, so I don’t break you when I put you through this wall.” San’s fingers move faster, deeper, his lips staying attached to your clit as he sucked on it greedily, and your legs began to shake.
His promises make your orgasm fly towards you faster, and coupled with him suckling on your clit, he moans lowly around it, the vibrations setting your nerves on fire.
“I feel you, you’re right there.” San’s fingers press against your G-spot with the perfect pressure, circling the pads of his fingers against that spongy spot with mind-melting purpose. “Keep your eyes on me and cum on my tongue, mkay?”
Your breath shudders in your lungs, and your hips buck against his mouth, and then you’re shattering around his fingers. Your entire body shakes as he drags his fingers against your walls slowly, his tongue lapping at your clit to help you ride it out.
“There you go, that's it… let it go, baby.” You whine loudly, gripping his hair so tightly he growls in pain, but his fingers never cease their movement, his lips moving away from your clit and peppering kisses against the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh.
“Rock your hips, let it run its course… like that. Such a good listener.” Your hands eventually fall from his hair, your body twitching, his warm tongue dragging up your inner thigh and licking the sweat of your skin.
With one final kiss to your knee, he lifts himself from below you and backs you up against the wall, giving you no room to run. His forehead presses against yours, a hungry glint in his eyes as his hands cup the underside of your thighs and lift you against the wall, secure in his big arms. His mouth finds yours again, all heat and desperation on his lips as he kisses you into a fever.
“San, it's too hot, please…” You cry pathetically. “Take it off.” San groans and flattens his tongue against yours, drool slipping down your chin as he kisses you so deeply it makes you dizzy.
He’s holding you against the wall with just the force of his body alone, reaching down and pulling your shorts and panties off your legs. Your tank top is next, all but ripping it off your body. He reached back and pulled his own sweat-soaked top over his head, throwing it across the heated hallway.
His mouth dips down and takes your nipple in his mouth, swirling his thick tongue around it and sucking hungrily. You whimper, your hands flat against his back, your nails scratching pretty red patterns against his skin as the stimulation rocks through your nervous system.
He kisses up your chest, along your neck until his mouth slots with yours once again with a sick kind of greed. “Need you so bad…” he groans against your lips, massaging your thighs as you feel him line his leaking tip up with your fluttering cunt. Hot and pulsing against you, you bite his soft bottom lip and look up at him, your eyes glazed over and begging for him.
He wraps his hands around the back of your neck, his forehead firm against yours. His dark eyes bore into yours like he’s trying to peer past them, and you’ve never felt so exposed.
You feel as he teases your entrance, just barely slipping the tip inside of you. You began to shy away, your eyes fluttering shut to escape his heated gaze. But San’s hands cup the back of your neck harder, fingers locking at your nape, brushing his lips over yours a little less gently this time.
“Stop running.” He purrs dangerously, and slowly he slides his cock inside of you. Each inch that breaches your walls, he stops when your eyes roll, and only continues filling you up when your eyes meet his once again.
Your mouth falls open against his, he pushes further inside of you, and every pulsing inch of his length grazes your walls so perfectly. San winces and sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, the warmth of your insides thinning his string of composure.
“Taking it so fucking good, babydoll, such a needy pussy, she’s sucking me in.” His thumbs stroke your heated cheeks, and he catches the drool that slips down your chin, promptly sliding his thumb in your mouth.
“Keep your spit in your mouth, baby. We’re already messy enough, don’t you think?” When his hips press flush against yours, you sigh aloud, feeling so full your bones rattle in satisfaction.
San’s brow furrows, keeping his thumb in your mouth, he pulls his hips back slowly, dragging every thick inch of his dick against every nook and cranny of your insides, sliding back in with a low moan.
You whine around this thumb, his fervent eyes making you want to cry. You could not escape his gaze, his hands, his thick, hot cock splitting you open against your hallway wall. He rolls his hips into you, his fat tip nudging that spot deep inside that makes your legs clench around his hips. The hands on your neck hold your head steady and still so you can’t look away, and he’s easing into a rhythm.
Lazy and deep, he slides in cock in and out of you like he was trying to rock you to sleep, but the pressure only made your body tingle. Your fingernails rake up his back, and San winces, kissing the corner of your mouth, grinding his cock so sincerely into you that your moans come out in sad, desperate gasps.
“Yeah baby…” he coos against your skin, the resonant sounds of your slick cunt trying to suck him back in each time he glides out, sending your brain into overdrive. “Slow, deep strokes. Let you feel everything…”
His thumb presses down against your tongue, and your eyelids shake, doing your very best to keep your eyes open. “San..” you mumble around his thumb. San cranes his head upwards so he was looking down at you, his lids low and his mouth parted in continuous soft moans.
Every time he bottoms out, he's sure to grind into you, to really torture you, forcing you to feel every thick centimeter of him brushing every nerve inside of you. He eases into a meaner pace, slipping his thumb out of your mouth and dragging it down your bottom lip. His hands move to the front of your neck, his fingers cradling your jaw while his thumbs press against the sensitive soft spots on the sides of your throat.
He presses just hard enough to limit your airflow, and your head begins to buzz quietly. He drags his hips back slowly one last time before he sinks back in with renewed vigor, fucking you hard and deep against the wall.
Pounding your pussy with a passion that made your chest flutter, moaning weakly as he stared down at your bliss twisted face with nothing short of pure adoration. And maybe a bit of pity. He was kind of bullying you, but he wouldn’t say he was loving watching you struggle to take his cock.
Struggling to accommodate his change in pace, struggling to breathe around deep strokes and feeling so full it felt like you had no space to take in oxygen.
“Pretty little girl…” he bites out around a bassy whine, pressing his thumbs harder against your throat. “You feeling full, babydoll?”
You can’t even nod with the hold he has on your head, and you cry out when he targets a hard, sharp thrust against your sensitive gspot.
“I know baby....” he taunts you with his pouty voice, teasing you about your sensitivity. “But it feels so good doesn’t it?” San swallows your swollen lips in a consuming kiss, grinning when he feels your moans fall down his throat. “Doesn’t it?” he murmurs into your mouth.
“Y-yes! Fuck.. feels s-so good..” you cry against his lips and hes fucking you harder, driving his cock into you with a force that has your slaps of skin echoing down the dimly lit hallway.
“Yeah…” he laughs lowly, biting your tongue playfully. “No more running, you take it like you’re meant to sweetheart. God you’ve been driving me fucking crazy.”
His breath stutters when you clench around him, breaking the kiss and pressing his forehead against yours, directing his gaze to the nasty sight below. His thick cock rutting into you smoothly, you cream coating the length of him with each thrust, your cunt sucking him back in like it had a mind of its own.
This pulls a loud, deep moan from San, and you take a moment to attempt to catch your breath now that his attention was directed elsewhere. He slows down to really watch the way he slides in and out of your guts, mesmerized by the sight. He’ll pick up the pace again, transfixed over how your bodies connected, how your bodies seemed to crave each other.
The slick coating your inner thighs, the sweat trailing down the rolls in your stomach, the drops of wet that fell down the dips in his abs. He was addicted in the best way.
“Do you understand how crazy you make me feel (Name)?” He’s working his way back up to that deep punishing pace, gathering drool in his mouth before he’s spitting on his cock as it slips in and out of you, drunk off the feeling of your warmth around him.
He drags his eyes back up to yours and his gaze is feral, and you can’t help but whimper pathetically. Rolling his body into yours his pace grows sloppy, too lost in the pleasure, soft, heavy moans falling from his lips.
“Please, need you to cum again. Not gonna stop- fuck… not till you cum. Please, baby…” San begs lowly, burying his face into the crook of your neck, his warm tongue dragging across your skin, his warm pants of breath fanning over your ear.
He’s adjusting the angle of his hips, searching for that perfect angle to send you over the edge. Your nails dig harder into his back, and you nearly squeal when he hits that spot just right.
“Right there?” San groans, and he stays just like that, pounding against that sweet spot nice and rough, and blood pumps, and your brain melts as he fucks you against the wall with the sole intention of unravelling you.
“Mmhm, right there. C’mon babydoll, jus’ wanna be good to you. Jus’ wanna make you feel good, you turn me on so much. Fuck, it's insane.” He's rambling, your moans drowning out his low voice when he slots his lips with yours in a wet kiss.
You stutter over your breathless words, trying to tell him you were cumming, but he can feel you, he can feel you pulsing around him and gushing all over his cock.
“Fuck!” you whine, your thighs shaking around his hips as he fucks you through your orgasm, rocking his hips into you to drag that climax out of your body.
His hips slow to a heavy grind, your constant clenching making his sensitive cock twitch inside of you. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” San whines, pressing his forehead against yours.
“Look at me, please, baby.” He whispers against your lips, his hands holding your face like you were everything. “Look at me while I fill you up.”
You bite your bottom lip and whimper softly, giving him those sweet little needy eyes. “Wan you to cum in me Sannie…” you whine, your breath fanning over his lips. “Please, wanna feel it spilling out of me.”
San’s eyes roll, his breath laboured and breaking. He presses his lips to yours, sinking his cock deep into you one more time before he’s cumming, filling you up with his seed. He groans into your mouth, his deep noises cracking as he rolls his hips into you, fucking your pussy full of him, riding his orgasm out with your spent body.
“Fuckkk me…” San runs his tongue over yours, his breathing coming to something calm as his high finishes washing over him.
As soon as you catch your breaths, you glance up at him expectantly. “You think we could turn the AC on now?”
San raises an eyebrow and laughs out loud. “You still hot, sweetheart?” You smile and half roll your eyes.
“Well, I’m certainly not cold, San. I think we got a little distracted.” He smiles so softly it makes your heart go fuzzy, and he's kissing you tenderly and slowly. You giggle against his lips when his hands gently caress your sides, helping you down off the wall and onto your feet.
You stumble a little bit, but he catches you, being sure to make sure you don’t crumble to the floor. “Well, let’s see then.”
He reaches next to him and slides open the closet door, and lo and behold, the AC has defrosted. He leads you over to the thermostat, and with a flip of the switch, you can hear the familiar whirring of your functional HVAC system, and you nearly cry tears of joy.
“Well would you look at that, good as new.” San smiles, his little dimples on show as he massages your shoulder. “It’ll take a minute for the air to cool but you should be good for now.”
You pat his chest and wipe the side of your neck. “Next time it frosts over I’m just coming to your place, no way I’m sitting in the heat like that again.”
San lowers his lips to your neck and kisses it softly with a smile, tickling you. “C’mon, it wasn’t that bad now was it?” He murmurs, his hands hooking at your hips and pulling you closer.
You barely resist his soft touches before you’re shimmying away. “You’re all sweaty San, you need a cold shower, bad.”
He clicks his tongue as he follows you to your bathroom. “Hey, you literally are too, if not more than me.” With a click of your bathroom door, you pull him inside and run the cold water, sighing softly as he kisses you stupid against your vanity mirror.
Your free spirit of a cat is perched on the windowsill of your neighbor’s apartment, meowing softly at San’s cat, who’s sprawled on the floor in the comfort of the working AC in his home.
She bounds down onto the floor and nuzzles up against the male cat, purring softly.
One problem after another is solved. Your leaking fridge, your cracking floorboards, and now your AC. Next on the list is probably trying to find out how your cat keeps breaking and entering your neighbor’s house.
But you’re sure he won’t mind, you’ll be seeing a lot more of each other after all.
[ex-husband!wooyo x ex-wife!reader] 𓈒𓏸.°• part two to wifey | smut minors dni 18+, raw p in v, creampies, breeding, sweet talk, dirty talk, mommy/daddy, nothing too crazy i turned up the plot this time | 9.7k
there are some special appearances in this from @chimivx 's friends ᢉ𐭩 if you're curious about yunho's wife n kids, read tcmc ‼️ if you wanna know everything about wooyoung and aurora, how yunho and aurora came to be, if you're curious about the lore at all, pls start here :) thank you plum for letting me write a story from your story, i love your people very very very much, almost as much as i love u u terrifying mastermind genius ₊˚⊹♡
Like fucking clockwork.
You close the door to Kyungmin’s room quietly, hearing the soft noise of the latch clicking into place, face scrunching together, silently praying that you don’t hear his small voice call you back inside.
At the same time, Wooyoung’s key turns in your front door, heavy, deep brown wood groaning open. On silent feet he ushers himself inside, closing the door quietly behind him, lips tucked between his teeth to enforce the silence.
From the top of the staircase, you see him dressed in oversized charcoal at the bottom, kicking his sneakers off his feet while throwing his phone, wallet and keys on the entryway table. Skipping down the stairs, you forgo greeting him, whispering, “Be quiet, he just went down.”
“He’s eight,” Wooyoung whispers back, “you still tuck him in?”
“He begs me to,” your brows knit together, “he doesn’t beg you?”
“No,” his lips spread in a grin, “he’s a big boy at my house.”
You scoff, “Shut up, he’ll always be my baby.” Leading him into the living room, you keep your voice low, louder than a whisper, “We have to be quiet.”
“You have to be quiet,” he corrects you, tone teasing, smirking as you lay back on the couch. The TV is on but muted, the lamp in the corner coating the living area in dusky orange even if the sun had gone to sleep hours ago.
“I am quiet,” you pout as he crawls over you, wasting no time, crouching between your parted legs, a hand falling to the back of the couch for purchase as he pecks a short kiss to your lips.
“Don’t tease tonight,” you grab hold of his hoodie, pulling him close enough for your lips to touch, “I don’t have it in me to fight for it.”
He smiles, kissing you again, parting your lips with his own, hands moving to the armrest to keep him steady as he lowers his hips into you. You gasp into his mouth at the friction, your tiny shorts doing nothing to shield you from his weight.
“Then don’t fight,” he moves to kiss your jaw, your head tilts to let him in, his breath is hot against your skin, “lay there and behave for once.”
Your hands find his neck, his cheeks, pulling him back up to kiss you deeper, head lifting off the pillow, calves hooking over the back of his thighs. He makes a grumbled noise, tongue licking into your mouth like he was searching for something, one hand falling from the armrest to tug at the hem of your hoodie, pushing it upward.
“Off.”
One word, a singular order, you sink further down the couch after pulling it off your body in a rush, throwing the pillow beneath your head to the floor, giving him space to plant his elbows above your shoulders.
“Don’t wait,” you murmur into his mouth, “I can take it.”
He hums, taking your bottom lip between his teeth before he answers, “You don’t know how to take it.”
“Then I’ll fucking learn,” your feet tug at his sweatpants, spine bending toward him, “get inside me.”
“Antsy,” he sits back on his knees, pushing his sweatpants and his briefs down in one quick motion. “Like I haven’t been fucking you right or something.”
“You haven’t been here in a week,” you argue, pushing your shorts down to your ankles, kicking them on the floor, “you haven’t been fucking me at all.”
“I had our kid for four of those days,” he pulls your thighs over his, sliding his cock through your folds, “I didn’t see you at my door after he went to bed. On his own, might I add.”
You loose a shaky breath as his tip collides with your clit, hips bucking up towards him, “Shit, I was busy, Wooyoung. What about those three days then?”
He pauses, glancing up at you, “You serious?”
“Yes?” You blink, “What were you doing? You had Friday, Saturday and Sunday.”
He laughs, lining himself up, holding his breath as he pushes inside. Your lips part in a silent scream, head tilting backwards to dig into the couch cushions, hands clawing at your own thighs for something. He stills once he’s fully seated, chest heaving, veiny forearms reaching for your ankles.
“So fuckin’ tight,” he grinds out, voice tight with restrain, pushing your knees up to your chest. “Careful what you say, wifey. Might think you want me for real.”
“Regretting,” you squeak, eyes screwed shut tight, “s’big.”
He’d laugh again if your pussy didn’t look so pretty trying to keep him in. Walls fluttering around the base of him, your clit pulsed, begging for attention already, he started a slow, deep grind of his hips, making sure he filled you up all the way with each one.
“So wet for me, mommy. Didn’t even have to touch you,” he keeps his palms splayed on your thighs, bearing his weight as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the arch of your foot that dangles in the air.
You whimper, face scrunching in pleasure, core clenching around him, he kisses up to your ankle, grazing his teeth against your skin, your hands shoot for his wrists, his forearms, just to hold them. Forcing words out, you say, “Been waiting for this, for you.”
“A whole week,” he picks up the pace, voice leaning into condescending, “must have been so hard.”
Your breath catches, eyes rolling back, a soft moan tumbling off your tongue, “Fuck, ‘t was. It was.”
“Quiet,” he reminds you, “or I’ll stop.”
“You won’t stop,” you mutter, fingers tightening over his wrists, a challenge.
At that he stills, sitting back on his calves, leaving just the tip inside. “I won’t what?”
Jaw clenching, your hips follow him, he lays his palms over bone to keep you still. You stay like that for a moment, a game of chicken, eyes locked on his that stare at you expectantly. Obedience, silence, submission, he loves you bratty, he’s a brat himself, but when it comes to fucking you open on your couch just past nine at night, he expects you to listen.
“Fine,” you shift against the cushions, “fine, you win.”
He pulls you onto his cock by your hips without a word and you have to slap a hand over your mouth to force yourself silent. The angle, the ease in which he mounted you onto him, your eyes slammed shut, gasping out a broken sound into your palm, he fills you up perfectly, carving into you like you were built to take him and him only, it’s war to not cry out in pleasure.
“Fuck,” under his breath, low, he tells you how good you feel in one blurted word. You roll your hips against him, meeting his thrusts, curved cock dragging along the front of your walls with each grind.
“More,” you plead, grabbing for him, “kiss me.”
He crawls over you, elbows beside your ears again, pressing his lips to yours with a softness reserved for you. His hips slow, your ankles crossing over his back, pushing his hoodie up with your heels just to feel more of his skin against you.
“Yes,” you whisper, breathing the same air, bodies moving together now, “just like that, daddy.”
His forehead meets yours, a quiet noise of pleasure rumbling from his chest, “‘m not gonna last.”
You kiss him again, tongue slotting between his lips, hands tugging at his roots, body moving in the shape of his, the only thing you can hear is your breath singing in harmony and the slick sound of your bodies conjoining.
Six weeks of Wooyoung breaking you down on your couch, your kitchen counter, your living room floor, once against the wall just outside of your hallway bathroom. You don’t know what it is, you haven’t spoken any more of what it means, what comes next, the only thing you know is that you can’t stop.
“Want me to fill you up? Fuck you full?”
You’re nodding, tongue catching on his lips, delirious with pleasure, your body ached for him. Burned for him. Only him. Always him– till death do you part.
“Yes, daddy,” you whisper, voice pitched and whiny.
His hips stutter, he tucks his head into your neck to muffle his groan, fingers tightening in your hair that’s sprawled out around your head like a blanket. Losing his rhythm, his slow deep strokes turning shallow, quick– chasing a high he found so easily with you.
Your toes curl over his back, chin tipping up when you feel the warmth spread, the heaviness, the feeling was indescribable. Claimed, owned, like he was marking his territory, it made your stomach swirl with affection, enough to pick his head up by his hair and kiss him again.
Your hips rock, he whimpers. “T-too much, jagi, no.”
So warm, you glide against him, too slippery for there to be any resistance. The sound you make is small but it says everything you can’t, that you need more, you aren’t done.
“D’you wanna sit on my face?" You hold his flushed cheeks instead, doe eyes staring up into his dilated pupils, begging. He shakes his head, “Can’t fuck you again, can’t.”
“Pussy,” you smack your teeth, “are you serious?”
“I’ll make you cum in under three,” he feeds you a peck of his lips, “promise.”
“Mommy?”
Both of your heads turn toward the staircase, the small voice that couldn’t see you from the platform at the top. It takes all of a millisecond for you to push Wooyoung away from you and jump off the couch.
“Coming!” You call, grabbing your shorts from the floor. Pulling them up your thighs, clenching hard to keep Wooyoung inside, you hiss at your ex, “Don’t fucking leave, you owe me.”
“Yes, mommy,” he nods, grin amused and lazy, “duty calls.”
You run up the stairs to find your brown-haired boy standing at the top, one of his fists rubbing at his eye, his favorite Frozen pajamas already pulled up and twisted at each and every hem. Before you have a chance to speak, he asks, “Who’s here?”
“No one,” you speak quietly, softly, turning him around by his shoulders, guiding him back into his bedroom. “Come on, baby, bed time.”
Five minutes of staring at the ceiling feels like a fucking lifetime until his tiny breaths turn slower, deeper. Creeping out of his bedroom once more, closing his door even softer than you did the first time, you nearly sprint down the steps to find Wooyoung still half-clothed.
“Now what if I brought him down here?” You stand before the couch, hands on your hips.
“Why the hell would you do that?” He quips, leaning forward to grab you by the hips, pulling you back down to him. “He’s asleep?”
“Out like a light,” you throw your arms over his shoulders, taking your spot in his lap. “You promised me something.”
“Is that all I’m good for?” His brows raise and the question takes you by surprise.
Wiping the smirk off your lips, your arms lower a little, disarmed. “Sex?”
“Yeah,” he sits up a little, shifting where you sat on his lap. “We’ve been sneaking around for over a month, I haven’t pressed the date thing because you’ve never been one to break your promises and–”
“You were serious?” You push your brows up to your hairline, cutting him off. To make it clear, you repeat, “You seriously want to take me on a date.”
His head cocks to the side, “You didn’t think I was serious? Of course I want to take you out.”
“We’re divorced,” you argue, leaning back, adding space between you.
“I’m aware,” he says, as if he really means no shit. “You’re on my lap right now, I’m still dripping out of you, are you planning on fucking me after the sun goes down for the rest of our lives?”
“Not for the rest of our lives,” you shake your head a little, brows knitted together, confused.
“Oh, then until you’re over it?” He blows amusement through his nose. “We made a tiny human who’s upstairs right now and I’m suddenly disposable?”
“That’s not what I meant,” you rub your palms over your face, sucking in a deep breath. “I just thought this was, like, an agreement. I didn’t think either of us wanted anything more, I’m sorry if I misread the situation.”
“We’d have a chance to talk about it if you didn’t kick me out as soon as you came.”
“Wooyoung,” you gasp sharply, offended, “I do not do that.”
His brows raise, forgoing a verbal response. You think back on the past six weeks, remembering each and every night you’ve shoved him out of your front door as soon as he pulled his pants up, the memories flash through your mind like a medley. Your lips flatten, cheeks heating, guilt and shame forming in the pit of your belly.
“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, just above a whisper.
“You really don’t want anything more?”
He sounds wounded and your heart cracks beneath your ribs. His brows are upturned, mismatched eyes rounded out, pink lips still swollen from earlier almost pouting. You swallow, taking a second to be honest with yourself and your feelings… This works. The last six weeks have worked so effortlessly, so easily, you’ve been spending your days bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, so fulfilled you haven’t even considered what comes next. If anything comes next.
“I haven’t been this happy in awhile,” you reply honestly, “I think I don’t want to fuck anything up, our sex life wasn’t this consistent when we were still married, it’s nice.”
His fingers squeeze your hips, pulling you closer to him, a small smile forming on his full lips. “All I want to do is take you out one time, jagi. We don’t have to put any pressure on it, let’s just go out for dinner, have a few drinks and talk. It’s been a long time since we’ve just talked.”
It puts a smile on your face, too. You run a hand through his hair, locks of coal soft between your fingers, “Okay, let’s go this weekend.”
His face lights up, “Really?”
You snort, “Yes, really. I’ll get a babysitter for Saturday and–”
“I’ll bring him to Yunho’s,” his hands slide up to your waist, under the hem of your tank, leaning forward until his chest brushes against you. “He hasn’t seen Aden in awhile, maybe they can have a sleepover.”
Your hands find the base of his neck, pulling him flush to you, “A sleepover?”
Wooyoung’s lips find yours, a small kiss, his hands traveling upward, cupping your breasts beneath your tank, “Maybe we can have a sleepover of our own.”
You gasp into his touch, brows furrowing in pleasure, “Please.”
“You can have me all night,” he reaches for the hem of your tank, pulling it swiftly over your head before his hands go right back to toying with your chest, pressing his thumbs over your nipples as he says, “We can fuck in our big, comfortable bed, all night if you want to. Just like old times.”
You moan softly, quietly, head going fuzzy like he’d cast a spell on you, “Let’s go up there now.”
He keeps his eyes on yours as he leans forward, tongue poking out to circle over your nipple before his lips wrap around it, sucking harshly. You suck in a sharp gasp, face twisting in pleasure, hips grinding into him beneath you, “Fuck, Wooyoung.”
“Saturday,” his voice is low, gravelly, it sends a shiver up your spine. “Tonight you get to ride my face.”
You can’t argue. Not when he brushes his nose over your spit-soaked nipple, giving you a perfect view of the curve of cartilage, already imagining bucking your hips against it.
Immediately you’re climbing off of his lap, pointing to the rug beneath your feet, “On the floor.”
“Whatever you want, mommy.”
“Damn.”
It’s loud enough for the neighbors to hear. On your porch, fist over his lips, his brows are scrunched like he can’t believe his eyes, he looks you up and down three times before he whistles.
You snort, rolling your eyes, pulling your front door closed behind you. “Shut up, Wooyoung.”
He steps backwards, down one of your cement stairs, watching as you bend over slightly to lock your front door. Voice amused, he continues, “All dressed up for lil’ ole me? The dreaded ex?”
You turn around with a smile, “I’m keeping my word.”
His hand goes over his heart, frowning, “That hurt.”
“Shut up,” you shake your head, fighting your amusement as you move to step down, following him, he keeps his feet planted where he stands, an unmovable force.
Then he cracks a grin. “What, you’re not even gonna kiss me hello?”
You cross your arms over the front of your dress, sleek and red and hugging every inch of your body you want to be hugged. You got it on sale, an outfit you’ve been saving for the right occasion, you can’t believe tonight, of all nights, is the night you took it off the hanger.
You can’t believe you pulled it out for Wooyoung.
“Good things come to those who wait,” you sing, “if you’re on your best behavior maybe you’ll get a kiss goodnight.”
He groans, head tipping backward, eyes squeezing shut, “You’re gonna make me hard.”
“I hate you,” you laugh, pushing on his chest, making him tumble backward a step. You follow him down the staircase, towards his still-running SUV in your driveway, “Where are we going?”
He said to dress nice, two days ago in a short text-exchange that started off with you asking if he forgot to drop off Kyungmin’s backpack, which you found in the corner of your living room approximately nine seconds later. Two texts back and forth before he reminded you of your date tonight, that he’d already made the plans with Yunho and Aurora, Kyungmin would stay over at their house tonight to have a sleepover with their son, Aden.
Yunho was Wooyoung’s friend from college, living only fifteen minutes from where you lived on the outskirts of the city, suburbia with a good school district, which is where Kyungmin had met their son, Aden, the second of four. You wondered how they did it, you had your hands tied with only one.
“It’s a surprise,” he walks to the passenger side, opening the door for you.
“Wow,” you raise your brows, “such a gentleman. Who even are you anymore?”
He holds an arm out for you to grab as you climb in, “I’m just a husband taking his sexy ass wife out to dinner, that’s all.”
“Ex-husband,” you correct, “ex-wife.”
He leans against the door with a smile, “Whatever you say.”
He looks good. Dress pants on his legs, tailored, all his dress pants are. A button-up, rolled up on his veiny forearms, showcasing his tattoo, the top two buttons undone. Dressed in all black so his golden skin gleams in each pocket where it shows, fuck he knows how to dress himself and God it pisses you off. His hair is styled, down, tucked behind his ears, it frames his face effortlessly, beautifully, part of you wants to ask if you can make a pit-stop in the backseat.
It’s a thirty minute drive, filled with the same soft rock playing from his speakers, he talks over it the whole time. From Kyungmin to work to his apartment, which he nags at you that you still haven’t seen the inside of, the conversation is as easy as it always is. Bickering, of course, but you’ve been bickering since you were twenty-two. Fifteen years of partnership, of friendship, of learning each other down to particles and atoms, awkward silence has never existed between you.
A fancy restaurant, one that just opened in the city, dim lighting and red velvet and black leather, you couldn’t tell if you were supposed to eat dinner or each other. Side-eyeing Wooyoung as the hostess brought you to your table, the moment she left you quirked a brow, “Is this foreplay?”
He grabs the drink menu, “It can be if you want it to be.”
So shameless it makes your lips part. “Are we in a restaurant or a sex club?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a restaurant,” he doesn’t look up over the menu, “but we could make it a sex club if you want to make it a sex club.” You snort, reaching over to steal the drink menu from his hands. He scoffs, “No way you’re reading that as if you aren’t gonna nurse one margarita until it’s tequila-water.”
“Shut up,” you grumble, “maybe I’m in the mood for something different.”
You quickly scan the specials, the list of bottles they carry, different brands of wine they have. Pursing your lips, you quickly realize you’re not in the mood for something different.
Shoving the menu back into his hands, you mumble, “Fine.”
He laughs, a high, amused giggle, “You’re so predictable.”
“You just know me,” you huff, “not predictable.”
When the waiter comes by, Wooyoung not only orders his beer, but he orders your margarita, too. Casamigos, salt on the rim, you don’t correct him because you’re as predictable as they come. Your cheeks heat up anyway, you might be predictable but he remembers and it sends a streak of heat up your spine. Whatever.
You’re reading the menu, or trying to with your bottom lip caught between your teeth, seeing words but not ingesting any of them. Maybe you should just let him order your meal for you, too.
“What’s bothering you?” He asks, and you glance upward like he’s ripped you out of a trance.
You purse your lips, shaking your head a little, defensive. “Nothing.”
“I’ve known you for over a decade,” his lips curl at the corner, “I’ve lived with you, I’ve loved you, you’re the mother of my son. Is it so crazy that I know you? One year spent apart out of fifteen is nothing.”
You can feel the heat in the tips of your ears, you forgot he knows you down to your thoughts, too. A small sigh escapes you, “Do you wanna start now? Before there’s even any food on the table?”
He leans forward, smile mischievous, “Hey, there’s bread.”
You push air out of your nose, amused as you sit back in the upholstered chair. “It’s just stupid. We’ve only been divorced for a year, and look at us. We’re in a sex club that has a kitchen.”
His lips thin before he answers. “Did you really think we’d stay separated?"
“Yes?” Your head tilts with the question. “Did you not?”
“No,” he answers honestly, “I’ve been working on myself a lot this past year. All the time spent away from you, Kyungie, it’s given me space that I never wanted. Space I’ve filled with things to better myself, for him, for you.”
“What, did you get a promotion or something?” You quirk a brow, “Work stuff?”
He smacks his teeth, “I went to therapy.”
“You went to therapy?” Your brows meet your hairline, “Like, the couch and everything?”
“No, she made me sit on the floor,” he muses. “She actually has a brown, leather chair. She helped me figure a lot of my shit out, that way when it was time for me to propose the idea of us seeing each other again, it’d be different. I’d be different.”
“Woo, I had no idea,” your heart picks up speed in your chest. “I didn’t even know that you were this… bothered about us separating, to be honest.”
His face scrunches up in disbelief, “That’s bullshit.”
“I’m serious!” You argue, “The divorce process was so smooth, I guess over time I got it in my head that it was smooth because it was mutual.”
“It was never, not even for a second, mutual.”
“You made it easy,” you shrug, picking up your margarita, taking a sip. “You never told me the details, I only knew what I found out from your mother. She never mentioned therapy.”
“You knew what I wanted you to know,” he sets his menu down in front of him. “It’s not like we were exactly on speaking terms, you didn’t give me the opportunity to fix anything while we were still together, either.”
Your stomach churns. “I gave you a lot of chances, Wooyoung.”
“Not enough,” he argues, not sternly, earnestly. He picks up his beer. “You gave up on me.”
“I gave up on being a single mother in my own marriage,” your voice is low, quiet. Your throat feels tight.
The waiter comes, Wooyoung orders for the both of you, something you would’ve chosen for yourself. Your thoughts are too loud for you to pay it any mind.
“I’ll have to live with the fact that I made you feel that way until the day I die,” his face is solemn, his words so honest your heart feels like stone in your chest. “But I thought I was doing the right thing, setting us up for our future, setting our son up for his future. For a long time I couldn’t understand why that wasn’t enough for you.”
“But you understand now?”
He nods, “Strangely enough, you making that deal with me at the conference, about having San speak, it might’ve been the final piece that put everything together. I feel like I can see it clearly now, and it feels so fucking stupid looking back.”
“Yeah?” Your lips curve at the corners, “Did your therapist enjoy my ultimatum?”
“I think she thinks we’re childish,” he laughs a little, “she doesn’t say that, but I can kinda feel it. Like we’re still kids playing at being adults.”
“We are,” your smile widens, “but now I keep wipes and snacks in my purse instead of lipgloss and condoms that we never used.”
“Don’t talk mommy to me right now,” his face scrunches together like you pressed your foot against his crotch. “We’re still in public.”
You stare at him over the salt on the rim of your glass, taking a sip of your margarita before you mumble, “I don’t think anyone here would be bothered.”
“I want to try again,” he wipes the smile off his face, voice a little louder, stronger. “Just to lay everything on the table, I’ve been wanting to try again and if a hookup at a work conference is the start of it unfolding, then so be it.”
You take a second before responding. “Do you really feel like I gave up on you?”
“Yes,” there’s no room for uncertainty, the agreement is crystal clear. “But I know I pushed you to that point, and I know in the end it was my fault. I should have been around more to help you. Just to have been there.”
Your bottom lip quivers, he catches it as soon as the first twitch tugs at your mouth.
“No, no crying,” he reaches his hand across the table, searching for yours. You tangle your fingers with his, his palm warm, fingers encasing your hand within his own perfectly like you were made for each other. “If you’re open to trying again, to giving me another chance, it’ll be different this time. I’m different, but I still love you, I still want to be beside you.”
You wipe at your eyes before tears fall past your waterline, “I love you too, but I did my makeup for this.”
“And it looks beautiful,” his lips curve, “but it’s just gonna get ruined later, anyway.”
“Why would it–” You meet his eye, the mischievous glint. “Oh, fuck you.”
“Hopefully I’m lucky and you will fuck me.”
“Is sex all you think about?” You laugh, then tease him, “Is that all I’m good for?”
He glares across the table, “Too soon.”
“You’re the one who said we were gonna roll around in my bed all night.”
“Once upon a time, it was our bed,” he releases your fingers to point at you, “and I know it’s lonely in that big ass bed without me.”
“Who’s to say I’m lonely?” You taunt, “Maybe there’s been plenty of men warming my bed since we separated.”
“You,” he says it like it’s obvious, “at the conference you said there was no one else, so unless you lied, you’ve spent over a year alone, in that bed, playing with yourself and wishing it was me.”
You think everyone in the restaurant could hear the gasp that erupted from your chest. Wooyoung’s head tips back in laughter and you curse under your breath, whisper-shouting, “We’re in public, Jung Wooyoung.”
“The mom-voice makes it funnier,” he’s still laughing, a hand over his mouth, “scolding me like I’m five. Fuck, do you remember when Kyungmin drew all over the wall in the living room? With fucking Sharpies?”
You groan, digging your head into your palms, elbows propped up on the table. “Still to this day I fucking hate the feeling of Magic Erasers.”
“You sounded just like that,” he takes a deep breath to control his laughter, then puts on his best you-voice to mock you. “Jung Kyungmin, we color in coloring books, not on the walls.”
The memory makes you smile, even laugh a bit under your breath, “It’s only funny now because I got the Sharpie off the wall.”
“It was funny then, too, trust me.”
The food comes hot and perfect, neither of you speak for the first few bites, until Wooyoung catches you staring at his plate, at his food. Mid-bite he pauses, popping a brow, “Want to try?”
You smile, and he smiles back, reaching over, fork in hand. The sound that leaves you is almost fitting for the restaurant you’re in. “I like yours,” you mumble, putting on your best doe-eyed look, making him snort.
“I’d be mad, but I’m too nostalgic,” he hums, satisfied with a smile on his cheeks he reaches over to grab your plate, switching it with his own. “Can I pretend I ordered mine for the sole intent of giving it to you?”
“No,” you hum happily, “it’s better that you gave yours to me. More romantic that way.”
He shakes his head, “First day back and you’re already spoiled.”
“Technically I still haven’t agreed,” you shrug, eyes on your food, about to take another bite before you realized Wooyoung had paused entirely. Looking over the table, you giggle at his deadpanned face, brows flat, lips flat, his entire face flat.
“Not funny.” He tightens his lips again. “Are you agreeing? Do you want to give me another chance?”
“Is this an immediate answer kind of thing?” You ask, food still halfway to your mouth, “Or can I get back to you on it?”
He purses his lips like he’s deciding the answer for himself before he gives you one. Eventually, when your bite is swallowed, he answers. “I guess you can think about it.”
“You guess?” Facing your plate, your eyes flicker across the table.
“Do you understand how long I’ve been waiting?” He doesn’t sound aggressive or forceful, or like he’s urging you towards an answer. “I had you for fifteen years and I just spent over an entire year without you.”
“You say that like I didn’t spend a year without you, too,” you argue, “you aren’t alone in that feeling, Wooyoung.”
“I just want my life back,” his voice settles into something just above a whisper, too raw for the crowded restaurant. “I want you, I want Kyungminnie, I want to come home.”
You swear you can see an entire year of pain in his eyes. Chocolate that’s usually melted, milky sweet, a delicacy, is deepened into something dark; hardened with time spent apart, changed with a life lesson that needed to be felt in order to be learned. He’s the same but he’s different, you can feel it, you know it.
All you can do is pray he doesn’t disappoint you again.
He keeps his hand on your thigh the entire drive home.
Quiet for once, the calm before the storm, you use the silence to think about your time spent apart, how it affected you. He was right, alone in your king-sized bed, but more than that you’ve learned so much about yourself in the year spent away from him. Kids fresh out of college, thrown into the workforce, pregnant before your first paycheck, court-signed documents without a big party to follow, your adult life has been spent entirely by his side.
You’ve learned strength. You’ve learned to trust yourself. You’ve come to fall in love with yourself, by yourself, the you that wasn’t half-Jung. Despite the tears, the nights drowning in self-doubt, of not knowing what the next day would look like, you did it.
And now he’s back, and he promised that he changed.
You don’t know whether or not to trust the tiny voice in the back of your mind, you don’t know if it’s nerves or a gut-feeling. But when you turn your head to the side, to the man you’ve spent fifteen years loving, adoring, his chiseled jaw and his curved nose and the veiny, tattooed forearm that’s attached to the steering wheel, it’s easy to admit that you want him to come home, too.
You missed him. You miss him, and he’s beside you.
You miss him making the bed in the morning, having coffee on the pot downstairs, already prepped for you. You miss him shoveling the driveway in the winter, mowing the lawn in the summer. You miss him taking out the trash. You miss him fixing a toy when Kyungmin breaks it. You miss him doing your fucking taxes. You miss him doing the dishes after you cooked dinner, you miss him stealing the dishes out of your hands when he cooked dinner.
You miss the mundane things.
You miss the way he kisses you goodmorning, when he gets home from work, before bed, randomly, mid-day on a Saturday. You miss him making Kyungmin laugh. You miss the way his skin feels on yours, the way he finishes your thought before you’ve finished it, the way he makes it so easy to believe that it’s possible to love another human so much.
You miss him present most of all.
“If I agree,” you speak into the silence, his fingers add the slightest pressure onto your thigh. “You swear you’ll be around?”
“Yes.” The word is final. “I’ve made the changes already. You’re my priority.”
You don’t answer, you let the words sink in. It’ll take time, learning to believe him, learning to trust his words again, but something settles in your chest, in your gut, something calm. It reminds you that you can still be yourself, you can still be strong, you can still trust yourself, you can still be in love with yourself– but he’s here to love you, to trust you, to lean on you for strength, too. There’s something about it that’s comforting, that’s right.
The house is dark when you walk through your front door. You forgot to leave the lights on, the lamp in the corner of the living room, the one above the kitchen sink. So scatterbrained about being out with Wooyoung, about your kid sleeping at someone else’s house, you huff a curse as soon as the darkness welcomes you home.
While you turn the lamp on, without a word he’s in the kitchen, turning on the other above the sink.
And for some reason that’s enough.
Maybe it’s how he looks, doused in twilight, standing in the kitchen he designed. Shadows finding home in the structure of his face, the tattoo on his forearm, the veins that swirled around it, blending into the vines, rippling each thorn of the rose. Maybe it was just the fact that after all this time, seeing him here, in your kitchen that you left exactly how it was the day you kicked him out, reminded you just how deeply you love him. That even though you’ve spent a year apart and you’ve learned to love so much about yourself, the part of you that you love most, is the half of you that’s him.
You hope he feels it as you kiss him, standing in the space between the two counters, the long, skinny walkway between the sink and the island. Your arms around his shoulders, his find your waist, sliding down to your hips, then behind you, taking two fistfuls of your ass.
You squeak into the kiss and he turns you, scooping under your thighs to lift you, placing your ass on the kitchen counter. You don’t break the kiss, feet hooking around his back, fingers curling into his roots, tongue sliding between his lips like you were the one coming home.
He hikes your dress up, warm palms searing the skin beneath fabric, slipping under the hem just to rest there like he couldn’t deny himself feeling you any longer. You’re panting into his mouth, sizzling under his touch, you whisper, “I need you.”
He pulls away, putting an inch between your faces, “Here?”
“I don’t care where,” your hands find his cheeks, holding him close, “I need you, Jung Wooyoung.”
His eyes flicker over your features like he’s reading your thoughts and it takes him all of a second for his fingers to dart to the hem of your dress. You lift yourself so it pools around your hips, reaching forward for his button-up, getting only three unbuttoned while his fingers work the button and zipper of his pants. Both of you panting, heartbeats uneven, your feet stretch to reach the opposite counter, palms planted on the one you sat on, shifting yourself to the edge as Wooyoung frees himself from his briefs.
Your tongue pokes out to wet your lips, tasting remnants of your lipstick and his saliva on your tongue. The lack of a rebuttal from him, of snarky, taunting comments– this was different than him filling you silently on your living room couch. One hand moves your thin, lace thong to the side as the other grips his length, prodding at your entrance, making you gasp.
He fills you quickly, slipping inside with barely any resistance, the two of you moaning out in relief and pleasure. He grumbles out a curse, reaching the hilt, hands finding your hips, fingers bruising into your skin.
“Jagi,” he whispers. “Wanna give you a baby.”
Your eyes meet his and he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world. Like nothing else matters except you and him, like the outside world melted away, like you haven’t built and ruined a life between you. Like it was fifteen years ago and you’d just opened the first page of your love story.
“Do it, then,” you whisper back, eyes glossy, throat tight. “Give me one.”
“Can I?” He asks, face stone, as if you couldn’t feel his cock twitch inside you. He wasn’t asking permission, he was questioning the possibility.
Counting in your head, you wait a moment to reply, “Yes. Slim, but yes.”
He grins ear to ear, that same shit-eating grin he wears when he gets what he wants whether he fights for it or not. Then he moves, a shallow, promising thrust, grinding into the deepest spot inside you, making you hiss out a curse.
“Have to fill you,” his eyes find your meeting, watching himself as he barely thrusts, keeping himself buried. “Nice n’ deep. Make sure it takes.”
Your head dips backward, arching into him, skin catching on the glossiness of the counter you’d wiped down before you left the house. “Please.”
He grunts, fingers searing your skin, picking up his pace. “Fuck, need to see you pregnant. Belly full of my fuckin’ kid.”
“Wooyoung,” your voice is breathy, shaky, full of arousal as you moan his name, it makes him grunt out a curse, hips slapping against yours, reverberating through the room, bouncing off the stainless steel appliances.
His hands on your hips use the strength of his arms to lift you, pulling you off the counter with too much fucking ease. He slips out of you before your feet hit the floor, but he’s back inside you as soon as your back presses against the cool wood of the kitchen floor, freshly mopped this morning, knowing he’d be here tonight.
His lips are on yours, your legs hooked over his back, panties thrown somewhere you didn’t care to see. His shirt is open, still over his shoulders, trapping you between the open panels like it was shading you from something, anything that wasn’t him.
His hair feels silken between your fingers as you tug at his roots, keeping him as close as possible, never close enough. Murmuring words into each other’s lips, the sound of his skin hitting yours muted it, like the two of you were stuck in a time-warp, a lovesick bubble you entered fifteen years ago.
Pressure builds with each thrust, your moans growing in pitch, and Wooyoung keeps his eyes on yours, his bottom lip touching yours, assessing, watching, feeling, waiting for you to crest your peak without any stimulation to your clit. His eyes flare when your breathing catches, keeping his rhythm unfaltering, his angle locked, muttering yes, yes as you approach the high only he can give you.
He groans when he feels the pressure blow, as you clench around him, the heels of your feet digging into his back, he catches your lips between his own to feel everything, all of it, all of you.
The silence says everything. You’re stuck in euphoria as his cock drags over that same spot inside you, his head dropped down to your shoulder, your nails clawing at his back as he takes you for everything you’re worth. Every drop of pleasure, every emotion, you handed everything over to him, put it in his palms, let him cradle it– had you ever even taken it back for yourself?
“Gonna give you a baby,” he mutters into your skin, voice jagged like the edge of a blade, a man slicing a promise into your skin. “Gonna give you a girl this time. Pretty like her mama.”
“Yes,” it’s a whimper, a plea. “I love you, please– I love you.”
He grunts, heavy and rough, hips smacking yours with fervor, picking up his pace, weighting his thrusts. He picks up his head, palms finding your cheeks, holding your scrunched up face between them before he presses his mouth to yours, and you can taste the I love you too on his tongue.
Into his mouth, weak, soft, you utter, “I missed you.”
And why the admittance brought tears to your eyes, you aren’t sure. But they fell to his thumbs and he seemed to understand even if you didn’t, kissing you deeper, tongue slotting into your mouth as if he was soothing your scars.
He finished inside you with a low grunt that vibrated through you and into the hardwood beneath, cock hilted, buried so deep you weren’t sure where you ended and he began. You wanted to stay there, full of him, in the bubble you’d fucking missed being in, but his phone ringing on top of the counter had you both moving before you could breathe.
“Yunho,” is all he said before he pressed the phone up to his ear, still panting, brows furrowed. You stood up, dress falling over your hips, thighs wet and legs jelly, you leaned an arm over the counter for stability, silent enough to hear Yunho on the line.
Yeah, he threw up… Asking for you… Rory took his temp, he has a fever… He’s on the couch now… Okay, see you soon…
Wooyoung hung up with a sigh, “Rain check for rolling around in our bed?”
You cracked a smile, “What’s your schedule looking like on Monday?”
Wooyoung snorts as he tucks himself into his slacks, fingers working his buttons, “I’ll drive.”
Aurora had the door open before you’d made it up the steps of their front porch. “Sorry for cutting the date night short.”
Her sad smile was full of apology, she had one arm on the door as she held it open for the two of you. Pajama pants on her legs, slippers on her feet, her oversized tee that said Nasara University had one shoulder cut off. Hair tied in a bun on top of her head, bare-faced, so effortlessly gorgeous you felt self-conscious even if you were still in your red dress.
“Thanks for taking care of him, Ro,” Wooyoung replies. “Yunho said he’s on the couch?”
Ro. A nickname you haven’t heard before. Storing the info for later, you followed Wooyoung inside, taking note that their house was full of everything warm and cozy. Toys littered the floor, picture frames on the walls, nothing was tidy or put together. Not dirty, but… Lived in. Like six people lived here and not one of them was hiding the fact. The TV on and playing an old cartoon from when you were all kids, three out of Yunho and Aurora’s four sat on the living room floor just before Kyungmin who was curled up on the couch, blanket covering his body.
You stayed back while Wooyoung crossed the room, saying hi to the kiddos before scooping Kyungmin up in his arms. Aurora spoke while you watched him, “Yunho’s upstairs with the baby, she woke up when the kids started screaming about throw up.”
“Sorry,” you scratched the back of your head, cheeks flaring heat. You hoped you didn’t smell like sex. You also hoped she wasn’t thinking about the fact that you and Wooyoung are divorced and together right now.
But she just waved her hand, “Please, don’t be. She’s a terrible sleeper anyways, and all four of them were playing dress up in June’s room. She was bound to wake up sooner or later.”
“Dress up?” You cracked a smile.
“June has the time of her life dressing up her siblings,” she smiled with you, “and I think Aden enjoys it more than she does. They call it Fashion Runway, and Kyungmin was the star tonight, just so you know. June and Aden said he’s their new muse.”
You snort, not a lick of surprise on your face, “I need to see this.”
“You guys should come over more,” she offers, looking at Wooyoung as he returns with your gray-faced son’s head on his shoulder. “We should do the things the cool families do, hangout while the kids hangout, conjoined vacations and shit. We live so close and we never do anything.”
You look at Wooyoung who nods like he was brushing her off. “Yeah, sure. Don’t you wanna wait til’ Sunnie gets a little older?”
Her brows furrow, “No?”
“Sunnie’s a cute name,” you turn to her. “I didn’t know that was her name. How old is she?”
“Her first birthday is next month, I invited you guys, he didn’t tell you?” Her brows furrow further as you shake your head. Her eyes thin as she glances at Wooyoung, “Sunnie’s short for Woosun. Named after her godfather who apparently doesn’t want to come to her first birthday party.”
You will your face into staying neutral, like you knew Wooyoung was Aurora’s daughter’s godfather. “Woosun’s a gorgeous name.”
“Yunho came up with it,” her smile is proud, and if she could see yours, the one you’re hiding behind your stone features, you think she might be terrified of you. Your eyes find Wooyoung’s and he looks as gray as Kyungmin, face dropped, fear rippling in his chocolate brown eyes.
“Thanks again for taking care of him, Aurora.” You barely hear her response as she gives you a side-hug. She smells clean, like grapefruit and vanilla, a hint of baby formula like she’d just finished feeding Woosun. Woosun.
You don’t speak until after Wooyoung buckles in Kyungmin, your son still somehow knocked out in the backseat, head lolled to the side. Wooyoung tugged on the seatbelt twice, making sure it was locked, keeping him in place. You see the glitter on him then, on his eyelids, his cheeks, his hair, he’s in clothes that aren’t is. God, did he throw up on his own clothes? You didn’t even notice, nor did you ask for his clothes back. You’d have Wooyoung text her tomorrow.
Seated in the driver’s, he flips the engine, eerily quiet. Waiting for you. So you start.
“I thought Yunho was your friend from college.”
He takes a steadying breath before he speaks, “He was, is. But I’ve always been friendlier with Ro.”
“Ro,” you repeat, lips scrunching together. Your head shakes slowly, “Define friendlier.”
“Baby, we went to college together–”
“Don’t baby me,” you snap, keeping your voice quiet to not wake up your son, “you just tried to give me a daughter and then I find out you’re the godfather of someone else’s?”
“I was going to–”
“You were going to tell me nothing,” you snap again, hearing your heartbeat in your ears. “You used to fuck her, then? In college? Is that why we’ve never hung out with them?”
“It was more than that,” his voice is defensive, curt. Your lips snap shut, eyes widening a fraction. “We were together for a while, but it was… complicated. Everything about that time was complicated.”
“She named her fucking kid after you,” your voice is quiet but not any less venomous. “You know everything about me. Everything. And after fifteen years, I’d expect to know everything about you. Why keep it a secret?”
He keeps his eyes on the road, even if they blaze with emotion; fear, guilt, shame, remorse. “I don’t know if I can even explain it, she’s– she’s special. Different from a girlfriend or a hookup, we went through a lot of tough shit together.”
Eyes widening further, throat tightening, you can taste the salt lining your eyes. Your voice comes out hoarse, “She’s so special that you couldn’t tell your wife about her?”
“There’s nothing I could say that wouldn’t make you feel like this. She’s married, happily, with four kids. If you knew our history you wouldn’t want me around her.”
“And that’s more important? Being around her? Than me knowing the truth?”
“No,” he shakes his head tight. “No, it’s not. I spent a lot of time at their house while we were separated, and the three of us got really close again–”
“So that’s why she said we should all hangout,” you laugh a little, it’s dry, lacking amusement. “She wants to know what the wicked ex-wife that divorced you is like.”
“No,” he counters, voice raising, exasperated. “I never said anything bad about you, fuck. After the conference I talked to them, and she needs a girlfriend. I basically pimped you out to her, to be her friend.”
“Pimped me out to a girl you used to date. Fuck. Go through tough shit with.”
“We weren’t close during our marriage,” he argues, eyes flickering up to check on the still-sleeping Kyungmin through the rear-view mirror. “I sought them out after you divorced me, I needed a friend, and I knew Kyungmin and Aden were in the same class, I– they helped me.”
“Your ex-girlfriend and her husband helped you. Did they invite you into their bed? Help take your mind off your sad, divorced heart?”
“I’m not going to talk until you stop seeing red. Calm down and then speak to me like an adult.”
Crossing your arms over your chest, you stare out the window, and let the tears fall.
Kyungmin lay on the couch, asleep again after another round of emptying the contents of his stomach into the same stained bowl you use for popcorn on movie nights. You and Wooyoung sat on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, staring at him. So small, his face looks so peaceful, in a deep, hopefully dreamless sleep. He changed your lives eight years ago. Forced you into an adulthood you weren’t prepared for, the greatest blessing you didn’t ask for. A gift.
“Think he has the flu?” Wooyoung asks after too long of staring at the boy you created in silence. His hands stretched behind him, legs in front of him, body sagged with exhaustion. It’s been a long day.
“Maybe a stomach bug,” you reply through a sigh, sitting with your arms curled around your knees. “Time will tell. If his fever’s still up tomorrow, I’ll take him to the doctor.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I’m his father, I want to.”
You swear, it’s grumbled, irritated. You can still feel the stickiness between your thighs, almost like it’s taunting you now. Telling you good job, you get to have another baby with a liar!
“I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Wooyoung’s voice is grave. “Aurora is harmless. I don’t love her, I’m not into her, there’s nothing left between us but friendship.”
“You’re missing the point, Wooyoung. It’s not about her, it’s about the fact that you kept it from me for fifteen years.”
“It wasn’t relevant for fifteen years. But it’s relevant now, and I’m telling you.”
“Because you were put in a situation where you had to tell me,” your head snaps to the side, glaring at him. “You should have told me when we had the whole exes conversation over a decade ago, or maybe when you found out Aden was in the same class as Kyung, or when she named her daughter after you, or when she made you the fucking godfather. You had a million-and-one chances to tell me.”
Wooyoung sighs, “It was a wound I didn’t want to reopen back then, but I should have. I’m sorry.”
“It feels wrong,” you look back at Kyungmin, a frown on your lips. “Knowing you had a relationship with these people deep enough for them to name their child after you, and I don’t know any of it. It makes me feel like I don’t know you, like there’s a side of you that you’ve kept from me all these years.”
“Do you want to know the full story?” He glances sideways, and the look you give him is an obvious yes. He sighs, “Fuck. Alright.”
And you sit there, for an entire hour as he reveals a side of himself that you’ve never gotten a glimpse of. Partying, threesomes, Aurora, men– so many men, and even though that part didn’t take you by surprise, it did make you wonder. The tough shit was about her, Yunho surprisingly, her father, her own personal issues that Wooyoung had adopted like his own and helped her through. Living with his cousin, switching his major, supporting his mother, all the fucked up people who went to his university that married each other. You wondered how well they turned out.
“Her and Yunho, made for each other. Their kids were a blessing, and they started younger than we did. Then kept fucking going.”
It made you laugh a little, and as the sound hit his ears, he finally cracked a small smile. Glancing at you, he muttered, “I did love her, I loved everything about her. But our relationship, me in her life, it was for a purpose, y’know? And when it was fulfilled, after I’d done what I was… destined to do or whatever, her life got a lot better. She got better. Everything got better, actually.”
“You were all too young for all of that shit.” It’s all you could say. All you could muster up seeing Wooyoung’s life twenty years ago pass through his eyes, listening to him describe it like it happened yesterday.
“I know,” he heaved a sigh, laying back on his elbows. “But then I met you and I thought it was my turn to be happy. To feel like I had it all figured out.”
“Then I got pregnant.”
He laughed, a rich, light sound. “Then you got pregnant.” He sat in silence for a moment, glancing at your son on the couch, before he bit his lip in contemplation. “I have something else to tell you. Since we’re being honest.”
Your heart dropped, skin feeling icy-hot. Nervously glancing at him, your voice comes out shaky as you ask, “What?”
“We’re still married.”
You blinked. “No we’re not.”
“Yes we are.”
Fingers meeting the floor on either side of you, you shook your head, warning, “Wooyoung.”
“That’s why the divorce process was so easy,” he isn’t looking at you, his eyes stay on Kyungmin, unblinking. “Because I never filed for it.”
“I filed for it,” you counter.
“With my lawyer,” his eyes meet yours. “Who I paid generously not to file.”
“What? I–”
The walls felt like they were closing in. He continued, “I thought it was hasty. That you would regret it, or that you didn’t mean it, or that I’d fix it, I don’t know. I couldn’t stomach the idea of us not being together, so I faked it.”
“You pay me child-support, Wooyoung.”
“I know,” he shrugs, lips thin. “I just… I don’t know. I didn’t think we’d stay apart forever.”
You stare at him for a moment, a thunderstorm brewing beneath your skin. “Get out.”
His head snaps to the side, eyes wide, “What?”
“Get out,” you repeat, firmer. “Get the fuck out.”
“Wait– Let me explain, I–”
“Jung Wooyoung get the fuck out of my house.”
“I love you,” he argues, voice strained, turning his entire body to face you as you start standing up. “With my entire heart and soul. I can’t live without you any longer, without him, please talk to me– please talk this out, please–”
“I’m filing first thing tomorrow morning,” you bite, voice so fucking harsh and venemous you can’t believe it came from your lips. “With a different lawyer, my own fucking lawyer. You better hope and pray that I’m not fucking pregnant.”
in which ,, things san does in your relationship that shows he’s really a gentle giant.
contains ,, more tooth rotting fluff, small smut, small angst (mention of death) bf!san, headcannons
gentlegiant!san who softly kisses you on your any exposed part on your body at random times, whether it being your shoulder, hands, arms, lips, etc.
gentlegiant!san who lifts you up if you’re too short to be seen in pictures
gentlegiant!san who picks you up and carries you around even if youre not taking pictures
gentlegiant!san who texts you “i love you” 50 times a day, just because he thought about you
gentlegiant!san who feeds you when youre sick, even if its just a small cough
gentlegiant!san who buys you flowers just because
– “I got you flowers baby” “why’d you do that?” “there has to be a reason???”
gentlegiant!san who has a crush on you, even tho you’re already together ??
gentlegiant!san who buys you stuff because he saw the way your eyes lit up when you looked at it
gentlegiant!san who refers to you as “mybaby” when talking to other people about you
gentlegiant!san who buys you flowers every monday, so you can start off your week with new flowers
gentlegiant!san who still blushes and gets all squishy when you compliment him
gentlegiant!san who goes so gentle with you when you’re having sex, just wanting to please his baby (but gets a little TOO into it n overstimulates you )
gentlegiant!san who admires you doing literally anything, you’ll look up and he’s looking at you with soft eyes and a small smile
gentlegiant!san who NEVER lets you open the door, or pull your own seat out if you’re with him
gentlegiant!san who gives you lil taps on the butt when you go to the gym with him and you get through your workout 🙂↕️
gentlegiant!san who loves seeing you and his family getting along (makes him wanna marry u even more )
gentlegiant!san who fixes your messy hair when you wake up in the morning
gentlegiant!san who kisses all over you to wake up when you sleep in
gentlegiant!san who acts like he loves whatever food you have even if he think it’s nasty, just to make you happy
gentlegiant!san who sandwiches your hands between his when it’s cold out
gentlegiant!san who eyes soften and smile widens when someone mentions you, or when you walk in the room
gentlegiant!san who loves you with every ounce in his body , your literally the love of his life
gentlegiant!san who finds you absolutely stunning( which can be shown all in his face when he looks at you ), and brags to people about you like your a goddess
gentlegiant!san who would never let you go, even on your last breath
a/n ,, AHH thank yall for the support on my last post 🥳 !! I hope you guys enjoy this one <3 !!
➾In Which: Two things get passed around; the joint — and you.
RATED XXX. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.
❥Park Seonghwa x Kim Hongjoong x Kang Yeosang x fem reader
♫In Your Fantasy - ATEEZ♫
➯a/n: AH AH AH AH NOBODY LOOK AT ME NOBODY TOUCH ME IM HEJFIWBDKEQ- i really liked the new songs and im totally normal about them <3. totally not foaming at the mouth. totally not losing my mind. totally —
(>ᴗ•)genre: pure, filthy, unfiltered debauchery
ಠ_ಠwarning/content: i am ovulating. strap the FUCK in lovelies. ROUGH, MEAN, DIRTY. hongjoong and reader in an established relationship, he shares her <3 (he's still possessive though dw), implied chubby reader (squishable boobs, thighs, and tummy), doms hj and ys / switch (?) sh / sub reader, incredibly filthy but also completely safe: hongjoong is much more sober and makes sure reader feels safe / doesn't do anything she's uncomfortable with, that being said: free use reader gets her shit rocked, sub space, unprotected; pull out method + (1) creampie, orgasm control + edging + overstim, dry humping, high as some mfing kites, spit, messy kissing, face fucking, face sitting, breath play, giggly moments, fingering, hair pulling, m x m; kissing + grinding + sexual tension, cum eating, dacryphilia, manhandling, yeosang is a mean little weirdo (i luv him), praise + degradation, a few light spanks / slaps, park seonghwa's oppa kink. pet names + name calling: (dumb, little, sweet, messy, dirty, stupid, pretty, needy) baby, angel, slut, cumdump, fleshlight, love, girl, fuck(er), dummy / oppa, sir, joong(ie), sang(ie), hwa, pervert
"Are you sure she's okay with this?" Seonghwa asks while he nervously bites at his thumb, looking over to where you sit with Yeosang at the table.
Your fuzzy socked feet pulled up on the chair, your chin on your knees as you roll a large joint; making small talk with the younger member. You don't even look the slightest bit nervous or shy despite what you all know is coming.
Yeosang looks a bit more shy than usual, and he keeps his eyes locked onto your nimble fingers after you caught him staring at your nipples through your thin tank top.
"Yeah," Hongjoong answers simply, dropping his phone in his lap and leaning back to look over at you with a small smirk. "She's excited."
"What about you?"
"Me?" Hongjoong raises a brow, "what about me?"
"Are you... excited?"
"Oh," he breathes, before a large smile spreads across his face, "very. She's actually super slutty, I want to see how she acts with you guys. I bet she'll cum s-"
"Hongjoong!" Seonghwa yells, eyes wide and hand over his mouth, "you can't call her that-"
He laughs, meeting his eyes with yours as you and Yeosang look over to the commotion, "baby, come here for a second?"
You slide the small tray with the paper and buds on it to Yeosang before you hop down and come over with a smile. "What's u-"
"Get on your knees." Hongjoong says flatly, staring up at you.
You can feel Yeosang staring at you from the table, and Seonghwa is looking up at you with eyes still wide.
You sink to your knees without a second thought, even if it does make your heart beat a little faster. "You still want to-" Your boyfriend goes to speak, when you cut him off.
Nodding eagerly, "I really do."
"You do?" And you nod. "Because you're my slut, right?" Another nod — and you hear Seonghwa's breathing picking up a bit. "And you like it when I tell you what to do?"
Seonghwa thinks he might explode as you keep nodding your head obediently, knelt between them; a bit more towards Hongjoong. He's never seen someone so... pliable. It's making his pants tight around the crotch.
"And you really, really like it when I use you as my personal fleshlight, don't you, baby?"
"Yes-"
"Give me a kiss," he doesn't even give you time to respond before he's leaning down and grabbing you by the throat, lips pressed to yours roughly. It's even rougher than usual now that his friends are watching. Like he's showing off.
Because he most certainly is.
He pulls back and spits into your gaped mouth, spreading the saliva that misses all over your chin as you look up at him dazed. "You want to be their fleshlight, too?"
"Yeah," you pant quietly, "I want to make them feel good."
"How are you going to do that, sweet girl?" He smiles, devilish under the surface as he feels Seonghwa shifting on the couch next to him.
"Let them use me."
"Yeah? C'mere," he says softer, pulling you up to straddle him, "you want us to use you however we want?" He hums as he rubs your thighs gently.
"Yes."
"Do you want me to stay sober so I can make sure you don't do something you'll regret?"
You hesitate for a moment before you nod, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, "a little bit. Just, not as high?"
Yeosang almost scares Seonghwa with how he's snuck up on you all, holding out the lit joint to him as he blows the smoke out of his lungs.
He takes it quickly so he can calm his nerves about the whole thing, taking a long puff while listening to Hongjoongs soft reassurances to you.
"I can do that, baby," he whispers as he wraps his arms around you, voice low in your ear — but purposefully not so low that his friends can't hear him. "I'm going to share you, but don't forget who you belong to, okay? I'm the only one you share your bed with. I'm going to let my friends use your little pussy and when they're done, I'm going to fuck you so good you forget what they even felt like inside of you. Do you understand?"
"Sounds good, Joongie," you reply airily, your cheeks suddenly hot from his words; and from the way you can feel their eyes on your lower back as Hongjoong slides his hands under your shirt to caress your back.
"And if you want them to quit, you let me know. My girl comes first. Yeah?"
"Okay," you nod, looking down at him as he leans back, "love you, Joong."
"Awe, I love you too," he says with a peck to your lips, hands on your hips as he pulls away, "now show them how much of a slut you are."
You and Seonghwa both gasp as Hongjoong all but throws you into his lap; his hands clumsily coming to steady you by your waist. "H-hey, Oppa."
It's his turn to feel hot, ears practically burning as you settle over his lap; just as you were atop your boyfriend. "Hey..."
"Don't be shy, love," Hongjoong says as he takes the joint from his lips, having taken a small hit — just like you asked of him. He leans and places it between your lips, allowing you to suck on it as he says, "get nice and high for us. You always get so wet~"
"Fuck, I can't believe this is happening," Seonghwa groans, rubbing his face.
"Why not?" Yeosang asks as he sits on his other side, eyeing you slowly as Hongjoong holds the joint for you to take another hit. "If you don't want to touch her, let me."
Seonghwa stops you when you go to move towards him; hands firmer on your sides. "Don't-" He hesitates, "I want you to grind on me."
Hongjoong smirks as you immediately start moving your hips, your hands settled on your thighs — afraid to touch. "You can touch, can't she, Hwa?" He reaches between you and hands Yeosang the joint.
He looks between you before nodding quickly, "yes- yeah, I don't mind."
"Of course you don't," Yeosang chuckles before taking a quick hit, "pretty girl grinding on your cock, you'd be stupid if you were complaining."
His casual calling of you 'pretty' makes you even more shy, whining as you move to press your face into Seonghwa's chest; holding onto his shirt as you swirl your hips lightly.
"Awe, my little slut is shy, huh?" Hongjoong giggles, giving a small spank to your ass and making you jump. "I know you can do better than that, don't embarrass me now."
"Fucking-" Seonghwa gasps, instinctively grabbing at you as you grind into his growing bulge — deep and perfectly paced, "oh my god~" He bites his lip quickly, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling.
"See, that's more like it," Hongjoong hums, rubbing your sore cheek, "be a good whore for Oppa~"
Seonghwa snaps his head down to glare at him, mouth open to chastise him when you give a particularly nice roll of your hips and all he can get out instead is a moan. "Oh, shit-" He grips your hips, guiding you to repeat the motion, "like that."
Yeosang places the blunt in his lips, letting it hang as he stands up; tired of watching. He quickly unbuttons his pants, pulling his zipper down to give some relief to his aching cock. He comes behind you, gathering up your hair before pulling you up, "come here, slut."
Hongjoong laughs at the lost look in your eyes as you come up; inebriated brain lagging behind as you catch up to someone else calling you that.
"Finish it off," Yeosang hums as he places the joint into your mouth, a good four hits still on it. "I want to you to be so high you forget where you are when I fuck your brains out."
Seonghwa pants out a laugh as you cough, shocked by his bluntness so much that your hips still. Hongjoong does the same, adding to your shock when he smacks your ass again, "did we tell you to stop, dummy?"
You steady yourself with your hand on Seonghwa's stomach, the other pinching the joint as you catch your breath. "Sorry..."
"It's okay, pretty baby," Hongjoong leans and kisses your cheek as Seonghwa starts pulling your hips again, "now, do what Yeosang asked. Don't disappoint our guests."
You nod, shakily bringing the joint back to your lips and taking a large puff.
"She really will do anything you ask, won't she?" Yeosang asks, eyes filled with lust and curiosity as he watches you finish off the joint.
Hongjoong only smirks in response while he takes the ending from your lips, tossing it to the ashtray. "Baby," he tilts his head, and you look to him immediately, "open your mouth."
You do so with zero pause, tongue rolled out.
Seonghwa and Yeosang curse in tandem, the latter pulling you faster along his bulge as the lewd gesture makes his cock twitch.
Hongjoong stands up, tilting your head back slowly to look at them, "spit in her mouth."
Yeosang's eyes widen slightly, "really?"
"Yeah, really. She'll swallow it like a good girl," he looks to you pointedly, silently telling you to make him proud.
You hum affirmatively, locking eyes with him as he leans closer; "you'll let me spit in your mouth while you grind on someone else's cock? All while your boyfriend watches?" You nod, immediately met with his hand gripping your face as he spits right onto your tongue.
All three watch in various degrees of awe as you swallow it quickly, tongue stuck back out with a soft, "ah."
"Fuck- sorry, Hyung," Yeosang mumbles quickly as he leans down and wraps his arms around you, yanking you from Seonghwa lap and making him groan. "My turn," he breaths out as he falls back onto the couch, settling you in his lap.
Hongjoong sits next to Seonghwa, patting his shoulder with a grin, "don't worry, she's got stamina. We'll all get to use her."
"You asshole, Yeosang," he huffs softly, resting his head against the cushion and watching your hips closely as you grind down on his exposed boxers; it's almost like he can still feel it if he thinks hard enough.
"You were taking too long, I want some of her too," Yeosang pouts, but he definitely doesn't mean it — not when you're rubbing your clothed heat over his cock so deliciously.
You whine quietly as your high from the last few long hits sneaks up on you; making you light headed, along with the pleasure you're getting from pressing your clit onto him.
"Feeling good, baby?" Hongjoong asks quickly, guiding your head to rest on Yeosang's shoulder. He leans to your level and smiles as you nod quickly, "yeah? Are you getting needy?"
"Yeah," you admit tentatively, grabbing Yeosang's biceps as he grinds up into you.
"Needy little slut," Hongjoong coos as he slides his fingertips down and slips your tank tops sleeves over your shoulders. "Lift her up, Yeosang."
He groans a bit, but then he sees his intentions and moves quickly. Standing up, he steadies you with a hand on your lower back; the other carefully holding your head to his shoulder after it rolls.
Hongjoong rubs your arms softly before pulling your shirt down to your hips. Seonghwa leans forward, elbows on his legs as he watches closely, only able to catch a glimpse of your chest with the way Yeosang holds you upright.
"You're so wet," Hongjoong smiles at the evidence of how much you're enjoying yourself already, sliding all of your clothes down your legs in one slow pull; leaving you in nothing but your socks. "Come here, pretty, let me show you off~"
Yeosang pretty much falls back into his seat, eyes trailing every inch on your body wildly as Hongjoong rubs up and down your waist slowly.
"Good goddamn," Seonghwa whispers, swallowing thickly. "What the fuck." It doesn't really sound like a question, more of a way to express his disbelief as he soaks in every detail he can and commits it to memory — because there's no way he'd not be jerking off to this for years to come.
"Isn't my slut just gorgeous?" Hongjoong slips a hand to your cunt, cupping and squeezing it softly and making you gasp; grabbing at his arm for something to hold onto. "Needy little baby~" He giggles as you pout up at him beggingly.
"Please-"
Seonghwa stands up quickly, the simple sound of you begging — not even desperately or urgently — making his willpower completely disappear.
"You are such a tease, do you know that?" He says as he sandwiches you between them, suffocating you with his presence as he cups your jaw, still admiring your body. "Do you know how long I've wanted to fuck you? But, no, I just had to be a good person and not bend over my best friends girl." He meets your fuzzy gaze, slipping his hand under Hongjoongs as he grins; watching you both closely.
"R-really?" You ask shakily, feeling shrunken under his suddenly intense and dominant eyes.
"Dead fucking serious," he nods, slipping his middle finger into you and groaning as he feels around slowly; savoring the softness of your insides and making you tremble in the process. "I've jerked off to you so many times," he admits quickly, "thinking about how lucky Joong is, how he gets to fuck you. I know we all have."
"Maybe I'll invite them next time," Hongjoong purrs in your ear, massaging your breasts slowly, "would you like that? Each of my members getting a chance to feel that wet little cunt?"
"Yes-" You gasp as Yeosang sneaks up on you, gripping your jaw and turning you to look at him.
He looks from you to Hongjoong for a moment, and when he nods; Yeosang leans forward and kisses you. Messy, rough, completely overpowering your mouth with his and shoving his tongue between your lips.
You grab onto Seonghwa's side for stability as your legs wobble; another one of his fingers slipping into you. "Look at my messy slut," Hongjoong moans, grinding against your ass. When he catches your fingers raising shakily, he grabs Yeosang by his hair roughly; making him hiss. "Let her breathe," he says before pulling him to his lips instead.
He's a bit shocked at first, but he's quickly leaning into it; fighting against his tongue with his own.
You and Seonghwa both watch, and he can't help but giggle a bit. "God, I can't fucking believe this," he repeats his earlier sentiment.
"Hwa," you pant quietly, looking up at him with your chest heaving softly in Hongjoong's grasp.
His eyes widen a bit, nodding quickly. "What- what is it, are you ok-"
Hongjoong pulls away from Yeosang, looking at you with breakneck speed.
"Will you... maybe, eat me out?"
Hongjoong sighs with a laugh of relief, squeezing your chest almost affectionately. "Ah, you little fucker, you scared me."
"Sorry, Jo- ah!" You squeal as Seonghwa drags you away, throwing you onto the couch.
"Sit up," he rushes, pulling you up to face the wall before all but falling to the floor.
"Eager," Yeosang laughs, licking his puffy lips as he comes to sit next to you.
He lifts your hips and settles his face below you, moaning from the anticipation alone. "A-are you go-"
He cuts you off, "I'm gonna sit you on my face, yeah?" Before you have a chance to respond, he's pulling you down by your hips and holding you tightly while he lands a fat lick up the length of your cunt. "Oh, holy fuck..."
"Don't get addicted," Hongjoong warns him playfully, a hint of seriousness underneath. "She'll get you."
Yeosang chuckles as you grab the back of the couch; Seonghwa immediately licking all over your dripping pussy with an eagerness that makes you tremble. "You like that?" He hums, tilting his head and cooing when you nod quickly. "Yeah, I bet you do, slut~"
"Fuck-" You go to collapse onto the cushion when Hongjoong grabs the back of your neck and holds you up.
"No hiding, remember?"
"Sorry, sir," you apologize with a small whine as Seonghwa sucks on your clit.
"Can't take it anymore," Yeosang snaps as you utter the title, yanking his boxers down and groaning loudly. Grabbing your wrist, he drags your hand over to his hard length, "take care of this, all your fucking fault anyway."
"Mh, go on, baby," Hongjoong encourages you as you hesitate, going so far as to lean over and spit in your hand, "make him feel good."
It's hard to think of how to do that — with his grip on your neck and Seonghwa's tongue in your cunt and Yeosang's powerful gaze locked in on you and your brain entirely too high to process so much information at once.
"Hey," Yeosang notices you faltering and slaps you, gently; just harsh enough to bring you back to reality and listen to his more direct command, "jerk me off."
You swallow thickly, and you're still able to spit into your hand; letting it join Hongjoongs before you wrap your hand around his cock. His head falls back with the simple touch, a groan breaking in his throat as you slowly slide your hand up and down his length.
"You're doing so good, my dirty girl~" Hongjoong grins as he watches Yeosang slump from your attention to his cock — practically melting.
"Can I cum?" You look up at him, eyes wet and a pout on your lips.
"Awe, of course, you needy girl," he slides his hand around and grabs the front of your throat, choking you, "fucking cum all over Hwa's face, why don't you? Show him how nice it tastes."
You manage to give Yeosang a few more strokes before you have to let go, grabbing his arm and squeezing it tightly as you do just as your boyfriend says — cum all over his best friends face.
It's so intense that you lose all of the air in your lungs, a pathetic whimper all that you can manage as it washes over you.
Yeosang is shoving his bottoms off as he watches you, locking eyes with Hongjoong briefly before he snatches up your twitching form; leaving Seonghwa panting heavily and his face blissed out like he just came.
"Shit, you alive down there?" Hongjoong laughs, kneeling down and straddling his lap. "Told you she's slutty~"
He's completely breathless, grabbing onto him out of pure instinct and forcing him down to sit on his begging cock, "Joong, please-"
They both look over as you gasp; watching Yeosang push his fat tip into your cunt. He has you perched in his lap, head held to his shoulder once again, telling you, "take it." Before he slams his length into you with one rough thrust.
You scream into his shoulder, and Hongjoongs lips spread into a large grin as he registers your jumbled words. "Oh, fucking sweet hell! S'good!"
"Messy fucking fleshlight," Yeosang groans, gripping your hair tightly, "taking my dick no problem, so wet..." He closes his eyes, panting a few times while gathering himself.
"She's taking it all just like that?" Seonghwa asks in awe, hands still gripping Hongjoongs hips tightly.
"Course she is, my slutty little angel," Hongjoong reaches and smacks your ass; making both of you gasp, because the impact makes you clench around him.
"Fuck-" Yeosang curses with his jaw clenched, wrapping his arms around you tightly before pounding into you mercilessly.
You kick your feet uselessly, balling up his shirt in your fists as you moan into his neck; hiding your face there.
"Can you handle it, baby?" Hongjoong calls out, laughing along with Seonghwa as you quickly yell out:
"Fuck yes!"
"Good girl," he chuckles before looking back down to him, your arousal still gleaming on his chin. "Ah, she got you all messy," he says nonchalantly before leaning and licking up his chin, all the way to his lips; just hardly grazing the bottom one.
"Oh, fuck me," he sighs, eyes fluttering shut as Hongjoong laps up the rest of it before giving a small roll of his hips.
"That's her job," he giggles, sliding his hands up his chest, "unless you have something different in mind~" He whispers teasingly while wrapping his hands around his neck — just barely.
Seonghwa whimpers: the sounds of you getting pummeled next to him, the taste of you lingering on his tongue, Hongjoongs weight against his cock, his hands around his neck is getting to be too much.
"You pervert," Hongjoong chuckles as he tightens his grip, "you really do want both of us."
"F-fuck, so what?" He says shakily, blush creeping up his face as he hears you yelling for Yeosang to let you cum.
"So," he opens his eyes quickly as he feels Hongjoongs breath on his lips, finding him nose to nose with him, "maybe I'll make that happen if you make my girl happy."
"You will?"
His answer comes in the form of a kiss — not dominance fighting like it was with Yeosang, but not quite loving like with you. More... experimental. Testing the waters with each other.
Hongjoong abandons his lips as he hears you whimpering, looking over to you quickly. "Pretty?"
"He won't let me cum!" You wail, clinging to Yeosang's shirt like a lifeline. "Please, Joongie, tell h-him to let me!"
Yeosang laughs, breathlessly as he continues to practically beat up your insides with his thick cock. "Beg a little more, I'll let you~"
"Yeosang, don't be a jerk. Let the poor girl-" Seonghwa gets cut off when Hongjoong slaps a hand over his mouth, leaving him a bit flabbergasted.
"Baby~" He coos, holding back his own laughter, "I'm not in charge of you right now." He always is, and he continues to be even as someone else is using you like their toy. But he likes seeing you throw your little fits from time to time. And he wants to see how you handle it. "You'll have to do what Yeosang asks."
"Please, please, please-" You do so immediately, pushing yourself up on his chest only to be met with an indifferent stare; only a small smirk playing on his lips.
"You call that begging? Hongjoong has been too soft with you for how big of a slut you are."
"Sang, pl-" He pulls you off of him, leaving you whining and pouting for him to keep going as he throws you to lay across the couch.
"You'll learn how to really beg if you want it so bad." He flips you onto your stomach, pounding back into you the second you land.
You shove your face into the cushion as you cry, kicking your legs until he grips your hair and reels you up. "Try again."
"Please, I want to-"
"Wrong." He says before letting you go, pushing your legs open with his until one of them dangles off the edge next to Seonghwa and Hongjoong.
"Yeosang!" You scream, "fuck! Please, pretty fucking goddamn please! I can't hold it, I need to cum, sir-"
You keep on rambling your pleas, but you've already satisfied him — so he slips a hand under your hips and circles your clit. "Cum."
"J- Ah, thank you!"
The way you clench and tremble around him, the way you hide in the cushion as you moan; it all almost makes him cum inside of you before he remembers Hongjoongs threats before they even set foot in your shared space.
"Shit-" He gasps, pulling out quickly and crushing you to the couch as he sits on the back of your thighs, fisting his cock quickly as he watches the way you twitch.
Seonghwa is practically drooling as he watches Yeosang's cum splatter on the expanse of your back, Hongjoong just the same.
He holds your hip in a way that must be his attempt at comfort as you both just stay for a moment and catch your breath.
"You okay, sweet girl?" Hongjoong whispers, crawling out of Seonghwa's lap and kneeling next to your head as you sniffle. You hold your hand out shakily, opening and closing it quickly. "Awe," he takes it fast, lacing his fingers with yours, "little fleshlight got her brains fucked out after just one round?"
You nod into the couch, sniffling.
"You want to keep on going?"
Again, you nod.
"Atta girl," he giggles, rubbing the back of your head gently as Yeosang stands up.
He hesitates a second, but then he leans down and moves your head to look at him. "Thanks," he says before leaning down and kissing your cheek; earning himself a smile. "You d-" He clears his throat as his heart skips a beat, "you did really good."
"Say thank you, baby," Hongjoong says softly, taking the tissue that Seonghwa offers him and wiping up your back while biting his lip.
"Thank you, Sangie," you moan softly, pushing yourself up on your shaky arms before pointing at Seonghwa.
He points towards himself as well, finger to his chest, "me?"
"Your turn."
"You don't need a break, angel?" Hongjoong hands the soiled tissue to Yeosang, and he's disappearing further into the apartment. "D-"
"No," you giggle, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his chin, "I'm ready for more. Plus, Oppa won't be rough with m-" A yelp slips past your lips as Seonghwa pulls you to the floor, cupping your head as you fall to the hard wood.
"You have got to stop calling me that," he groans as he slots himself between your legs, holding himself up with one hand while the other guides his cock along your soaked slit; impatiently pulled out of his pants.
"Sorry, sir-"
"Fuck," he whines, eyebrows pressed together, "that's even worse."
Hongjoong chuckles, coming to sit by your head as he frees his length. "I think you're making him shy, baby," he leans and pecks your lips while fisting his cock, breathing in your gasp as Seonghwa slides into you slowly. "That feel nice, hm? Needy little fleshlight~"
Seonghwa gasps as you clench around him, leaning his head against your shoulder with a low curse. "Oh, fuck, you feel so good..."
Yeosang falls back onto the couch, turning his head to watch; his dick already half-hard in his boxers again. "Pretty slut," he whispers, to no one other than himself, but given the way Hongjoongs eyes flick to him; he figures he heard.
He did — and a sick sense of pride is in his chest as he looks between Yeosang's spent form and Seonghwa's blissful face. All because of you.
He leans down quickly, taking your lips in his more roughly. Cupping your cheek and pulling one of your hands to his hard length, holding his hand over yours and using it to jerk himself off all while Seonghwa starts thrusting into you with a testing pace. "Good fucking girl," he groans into your mouth, nipping your lips, "being such a well behaved slut for us. Keep it up for me, yeah?"
"Yeah," you pant out with a nod, feeling dizzy and being thankful that Seonghwa is taking you flat on the floor so his thrust don't throw you around as much as he picks up his rhythm. "I wa-want some cum, Joongie."
"Where at?" He grins wide as he hears Seonghwa moaning into your shoulder; clearly very into your neediness in your fuzzy state of mind if the way he grips your hips says anything, if the way he starts pounding you just as hard as Yeosang did says anything.
"Ah," you tilt your head back a bit, your back arching off the floor as he prods your g-spot, opening your mouth wide.
"Oh, in here, dirty girl?" He teases, sticking two of his fingers into your mouth and pressing your tongue down before spitting into it.
Yeosang slides down, already freeing himself from the confines of his boxers and grabbing your other hand to mirror Hongjoong; jerking himself off and spitting into your open mouth as you moan.
"We're going to give you some cum, and you better keep it in your mouth until Hwa is done using your little pussy, okay? You understand me?" Hongjoong asks with a soft slap, moving your hand faster along his length.
"Mmf," you pout as Yeosang grinds his leaking tip on your heated cheek, trying to tilt your head and take it into your mouth — when Seonghwa grabs you by the base of your hair and pulls you back down.
"He's talking to you, baby," he says lowly against your throat, nickname slipping without his permission or his realization. And the way it makes you squeeze him makes him want to do it again and again. "Where's your manners at?"
"Fuck!" You writhe as he stills after a harsh thrust, pressing against everything inside of you that makes you drool; strings of saliva visible in your mouth as you open it wide and hum a, "mhm!"
"That's better, that's a polite little slut," he moans before nipping at your sweat sheened shoulder.
Hongjoong eyes him for a moment, biting his lip as he tries to decide if he's okay with how he's behaving. Seonghwa's never had a dominant bone in his body. Maybe you're such a good sub that you've brought it out of him, or maybe he's just never had the chance to be in control of someone and it's giving him a high that rivals the drugs in his system.
Either way, Hongjoong decides he likes it, because evidently so do you — uncontrollable moans muffled as Yeosang shoves his cock in your mouth and fucks the pocket of your cheek.
"F-fuck," he whines quietly, Hongjoong the only witness to his moment of sensitivity because Seonghwa is drunk on your pussy, and you're... "God, you're so pretty." He can't help but let out his thoughts under the influence of the joint and the pleasure just as much as the two of you are.
You blink up at him with teary eyes, eyelashes starting to dampen.
"Isn't she?" Hongjoong coos, petting your cheek and pressing against it as Yeosang fucks into it, making all three of you moan with the chain reaction he creates: Yeosang cumming into your mouth, you moaning and clenching around Seonghwa to beg silently for him to make you cum, and him burying his face in your chest as he fucks you even harder.
"Don't swallow, you little fucker, I see you thinking about it," Hongjoong warns with a cocky grin stuck on his face as he takes Yeosang's place; the overstimulated man falling to sit next to you all as he catches his breath.
"You've got two more loads coming, angel," he pulls your head to the side, telling you, "suck. And don't let any cum out or you're licking it off the floor."
You whine, but you do what he asks, suctioning your lips around him tightly so none of Yeosang's cum can drip out before you bob your head slowly.
Seonghwa pants heavily, chest heaving against you as he stills — he's so close to his own orgasm but he doesn't want it to end yet. He watches you suck on Hongjoong cock with what can only be described as heart eyes; and Yeosang is the same.
"What's wrong, little love?" Hongjoong whispers mockingly as your tears finally start slipping from your waterline. "Can't breathe with all that cum and cock in your mouth?"
You nod, slurping around him as some of the cum threatens to drop.
"No?" He moves you to lay your head flat again, straddling your shoulders as Seonghwa sits up and watches over his shoulder; gasping a bit shocked when he pinches your nose closed and starts fucking into your messy mouth. "Now you can't breathe, stupid slut. Keep fucking sucking- make me cum unless you want to pass out and have us use your defenseless little holes like an actual fleshlight."
You grab his thighs tightly, sucking as best you can while Seonghwa starts fucking you again; unable to stop himself as he watches the lewd scene. "Goddamn, Joong," he groans, "you're so mean to her."
"She likes it. Likes being put in her place, right?" He lets go of your nose and lets you breathe heavily through it, still obediently sucking at him. "Besides, aren't you the one beating up her pussy right now?" He chuckles as he hears another groan from behind him over the slapping of skin. Carefully, he wipes the sweat from your brows and cradles your puffy cheeks.
"I'm going to cum, don't you dare spill any and don't you dare swallow, either," he warns shortly before doing just what he says; moaning and letting his shoulders slump as he spills all of his release into your stuffed mouth.
You pant through your nose as he pulls away, jaw dropping open to show them the white pool in your mouth.
"Fucking-" The words die out on Seonghwa's tongue, his hands gripping your thighs and pulling you into his wild thrusts.
Yeosang licks his lips, eyeing you intently as you struggle to breathe with everything going on; lust still clear in his gaze.
Hongjoong moves off of you and swipes his hair back, taking a breath before he reaches down and circles your clit with quick and harsh movements, "cum for us, sweet girl~"
You choke as your pleasure breaks over you, gurgling and almost spitting the cum out before Yeosang leans quickly and slaps a hand over your mouth. "Keep it, baby. Taste us while you cum." Just like Seonghwa; the nickname flew out of his mouth without his consent or his knowledge — but Hongjoong catches it, and this time he doesn't hesitate to grin wide.
Your legs kick a few times before they fall uselessly, trembling as Seonghwa continues to fuck you through and past your mind-numbing orgasm while Hongjoong swirls his fingers on your messy clit.
"Oh, fffuck," Seonghwa moans, hands sliding up to your stomach and groping you, "ah, I want to cum so bad..."
"Not inside of her," Hongjoong warns quickly. No matter how much he's willing to share — he is the only one who gets to fill your pussy like that.
"G-god, I know," he says just as fast, hips stuttering and jolting into you like a wild animal, "but she practically beg-begging for it~ You're so. Fucking. Lucky." He growls between his teeth with a rough thrust to emphasize each word before suddenly pulling out; leaving you a trembling puddle as he climbs up your body hastily.
"Move," he grips Yeosang's wrist and pulls it away, opening up your messy mouth with a grip on your jaw. "Fucking hell," he gasps, jerking himself off quickly as you stare up at him with a dazed and content glaze in your eyes.
A little bit of his cum lands on your cheek before he places his tip in your mouth, biting back his whimpers as you suck on it. Hongjoong leans over and swipes it up; spreading it on your lips, "here we go, baby, none of it goes to waste."
Yeosang has to blink out of his daze to catch Seonghwa as he falls back, laughing as he pulls him to sit with his back against the couch. "Sweet fuck," he pants while tilting his head back.
"Swallow now, pretty girl," Hongjoong whispers, planting a kiss to your cum slick lips as you gulp. There's so much of it — you have to swallow a good three times before you can open your mouth and finally draw in some deep breaths. "Perfect~"
He wraps his arms around your shoulders and gently sits you up, making you whine, "Oppa, you j-jerk."
They all chuckle at your small pout, and Seonghwa looks down with a large smile, blush still bright on his cheeks. "Sorry, you just felt so good..."
"C'mon, little angel," Hongjoong says with a giggle, wrapping your arm over his neck to pull you up.
"I'll carry her, Hyung," Yeosang says quickly, jumping to his feet. Seonghwa is a little slower, still heavy with his bliss.
"Uh," Hongjoong hesitates, looking to you, "are you okay with that, love? He can carry you faster than me."
"Yeah," you groan, desperate for your comfortable bed and some love from your boyfriend. "Thanks, Sang," you sigh with relief as he scoops you up bridal style, leaning your head on his arm.
"No problem," he smiles down at you, feeling something a little too close to affection bubbling in his stomach and looking back up quickly. "Here we go," he sets you down slowly, scanning your body one more time, "thanks for... yeah." He kisses your cheek quickly before shuffling away quickly, giving Hongjoong a small bow as he passes.
Seonghwa comes up next, hand instinctively cupping your jaw as he leans down and kisses you softly. Short, simple, and sweet. "Thank you, baby," he whispers gently, stroking your cheek with his thumb like he's savoring the feeling of your heated skin, "you were so good for us."
"Thanks, Hwa," you lean up and peck his lips once more before he turns; smiling and nodding to Hongjoong as he heads to the door.
Hongjoong snatches up his wrist, devilish grin on his lips, "I think you made her happy." He says simply, but it carries something deeper when Seonghwa remembers his earlier words.
"Yeah?"
He nods, "maybe... this could be a regular thing. If she l-"
"Absolutely," you moan sleepily as you snuggle up ontop of your blankets.
They share a small laugh, peeking over at you. "Well, the princess has spoken," Seonghwa jokes like his heart isn't about to beat right out of his chest.
"We'll talk about it later, yeah?" Hongjoong slides his hand down his arm as he passes, climbing into the bed with you and pulling off his disheveled clothes. "Let me take care of my girl."
Seonghwa watches for a moment before he snaps back into his body, leaving the room and closing the door with a giant smile on his face.
"Are you okay, sweet love?" Hongjoong hums as he tenderly moves you onto your back, leaving a trail of soft kisses down your cheekbone to your lips. "They didn't hurt you?"
"No, I'm okay, Joongie," you smile beneath his lips, eyes blurry and gleaming with your submission. So deep in your subspace that you'd do anything and everything he asks of you. And all he asks is —
"Will you let me show you how much I love you?"
You nod, of course you do; spreading your legs so he can lay between them. Both of you completely nude, he hugs you close and melds your bodies together.
"I'm so proud of you, pretty," he groans into your ear as he slides his cock into you. Your sore walls clenching and twitching to say 'no more' but you only sigh softly and melt under him, holding him tightly as he sets a slow and loving pace.
"You are my perfect little fleshlight, aren't you? Take so much for me, make me feel so good — make my friends feel so good. Shhh, shhh~ No tears, angel," he kisses them up before you even notice them falling, shushing you softly.
You feel vulnerable and exposed after it all, and at the very same time you feel completely safe in his arms. "H-hold me tighter, please?"
"Of course," he quickly complies, squeezing you in his arms. "I got you, my sweet girl," he leaves one more kiss on your teary cheek before pressing his forehead against yours, noticing your eyes flicking around. "Hey, focus on me- there you go~ There's my pretty baby~"
You breathe heavy against his lips, eyes locked on his as he continues his slow thrusts, "f-feels good?"
"Feels so fucking good, love," he assures you immediately, "nothing in the world compares to my girl." He smiles as you do, giggling breathlessly as he plants another round of kisses across your face.
"Can you- fuck," you lose your train of thought as quickly as it comes, hips twitching under his as you whine.
"Slow, baby," he hums, kissing his way down your neck and sucking softly. "Tell me what you want, take your time."
"Can you please cum inside of me?" You plead, almost pathetic in the way you tear up at the thought of him saying no.
"Of course, I can- that gonna make you happy?" He hugs you tighter as your back arches, squeezing your chest to his.
"So happy," you gasp, fingers wrapping up in his hair to ground yourself.
"Don't worry, love, I'll give it to you," he chuckles quietly before latching onto your neck and sucking hard enough to leave a mark; something nobody else will do to you — not on his watch.
"Cumming, cumming!" You wail as it creeps up on you and blankets your entire being, smothering you in pleasure so hot and intense that you're full on sobbing by the time you come back to your body.
He groans deeply from the tight grip you have on his hair; the one you don't even notice, thrusting a few more times to fuck his cum into you before he all but collapses. He rolls to his side, dragging you along with him and immediately tucking your head under his chin to cradle you to his chest.
"Shhhh, you're okay," he hums, holding you tightly and moving slowly to drape a leg over your hip; pulling you even closer. "Pretty girl."
He's more than happy to keep sharing, keep showing you off — but nobody gets to see you like this.
So soft and vulnerable, so fragile as he holds you through your sobs.
⌇warnings: lil plot, smut, explicit nsfw, hormonal mood swings, crying/sobbing, ovulation horny desperation, p in v, oral (f!receiving), discharge eating (he's a greedy boy in this!!), fingering, body worship, begging, dirty talk, light choking, creampie, overstimulation, clingy needy behavior, messy, slight bleeding post-sex, affectionate aftercare, comfort sex, teasing, soft dom/sub vibes, slow soft orgasm, casual humor, soft praise, san is so bf here
⌇tysm for all the love on my recent works, it means the world--so here's a sannie one for yall <33
The rain had been coming down for hours. You watched it trickle down the glass, grey sky split with flickers of pale lightning every so often, the house dim except for the kitchen light left on above the sink.
The sound of the storm had long since faded into background noise, white noise for the ache growing in your stomach.
It wasn’t the cramps that had started it, not really. It was the need.
You were ovulating. You knew your body like clockwork. Your skin was flushed, your nipples stiff under your shirt for no reason, and the ridiculous amount of slick between your thighs had you changing your underwear twice today already.
But that wasn’t the worst part; the worst part was how empty you felt.
Three weeks. That’s how long it had been since you last saw him. Since you’d last touched him. Since you’d heard that particular rasp in his voice when he pressed you into the mattress and told you how sweet you were when you cried.
Now he was finally coming home.
You curled your fingers around the warm mug in your hands and tried not to squirm on the couch. Tried not to think about how the crotch part of your sleep shorts was already damp. Tried not to think about how your body didn’t just miss him, it was screaming for him.
You wanted him, not just for the way he touched you, but because you needed the quiet comfort of having him near, his presence like a tether to hold you steady.
You didn’t hear the key turn, you only heard the door click open.
Then a warm voice, familiar, hoarse with exhaustion and soaked in affection.
“Baby, I’m home.”
The mug slipped from your fingers and clattered onto the coffee table, sloshing tea across the surface. You shot up from the couch without thinking, and the second your eyes met his across the living room, you ran.
San caught you mid-jump, arms wrapping around you like instinct. You crashed into him with a breathless laugh, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply.
God, he smelled like the rain, leather and laundry, and just a hint of sweat.
“I missed you,” you whispered into his shoulder. “I missed you so fucking much.”
“I missed you more,” he said, setting his bag down and squeezing you tighter. “Every day. Every city.”
You could feel it already, the tension pulling taut between you, like a bowstring straining under pressure.
He leaned back slightly to look at you. You must’ve looked a mess, skin flushed, lips bitten, your shirt rumpled and sleeves pulled down over your hands. His eyes softened.
“Hey,” he said, voice lower now, “what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you lied. But the tremble in your voice gave it away.
He tilted his head. “Come here.”
You followed him quietly to the couch, legs shaky, throat tight. The moment he sat, he pulled you onto his lap, your knees straddling him as his hands cradled your waist.
“Tell me.”
You hesitated. “I’m… hormonal.”
His brows rose just a little.
“Not in a sad way. Just my body’s going nuts. And I’ve been alone and stressed and horny for like three days straight.”
San’s expression shifted fast. From concern to heat in a heartbeat.
“Oh,” he said, voice dipping lower.
You bit your lip. “It’s not even the sex part—I mean, okay, it is, but it’s also just how empty I feel. I keep crying at dumb things. I almost cried over a pothole earlier. A pothole, San.”
He grinned. “Baby…”
“It’s my fucking ovulation window. And it’s making me feel like a crazy person.”
He wrapped his arms tighter around you, chest rising and falling against yours. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you to feel pressured after tour. You’re probably tired, and I’m just—” Your voice broke slightly. “I’m just really needy right now.”
San leaned in, forehead resting gently against yours.
“You think I wouldn’t want to take care of you?” he whispered.
You blinked at him. His eyes were darker than before, his hands sliding up and down your sides in slow, grounding motions.
“I know this body,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. “I know what you feel like when you’re ovulating. I can smell it on you, baby.”
You shivered, his voice was like molasses now, deep and slow.
“You’re flushed. Warm. You keep rocking your hips like you’re not even aware of it.”
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, humiliated by how true it was.
“Don’t be,” he said, brushing your hair back gently. “I think it’s hot.”
Your breath hitched.
“I want you exactly like this,” he said. “Soft. Needy. Out of your mind.”
He kissed your neck low, slow, and purposeful. His hand slid down between your thighs. Pressed softly.
You whimpered.
“You’re soaked,” he muttered, groaning. “Fuck. I’ve barely touched you.”
You couldn’t breathe.
“I’m gonna take care of you, baby,” he whispered. “Gonna give your body what it wants.”
You whimpered against his shoulder. The second his fingers pressed against the thin cotton of your shorts, your body shuddered.
San cupped you fully, his palm broad and heavy, and rubbed a slow circle. You felt how embarrassingly slick the fabric had gotten, and the groan that left his chest was hungry.
“You want me to take care of you, don’t you?” he murmured. “Let me make it better, sweetheart.”
You nodded.
“Need you to say it, baby.”
“Please,” you whispered. “Touch me. I can’t take it anymore.”
He laid you back gently on the couch, pulling the throw blanket under your hips to cushion you.
His lips kissed down your throat, your collarbones, your chest. Slow, slow, slower, until his fingers caught the waistband of your shorts and peeled them down.
Then there it was, the second your panties came off, San paused. His breath caught. You were dripping, inner thighs damp, the whole couch faintly scented with your arousal.
“Oh, baby…” he exhaled, sinking to his knees between your thighs. “You’re so ready for me.”
He spread your legs wide, running his thumbs through your slick, parting you open.
San dropped to his knees between your thighs like a man possessed.
He spread you open with both hands, thumbs gliding through the slick that coated your folds, wet and glossy, stringing between your inner lips and soaking the blanket beneath you.
He let out a guttural groan. “Fuck. You’re not just wet, baby… you’re creamy.”
You flushed hard, hips twitching. “I told you—ovulation makes me—”
“You think I’m complaining?” He slid one finger through your folds, slow, collecting the thick mess coating you. When he pulled it back, it glistened, cloudy, slippery, stretched like honey between his fingers.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he brought that finger to his mouth and sucked it clean.
Your stomach dropped. He moaned.
“Tastes like you need to be filled,” he growled. “Sweet. Warm. Fucking ripe.”
“San—” you gasped, breath catching as he went back for more. He dipped two fingers in this time slow, twisting, curling deep, and when he pulled them out coated and dripping, he held them out to you.
“Open,” he whispered.
You hesitated, cheeks blazing, but obeyed.
He slid his fingers into your mouth and you sucked them instinctively, tasting yourself thick on his skin.
Salty, slippery, overwhelming. San watched with blown pupils and a smirk so filthy it made your toes curl.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Taste what your body’s begging for. You feel it, don’t you? That emptiness. That ache?”
You whimpered, clenching down hard around nothing.
He licked another trail up your thigh and groaned again. “Fucking leaking for it. Dripping down your thighs like your pussy already knows what’s coming.”
Then his mouth was back on you, hot, hungry, greedy. Tongue plunging deep, lips sucking the slick straight from your entrance as if it was the first thing he’d eaten in days.
“You’re making so much of it,” he panted between licks. “You want me to fuck it all back into you, don’t you? Fill you so full it leaks out for hours?”
“Yes,” you choked, writhing. “Please—please, I need it.”
“You’ll get it, sweetheart,” he growled. “But not until I’ve tasted every drop this perfect body’s made for me.”
You broke. Your orgasm hit hard, your body seizing as you clenched around his fingers, thighs squeezing, a loud sob tearing from your throat. You could barely breathe.
The wave dragged on and on, slick pouring out of you, making your inner thighs stick to the blanket.
San kissed you through it. Soft, open-mouthed kisses across your stomach and chest as you came down. His fingers stayed inside you, slow and gentle.
“Hey, hey. I’m right here,” he murmured, tucking your head under his chin. “You don’t have to hold anything in.”
You melted into him again, boneless and trembling...
A tear slid down your cheek before you even noticed you were crying, and San brushed it away without a word.
Your body sagged forward into his chest like you’d been unstrung. Every part of you pulsing and soft, skin too tight for how much emotion buzzed underneath.
You clung to him, breathing him in. Clean sweat, worn cotton, a hint of his shampoo still clinging to the ends of his hair.
Your brain was already slipping into that hormone-drunk haze, the kind that made your ribs ache just from being held.
You barely registered when he started undressing. A shirt peeled over his head, jeans sliding low over his hips.
It was all just movement and warmth and comfort, the room spinning gently while you floated at the center of it.
By the time his clothes hit the floor, you were blinking up at him with glassy eyes, lips parted, thighs pressed together, pliant like your body had already decided what it needed from him before your mouth could ask.
But you did notice the way his cock brushed against your thigh, heavy, thick, already leaking.
You whined.
“Still want me?” he asked, sliding two fingers back into you, checking how open you were. “Still this needy, even after coming so hard?”
You nodded, voice wrecked. “Please, San. Please, I need it deep.”
He kissed your knee. “You tell me if it’s too much, okay?”
You were about to promise when he pushed in. Slow, stretching, deep. You both groaned in tandem, your cunt clenching down like he belonged there. Which, truthfully, he did.
“Fuck,” he whispered, folding over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other on your hip. “You’re so tight.”
“I can’t help it,” you cried. “You feel too good. It’s too much.”
“I know, baby,” he cooed, starting to move—long, grinding thrusts that made your whole body jolt. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
His pace quickened. You wrapped your legs around his waist. He fucked you deep, not hard yet, but the angle had your toes curling. Every time he bottomed out, your body tried to take more.
“You want me to ruin this pussy, don’t you?” he growled.
“Your hormones are driving you crazy. You’re clenching like you never want me to leave.”
He grabbed your throat lightly, pressing just enough to make you gasp.
“You want me to come inside you?” he rasped. “Want to feel me leak out of you for hours?”
“Yes, San—please—don’t pull out—”
That was it. His control snapped.
He fucked you harder now—loud, wet slaps of skin on skin, your moans broken and desperate. Your second orgasm hit without warning, your body convulsing, nails digging into his back, sobs escaping as he stuffed you full, over and over and over again.
He came right after, you felt it when he spilled.
Thick, hot, flooding you. His hips stuttered, voice cracking in your ear as he pressed as deep as he could and stayed there.
“Shit,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours. “So full. You took all of it, baby.”
You didn’t realize you were bleeding until after. Not much, just a faint smear on the inside of your thigh, red-pink and mixed with cum. San noticed it first.
He immediately slowed.
“Hey—hey, you okay?”
You nodded, you felt dazed and fuzzy, just sensitive everywhere.
“Hurts a little,” you whispered. “But in a good way.”
As he pulled out, the mess was immediate. His cum mixed with yours, leaking in thick strings down your thighs, soaking the blanket beneath you.
San paused, staring, chest heaving.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Look at that.”
You glanced down and your face flamed at the sight. The discharge from earlier, now laced with thick streaks of white, clung to your folds like your body was still trying to keep him inside.
He didn’t move for a second—then dipped back down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh.
“Fuck, baby,” he whispered. “It’s dripping out already.”
You squirmed, thighs twitching, too sensitive to do anything about it.
Then he licked it up.
One long, slow drag of his tongue from your hole to your clit, scooping up the mess like it was his reward.
You whimpered. “San—”
He moaned into your cunt. “Don’t worry. I’ll clean you up my way first.”
You hid your face in your hands, torn between embarrassment and the slow curl of heat returning to your gut.
“You’re obsessed,” you whispered.
He smirked, licking his lips. “Damn right I am. You think I could watch my cum dripping out of you and not taste it?”
He was already grabbing a warm towel, muttering apologies as he kissed your temple.
“But still, I should’ve slowed down sooner,” he said softly. “You’re so sensitive right now. I wasn’t thinking.”
“You were perfect,” you whispered.
He was careful with the cleanup. Gentle between your thighs. Talking to you the whole time.
“You did so good for me,” he murmured. “Such a pretty girl. Always so sweet when you’re all soft like this.”
You whimpered when the towel grazed your clit, and he immediately soothed you with a kiss to the cheek.
“I’ve got you, baby. Just a little more, and I’ll get you in the bath.”
Once he was done, he helped you into the bathroom, set you in a warm soak with Epsom salts, and sat beside the tub rubbing circles into your calf.
“You’re always like this when you’re ovulating, huh?” he said, smiling gently. “All needy and messy and desperate.”
“Shut up,” you muttered, flushing.
He leaned in and kissed your nose.
“I fucking love it.”
You splashed a bit of water at him with your toes, but your body was too wrecked to hold a proper pout. When he stood and started peeling off his shirt again, you blinked up at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting in. You think I’m letting you float around in here alone?”
You opened your mouth to argue, but the weight of the day and of him made the thought of being close again too tempting to resist.
He climbed in behind you, easing your back into his chest with a contented sigh. The water shifted around you both, warmer with his skin against yours.
The sound of his heartbeat against your back slowed, each thud syncing with your breathing.
His body stayed wrapped around you, chest flush to your spine, arm curved protectively over your middle like he was afraid you'd slip through his fingers.
San didn’t move right away, he just let you breathe. And you were so grateful because you didn’t have the words yet.
Your body was limp, trembling in the comedown, your thighs sticky with sweat and slick and the warm, wet mess he’d left inside you.
But your chest was tight too, overwhelmed. You blinked, and tears welled again. This time, not from overstimulation, not from pain.
Just from everything. It was too much and not enough, you missed him, needed him, you had him, and it still didn’t feel like enough.
He kissed your shoulder softly.
But eventually, the bath cooled and your skin started to prickle.
He helped you out first, wrapped you in one of his shirts, dried your legs with a towel so gentle it made your eyes sting again.
“Couch?” he murmured.
You nodded, lips too soft and sore to bother forming words. He led you there with a hand at the small of your back, settled down with you tucked between his legs again, a blanket thrown loosely over both of your bodies.
“Hey…” he murmured. “You okay?”
You nodded against the couch pillow, but your throat burned.
Then your voice cracked, so small. “I think I’m gonna cry again.”
“Oh, baby…”
He turned you gently, shifting so he could face you. One hand cupped your cheek, the other sliding up your side, grounding you.
You were blinking fast, tears falling for no reason you could name, and San just held you through it, no judgment, no questions.
“Come here,” he whispered, gathering you into his lap. “S’okay, let it out.”
You curled into him like it was instinct.
“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” you sniffled, nuzzling his neck.
“I just—everything feels so much. Like my body’s on fire, and I want you again, but I’m tired, and I love you, but I also want to scream, and—”
“I know,” he said instantly. “You don’t have to explain it. Hormones are insane. You’re feeling everything at once, and I’m just glad you’re telling me.”
You breathed shakily, nose pressed to his damp skin.
“You’re not mad?”
He chuckled, warm and breathy.
“Mad? Baby, I’m honored I get to hold you like this. I love this part—when it’s just us. After everything. When you’re all soft and sleepy and honest.”
You bit your lip, more tears spilling. “You’re too sweet to me.”
“No, I’m not,” he said. “You deserve all of this. I mean it.”
He kissed the top of your head, then your forehead, then your damp cheeks.
You curled tighter into him, arms around his neck. “Don’t leave again.”
He smiled against your temple. “You know I have to. But not tonight. Tonight, I’m here. All yours.”
You relaxed with a shaky exhale, and you felt it again.
A pulse low in your belly, a flutter of need, small but insistent.
You whimpered, shifting against his thigh. San froze, then pulled back just enough to look at you, brows furrowed, lips parted.
“…you’re turned on again?”
You blinked, ashamed. “I can’t help it. I think my body’s just—”
He kissed you before you could finish, not hungry or desperate. Just slow, lazy, and familiar.
Then he smirked. “We don’t have to move.”
He slid one hand between your thighs, easily, your folds still soaked, slick still leaking from your entrance.
“Fuck, baby,” he muttered. “You’re dripping down your thighs. I think you really do want a second round.”
You whined, burying your face in his chest. “We can’t. I’m so sensitive—”
“Shh,” he whispered, stroking you gently. “No pressure. Just let me touch you. I’ll be soft this time. No thrusting, no roughness. Just slow circles… like this.”
He rubbed his fingers in slow motion against your clit, barely-there pressure, but enough to make your hips twitch. You squirmed in his lap, helpless, lips falling open.
Your voice was small. “That feels so nice…”
“I know, baby,” he whispered. “That’s all I wanna do. Just give you this. No more tears. Just good things.”
And he kept rubbing, gentle and warm and hypnotic. Your breathing grew heavier, head tipping back against his shoulder as he coaxed you into it.
No demands, no commands. Just yes, baby, good girl, let go for me again.
You came with a soft gasp, legs trembling, toes curling, arms still locked around his neck. This time it didn’t hurt, it just eased something. A calm orgasm, full of warmth and release.
After, he kissed your temple again. “There she is.”
You were silent for a moment—then you mumbled, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this emotionally insane and also completely at peace.”
San laughed quietly. “That’s love, baby.”
You huffed a teary, dazed laugh, then whispered against his collarbone:
“Next time you’re on tour and I’m ovulating, I might die.”
He held you tighter.
“Next time, I’m flying you out.”
You didn’t even register that you were crying until San thumbed another tear from your cheek.
“I got you,” he whispered. “That’s it. Let it all out.”
Every nerve felt raw and stretched thin under the weight of too much pleasure, too much closeness, too much him.
At some point, he cleaned you up again. Grabbed a warm cloth and murmured quiet little things like he always does.
You’re okay, I’m right here, just breathe for me, baby, as he wiped you down and slipped one of his shirts over your head. The soft cotton dragged over your hypersensitive skin like a second set of hands.
Just you in his arms, half-buzzed, cheek pressed to his collarbone as he settled the two of you into the cushions. The night air through the window was cool; his skin was warm against yours.
He curled behind you and draped a new throw blanket over your bodies, pulling you into his chest like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space.
“All clingy and messy and fucking desperate.”
You groaned, flushing. “Hush.”
He leaned in and kissed your nose. “My favorite love.”
His heartbeat thudded against your back, slow and steady. You let yourself sink into him, body heavy, brain soft. All of it, the wreckage of pleasure, the gentle care, the calm after, wrapped around you like a cocoon.
A few minutes passed before you mumbled, “…I didn’t even realize it was ovulation week at first.”
San tilted his head down. “You’ve been on the red zone of that app since Wednesday.”
You blinked. “You checked my period app?”
He huffed a laugh. “Babe. You made me download it so I’d stop offering you milkshakes when you’re cramping.”
“…Right.”
You reached for your phone and pulled up the app.
Sure enough: Cycle Day 17. Fertile Window.
A bubble popped up with a cutesy message: 🩷 “You may be extra sensitive, sensual, or emotionally intense today!”
You snorted. “They forgot ‘will sob uncontrollably while getting railed.’”
San peeked over your shoulder. “Oh, I’d swipe right on that.”
Another notification popped up, this time from your group chat.
woowoo:
bitch are you okay??
or just too full of dick to respond???
joongie:
at least confirm you’re ALIVE you were ghosting us mid-tour and now radio silence???
mingithingi:
when u coming back? imy
You started typing through a laugh.
you:
alive. sore. not sorry. imy2 also tell wooyoung i hope he steps on a lego
San took your phone, added:
san:
don’t worry. she’s hydrated, stretched, and fully taken care of. she doesn’t miss u mingi.
Then he tossed it back onto the coffee table and tucked his face against your neck, one hand sliding under your shirt to rest on the warm skin of your belly.
“You good?” he murmured.
You shook your head yes, “Just wrecked.”
“Wanna cry some more?”
“Dunno, maybe.”
“I got you.” He kissed your shoulder. “Always.”
The ovulation app chimed softly in the background, like it knew exactly what it had done.
⋆˙⟡ summary: after his recent promotion, your husband has been spending more and more time in the office, hoping to continue to climb his way up to the top of his company. you have a beautiful home, a lavish life together, and more money than you know what to do with. but in the cloud of his ambition, he’s forgotten all about the one who carried him to where he is– you.
⋆˙⟡ warnings/tags: MDNI! 18+, explicit, smut, angst, husband sannie!!, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (dont do that), multiple orgasms, sannie in a suit, good old fashioned missionary lovemaking with a side of desperation, creampie, san’s got a lil bit of a dirty mouth, mentions of separation/divorce, groveling and begging, all that good stuff! let me know if i missed anything♡︎
⋆˙⟡ pairing: husband!san x fem!reader
⋆˙⟡ author’s note: this was entirely inspired by both san being who i envisioned as kai young when i read king of pride, in combination with the plot of king of greed … sorry bout it !!! sannie would also just be absolutely devastating while groveling and begging for forgiveness, i just had to. this is my first time writing our sweet sannie, so i hope you enjoy ♡︎ i am also still relatively new to writing so any constructive and kind feedback is more than welcome! thank you ♡︎ this is also possibly my last fic post until after my wedding which is 2 months away!!!
⋆˙⟡ word count: 6,210
⋆˙⟡ read part two: here
⋆˙⟡ read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68984456
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
The ticking of the clock is deafening in the silence of your empty dining room. You’ve been sitting across from a vacant seat at your dining table for hours now, your husband’s untouched plate of food only growing colder as time continues to pass. Your empty wine glass, and bottle, sit next to your own cold dinner, plated on your best china, the set San’s boss gifted you as a wedding present. The candles you’d lit hours ago are nearly burned all the way down, wax dribbling over the edges of the gold candelabra. Despite your withering hope and growing rage, your stubbornness has you glued to your seat, staying put until San gets home.
It’s nearly midnight when you finally hear the lock to the front door of your penthouse click, followed by the familiar sounds of him setting down his briefcase and toeing off his shoes. Your chest tightens in anticipation for the interaction you now have to have, every moment you’ve spent alone this evening, and all the ones prior, filling you with more anger and disappointment. The speech you rehearsed in your head flutters out the window, like it doesn’t even want to be here either.
“Jagiya, I’m home,” he calls out quietly down the hallway. How he knew you’d be up waiting for him, you didn’t quite know. Maybe he didn’t either.
“In here,” you reply, tapping a freshly manicured fingernail on the tabletop. You’d gotten them painted San’s favorite shade of purple this morning, although your hopes for this evening were already dwindling after he left for work before you’d even woken up. You should’ve known, given his track record with quality time as of late.
He rounds the corner into your opulent dining room and stops dead in his tracks, his eyes landing on you before registering the state of your dining table. Your styled hair, your floor length satin dress with a devastating slit up one thigh, the first pair of Louboutin stilettos he ever bought you discarded next to your chair. The corner of his mouth quirks up, his cheek dimpling.
“You look beautiful, gongjunim,” his attention turns to the table, and you watch his face fall as he registers each item before him: a beautiful meal on your best china, the empty wine bottle, the candles that go out almost on cue, having burned all the way down. “You made hangjeongsal?” His tired brown eyes find yours again, his expression somewhat unreadable. “What’s the occasion? I didn’t have anything in my calendar today,”
“Your calendar,” you scoff, your anger already getting the best of you, “I didn’t realize I needed to ask to be penciled in for dinner with my own husband,” you pick up your empty glass, getting up from your seat at the table to head toward the kitchen, suddenly feeling stone-cold sober and desperate for another drink. “It’s midnight, San, you didn’t think to call? Text?” You hear him following behind you, his socked feet quietly padding across your tiled floor.
“I forgot to call, jagi, I’m sorry,” he gives you the same excuse you’ve heard a hundred times over, and your blood starts to simmer beneath your skin. “I was pulled into a last minute meeting that ran over, and–”
“You’ve been doing a lot of that lately,” you cut him off, “forgetting.” You round your kitchen island and turn around to face him, setting your wine glass down a little too hard on the marble, it’s a miracle it doesn’t shatter. You plant your hands on the cold surface and glare at him, but he suddenly looks so small. Despite his perfectly pressed suit and carefully styled hair, the light in his eyes is completely gone, the boy you fell in love with nowhere to be seen. This job of his is taking so much of him, so much from him, and he doesn’t even realize it. He looks at you in silence, already seeming defeated. Despite his current state, you can’t stop the anger from bubbling up inside of you.
“You don’t even know what today is, do you?” Your throat tightens, your voice raising with each word. Panic floods San’s eyes as he flips through his mental calendar, which you’re sure has no trace of you in it. He approaches the island, reaching for you across it, but you step back.
“Today? I–”
Your humorless laugh interjects before he can finish his thought, as you already know he has no clue. You know he has no clue, because every single anniversary before this one, he’d send flowers. Even when you were two broke college students, celebrating monthly dating anniversaries, he would pick dandelions from the courtyard by the library, wrapping them into a bouquet with a piece of notebook paper.
“You’ve been so deep in your precious job that you left me all alone on our goddamn anniversary,” your voice breaks on your last word, all the loneliness and disappointment you’ve been feeling recently starting to overshadow your anger. Your fingernails press crescents into your palms, and you ball your fists as tight as you can.
The color drains from his face, dread filling his eyes as he looks at his precious Rolex to confirm the date.
“Jagiya, I–”
“Save it.”
He freezes, letting you have the floor, preparing for the reprimanding he knows he absolutely deserves. “You left me alone, from sunrise to sunset, on our wedding anniversary, with not even so much as a text message. All. Day. Long.” You square your shoulders as you come back around the kitchen island, fighting the tightness in your throat as you reach for the dazzling ring on your left hand. You slip it from your finger, placing it on the island between you and your husband. He looks down at it, eyes widening like you just placed a lit stick of dynamite before him.
“This,” you gesture toward the shining diamond, “was a promise. To love each other, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer.” His lower lip quivers, waiting for you to continue. “But the richer version of you is making me miss when we had nothing, San. We didn’t have any money, we lived in a studio apartment, and we lived paycheck to paycheck. But at least you looked at me. At least you spent time with me, at least you never forgot a single important day.”
He looks past you, something unidentifiable dawning over his handsome features. His face is void of any emotion, his gaze goes glassy, he looks… numb.
“I didn’t mean to let you slip away,” he almost whispers, “I just wanted–” he chokes on his words. “I just wanted to give you everything after having nothing for so long.” He focuses on your face once again, and you soften slightly at just how broken he looks. You know from his perspective he has good intentions. You know he came from nothing and swore to himself he’d never be in that place again. But you can’t back down yet, you promised yourself you’d say everything you need to.
“We’ve had everything, San,” you gesture around the two of you to the beautiful penthouse he bought after his first big promotion. “We have cleaners for fuck’s sake.”
He lets out a watery laugh, looking to the floor, his smile not reaching his eyes. “I know, not entirely necessary, huh?” He tries to lighten the mood, but when his eyes meet yours again, the whisper of his beautiful smile disappears.
“I can’t do it anymore, Sannie.” You take a slight step back, needing to put space between the two of you. Suddenly his presence feels so suffocating. You didn’t want to give him an ultimatum, you swore to never be that level of crazy, but this isn’t crazy. You just want your husband back.
“Do… do what?” He’s scared. Scared to ask you that. More scared to hear your answer.
“Sit here in my trophy case all day and wish that you were here, when you very well could be, and still keep your status with the company,” you shake your head, pushing through every voice in your head telling you to stop, that this isn’t necessary. “You work too hard when you don’t need to, and I can’t just wait here every evening and hope you decide to come home before the sun goes down.” You realize you’ve been avoiding eye contact since beginning to respond to his question, and finally bring your eyes to meet his again.
“I can’t keep feeling completely alone, just waiting for you to be here. Something has to change, or I have to leave, San.”
The silence in the air is thick. Dense. Clawing down your throat, nestling deep into your belly. Despite your better judgment and the aching in your heart, you hold his gaze. Physically, he’s looking into your eyes, but he’s looking right through you, as if he’s hoping that you’re a mirage, and the real you will come bounding into the kitchen at any given moment, bursting through the words you just spoke.
Something is his eyes changes, and his breath turns shallow, his fists clenched at his sides, as if he’s stopping himself from reaching for you.
“Jagi, please, I can’t do this without you,” his voice breaks, like the dam that’s been holding in your tears all evening. They burn trails down your cheeks. “I love you,”
“You’ve been doing just fine without me for months, San, you hardly seem like you need me anymore,”
“Fuck, y/n, I do,” he runs his hands through his hair, mussing its perfect style, “life didn’t have meaning before I met you.” He motions like he wants to reach for you, but he stops himself. “I wanted to do this to give you the life you deserve, the life we deserve. To pay you back for all the support you’ve given me for years, I just–” tears well in his eyes, his voice catching in his throat. “I went about it the complete wrong way. I was trying to work harder, climb higher, bring more home to you, for you, but–” a tear escapes, gliding down his cheek, dripping from his chin, soaking into his shirt. “I lost sight of the present, and I take full blame for that.” He sniffles, closing the distance between you and dropping to his knees in front of you.
“Please, jagiya, I’ll do better, fuck,” he wraps his hands around the backs of your thighs, fingers gripping the satin, pulling you closer to him, and you let him. He rests his chin against your thigh, looking up to you, letting his tears freely fall down his cheeks. Yours mirror his.
It’s a reflex, when you cup his cheek with your hand. It’s a reflex, when he leans into your palm and closes his eyes.
“Please,” he whispers. “There’s no me without you. I’m so fucking sorry,”
A shaky exhale flutters out of you.
“You can say that you’ll do better as much as you want, but you have to actually keep to your word,” you wipe a tear with your thumb just before it dips into his dimple. He looks up at you, his deep eyes full of regret, longing, desire. Your heart aches in your chest, begging to be held. You sniffle.
“I will do anything for you.” His grip on your thighs tightens, and he ghosts a gentle kiss over the sliver of skin peeking out through the slit in your dress. “I’ll work 9 to 5, I’ll work from home when I can, I’ll make sure my assistant schedules everything during work hours,” he kisses you a little higher, his nose pushing up under your dress slightly.
“San…” You know how much he loves you. That isn’t the question, the question is: will he put you first? Will he dial it back at the office and be happy with the life you’ve already built together? Your head is spinning at the feeling of his mouth on you. You want to forgive him and trust him, but how do you know he’ll follow through?
“Please,” he nuzzles into your soft skin, “I know you have no reason to believe me after what I’ve been putting you through.” He presses another kiss to your exposed skin, softer this time. You struggle to keep your breathing in check. He sniffles, clearing his throat. You feel his tears seeping into the fabric of your dress. “But there is nothing in this universe that can keep me from loving you. And I will do anything to remind you of that.” You let him kiss you higher, a thumb hiking your dress up further.
“Please,” he whispers. The sound of his begging makes your skin prickle.
His lips have a way of lighting your body on fire. The first time he kissed you, after walking you home from the houseparty that brought him into your world. The first time he went down on you, on his knees under the table in a private study room late at night in the library, head nestled between your legs with one hand covering your mouth. You knew you were doomed from the start – the hold he has on your body, mind, and soul – there’s no escaping it.
Even now, with the threat of separation swirling around you, all you know is his lips on your skin. Soft, sweet, tender, desperate. He lets his teeth drag across the supple skin of your thigh, his tears sticking to you, your own starting to dry on your cheeks, leaving tracks through your makeup. You stifle the moan that threatens to rip from your throat.
“Jagi…” He peeks up at you through his lashes. Lashes you’d always hoped your children would inherit.
“You have a lot to prove, and even more to make up for,” you smooth the furrow between his brows with the pad of your thumb, and he grins at you.
“Why don’t I start now?” He drops another kiss to your leg before rising to his feet, instinctively wrapping his hands around your waist. “Have I told you how beautiful you look?”
“Yes,” you whisper. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’re right back on the front porch of your college apartment on the night you met. You barely knew anything about him other than his name, but he looked at you like he knew every inch of your soul from the moment he laid eyes on you.
“Well, I’d like to tell you again,” he hesitantly leans in, softly kissing your cheek. You lean right back into him, your heart melting for him, and he kisses you again, the corner of your mouth this time. “You look so beautiful, jagiya.”
He raises a hand to your chin, gently turning your head to the side, kissing the hinge of your jaw. “Although…” He kisses the pulse point of your neck, “I’m really kicking myself for not getting home before you took off those heels.” His lips ghost over your ear. “You know how much I enjoy you in heels,”
Going from angry and disappointed to crumbling in your husband's hands was not your plan for the evening, but you should’ve known yourself better than that. Maybe you both need this.
“Go get them,” you whisper.
He shoots you a knowing grin before turning to walk back toward your dining room. He returns a moment later, your Louboutins dangling from his grasp. Before you can speak, he drops to his knees in front of you once again and holds out a hand. You pick up one of your feet and he tenderly cups your heel in his palm, sliding one shoe onto your foot. You give him your other foot, bracing yourself on the kitchen island to help you balance. Once both heels are securely on your feet, he stands to his full height in front of you, drinking you in.
“I know I missed dinner, but I’m so hungry.” He takes a step closer to you, his hands gliding over the soft satin of your dress, finding purchase on your hips.
“You can heat up your food,” you choke out as he dips his head into the crook of your neck, kissing your collarbone.
“That’s not what I want,” he whispers.
You try to step back to give him a dirty look over not wanting the dinner you painstakingly prepared for him, but before you can, he’s hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist.
“San!” You yelp, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling the tensed muscles of his broad shoulders. He looks up at you with determination in his eyes, turning the two of you around to walk back toward the dining table. He approaches an empty place at the massive table, and sets you right down on it.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing, Choi San?” You look into his deep eyes, any tears he cried have dried, the spark of the boy you love filling his dark irises.
“I told you I was hungry, my love,” he spreads your knees, standing between them and hiking your dress up in one fluid motion. Before you can formulate a response, he drops back to his knees in front of you.
”And I made your favorite meal for you.” You try to argue, but know it’s no use. Your breathing quickens with every glide of his hands across your skin. He slips his fingers under the hips of your delicate lace panties and slides them down your thighs. You lean back, propping yourself up on your hands, looking at him expectantly.
“You’re my favorite meal.” He grins, dimples mocking you as he slips your panties into his pocket. With that, he dives between your legs.
”Oh, Sannie,” you throw your head back as he licks into you, hands spread wide across your thighs, holding you open for him. Unfamiliar is the wrong word, because going down on you has always been one of San’s favorite pastimes, but it feels… Fresh. San has been too busy or exhausted for sex these days, and it’s been so long that this time thrums with the same energy and excitement as the first.
His tongue slides through your heat with practiced precision, the firm tip of it swirling around your clit. He groans as it swells under the heat of his mouth, sucking the sensitive bundle between his lips. Your nipples harden, peaking through your dress, the material of it making you feel all the more sensitive.
You feel a hand leave your thigh, followed by two fingers prodding at your entrance, He dips the tips in softly, just to the first knuckle before withdrawing to bring them to his lips. His eyes bore into yours as he licks your arousal from his fingers, wetting them with his tongue before bringing them back to your throbbing entrance.
“I will never,” he starts, thrusting his fingers deep inside you, “ever make you feel unwanted or forgotten ever again.” His voice breaks on his last word, and he peppers your inner thighs with kisses, setting a steady pace, easily finding that spot that makes your back arch. “I am so fucking sorry,” he whispers. Fresh tears make their way down his cheeks, spreading onto your skin as he works his mouth closer to your core.
Your heart twists, full of both love and longing, begging for his words to be true. You feel a stinging on the bridge of your nose, and a tear slips down your cheek as your husband sucks your clit into his mouth again. He weaves your thighs over his shoulders as he licks at you, and you press your heels into his back.
“Ah, Sannie,” you sob, grinding your hips against his mouth, melting into the searing heat building low in your belly. He finds a rhythm that ruins you, pumping his fingers and lapping at you like you’re going to disappear at any moment, burying his face into your heat. You run your fingers through his hair, holding his head firmly in place.
“C-close,” is all you can manage to mutter, your climax building quicker than you can process, the two of you falling into this familiar dance so easily. It’s been so long since you’ve been intimate with him like this, your body feels like embers crackling back to life into a roaring bonfire. You dig your stilettos into his back, drawing a rumbling satisfied groan from your husband’s throat.
“Come for me, jagi,” he growls, “let me hear you.” He replaces his tongue with the rough pad of his thumb, not letting the transition alter his rhythm in the slightest.
You bring your hand from his hair to his cheek, soaking in the way he’s looking at you with so much love in his eyes. It’s filthy, the way his puffy lips and glistening chin compliment the sheer obsession in his gaze. The way he’s looking at you so surely while doing unspeakable things to you.
He curls his fingers inside of you and you’re done for, your body seizing and trembling as your orgasm rips through you.
“O-Oh my—“ your brain goes numb, handing all control over to your husband. He jumps onto his feet, slowing his pace ever so slightly as he throws his free hand behind your neck to ease you down onto the table. You let it pulse through you, each wave melting you into the table beneath you. He softly rubs his thumb over your clit, drawing it out just enough.
“Good girl,” he whispers, running his hand down your sternum, over your belly. “Do you think you can give me another?” He pushes the heel of his hand firmly on your pubic bone, pumping his fingers slowly, teasing your clit.
“I think so,” you giggle breathlessly, your limbs feeling like jelly. He knows your body so well, you know he could have you coming all night long if you’d let him.
He continues his leisurely pace, watching your chest rise and fall as you catch your breath. You give him a nod, and that’s all he needs to bury his fingers deep inside you and bring his mouth to your cunt again.
“Ah!” You cry out, back arching off the table at the sudden change. He nods, grazing his teeth over your clit and growling into your core. Your hands fly into his hair again, holding him tight as you roll your hips over his mouth. He bumps your sensitive spot with the pads of his fingers with each thrust of them deep into you, using his thorough intimate knowledge of your body to his advantage as usual. He uses his free hand to gently push your thigh, spreading you open wider for him.
“So beautiful, spread out for me on our table,” he brushes his thumb over your clit while he watches you. “Let me see you touch yourself, jagi.”
He trails a hand up your soft body, fingers slipping beneath a strap of your dress, slowly sliding it down your shoulder, all while pumping his fingers in and out of you. He pulls your dress down just enough to free one of your breasts, giving your hard nipple a soft lick before kissing back down to your core.
Your hand slides up your belly, palming the soft swell of your breast before rounding your thumb and forefinger around your nipple, the wetness from your husband’s tongue making the sensation all the more delicious.
“That’s it,” he nearly whispers, his voice low and breathless. “My beautiful wife.”
He finally reconnects with your clit, setting back into a steady rhythm that he knows will have you crumbling in minutes. You writhe underneath him, rolling your nipple between your fingers in time with his persistent and practiced ministrations at your core.
You flutter around his fingers, and you feel him chuckle deeply against you. He nods again, egging you on, delivering a particularly firm suck to your clit.
“God, Sannie, I–” You feel your climax settling deep within you moments before it crashes over you, your body turning pliant, and your hearing muffles. You feel alive, in love, on fire.
“Beautiful,” he whispers, “so fucking beautiful.” He stands, letting any and all restraint fly out the window, bending over your spent form and crashing his lips to yours. The taste of you spreads across your tongue as he slides his own into your mouth, slipping his fingers out of you. You whine, feeling empty. While you feel more connected to him than you have in weeks, perhaps even months, it isn’t enough.
“Take me to bed, San,” you mumble between kisses.
You wrap your legs around his waist, hoping he’ll get the hint. He chuckles warmly into your mouth as you lock your ankles behind his back, and threads an arm beneath your waist. Without breaking the kiss, he scoops you up, keeping one hand firmly gripping your waist and the other splays wide under your ass. He squeezes your cheek before giving you a playful smack, making your cunt squeeze around nothing. Your dress is still hiked up around your waist, and your sensitive center rests firmly on his stomach, each step he takes giving you a pulse of pressure.
He carries you through your penthouse, blindly walking you to your shared bedroom. You feel a hand leave your waist and hear the doorknob turn, and he kicks the door open as he brings his lips to your neck.
“Do you remember our wedding night?” He whispers as he softly nibbles on the column of your throat, walking you across the room, toward your bed.
“Of course I do,” your voice comes out breathless. He nods, licking up your neck and pressing a kiss behind your ear.
“Do you remember how I fucked you on our wedding night?” The closeness of his mouth and the way he breathes his words straight into your ear has your skin prickling with goosebumps.
“Yes,” you gasp softly, thinking about San, who wanted you so desperately on your wedding night that he made love to you nearly fully dressed. Pounding into you deeper and harder than he ever had, tuxedo shirt open wide and pants pulled down just enough to give him access to you. He barely gave you enough time to take off your wedding dress.
“I’m feeling just as desperate for you right now as I did that night, if not more,” he taps your ass gently, and you loosen your legs around him. He gently eases you onto the floor, holding you tightly to his body until he knows you’re steady on your feet.
“But,” he loosens your dress around your waist, allowing it to cascade down your legs. “I need you to know that I love you more now than I did that night,” he kisses your forehead ever so softly. “And I will love you more tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that,” he emphasizes each string of words with kiss after kiss to your forehead, threading his fingers through your hair, holding you close to him. You rest your hands on his waist, leaning into his touch.
“We’re gonna be okay,” you whisper, a silent tear falling down your cheek. You didn’t realize how badly you needed to hear him say that.
“We are.” He tilts your head back, bringing your eyes up to his.
“I love you,” you remind him, as you bring your hands to the thin satin straps of your dress, easing them down your shoulders.
“I love you,” he replies, watching as the top of your dress inches down your chest, as you push it further and further down until it’s bunched around your hips and your breasts are exposed, nipples peaking as your husband’s gaze on you intensifies. With a final push, your dress eases over the swell of your hips and drops to the floor, pooling around your feet, leaving you fully bare.
Without his eyes leaving yours, he shrugs out of his suit jacket, dropping it to the floor behind him. He hooks a finger under the knot of his tie, loosening it to the point that he can pull it over his head. Your skin warms under his gaze, your mouth going dry as his fingers work at the buttons of his shirt, popping them open one by one, his tan chest peeking out from his crisp white shirt.
He untucks his shirt from his pants and opens it fully, and you run your hands over his warm skin, feeling each muscle beneath your fingertips. Your hands travel up over his chest, dipping beneath his shirt to wrap around his strong shoulders. He rolls his shoulders, and you help pull his shirt down his arms until it joins his jacket on the floor.
You stand there, chests heaving, silence deafening, hearts pounding.
“Make love to me, San,” you whisper.
He’s on you in a heartbeat, one hand in your hair and the other on his belt buckle, tongue tangling with yours as he works himself out of his pants, shimmying out of them and kicking them to the side.
You can’t stop yourself from trailing a hand down his body to palm his solid cock through the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. He hisses at the contact, his hand in your hair tightening. You nip and lick at each other’s lips, hands wandering and skin heating.
You squeal as he lifts you again, wrapping your legs around his waist for a brief moment before tossing you onto the bed. You giggle as you land, bouncing on the mattress and wiggling backwards until you meet the soft pillows at the headboard.
He stands at the foot of your bed, eyes dancing over your bare body as he rubs himself through his underwear, a smirk playing across his lips.
“Open your legs, jagiya.” His voice comes out low and gravely, and you obey his command. He shudders an exhale, the dark spot on his boxer briefs growing as he drinks you in. “Look at you,” he growls.
“Come here,” you beckon him.
Your mouth dries as he pushes his underwear down in one swift motion, his cock bobbing in front of him as he kicks the fabric out of his way. He strokes himself slowly, tugging his cock to the side as he stares at your center. You flutter around nothing, and his eyes darken.
He crawls up the mattress, hovering over you, arms resting on either side of your body. You let your eyes travel down his body, over his strong chest, his narrow waist, his velvety, solid cock, hanging so close to your aching cunt. Your breath catches in your throat, your core throbbing with need.
He brings his mouth down over yours, softly at first. Sweet, tender kisses, until he slips his tongue between your lips and desperation takes over. He groans into your mouth, kissing you hard, drawing your bottom lip between his teeth as he parts your legs wider with his knees.
“I need you,” he breathes.
“Take me.”
He sits back on his heels, pumping his cock as he admires you. Your hair fanned across your pillow, your puffy lips, your soft breasts. He bends over you to press one more kiss to your lips, then sits back on his heels, lining himself up with your entrance.
He notches the head inside, pumping into you little by little, inching further inside with each thrust. The feeling of him dragging in and out of you has every inch of your skin burning, a light sheen of sweat blooming across your skin. You roll your head back, eyes fluttering closed as he pushes deeper.
“Look at me,” he demands.
You peel your eyes open to meet his, his pupils blown wide as he bottoms out, every solid inch throbbing inside of you. Your mouth hangs open, letting out a whimper.
He fills you so perfectly, like you were made for each other. You were made for each other.
He draws out of you to the tip, pushing back inside even deeper than before. He holds your gaze, fucking into you slow and deep, your soft grunts and whines the only sounds in your quiet bedroom.
“Harder, please,” you meet each thrust the best you can, pushing yourself down the mattress onto him.
“Mm,” he nods, picking up his pace, fucking you faster and harder with each thrust. His brow furrows, and he bites down on his bottom lip. “Fuck, you feel so good jagiya.”
All you can do is moan, your mind going blank, the only thing running through it is how delicious your body feels under your husband. San brings his thumb to his lips, swirling his tongue around it before lowering his hand over your core. He swipes his thumb over your clit, and you melt even further into the mattress under him.
Your belly warms, and San inches further up the mattress, the new angle making his thrusts hit deep inside you, and you gasp, your back arching.
“That’s it,” he coos, “take it,”
“Fuck, Sannie,” you tighten around him and he groans, thrusting into you even harder, his thumb circling your swollen clit.
“Keep squeezing around me like that and I’ll fill you up.” You always fall apart when he starts to talk to you like this, his dirty words that he saves for the bedroom. You feel the fire pooling deep in your belly, each swirl of his thumb around your clit drawing you closer and closer to the edge.
“I need it, please,” you whine, taking everything he’ll give you. He bends over you, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. His sweat-slicked body gliding over yours makes your head spin, and the extra stimulation of your nipples has you dancing on the edge.
“I’m gonna fuck you so full of my cum, you’ll be dripping for days,”
“Yes, please,”
“God,” his hips stutter, “come with me,”
He buries his face in your neck, biting down hard, pushing you both over the edge. A moan rips from your throat, and your body trembles as he stills inside of you, filling you to the brim with his release.
You stay in the moment for several beats, both of you trying to catch your breath and settle your heartrate.
“I love you so much,” he rolls his hips slowly as he starts to soften inside of you, peppering your forehead and cheeks with soft kisses.
“I love you,” you murmur, feeling sated and light. He carefully slips out of you, falling onto his side next to you. You stay on your back, threading your fingers between his when he rests a hand on your belly. He kisses every inch of you that he can reach– your temple, your cheek, your neck, your shoulder. You soak in the feeling of being in your bed awake together for the first time in days.
“So, now that I know what day it is and will never live it down, how are we celebrating our anniversary, jagi?” He breaks the silence, kissing your temple once more, brushing the sweat soaked hair from your forehead.
His question stills you for a moment, your nerves automatically causing you to worry what the following days will bring. How he’ll adjust his work schedule, how it’ll affect his mental health, if he’ll actually stick to his word.
“I don’t know, Sannie, it’s so late already. And you have to work early tomorrow, don’t you?” You don’t intend for your voice to come out so nervous. He strokes your hair for a few silent moments, then freezes.
He jumps out of bed, padding over to his discarded clothes. He kneels on the floor of your bedroom, digging through his suit jacket, searching each pocket until he finds what he’s looking for. The screen of his phone lights up, soft light dancing across his face.
“Are you seriously checking your phone right now? Choi San I swear, you are not out of the woods yet–”
You cut yourself off when he brings the phone to his ear, used to moving in silence when he’s taking important calls. You curse yourself for the gut reaction, but stay silent, watching him with a furrowed brow and bated breath.
“Hongjoong-ssi, it’s San.”
Why on earth is he calling his boss right now?
“I know it’s late, I apologize, but I need to let you know I’ll be taking the next two weeks off.”
You cock your head at him, trying to make out the muffled voice on the other end of the line. Hongjoong doesn’t sound upset by any means, he actually sounds quite calm. Encouraging, even.
“I will, thank you, hyung. I’m taking my wife on vacation.” He glances up at you, “I don’t know yet. Wherever she wants to go.” A shy smile, dimples peeking through. “It’s our anniversary.”
He hangs up the phone as you beam at him, your heart so full you can hardly stand it.
— DILF!hongjoong x fem!reader in which you thought you already had the best relationship you could ever have. until one day you found you boyfroend fucking another girl on his bed, and so what could be a better and appropriate revenge than to fuck his very handsome father.
content warnings: this fic includes detailed nsfw scenes that may be too much for some readers. includes penetrative sex, mention of cheating, dilf!hongjoong, 20 years age gap, fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasm, video taping, and other scenes that might be uncomfortable for some readers. please consume what you can, and separate fiction from reality. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
a/n: HI SO YEAH HAPPY 2K FOLLOWERS AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME. So as a gift to everyone, here's a dilf!joong to all my fellow atiny's in my followers list. I hope you guys enjoy this delicious fic. ACK. I LOVE YOU ALL. <333
word count: 9k words
You were a catch. A fucking catch.
Everyone on campus knew it. Jaehyun, the guy you'd been dating for the past few months, was constantly called the luckiest man alive. You heard the whispers in the hallways, the envious glances in the cafeteria, the not-so-subtle comments from his friends. But you never really paid much attention to it. You already knew your worth.
After all, you were the drum major of the university's marching band—the one who commanded an entire field with nothing but a raised hand and a sharp look. You carried yourself with a natural, domineering aura that turned heads wherever you went. Tall posture, sharp eyes, and an unshakable confidence that made people straighten up when you walked by. Most of your friends secretly envy you for it.
Your relationship with Jaehyun was far from perfect, but it was still one of the healthiest ones you'd ever had. Or at least... that's what you kept telling yourself.
He was caring in his own way. Attentive on most days, always making sure you ate before long band practices and sending you good luck texts before every game. Jaehyun wasn't the most popular guy on campus compared to you, but as a star football jock, he wasn't exactly unknown either. You two shared the same friend group, which made everything feel easy and comfortable.
It wasn't unusual for Jaehyun to go a day or two without texting. You both had busy lives, you with band rehearsals and him with football practice, so you understood. Whenever he had time, he always came back to you. That was how your relationship worked: comfortable, intact, and especially intimate when you finally got to be alone together.
You never doubted him. He always reassured you so well.
Until now.
It had been a full week since the last time you actually spoke to him in person. No late-night visits to your dorm, no sneaking in through your window with that boyish grin. Just short, dry texts. And every time you tried calling him, he would pick up only to say he was "too busy with practice" and hang up after a minute.
Something felt... off.
You tried to shrug it off at first. Jaehyun was probably just exhausted from practice. You told yourself he'd text soon, that he just needed some time to himself. Three days ago, he had sent a short message saying he was going back to his father's house for a while and wouldn't be around campus. You understand.
But that was three days ago.
Now it had been two full weeks since you last saw him in person. Two weeks of dry, replies and calls that ended within a minute. The uneasy feeling in your chest grew heavier, tightening around your throat like a chokehold.
You weren't used to this. You weren't used to doubting him.
Lucky for you, you actually knew his father—Kim Hongjoong.
He was a genuine, warm man. A single father of three who somehow still looked like he belonged on a magazine cover. At 42, Hongjoong could easily pass for someone in his early thirties. Tall, muscular, with sharp, refined features and that same devastating smile Jaehyun inherited. He was kind, attentive, and had a quiet confidence that always made the air feel a little thicker whenever he was around.
If he wasn't your boyfriend's father... well, you wouldn't have let yourself think about it.
But right now, worry was winning over everything else.
You pulled out your phone and quickly typed a message to him.
You: Hi, Mr. Kim. Sorry to bother you. I haven't heard from Jaehyun properly in almost two weeks. He mentioned he was going home a few days ago. Is everything okay? Do you know where he is?
You hit send and stared at the screen, nerves twisting in your stomach. The party noise faded into the background as you waited.
Not even a minute later, your phone vibrated.
Hongjoong: Hey sweetheart. Jaehyun isn't home right now. He said he'll be coming next week. I'm not sure why he told you he was already here...
Your stomach dropped.
He lied.
Jaehyun lied to you.
He never lied to you. Does he?
But now the doubt was creeping in, loud and ugly. Jaehyun had lied. He told you he was going home when he clearly wasn't. Why? The question twisted uncomfortably in your chest, and the fact that you couldn't even confront him made it worse. He was completely missing in action. You typed back with slightly shaky fingers.
You: Oh. I see. Thank you, Mr. Kim. If he comes home, please tell him to message me. Thank you.
Hongjoong: Of course, darling. Take care of yourself, yeah? And visit here sometimes, whenever you can.
You couldn't help but smile softly at his reply. Even through text, Hongjoong's warmth came through so easily. He really was such a sweet man, a genuinely good father. The kind of man who made you feel cared for with just a few words. For a moment, the heavy weight in your chest felt a little lighter.
You slipped your phone back into your pocket and let out a long breath, trying to push the uncomfortable thoughts about Jaehyun to the back of your mind.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady the uneasy feeling twisting in your chest.
If Jaehyun wasn't at his father's house like he claimed, then he was probably just hiding in his dorm. That had to be it. Tomorrow, you decided, you would go see him. You'd look him in the eyes and ask what the fuck was actually going on.
The next day came by so quickly.
You baked his favorite cake. Chocolate with extra frosting, hoping it would soften whatever conversation was about to happen. With the cake box in one hand and your spare key in the other, you stood in front of Jaehyun's dorm door, heart beating heavily.
You took a deep breath and unlocked the door quietly.
The moment you stepped inside, your stomach dropped. Loud, breathy female moans filled the entire dorm. The sound was unmistakable. High-pitched, needy, and very real.
He's probably just watching porn, you told yourself, trying to stay calm. He does that sometimes when he's stressed...
But something felt wrong. You walked down the short hallway, cake still in your hands, and slowly pushed open the door to his bedroom.
The sight hit you like a truck.
Jaehyun was lying on his back in the middle of the bed, completely naked. A girl you didn't recognize was on top of him, riding him hard, her head thrown back in pleasure as she moaned loudly. His hands were gripping her ass, guiding her movements while he groaned beneath her.
For a few painful seconds, you just stood there frozen, cake box trembling slightly in your hands.
Jaehyun's eyes suddenly snapped open and locked onto yours. His face went pale.
"Baby—?!" he choked out, voice hoarse. The girl on top of him let out a startled yelp and quickly tried to cover herself, but it was too late. You had already seen everything.
The cake suddenly felt heavy in your arms. The sweet smell that used to comfort you now turned your stomach. All the late replies. All the sudden "practices." All the lies about going home.
This is why.
"Kim Jaehyun! What the fuck!?"
The cake box slipped from your fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud. For a split second, everything was silent except for the girl's heavy breathing. Then your blood boils.
You didn't scream. You didn't cry. Instead, you strode forward with long, confident steps, that signature domineering aura radiating off you like ice.
The girl barely had time to react before your hand shot out. You grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her off Jaehyun with one powerful pull. She screamed as she tumbled sideways onto the mattress.
"Get the fuck off him," you said coldly, voice low but sharp enough to cut glass. She scrambled away from you, eyes wide with shock, trying to cover her naked body with her hands. Jaehyun sat up quickly, face pale and panicked.
"Babe— wait, it's not— I can explain—"
"Explain?" You let out a bitter laugh, still holding the girl's hair tightly in your grip as you glared down at him. "You lied to me for two weeks just so you could fuck someone behind my back?"
The girl whimpered as you finally released her hair with a rough shove. She quickly grabbed her clothes and ran out of the room like her life depended on it, slamming the door behind her.
Now it was just you and Jaehyun. He looked pathetic, naked, flushed, dick still hard and glistening from another girl's pussy. The sight made your stomach turn.
You stood tall at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, looking down at him like he was nothing more than a disappointing subordinate who just ruined the entire performance.
"Two weeks, Jaehyun," you said, voice dangerously calm. "Two fucking weeks of 'I'm busy' and 'I'm at my dad's'. And this is what you were doing?"
Jaehyun's eyes widened in panic. He scrambled off the bed, still naked, and lunged forward, grabbing your wrist tightly.
"Babe, wait— please, just listen to me! It's not what it looks like, I swear! She doesn't mean anything, it was just— fuck, it was a mistake—"
You felt his grip on your wrist like fire.
With a sharp, powerful yank, you shoved him off you. Jaehyun stumbled back, nearly losing his balance.
"Don't you fucking lay your filthy hands on me!" you hissed, voice dripping with venom. "A mistake? You lied to me for two whole weeks so you could fuck some random bitch behind my back and you call that a mistake?!"
Your chest heaved with rage. Your eyes blurred as tears pooled on your eyelids, making Jaehyun shrink under your glare.
"We're done," you said coldly, staring straight into his eyes. "Don't ever call me. Don't text me. Don't even look at me. Fuck off, Jaehyun."
You turned on your heels, not even sparing the fallen chocolate cake on the floor a second glance, and walked out of his room. The sound of your footsteps echoed down the hallway as you slammed the dorm door behind you with a loud bang.
Tears burned in your eyes the moment you stepped outside, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not for him. You were done.
For the next week, Jaehyun wouldn't leave you alone.
He texted and called nonstop, even after you blocked him on everything. He showed up outside your classes, your band practice, and your dorm. Every time he tried to approach you, your friends were right there, ready to throw punches and shield you like bodyguards. They cursed him out and dragged you away before he could get close.
You stayed strong on the outside, but the betrayal still stung.
By the start of the second week, you thought it was finally dying down. Until one afternoon.
You had just finished band practice and were walking out of the campus gate when a girl stepped in front of you. It was her. The girl you had pulled off Jaehyun that day. She looked nervous, eyes red like she'd been crying.
"Can we talk?" she asked quietly. "Please... just for a minute."
You almost walked past her, but something in her expression made you stop. You crossed your arms, staring her down.
"Fine. Talk."
She took a shaky breath.
"I'm so sorry... I had no idea you existed. Jaehyun told me he was single the entire time. We'd been seeing each other for almost a month. He said he didn't have a girlfriend, that he was too focused on football to date anyone seriously." Her voice cracked. "If I had known about you... I would never have touched him. I swear."
She looked genuinely devastated.
"I feel sick knowing I was the other woman. I'm really, really sorry. You didn't deserve any of this."
For a moment, you didn't know what to say. The anger you'd been carrying suddenly felt heavier. Jaehyun didn't just cheat on you. He had played both of you.
You let out a bitter laugh and ran a hand through your hair.
"...Thanks for telling me," you said coldly. "At least now I know how much of a lying piece of shit he really is."
The girl nodded, looking ashamed, before quietly walking away. You stood there at the gate for a long time, the evening sun casting long shadows on the pavement. The betrayal felt even deeper now.
For the next month, you drowned yourself in studies and band practice.
You threw everything you had into rehearsals, perfecting every count, every movement, every command on the field. At night, you buried yourself in books and assignments until your eyes burned. You barely slept, barely ate, and barely gave yourself time to think.
The whole campus knew what happened. The cheating scandal spread like wildfire. People whispered when you walked by, gave you pitiful looks in the hallways, and sent sympathetic messages. But you kept your chin up high, shoulders back, and that signature domineering aura firmly in place. You refuse to let anyone see you break. You were the drum major. You didn't fall apart in public.
Two months had passed since that awful day. You were in your dorm, surrounded by notes and textbooks, when your phone buzzed. You glanced at the screen.
Hongjoong: Hey sweetheart. It's been a while. How have you been? It's already been two months since I last heard from you. I didn't even know you and Jaehyun broke up until recently... Are you okay?
Your chest tightened. You stared at the message for a long time before replying.
You: Oh. Hello, Mr. Kim. Yeah, we broke up. I'm fine though, thank you for checking me up.
Hongjoong: I'm really sorry to hear that. If you're free this weekend, why don't you come over for dinner? I'll cook. You can talk about what happened if you want to... or we can just eat and you can forget everything for a while. No pressure. I just hate the thought of you dealing with this alone, besides I know for sure whatever the reason is, it could have been my stupid son's fault.
You bit your lip, fingers hovering over the screen. Part of you wanted to say no and keep burying yourself in work. But another part, the tired, angry, emotionally drained part, desperately needed to let it all out.
You: Okay. I'll come. Thank you, Mr. Kim.
Hongjoong: Great. Come by Saturday at 6? Can't wait to see you, sweetheart.
Saturday came faster than you expected. By 6:30 PM, you were standing in front of Hongjoong's house, heart beating a little faster than usual. You had chosen one of your favorite Sunday dresses. A soft, off-shoulder cream-colored dress that hugged your figure nicely but still looked modest enough. You tugged at the hem nervously, suddenly wondering if it was too much. Too pretty. Too revealing for a dinner with your ex-boyfriend's father.
You took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
A few seconds later, the door opened. Kim Hongjoong stood there, looking unfairly good in a simple black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing toned muscles. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and when he saw you, his face lit up with a warm, genuine smile.
"You're here," he said softly, voice rich and comforting. His eyes quickly scanned you from head to toe before he caught himself and looked back at your face.
"You look great. Come in, sweetheart."
He stepped aside, letting you enter. The house smelled amazing, Garlic, herbs, and something savory that made your stomach rumble.
"I'm sorry I'm a little late," you murmured.
"Don't apologize. I'm just glad you came." He closed the door behind you, then gently placed a hand on your lower back to guide you towards the dining area. The light touch sent a small, unexpected shiver up your spine. "I made carbonara and grilled steak. Hope you're hungry."
As you followed him, the reality of the situation settled in. This was the first time you'd been here since the breakup. No Jaehyun. Just you and Hongjoong.
He pulled out a chair for you like a gentleman, then disappeared into the kitchen for a moment before returning with two glasses of wine. Hongjoong sat across from you, his warm gaze never leaving your face.
"So..." he started gently, voice low and careful. "Do you want to eat first and relax... or do you want to tell me what really happened between you and my son?"
He leaned forward slightly, eyes full of quiet concern and something deeper you couldn't quite name.
"I'm here to listen to everything. No judgment."
You sat quietly for a moment, staring at the glass of wine in your hands. The warmth of Hongjoong's home and his gentle presence made the walls you'd built over the past two months feel dangerously thin.
"I... I'll tell you," you whispered. Hongjoong nodded, giving you his full attention. He stayed silent, patient, as you started talking.
You told him everything.
How Jaehyun had been distant for weeks. The constant excuses. The lies about being at his house. How you baked his favorite cake and went to his dorm with a spare key, hoping to fix things. How you walked in on him fucking another girl. How he had the audacity to lie and say it was a mistake.
The more you spoke, the more your voice shook.
"I kept myself busy for two months straight," you continued, tears already blurring your vision. "Studies, practice, rehearsals... anything just to stop thinking about it. The whole campus knew. Everyone was looking at me with pity and I hated it. I'm supposed to be strong, supposed to be in control... but he made me feel so stupid."
Your throat tightened painfully.
"I trusted him. I never doubted him even once. And he played me like I was nothing. He told that girl he was single the whole time. He lied to both of us."
The dam finally broke. A sob ripped from your chest. Tears streamed down your face as all the anger, humiliation, and pain you'd been holding in came rushing out at once.
"I feel so pathetic..." you cried, covering your face with both hands. "I'm supposed to be better than this. I hate that he still has this much power over me."
You couldn't stop sobbing.
Suddenly, you felt strong, warm arms wrapped around you. Hongjoong had moved from his seat and pulled you into a tight, comforting hug. One hand gently rubbed your back while the other cradled the back of your head.
"Shhh... it's okay," he whispered softly against your hair, voice deep and soothing. "Let it all out, sweetheart. You don't have to be strong right now. Not here."
He held you closer, letting you cry into his chest as your body shook with heavy sobs.
"You're not pathetic," he murmured firmly. "You're incredible. My son is the idiot who couldn't see what he had."
Hongjoong didn't let go. He kept holding you, rocking you gently, his warmth and steady heartbeat slowly calming you down as you cried out months of pent-up pain.
"Just so you know," Hongjoong said softly, still holding you close, "I didn't raise my son to be like that. I thought I taught him well."
His voice was low and heavy with disappointment. One of his hands kept rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back while the other gently cradled the back of your head.
"I don't know where he got the idea that cheating is okay," he continued, almost to himself. "I'm really sorry, sweetheart. You didn't deserve any of this. Not a single second."
You stayed buried against his chest, your sobs slowly quieting into shaky breaths. His shirt was damp with your tears, but he didn't seem to mind. He smelled comforting, like warm cologne, fresh laundry, and something distinctly him.
Hongjoong pulled back just enough to look at your tear-streaked face. His thumb gently wiped away the tears still clinging to your cheeks, his touch incredibly tender.
"Well..." you whispered shakily against his chest, voice still thick with tears, "just by how you're treating me right now... maybe it's only the looks that Jaehyun inherited from you."
Hongjoong let out a soft, surprised chuckle, the sound vibrating warmly through his chest. He pulled back slightly so he could look at you properly, his hand still gently cupping your cheek.
"Is that so?" he murmured, a small, handsome smile tugging at his lips. His thumb brushed another stray tear from your skin. "I'll take that as a compliment then."
Hongjoong watched you with quiet intensity, his dark eyes never leaving your face as you pushed the pasta around your plate. The warm lighting in the dining room cast soft shadows across his sharp jawline and the open collar of his black shirt.
He set his wine glass down slowly, the quiet clink breaking the silence.
"What do you want to do with Jaehyun now?" he asked, voice low and velvety.You stared at your plate for a long moment, the hurt and rage you'd buried for two months rising back to the surface like poison.
"I want him to learn his lesson," you said bitterly, your voice cracking. "I want it to hurt. I want him to feel even a fraction of the humiliation and betrayal he made me feel."A heavy silence filled the room.
Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, studying you carefully. Then the corner of his mouth slowly lifted into a dark, dangerous smile. He stood up and walked around the table until he was standing right beside you. His tall frame towered over you as he gently tilted your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze.
"Then let me help you teach him," he murmured, his thumb brushing slowly across your bottom lip. "We can film ourselves in bed. You and me. I'll fuck you the way you deserved. I'll make you moan my name so loudly the camera catches every desperate sound."
Your breath hitched.
Hongjoong leaned down closer, his lips hovering near your ear as his voice dropped into a husky whisper.
"Imagine it, sweetheart... My hands all over this beautiful body. My cock buried deep inside you while you're falling apart. And then we send that video straight to Jaehyun. Let him watch his own father ruining the girl he was stupid enough to cheat on." He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own burning with lust and something dangerously possessive.
"You'll be screaming for me... and he'll be forced to watch every second of it."
His fingers slid from your chin down the side of your neck, leaving a trail of heat on your skin."It's your decision," he said softly, but his eyes were anything but soft. "If you want real revenge... I'll give it to you tonight. I'll make sure my son never forgets what he lost."
You stared at Hongjoong, heart hammering wildly in your chest.
He was undeniably attractive. The way his black shirt stretched across his broad chest and muscular arms, the sharp line of his jaw, and those intense eyes that seemed to see right through you. At 42, he looked better than most men half his age. But this... this was crossing a dangerous line.
"I... I don't know," you whispered, voice shaky. You looked down at your hands, fingers twisting together nervously. "Mr. Kim, he's still your son. This feels... wrong."
Hongjoong gave you a warm, understanding smile, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle gently. His hand slid from your thigh to your back, giving you a soft, comforting pat as if he could sense the storm of emotions inside you.
"It's okay," he said softly, voice gentle and reassuring. "I don't like pushing things on people, sweetheart. Especially not you."
He straightened up and moved back to his seat across from you, though his eyes never really left your face. The tension in the air slowly eased, but the heat of his earlier words still lingered.
"Go ahead and eat," he added with a small nod toward your plate. "Then you can rest if you want. No pressure at all. I'm just happy you're here."
You nodded quietly and picked up your fork again, though your appetite had mostly vanished. The carbonara tasted amazing, but your mind kept replaying his proposal, the image of you and Hongjoong in bed, filming everything, sending it to Jaehyun.
For the next few weeks, Hongjoong's offer refused to leave your mind.
It lingered like a parasite burrowing deeper every quiet moment. Late at night while you tried to study. During band practice when your mind should've been focused on counts and formations. Even in your dreams, his low voice would whisper the filthy promise again and again.
You told yourself it was wrong. Disgusting, even. He was your ex-boyfriend's father for heaven's sake. But no matter how hard you tried to push the thought away, it always crawled back, hotter and more tempting each time.You decided to ignore it. Bury it. Move on.
Until one sunny afternoon.
You were walking past the football field when you saw them.
Jaehyun was sitting on the bleachers with the same girl, the one you had dragged off his cock that day. She was laughing at something he said, leaning into his side while his arm was casually draped around her shoulders. He looked... completely unbothered. Like he hadn't shattered your trust and humiliated you in front of the entire campus.
Something ugly and sharp twisted violently in your chest.Your feet stopped moving. Your fists clenched tightly at your sides.All the pain, the anger, and the humiliation came rushing back in full force. And right behind it, Hongjoong's voice echoed clearly in your head.
"If you want real revenge... I'll give it to you."
That's when you stopped hesitating.
The sight of Jaehyun laughing with that girl on the bleachers had ignited something feral inside you. No more crying. No more burying the pain. Tonight, you were going to make him regret ever laying eyes on anyone else.
Later that evening, you stood in front of the his father's house with fire in your eyes and steel in your spine. Your fist knocked firmly on the wooden door.
The door opened, and there was Hongjoong.
He looked devastatingly attractive in a simple black button-up with the top few buttons undone, revealing a hint of his toned chest. His dark hair was slightly messy, and the moment his eyes landed on you. Standing there with flushed cheeks, furrowed brows, and clenched fists.
Before he could even speak, you looked him dead in the eyes and said with absolute conviction. "Let's do it."
The air between you instantly thickened. Hongjoong's gaze darkened with raw hunger as he stepped aside, silently inviting you in. The moment the door closed behind you with a soft click, it felt like the outside world had been shut out completely.
Your head started to spin.You didn't know if it was because of Hongjoong's strong, woody perfume, deep, masculine, and intoxicating, that kept flooding your senses with every breath, or if it was the sudden wave of nervousness crashing over you all at once.Your heart hammered violently in your chest. Your palms felt clammy. The reality of what you just agreed to hit you like a freight train.
"Come with me," he said softly.
His hand slid down to yours, at the flat as he guided you upstairs. The house was quiet except for the sound of your own heartbeat echoing in your ears. Every step up the stairs made your stomach flutter harder.He led you down the hallway and pushed open the door to the master bedroom. The room was spacious and masculine, dark wood furniture, a large king-sized bed with crisp black sheets, and soft ambient lighting from the bedside lamps. The air smelled faintly of his cologne, the same intoxicating scent that had made your head spin earlier.
Hongjoong gently pulled you inside and closed the door behind you with a soft click. Without saying a word, he guided you toward the bed, his hand resting lightly on your lower back.
"Sit down, sweetheart," he murmured.You obeyed, lowering yourself to sit at the edge of the large bed. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight. Hongjoong stood in front of you, tall and commanding, looking down at you with dark, hungry eyes.He reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch surprisingly tender.
"Nervous?" Hongjoong asked softly, his voice low and gentle as he stayed crouched between your parted thighs.You could only nod, not trusting your voice. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but you couldn't deny it. Your heart was racing so fast you felt lightheaded, and the way he was looking at you, so intense, so patient, yet so hungry, made everything feel overwhelming.
Hongjoong gave you a small, understanding smile. He rose slowly from his crouch and sat beside you on the edge of the bed, his thigh pressing warmly against yours. One arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to his side while his other hand came up to gently cup your face.
"It's okay to be nervous, sweetheart," he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek. "This is a big step. But I promise... I'll take care of you."
He leaned in and pressed a slow, tender kiss to your forehead, then another on your temple, letting his lips linger there. The scent of his cologne wrapped around you again, making your head spin in the best way.
"I'm not going to rush you," he whispered against your skin. "We can go slow."
His hand slid down from your face to your neck, then lower, tracing the line of your collarbone with feather-light fingers. He tilted your chin up so your eyes met his again.
"Tell me what you want," he said softly, eyes dark but patient. "Do you want me to kiss you? Touch you? Or do you just want me to hold you until the nerves settle down?" His thumb brushed slowly over your bottom lip as he waited, giving you full control even while his body radiated heat and barely contained desire.
The sigh that left your lips was soft and shaky the moment Hongjoong's lips met yours.It wasn't rushed or demanding. It was slow, warm, and devastatingly gentle, like he was savoring the first taste of something he had wanted for a long time. Your head instinctively leaned into him, eyes fluttering shut as a rush of heat spread through your body.
Hongjoong hummed approvingly against your mouth, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other stayed firmly on your waist, pulling you closer. His lips moved against yours with experience, deepening the kiss gradually until you parted your lips for him. When his tongue slipped inside, tasting you, a quiet whimper escaped your throat.He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, deep, sensual, and thorough. The kind of kiss that made your toes curl and your thighs press together instinctively.
When he finally pulled back, just enough to let you breathe, his forehead rested against yours. His breathing was slightly heavier, eyes half-lidded and dark with desire as he looked at you.
"Still nervous?" he whispered, voice husky. His thumb brushed tenderly over your now slightly swollen bottom lip.You barely managed a small shake of your head.
"There we go." Hongjoong smiled, slow and predatory, before capturing your lips again, this time with more hunger. His hand slid down your side, gripping your hip as he guided you further onto the bed until your back gently met the soft mattress.
He hovered over you for a moment, drinking in the sight of you lying in his bed, flushed cheeks, parted lips, and eyes hazy with nerves and arousal. Then, without breaking eye contact, he sat back on his knees and reached for the buttons of his black shirt.
One by one, he undid them slowly, deliberately, revealing his toned chest and defined abs inch by inch. The shirt slid off his broad shoulders and strong arms, exposing his muscular upper body. He was even more impressive than you had imagined, years of quiet discipline showing in every line of his torso. He tossed the shirt aside without care.
Your breath caught.
Hongjoong leaned down again, capturing your lips in another slow, heated kiss. His bare skin radiated warmth as he pressed closer, one hand sliding up your side.
His fingers found the hem of your sundress. He sat up slightly and gently tugged the fabric upward, eyes locked on yours the entire time, giving you every chance to stop him. You lifted your hips instinctively, and he pulled the dress up and over your head in one smooth motion, leaving you in just your bra and panties.
Hongjoong let out a low, appreciative groan as his gaze roamed over your body.
"Fuck... look at you," he murmured, voice rough with desire. His hands traced your waist, then moved up to cup your breasts through your bra, thumbs brushing over the fabric. He leaned down and pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, then lower, between the valley of your breasts. His fingers skillfully unclasped your bra and slid the straps down your shoulders, freeing your breasts.
"Perfect," he breathed, eyes dark.He tossed your bra aside and returned to kissing you — deeper this time, while his hands explored your now mostly bare body with slow, reverent touches.
Hongjoong kissed you like he was starving for you, his mouth claiming yours in deep, slow strokes while his hands explored your body with growing hunger. He trailed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, and lower, until his lips wrapped around one of your nipples, sucking gently.
A soft moan slipped from your lips.
He continued downward, pressing wet kisses along your stomach until he reached the waistband of your panties. Without hesitation, he hooked his fingers into the thin fabric and started slowly pulling them down your thighs, exposing you completely to his hungry gaze.
As the lace slid down your legs, Hongjoong looked up at you, eyes dark with lust. His voice came out low and rough, slightly breathless.
"Where's your phone, sweetheart?" His hands never stopped moving. He finished pulling your panties off and tossed them aside, then ran his palms up your bare thighs, gently spreading them wider so he could settle between them.You could barely think straight, head spinning from the sensation of being completely naked under him.
"In... in my bag," you managed to whisper, voice shaky. "By the door..."
Hongjoong hummed in acknowledgment. He leaned down and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss right above your mound, dangerously close to where you were already aching for him.
"Stay right here," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot. "Don't move."
He stood up for a moment, giving you a full view of his sculpted torso and the obvious bulge straining against his pants. He walked over to your bag, retrieved your phone, and returned to the bed.
Hongjoong gave you one last deep kiss before pulling back, then handed you your phone with a dark, heated look in his eyes.
"Here, sweetheart," he said, voice low and commanding. "You're going to record this."
He helped you sit up and lean back against the plush headboard, propping pillows behind you so you were comfortable. Then he moved down the bed, settling his broad shoulders between your spread thighs. His large hands gripped the back of your knees and pushed your legs wider apart, fully exposing your glistening pussy to him.
Your hands trembled slightly as you opened the camera app on of your phone and switched it to video mode. You hit record.
Hongjoong looked straight into the lens for a moment, a wicked smirk on his lips, before his gaze dropped back to your dripping core. Without another word, he leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly up your slit in one long, filthy stroke. A broken moan immediately spilled from your lips.
"Oh my god..." you whimpered, hips twitching.
Hongjoong groaned at your taste, the vibration sending sparks through your body. He licked you again, slower this time, savoring every drop before wrapping his lips around your swollen clit and sucking gently.
"Fuck—!" you cried out, your free hand flying down to grip his hair.
He ate you out like a man possessed, slow and deliberate at first, then faster, more hungry. His tongue circled your clit, flicked it, then dipped down to push inside you. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth on your pussy filled the room, clearly captured by the camera.
You struggled to keep the phone steady, your hand shaking as pleasure coursed through you. "Joong— ahh!" you moaned loudly, eyes rolling back. "It feels so good..."
He looked up at the camera again, eyes almost rolling at the back of his head, while you watched his face contort through the screen of your phone. He then slid two thick fingers deep inside you, curling them perfectly against that sensitive spot. Your moans grew louder, more desperate, as you tried your best to keep recording, legs trembling around his head, hips grinding against his talented tongue.
His tongue worked your swollen clit with expert precision, licking, sucking, and flicking in perfect rhythm while two thick fingers pumped deep inside your soaked pussy. The wet, filthy sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the room, all of it being captured clearly on the phone you were desperately trying to hold steady.
"Ahh—! Hongjoong... fuck!" you moaned loudly, your voice cracking.
Your head fell back against the headboard, but you forced your eyes to stay on the camera. Your thighs trembled violently around his shoulders. The pleasure was building fast, coiling tight and hot in your lower belly.
Hongjoong groaned against your pussy, the vibration making your back arch sharply.
"You taste so fucking good, baby," he growled, lips shiny with your juices. He curled his fingers harder, stroking that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. "So wet for me already."
"I— I can't—" you whimpered, hips grinding desperately against his face. "It's too good... I'm— I'm so close!"
He sucked harder on your clit, flicking his tongue rapidly while his fingers fucked you faster, deeper. Your whole body started shaking uncontrollably. Hongjoong pulled back just enough to look up at you, eyes dark and commanding.
"Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum on my tongue." He dove back in, sucking your clit into his mouth with intense pressure while his fingers curled relentlessly against your g-spot. The coil inside you snapped.
"Oh my god— Hongjoong!" you screamed, your back arching violently off the bed. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your thighs clamped around his head as you came hard, pussy pulsing and gushing around his fingers. Wave after wave of intense pleasure ripped through your body, making your vision blur and your legs shake uncontrollably. You kept moaning his name brokenly, loud and shameless, as the orgasm went on and on. You didn't even know if you properly recorded the way he made you cum. It was too much for you to think about it.
Hongjoong didn't stop. He kept licking and fingering you through every pulse, milking every last drop of pleasure until you were a trembling, whimpering mess against the headboard. Only when your moans turned into weak, oversensitive whimpers did he finally slow down. He pressed one last gentle kiss to your throbbing clit before pulling his fingers out and looking up at you with a satisfied, predatory smirk.
Hongjoong huffed a heavy, shaky breath against your soaked pussy, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. Your orgasm had clearly affected him just as much. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with lust, and his lips glistened with your release.
He slowly crawled up your body like a predator, hovering over you on his forearms. His muscular frame caged you in completely, his hard cock pressing hot and heavy against your inner thigh through his pants.
Without a word, he snatched the phone from your trembling hands. He quickly tapped the screen a few times, saving the video with a satisfied hum, then tossed the phone onto the far side of the bed where it landed safely on the pillows.
Now there was nothing between you two. Hongjoong looked down at you with pure hunger, his dark hair falling slightly over his eyes. His bare chest brushed against your breasts with every breath he took.
"Enough recording for now," he rasped, voice thick and rough. "I want to feel you properly."
He leaned down and captured your lips in a deep, messy kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. One of his hands gripped your thigh, pulling it up around his waist as he ground his clothed erection against your bare, sensitive pussy. You moaned into his mouth, still twitching from your orgasm. Hongjoong broke the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing heavily.
"Are you ready for me, sweetheart?" he asked, voice low and husky, barely holding back his hunger. You didn't answer with words. Instead, you looked straight up into his eyes, fiery, determined, and needy all at once, and slowly wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Your fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck as you gave him the clearest answer you could.
Hongjoong's eyes darkened even more. A low, pleased groan rumbled from deep in his chest.
"That's my good girl." He reached down between your bodies and quickly freed himself from his pants. His hard cock sprang out, thick, heavy, and flushed. He wrapped a hand around the base and rubbed the swollen head up and down your soaked slit, coating himself in your wetness.
You gasped softly at the feeling, your arms tightening around his neck.
Hongjoong pressed his forehead against yours, breathing heavily as he lined himself up with your entrance.
"Eyes on me, baby," he whispered roughly. Then, with one slow but firm thrust, he pushed the thick head of his cock inside you.
A broken moan escaped your lips as he stretched you open. Inch by inch, he sank deeper, groaning at how tightly your walls gripped him.
"Fuck... so tight," he hissed through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to slam all the way in. "You feel even better than I imagined." He buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking on your skin as he gave you time to adjust to his size, his hips twitching with the effort of holding back.
The moment you wrapped your arms around his neck and looked him in the eyes, something in Hongjoong snapped.
He didn't hold back anymore.
With a deep, guttural groan, he thrust forward hard, burying his thick cock deep inside you in one powerful stroke. A loud, broken cry tore from your throat as he stretched you wide open, filling you completely.
"Fuck—!" Hongjoong growled, voice raw with years of pent-up desire. "Finally..."
He didn't give you time to adjust. He pulled back almost all the way and slammed back in, setting a brutal, desperate pace right away. The bed creaked loudly beneath you as he fucked you like a man who had been starving for this moment for years.
"Been waiting so fucking long for this," he rasped against your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he pounded into you. "You have no idea how many nights I imagined fucking you raw in my bed."
Every thrust was deep and punishing, his hips snapping against yours with raw power. The sound of skin slapping skin mixed with your loud moans and his heavy grunts filled the room.
Hongjoong grabbed one of your legs and hooked it over his waist, driving even deeper. His rhythm was relentless, almost animalistic, like he was claiming you completely.
"Mine now," he groaned, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks while the other braced beside your head. "This pussy is mine."
He kissed you messily, all tongue and teeth, swallowing your moans as he fucked you harder. His hips rolled with every thrust, making sure you felt every inch of him dragging against your walls.You could barely think, only feel the way he was ruining you so perfectly. Hongjoong buried his face in your neck again, sucking hard on your skin as he growled.
He fucked you like a man possessed, hips slamming against yours with raw, years-long hunger.
He suddenly shifted his angle, hooking your leg higher around his waist and driving deeper. He thrust hard a few times, searching, adjusting, until he found it. Your whole body jerked violently.
"Ahh—! There—!" you screamed, nails digging into his shoulders.
Hongjoong's lips curled into a feral smirk against your neck.
"Right here?" he growled, voice dark and satisfied. He immediately started targeting that sweet spot mercilessly. Every thrust was precise, deep, and devastatingly fast, slamming directly into the spot that made stars explode behind your eyes. The wet, filthy sound of his cock pounding into your soaked pussy echoed loudly in the room.
"Fuck yes— take it, baby," he groaned, eyes half-lidded with pleasure as he railed you without mercy. "This is what you needed, isn't it? A real man who knows how to fuck you properly."
His pace was brutal now, deep, fast, and relentless. The headboard banged loudly against the wall with every powerful thrust. Your breasts bounced wildly between your bodies as he drove into you again and again, hitting that perfect spot over and over.
You were moaning shamelessly, almost sobbing with pleasure, your arms locked tight around his neck.
Hongjoong buried his face in your neck, biting and sucking on your skin while he fucked you even harder, hips snapping with pure desperation.
"That's it," he panted, voice rough. He angled his hips again, making sure every thrust dragged perfectly against your g-spot, pushing you closer and closer to the edge at an overwhelming speed.
"You're getting so fucking tight again," he groaned, almost snarling. "Gonna cum for me already, sweetheart? Cum all over my cock like the good girl you are."
Hongjoong kept slamming into that perfect spot with ruthless precision, his hips moving in a fast, deep rhythm that left you completely undone. Your eyes suddenly rolled to the back of your head, mouth hanging open in a silent cry as the overwhelming pleasure reached its peak. Your entire body tensed violently beneath him.
"I'm— I'm cumming—!" you sobbed brokenly, voice cracking.
Your walls clamped down around his thick cock like a vice, pulsing and fluttering wildly as your second orgasm crashed through you even harder than the first. A loud, shameless moan tore from your throat, your back arching sharply off the bed while your legs shook uncontrollably around his waist.
The way your pussy squeezed him so tightly, almost begging him to cum with you, finally pushed Hongjoong over the edge.
"Fuck— baby!" he growled loudly, his thrusts turning erratic and desperate. With a deep, guttural moan, he buried himself as deep as possible inside you and came hard. Thick, hot spurts of cum flooded your spasming pussy, filling you up completely as he kept grinding into you, riding out both of your orgasms.
His body trembled above yours, hips twitching with every pulse as he emptied himself inside you, groaning your name against your neck like a prayer. For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breathing and the faint creak of the bed. Hongjoong stayed buried deep inside you, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you panting and covered in sweat.
"Shit..." he whispered hoarsely, pressing a lazy kiss to your lips. "You feel so fucking good milking my cock like that." He gave one last slow thrust, pushing his cum deeper into you, then stayed there, savoring the warmth of your body wrapped around him.
Both of you stayed locked together, breathing heavily in the quiet aftermath.
He let out a long, satisfied sigh and gently collapsed on top of you, careful not to crush you with his weight. His face nestled into the crook of your neck, lips brushing softly against your damp skin as he tried to catch his breath.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were your mingled breathing and the faint beating of his heart against your chest.
Hongjoong was the first to move. He pressed slow, lazy kisses along your neck and jawline, then finally lifted his head to look at you. His hair was messy, cheeks flushed, and his eyes were softer now, warm, almost tender.
"You okay, sweetheart?" he whispered, voice hoarse from exertion. One of his hands came up to gently brush strands of hair away from your sweaty forehead.
You could only nod weakly, still dazed and trembling from the intensity of your orgasms. Your arms remained loosely wrapped around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at his nape.
Hongjoong smiled softly, a small, genuine smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. He leaned down and kissed you, slow, deep, and full of affection this time, completely different from the raw hunger earlier.
Hongjoong stayed buried inside you for a few more moments, savoring the warmth and the way your walls still fluttered around him. He pressed one last lingering kiss to your lips before slowly pulling out with a low groan.
A thick trickle of his cum immediately leaked from your swollen pussy onto the sheets. He watched it for a second with dark satisfaction before looking back at your face.
"Stay still, sweetheart," he murmured softly, brushing a kiss on your forehead. "Don't move. I'll get you a glass of water."
You nodded hazily, still floating in a blissful, post-orgasm daze. Your body felt heavy and boneless against the mattress.
As Hongjoong got up and walked out of the room, completely naked, you reached over to the other side of the bed where he had thrown your phone. Your fingers trembled slightly as you picked it up.
The video was still there.
Without giving yourself time to overthink, you opened your messaging app, found Jaehyun's contact, and attached the video. Your thumb hovered for only a second before you hit send.The message delivered.
You stared at the screen, heart pounding. A few seconds later, the typing bubble appeared... then stopped. Then appeared again.
Finally, a message came through.
Jaehyun: What the fuck is this?
Another message followed almost immediately, his panic clear even through text.
Jaehyun: Is that... my fucking dad?!
Jaehyun: Are you seriously fucking my DAD?!
You didn't reply. You smiled .A slow, satisfied, almost wicked smile spread across your lips as you scrolled through the flood of texts Jaehyun had sent in the last few minutes.
Jaehyun: What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!
Jaehyun: You're seriously fucking my DAD just because I made one mistake?!
Jaehyun: This is so fucked up. You're disgusting.
Jaehyun: Delete that shit right now. I can't believe you'd stoop this low.
Jaehyun: Answer me you fucking bitch.
Every angry, desperate message made the smile on your face grow wider. You could practically hear him shouting through the screen, the panic, the rage, the disbelief.
You were still smiling when Hongjoong returned with a glass of cold water in his hand. He paused at the doorway for a second, taking in the sight of you, naked, flushed, and glowing, sitting up in his bed while scrolling through your phone with a satisfied little smirk on your face.
Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, amused.
"Did you already send it?" he asked, walking over to the bed. You looked up at him and nodded slowly, biting your lip to suppress the grin threatening to spread across your face.
Hongjoong let out a low, rich chuckle, clearly pleased. He sat on the edge of the bed beside you and handed you the glass.
"Here, drink up," he said softly.
You took the glass and drank the rest of the water slowly while he watched you with dark, affectionate eyes. When you finished, he took the empty glass from your hand and set it on the nightstand.
He leaned in, cupping your jaw gently as he pressed a slow kiss to your lips.
"Good girl," he whispered against your mouth, voice laced with satisfaction. "Now come here."
Hongjoong pulled you back down onto the bed, wrapping his strong arms around your body and tucking you against his chest. He kissed the top of your head, one hand lazily stroking your back.
"Rest now, sweetheart," he murmured, holding you close. As you drifted off in his warm embrace, your phone buzzed one last time on the nightstand. You smiled against Hongjoong's chest and closed your eyes. Revenge had never felt so good.
Pairing: Bf!Mingi x Reader x Yunho x Wooyoung
Summary: Sometimes while dating Mingi it felt as though you had a second boyfriend that neither of you fully acknowledged, his best friend, Yunho. The tension between the three of you builds until even Wooyoung senses it. Wooyoung wants to help push the three of you together and maybe get some fun out of the deal.
Genres + Warnings 18+ Minors DNI! dom!Yunho, switch!Mingi, switch! Wooyoung, sub!reader, oral (f & m receiving), unprotected p-in-v, double penatration, breast play, multiple orgasms, creampie, degradation, (lmk if I missed any, I probably am)
A/N: My longest writing to date and first one with multiple partners. I've been really nervous to post this so please be nice lol. I loved writing for these three though and could see this dynamic playing out in so many different ways. Let me know what y'all think. This is a work of fiction and in no way a real representation of the band or members.
Word Count: 7,720
Dating Mingi, in ways, was a dream come true. Having met in a dingy bar after being ditched by your friend, the two of you hit it off very well. He understood you in ways that didn’t seem possible at times. In return, you had a way of reading him that no one else seemed to be able to.
That was, except for his best friend Yunho.
The two had known each other for years before you came along. At first, their relationship seemed daunting. It felt impossible that you would ever get to the level of understanding of Mingi that Yunho had. Yunho seemed to have an uncanny ability to sense Mingi’s emotions–a sense that took a while for you to learn. However, it would’ve taken longer without the taller man’s actions.
With how often Yunho was around, you got to know the slightly older man as well. You formed a bumpy friendship–jealousy preventing you from getting too close at first. Over time, you got over it and accepted him as a part of your life with Mingi, falling into a routine with the two of them.
The three of you would often hang out in the apartment you shared with Mingi, whether it was to play video games, watch movies, or just sit around. It started out with small actions that made you feel seen by Yunho. Your favorite snacks brought without you having to ask, explanations of inside jokes when he saw confusion on your face, and small unexpected gifts like he would get Mingi when he had bad days.
Mingi didn’t think anything of it, knowing Yunho would do the same for him. In fact, he became thrilled at the idea of the two of you getting closer. He even encouraged you to turn to Yunho if he was ever too busy to answer. He didn’t see how he could be upset at the idea of his two favorite people becoming friends. Even when Yunho started to tease you like he would, Mingi didn’t think anything of it.
As harmless as it was at first, you didn’t miss the small smirks Yunho would send your way. The glances when he believed Mingi wasn’t looking, or even the small brushes when walking past you. A tension growing between the two of you, that you weren’t sure what to do with.
Coming home from work one day, you couldn't help but tense up hearing both of their voices as you entered your shared apartment. You kicked your shoes off and dropped your bag down on the kitchen table, exhausted after the long day.
“Hey, baby. How was work?” Mingi called from the living room. He was enthralled in some game you didn’t care to learn about with Yunho, the two clearly battling.
“Fine, just long.” You answered as you grabbed a drink from the fridge. Entering the living room, you waited beside the arm of the couch, not wanting to interrupt their match. Mingi sat closest to you, Yunho was in the arm chair on the other side of the couch.
“How’d the project go?” Yunho asked, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.
“Good, finally got the one executive to drop his impossible idea.”
“Told you, he’d come around. My baby’s too pretty to argue with.” Mingi spoke with a proud smirk causing you to chuckle.
“Yes, I’m sure he changed his mind cause he thought I was pretty.” You couldn't help but roll your eyes at the thought.
“Do we have competition with your coworkers now? We’re-Mingi’s gonna have to show them you’re off limits.” Yunho spoke, trying to correct himself quickly.
Your eyes widened at his insinuation, the innuendo not lost on you. You felt yourself tense up as you glanced at Mingi, who was now biting his lip–at Yunho’s words or just in concentration you didn’t know. His eyes hadn't left the screen in front of him as far as you had seen.
Yunho glanced at you again, a red tinge to his ears. His eyes strayed from the screen just a second too long, giving Mingi the advantage he needed to end the match. Mingi let out a cheer at finally winning, before placing his control down and extending his hand out to you. You set your drink down, placing your hand in his.
“Come here, baby.” He spoke softly, eyes meeting yours as you did as he asked. You moved to sit by Mingi, your legs across his lap as he gently massaged your calves. You didn’t glance at the other man as you closed your eyes and relaxed into your boyfriend’s massage.
Yunho cleared his throat before you heard him stand. “She’s clearly had a long day, I’ll leave you two be.” You opened your eyes to see him gathering his stuff, avoiding eye contact with either of you.
“You don’t have to, we can play another round, right, baby?” Mingi asked, looking at you for a moment before turning back to Yunho.
“I’m sure, take care of your girl.” He answered before you could even open your mouth, eyes drifting to you at the end. There was something in his look, it was familiar to you, but not from him.
Desire. A muted fire as he clearly fought to push it down.
You stayed still until he finally made his way to the door and made a swift exit.
Mingi glanced between the two of you, biting his lip. He couldn’t deny the attraction building between the all three of you, but just like you, he didn’t know how to act on it. He didn’t know what to say or how to address what was happening. He wasn’t sure it was something you wanted, let alone Yunho.
You entered a standstill where Yunho continued to push further and further. Tension building with each visit he had to your apartment. You weren’t sure how to approach the subject, not wanting to upset Mingi with the interest you now held for his best friend, or vice versa.
Enter Wooyoung.
Wooyoung wasn’t around as often as Yunho, but had become a more frequent guest recently. Often joining the two in the gaming sessions, or some other random hang out. However, the few encounters that the three of you had with him were enough for him to grasp an understanding of your dilemma.
He had a perceptiveness as he watched the three of you interact. Something akin to a hawk watching his prey. He caught on to your attraction to both men.
The adorable embarrassment that broke out as Yunho mercilessly enjoyed teasing you. The seemingly lack of care that Yunho had for Mingi or anyone else being in the room when he did it. He also caught on to Mingi’s excitement at watching the two people closest to him not only get along but thrive in each other's presence.
Wooyoung could tell you wanted to say something, to quit walking the tightrope between the two. However, what he didn’t know is where the line was drawn only having an outside perspective of the situation.
“So, have you three fucked or something?” Wooyoung asked one evening after following you into the kitchen.
You almost choked on your drink at the blatant question. “What?! No!”
“Oh, don’t be like that. You three are thirsting after each other like a fucking camel in the desert.”
“I don’t–”
“Spare me the denials. Everytime Yunho flirts with you, I swear Mingi gets a fucking hard on and you make heart eyes at both of them more than San does to Yeosang.” He spoke with his arms crossed, leaning on the counter next to you. A knowing smirk was on his face as a heat rose to your cheeks.
You felt pinned to the spot, the hair on the back of your neck standing on edge. Your eyes glanced at the exit from the room, wondering if he would block you from taking it.
“Woo, just drop it please.” You pleaded after a moment dropping your head so as to not see his face.
“Oh, I can see why they tease you…” He spoke and you snapped your head back up to meet his eyes. “You’re so pretty when you beg.”
“Not you too.” Your head fell, avoiding eye contact once again.
“Not sorry, you’re just too cute.”
Rolling your eyes, you attempted to head back to the living room. As you passed Wooyoung, his hand caught your wrist.
“I can help, you know? I see what you want, I can be that final push.” He told you, smirk on his face as he glanced between your eyes and lips.
“Why would you do that? What's in it for you?”
“A night of fun if I play my cards right, and the bonus of getting rid of the weird tension between you three.” He answered honestly, dropping your wrist with a shrug.
The gears in your head started to turn at his idea. Your boyfriend wasn't the easily jealous type, not with his friends anyway. Yunho though? Different story. Could Wooyoung really be the catalyst to get one of them to act–to admit to what they truly want?
“How do you want to do this?” You finally asked after a moment.
“You're down?”
When you nodded he couldn't stop the laugh that spilled from his lips.
“Orai! We'll do it naturally. Just storm out of here like you were going to after I teased you. Trust me to take care of the rest.”
Giving him a nod and taking a deep breath, you moved to leave the kitchen with a huff.
You planted down on the couch next to Mingi, burying your head in his chest with a groan. Your cheeks red, with embarrassment, and you held a disbelief in your actions. Were you really trusting the younger man to push you all together, just like that?
You felt Mingi chuckle before you heard it. “Everything okay, baby?” He asked as his hand dragged through your hair. You moved to glance up at his face.
“Yeah, just Youngie being a menace.”
“Ah so nothing new.” Yunho joked as he continued the video game he was playing from the armchair next to you.
“It’s not my fault she looks hot when she blushes. I mean look at ‘er” Wooyoung spoke, now leaning on the wall separating the kitchen and living room. His arms were crossed as he bit his lip, eyes not leaving your form. You felt Mingi tense under you as Yunho let out a chuckle of disbelief, pausing his game and placing the controller down. Wooyoung’s eyes flitted between the three of you, watching the reactions with a playful smirk.
No one spoke for a moment, an awkward silence filling the void.
“Well, that’s interesting. So Yunho can flirt all he wants but the minute I do, you get all tense?” Wooyoung asks with a scoff, a hand coming to rest on his hip.
“I don’t–”
“He doesn’t–”
“Bullshit.” Wooyoung stopped the older men’s arguments before they could even start. You sat up to give Mingi space as he started to fidget under you.
“Don’t try to deny it when I could cut the tension in here with one of your shitty knives.”
Mingi scoffed and readjusted himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So you’re not hard right now?”
Wooyoung had him, caught red handed. Mingi stayed silent, ears turning red as everyone turned to face him.
“Wait, you’re really–”
“Shut up!” Mingi barked before Yunho could finish his question.
“Dude, it’s okay. Had you– I would've– We could’ve–” Yunho struggled with his words until Mingi cut him off.
“Could’ve what?” He gave a slight chuckle in disbelief.
“Could’ve fucked.” Yunho answered bluntly, eyes locking with Mingi's.
“Dude, I don’t just want a one night stand.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I– Fuck I don’t know, which is why I never said anything. How can I explain what I want when I don’t know? Let alone what you two want.”
“We can work that out, man. Just let me–”
“Just fuck already.” You had almost forgotten Wooyoung was there until he approached. However, you remember his words–his reason for still being here.
“Why so you can watch?” Yunho fired back with a smirk.
“You gonna let me?”
“That's not for–” Yunho trailed off as he glanced at Mingi. Mingi who was back to biting his lip. A desire burning in his chocolate orbs as he met Yunho's gaze once more.
“Well, that just leaves you, baby girl. What do you think?” Yunho asked, eyes not leaving Mingi's, as if locked in a silent conversation only those two understood.
“I'm open to it, so long as both of you are.” You answered, glancing between the two.
“Yeah? You want all of us? Want us to share you?” Mingi asked softly, eyes searching your face.
Biting your lip, you nodded, eyes not leaving his.
“Words baby girl, or this goes no further.” Yunho spoke up, causing your eyes to snap to his.
“I want this. All of it, whatever it is.”
Mingi darted forward lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. Closing your eyes, you leaned into him. His hand coming up to cup the side of your head as his tongue teased your lips. You let him in, tongue barely fighting back as Mingi dominated the kiss. Desire burned through your veins and you moaned into his mouth.
“Fuck, that’s hot.” Wooyoung spoke and Mingi pulled back with a chuckle.
“Just wait, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” His eyes glanced between the other two men in the room.
“Should we take this somewhere more comfortable?” Yunho asked and earned nods from across the room.
“Bedroom, baby. Be ready for us. We’ll be there shortly.”
You stood and felt Mingi tap your ass on the way past as he watched you make your way to the hallway. Entering your shared bedroom, you quickly stripped down to just your underwear before sitting in the middle of the bed.
Your thoughts drifted as you fiddled with the bed sheets beneath you. It only took a moment for doubt to claw its way into your thoughts. Doubt that maybe they didn’t want this, didn’t want you, that maybe they figured out Wooyoung's plan and found it off putting.
However, those thoughts were quickly pushed back as the doorway filled with the familiar bodies.
“Look at that, she listens so well.” Yunho commented as he brushed past Mingi to enter the room. He went to the far side of the bed while Mingi moved to kneel on the edge closest to him.
“Told you she’ll be good for us.” Mingi spoke, eyes meeting yours as his hand came to rest on your ankle. “Want a run down for what’s about to happen?”
“Yes, please.”
“Thought you would,” He chuckled as he rubbed soothing circles into your ankle. “Yunho’s gonna lead tonight, what he says goes, he knows your safe word but may also use the stop light system. You remember both?”
“Yes, twilight or red for stop, yellow for slow down, and green for keep going.” You answered, earning a hum of delight from Yunho who was working his way behind you on the bed. Wooyoung made his way into your line of sight at the end of the bed.
“Good girl.” Mingi praised with a smile. “Ready?”
“Yes.” You answered softly. A hand came up from behind to softly cup your jaw. Yunho's chest pressed into your back as his legs came to rest on the outside of your own.
“Yes, who?” Yunho asked, causing you to tear your eyes from Mingi’s.
“Yes, sir.” You quickly corrected seeing the dart glint in the older man’s eyes. He chuckled with a nod as he let go of your jaw.
His hands trailed down your sides, moving to your thighs to pull them over his legs and expose you to the two in front of you. The dark spot already spreading on your thin panties doing little to hide the desire filling you. Mingi’s hand started to drift up, but didn’t get anywhere near where you wanted him, causing a whine to fall from your lips.
“Don’t whine, baby.”
“Fuck, she’s soaked.” Wooyoung spoke as he moved lower to get a better view.
“Oh, yeah? Dirty girl, we haven’t even touched you yet.” Yunho spoke as his hand drifted to the top of your panties.
Hooking his fingers into the thin material, he carefully pulled them off your legs, groans leaving the men in front of you as they stuck to your core for a moment. Leaning into Yunho, you felt how affected he was, his hard cock pressing into your back.
“Look so pretty, I wanna taste.” Wooyoung spoke up, moving on to the bed. His hand rested on your other ankle.
“Yeah, wanna prep our girl for us?” Mingi asked with a smirk.
“Get your little slut ready?” Yunho added, as his hands slid up and down your sides. His eyes locking with Mingi’s for a second.
Wooyoung glanced between the two taller men, eyes holding a silent plea for permission from either one. Yunho's legs stretched yours open just a little more, giving him a slight nod.
Wooyoung moved quickly, as if afraid Yunho would steal you away. He crawled up to lay himself between your legs. His eyes met yours, a smirk on his face as he dove in. Flattening his tongue he lapped at your clit before wrapping his lips around it and sucking. He then slowed down, his tongue exploring more, as he tried to find the spots that would make you a mess. His tongue moves down, pushing its way in, lapping up your essence as his nose bumps your clit.
A moan tumbled from your mouth, head falling back on Yunho's shoulder.
“Oh, she liked that… Hmm, imagine riding his face, bet you she'd look hot.” Yunho spoke with a smirk, glancing at Mingi.
“Maybe some other time.” He answered and you turned your head toward him.
Some other time?
With all three of them?
Wooyoung's words rang around your mind, just a night of fun. This wasn't the same for him as the other two in the room. Either they didn’t know that, or didn’t care.
Before you could think too much about the implication of his words, Wooyoung used his hands to spread your lips and teased a finger at your entrance. Slowly pushing his finger in, you moaned as he curled it a few times. Pulling it out, a second finger joined shortly, beginning to thrust, creating a pace to push you closer to the edge.
“God, she's so tight.” Wooyoung mumbled, glancing at Mingi. His thumb replacing his mouth for a moment.
“Yeah? Just wait till she’s wrapped around you.”
Wooyoung bit his lip, a deep groan muffled by it as he began a scissoring motion.
Yunho's lips found your neck, sucking the sensitive skin as his hands moved to unclasp your bra. He then slowly dragged the straps down your arm, hands brushing down your arms. Throwing the material on the floor, his hands dragged themselves back up, leaving goosebumps in their way. His hands soon found your breasts, kneading the sensitive mounds.
Moans continued to pour from your mouth as Wooyoung’s fingers brushed the spot he had been searching for.
“There it is.”
“‘Bout time.” Mingi chided, rolling his eyes as he moved closer to your head. His lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss. His tongue enters your mouth and easily takes control of the kiss. He soon pulled away, moving to your sensitive neck opposite of Yunho, before kissing down to your chest. Your hand moved to his belt, attempted to free the bulge growing as he sucked a nipple into his mouth.
Wooyoung hummed into your pussy, winding the coil in your core tighter as your other hand found his hair. Tugging him closer, he groaned again as he felt you clench. Your other hand grips around the outline of Mingi's cock, sending his groan through your chest.
Your eyes clenched shut as you crashed over the edge. Wooyoung's fingers gave a couple more thrusts before slipping out of your slowly. His mouth not leaving you as he slurps up the rest of your cum.
You lost track of whose hands were where as they moved you to straddle Yunho. Legs on either side of his, you couldn't stop yourself from grinding into his growing desire. Your eyes crack open to watch his reaction.
Yunho’s eyes slip shut as he groans. His hands hold your hips still as the other two move behind you. You could hear clothes being removed, but kept your eyes on the man under you.
“So greedy, you just came and you already want more?” He teased, slowly opening his eyes once more. His pupils wide as they stare into you. “Give me a color, baby girl.”
“Green, so fucking green, sir.” You spoke, desperation clear in your voice.
Your hands moved to his shirt, pulling at the obstructing material. He chuckled and moved to pull it off, throwing it to the floor. His lips then captured yours in a fierce kiss. He moved to lay on his back, pulling you with him. Your hands found his belt and began to unbuckle it. Making quick work of it and the button of his pants.
Yunho pulls away from the kiss to help you remove the obstructing materials. His erection curvses toward his abs, precum already leaking from the tip. You couldn’t stop the gasp that left your mouth. Wrapping your hand around his length, your finger tips didn’t quite touch. While his length was right there with Mingi’s you were definitely concerned about him fitting.
“Is it bigger than you expected?” Yunho asked softly, wrapping his large hand around your own. He guided your hand to lightly pump him a few times as his other hand moving to your waist. You found yourself nodding as you moved closer to him.
“It’s okay, he’ll go slow.” Mingi spoke now behind you. “He’ll fit, you can handle it, baby.” Mingi’s lips found your shoulder as he urged you closer to his best friend.
“I’ll be slow, sweet girl. Still green?” Yunho asks as Mingi raises you up. You give him a nod as you untangle your hand from his letting him guide himself to your entrance. You leaned into Mingi, letting him hold you up as you slowly sunk onto Yunho’s length. The stretch causes your eyes to shut in pain, your hands finding Mingi’s and grasping tightly.
“Almost there, doll. Just a little more.” Wooyoung spoke from beside you, his hand moving to touch your clit. His lips kiss your cheek, pulling your attention away from the stretch for a moment.
You moaned softly as your hips finally became flush with Yunho’s. You gave yourself a moment before moving your hands to his chest to lean forward.
“Ready, baby girl?” Yunho asked and you nodded. “Use your words for me.”
“Yes, sir, please fuck me.” You begged, eyes meeting his dark orbs. He smirks as his hands replace Mingi’s on your hips.
Raising yourself up, you moan as you sink back down. Yunho helps you create a rhythm as you move your hands beside his head. Your breasts bouncing with each rough thrust.
Mingi's hands move to your neck and slowly trail their way down your back. Upon reaching your ass, he gave it a light smack, jolting you forward and dragging a loud yelp from your throat.
“Woo, hand me the lube. Top drawer.” Mingi spoke softly, and Wooyoung pulls away from you to open the nightstand and give Mingi what he requested.
Hearing the lid pop open, you glanced over your shoulder to see your boyfriend smirking.
“Gonna try something new, baby.” He tells you, gently pushing you forward. Your chest presses into Yunho’s. Yunho’s hands move to grip your ass, using it as leverage to move you, but also spread you open. You felt Mingi drip a good amount of lube down your back and to your other hole. The cool feeling causes you to clench down.
“Oh fuck, so tight… I think you're forgetting someone though, baby girl.” Yunho spoke, bringing your attention back to him. His head tilted to bring your attention to Wooyoung.
He sat next to Yunho, biting his lip while slowly rubbing his hard on. His eyes followed your movements, hand moving in tandem with every lift of your hips.
“Why don't you help him out while Mingi gets you ready?” Yunho suggested with a smirk. You nodded, your hand moving to replace Wooyoung's.
You feel Mingi's middle finger start to make its way to your other hole, gently entering and earning a groan from Yunho as you tense once more. Your eyes meet Wooyoung's as you move your mouth to the head of his erection.
Your tongue swirls around the tip before you lower your head to take him in your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, Wooyoung groans as your nose brushes the hair around his base, his cock hitting your throat. His hand tangles in your hair creating a makeshift ponytail, as one of yours grips his tense thigh. You let him guide your head as you lose yourself in the sensations.
“Look at her, already cock drunk.” Wooyoung spoke with a groan.
“Mmm, so perfect like this, taking me so well. Such a perfect little slut.” Yunho whispered in your ear, dragging a moan from your throat.
“Oh, fuck.” Wooyoung groans, throwing his head back once more.
A second finger thrusts into your ass causing you to pull back and suck in a deep breath. The pain of the stretch mixed with the pleasure of Yunho hitting the spot that had you seeing stars. Your eyes roll back for a moment, as Yunho's thrusts become harder.
“I'm close, baby girl. Where do you want me?”
“Inside, please, inside.” You beg as Wooyoung's hand tightens around your hair. He taps your lips with his tip, prompting you to open your mouth again.
“Yeah, dirty girl? Want me to fill you up? Have you stuffed full by the end of the night? Give it to me then, cum for me.” Yunho growls into your ear. You moan around Wooyoung's length as his pace increases. Yunho then began thrusting up harder into you. With Mingi still working you open, your eyes slide shut, thighs shaking as you crash over the edge.
Yunho wasn’t far behind. After a couple of thrusts, you felt him pulse as his release coated your walls. Wooyoung’s moans grew louder as he tumbles over as well, his cum pouring down your throat. He then slowly pulls out, telling you to swallow what was in your mouth. You do so, sticking your tongue out as proof.
You then collapse onto Yunho’s chest. Mingi sucks in a breath as he pulls his fingers out and Yunho spreads you open for him. Glancing back at your boyfriend once more, you see a smirk spread across his face. A whine leaves your lips as Yunho gently pulls out with a light pop. You feel his cum start to pour out until Mingi quickly scoops it up with a finger and pushes it back in.
“Is she good and prepped?” Yunho asked after a moment, looking over at his best friend.
“Yeah, she’s ready.” Mingi spoke. His hands move to wrap around you, pulling you up and into his chest. He angles your head to capture your lips, noisily kissing you. You smile into the kiss, letting him take control and enjoying the feel of his plush lips against yours. There was a dopey feel to your movements, as though you were up on cloud nine.
“Wooyoung, you want next?”
“Do you really need to ask?” Wooyoung scoffed as Yunho slipped out from under you, allowing the younger man to take his place. His cock was already hard again, hitting his abs as he positioned himself at your entrance.
“Calm yourself or you won't be cumming again.” Yunho ordered. A dark glint now in his eyes as he stared Wooyoung down. Wooyoung's pupils dilated as he left out an involuntary whimper. He bit his lip as he stared up at Yunho. The noise causes you and Mingi to break apart.
“Oh, you like that? Like when I put you in your place, you little brat?” Yunho taunted, hand moving to grip Wooyoung’s chin. A smirk spread across his face as Wooyoung could only nod.
“Fuck.” Mingi cursed as he gripped himself.
“You like that, too?” Yunho asks as he glances at his best friend. He let out a small laugh almost in disbelief. “All three of you are gonna be my subs? I'm spoiled.” Biting his lips he moved away from Wooyoung and closer to Mingi.
The two shared an intense moment as Yunho tilted Mingi’s face toward his. Your boyfriend’s hands loosen around your body, carefully letting you lower yourself into Wooyoung’s embrace. You turned around in Woo’s arms to watch the two taller men.
Mingi’s hand came up to grip the back of Yunho’s neck, their foreheads meeting. Their lips then crashed together like a tidal wave, a groan leaving Mingi as Yunho bit his lip. You couldn’t stop the whimper that left your own mouth at the sight of the two.
“How hot is that? And you get to have both of them to yourself. How lucky are you, doll?” Wooyoung whispers in your ear, as his hands begin to trail down your body. His hand soon comes into contact with your clit causing you to moan and throw your head back against his shoulder.
“Did I say you could touch?”
Wooyoung moved his hand away instantly as if burned, placing them just above your hips. Snapping your head up, your eyes met Yunho’s. His eyes then dragged down your body leaving a burning desire in its wake. Mingi’s eyes stayed locked on Yunho, all three ears waiting on his commands. The three of you were like puppets, Yunho your puppeteer, controlling the show. His attention turned back to Mingi.
“Since you’ve been so good for me, I’ll let you choose. How do you want your girl?”
“Let me have that tight pussy, please Yunho.” Mingi begged, causing your eyes to widen.
You had never heard him beg before, at least not in the bedroom. He was always your dominant, making you beg and follow his instructions. You found yourself clenching around nothing and biting your lip in anticipation.
“Take it. Take our dirty girl.” Yunho ordered, releasing Mingi. Despite everything around you, you noted that this was the first time Yunho had called you theirs and not just Mingi's. An omission that you would’ve thought about longer if not for Mingi moving in between your legs.
Mingi’s left hand went to your hip while his right fisted his cock. He rubbed his tip through your folds a couple of times, coating himself in your juices before pushing in with a groan. You moaned, eyes meeting his as your hands moved to his arms at the overwhelming sensation.
You became lost in the sensation—in him. There was no care in you as to whose hands were where, or that more than one person was touching you. Hands began massaging your chest, while someone else rubbed at your clit. Your thoughts only on the man in front of you as he set a fast tempo pace. Mingi bit his lip, focusing on the spot he knew would have you coming undone quickly. Only to be stopped by a hand on his chest.
“Gonna finish her so soon? You didn’t forget about Woo again did you?” Yunho asks as he wraps himself around Mingi, eyes finding yours over his shoulder.
Unable to find your words, you shake your head.
“Didn’t think so, our good girl. Woo, you gonna take her ass?” Yunho spoke, tone slightly condescending as his thumb continued to circle your clit slowly.
“Fuck yeah I will.” The youngest man answered, thrusting his hips to rub his erection against your back, where it was still pressed.
“Then do it already, she’s close.” As Mingi ordered the younger around, you found yourself clenching down once more. “Shit, baby girl. You’re choking my dick, not gonna last if you keep that up.”
Wooyoung grabbed the lube from where Mingi left it on the bed. You heard him pop open the lid, moving you forward to coat his member in a decent amount. He then aligned himself with your puckered hole. His hands guiding and helping you sink down on his member.
“Fuck! So tight, gotta relax for me, doll.”
“Breathe, baby. Let him in. Fuck can feel him filling you.”
“Gonna take them so well, our good girl.”
They whispered sweet words in an attempt to distract you from the burning stretch. Mingi had never taken your ass before, preferring the feel of your pussy’s tight velvety walls. He only now second guessed that decision, seeing the bliss on Wooyoung’s face before he was even fully flush with your body. Upon finishing sliding in, the two gave you a moment to adjust as you lean yourself fully into Wooyoung.
“Shit, can’t hold back anymore.” Wooyoung spoke after a moment, beginning to thrust up into you, his nails carving mini crescents into your hips. His thrust pushed Mingi in deeper, causing him to groan as he leaned over you a little more.
“Look at her taking both of you. Sucking you both in, like she doesn't want to let you go.” Yunho teased.
The two soon found a rhythm, moving so one was always filling you. Moans continued to tumble from your mouth as your eyes shut in pure bliss. You felt yourself sink into the feeling coursing through you, becoming somewhat unaware of what was happening around you. Body tingling from the pleasure coursing through it.
“Wanna try something.” Yunho mumbled and Mingi suddenly stilled inside of you letting out a loud groan.
Your eyes snapped open to see what was happening, noticing Yunho still behind Mingi.
“Oh, fuck.” Mingi groaned as you heard the snap of Yunho’s hips.
“Fuck, you’re so tight. Relax, Mingi.” It wasn’t hard to figure out what was happening, your eyes rolling back at the thought. The image of Yunho fucking your boyfriend being enough to push you over the edge, body spasming as you come undone.
“Shit, baby. Gonna… cum.” Mingi groaned into your shoulder as Yunho continued to thrust into him, jolting him into you more. Your sensitive walls clamping down around him.
“Yeah, gonna cum for us, Min? Fill our girl up?” Yunho spoke into his ear, causing Mingi to groan more.
“Holy shit, she's so tight. Fuck.” Wooyoung cursed as he tried to force himself to slow down, not wanting to come undone too early.
Curses tumbled out of Mingi's mouth as he all but collapsed on top of you. Your hypersensitive walls feel him pulse with each rough thrust from Yunho. It didn't take long till he was spilling inside you with a loud groan. Wooyoung's curses joined his as he tumbled over the edge as well. Their ropes of cum, covering your walls in white once more.
Yunho stopped his thrusts, groaning as he slowly pulled out of Mingi to savor the feeling. Taking a moment to breathe, Mingi stayed where he was. His hands rubbing your sides, to soothe you or himself you couldn't tell.
After a moment, Mingi pulled himself up and out. He helped to pull you off Wooyoung and you could feel the mess between your legs spilling onto the sheets. You couldn't find it in you to care though as you spotted Yunho sitting on the edge of the bed. A burning desire still in his eyes and he fisted his cock to the sight of you.
“Color?” He questioned, noticing your eyes on him.
“Still green, sir. Just sensitive.”
“Still want more? Even after all that?” He asked and you nodded, biting your lip. Your eyes dart between his clearly still hard cock and his eyes. You would do anything to help him with his problem once more.
“Damn, insatiable.” Wooyoung spoke with a smirk as he laid to the side, seemingly spent.
Mingi's eyes trailed your body, biting his lips as he looked at your swollen pussy. His cock twitched at the thought of going again, knowing your walls would wrap around him so well as sensitive as you were.
His eyes then moved to Yunho, taking in his form. His best friend had never looked more attractive. Pupils blown wide, biting his lips, with a hand wrapped around himself. Mingi was tempted to get a taste, but had a better idea as he looked at you once more.
“Wanna take her pussy together?” He asked, voice rough. He wanted to feel both of you as he came undone. To have you wrapped around both of them like they were around your fingers.
Yunho's eyes reluctantly pulled away from yours to meet Mingi's. A smirk pulled at his lips as he released his lower lip from his teeth. A brow raised at the idea, seeing the hopeful desire on Mingi's face.
“Think she can handle it?”
“Know she can. Right, baby?” Mingi asked, looking at you once more.
“Yes, please. I can take it.” The plea leaving your mouth without much thought. The two shared a look before moving.
Mingi was now behind you, maneuvering you to your knees. Yunho moved in front of you, taking your arms and wrapping them around his neck. You clung to him as Mingi aligned himself with your entrance once more.
Your eyes slid shut as you felt him push in. A moan fell from your lips as your nails dug into Yunho’s back. An overwhelming pleasure consuming you as he rubbed against your sensitive walls once more. Once his hips met yours, Yunho’s hand cupped your jaw. Your eyes blinked open, meeting his dark chocolate orbs.
“Color?”
“Green.” You answered without hesitation.
“You sure baby, you’re gripping me pretty tight.” Mingi questioned, almost teasing as he rested his head on your shoulder. His arms wrap around you completely, holding you to him.
“Yes, please. Ruin me.” You begged.
Yunho hesitated for a second before placing his tip at your entrance. His eyes glanced between yours and Mingi’s, as if trying to drag out this moment.
“Give her what she wants, Yuyu.” Wooyoung spoke, resting on his elbows, eyes just taking in everything in front of him.
Yunho cursed and began to push inside. You couldn’t help but tense up at the new intrusion, your breath hitching. The stretch feeling almost too much, like they were going to tear you in half. Mingi cursed and groaned, the feeling of you clenching around him with Yunho rubbing up against him, having him closer to the edge than he expected. Yunho’s head fell forward, resting on your shoulder.
“Relax, baby girl or I won’t get a chance to ruin you.” Yunho growls, holding on to what little control he still has.
“I’m trying.” You whined, feeling overwhelmed. The color yellow at the tip of your tongue. Discomfort and sensitivity almost too much for you to handle. Mingi’s arms being the steady anchor, grounding you.
“Don’t whine, baby. You wanted this.” Mingi growled into your ear. “You know what to say to make us stop.”
You stayed silent, not wanting to say it—wanting to see how this would go.
“Just take me,” Yunho muttered, not hearing anything from you. He continued to shove his way in. “Take us.”
His hips snapped flush with yours. Your eyes rolled as you collapsed back into Mingi, hands still gripping Yunho’s shoulders. If you weren’t in a daze, you would be sure that you broke his skin. An overwhelming feeling of fullness washed over you. Your sensitive walls pulsing around them.
Yunho and Mingi’s eyes met over your shoulder, the two giving you and themselves a moment to adjust to the feeling. Mingi’s arms loosen around you as his hand grabs the back of Yunho’s head, crashing their lips together again.
Their kiss seemed to break you from the daze you fell into. You met Wooyoung's eyes, a lazy smirk on his face as he watched the three of you together. He moves to kneel next to you, fisting himself as his lips find yours. Your eyes widen, not expecting this from him. He pulls back and turns your attention back to pillars holding you up.
Watching as Yunho bit Mingi's plush lip, forcing them open so he could get a taste. Their lips dancing together in a beautiful mess. Wooyoung’s lips find your tender neck, abusing the skin there for a moment.
Breaking apart, Yunho turned his attention to you. His lips crashed into yours and you felt more than heard the moan Mingi released. Wooyoung’s lips leave your neck as he moves closer to Mingi, giving his neck similar attention to yours. Mingi then gave an experimental thrust. Your moan spilling into Yunho's mouth, granting him access to your mouth. His tongue explored freely, his level of control to be admired as he soon joined Mingi. The two soon creating a rhythm that had you seeing stars.
You felt the daze return, the pleasure making you numb to everything else. Yunho pulled away from your mouth, allowing your whines and moans to spill freely into the air.
“Gripping us so tight, fuck. What a perfect pussy. Not gonna last.”
“Gonna ruin you for anyone else, just like you wanted. You're ours. Only ours.” Mingi growled into your ear.
“Say it, say that you're ours.”
“I'm…your's!” You managed to gasp out, causing them to groan.
Your orgasm came crashing into you like a wave, quicker than any you'd ever experienced before. It felt like a dam had broken open as you squirted around their cocks, drenching the sheets below you.
“Oh shit, she's gone.” Wooyoung spoke from over Mingi’s shoulder.
“Oh fuck, gonna cum.” Mingi groaned.
“Do it, cum with me.” Yunho commanded, their thrusts growing in intensity as he neared his peak.
The two came crashing seconds apart, spilling into you, coating your walls in white once more. Your mind went blank as your body shook from the intensity.
You weren't sure when they pulled out or who left to grab a towel, conscious only returning as Mingi carefully cleaned your legs from your mixed orgasms. A wince leaving your lips at the feeling.
“There you are, had us a little worried for a moment.” He spoke when he noticed your eyes registering him.
“Yunho? Wooyoung?” You questioned, not having the energy to look around.
“Right here, baby girl, already miss me?” Yunho teased as he leaned over Mingi’s shoulder. He planted a kiss on his shoulder before resting his chin in the same spot.
“Still here, doll.” Wooyoung spoke, head popping into your field of view. However, he was in the process of getting dressed, attempting to find his shirt in the different piles on the floor. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, v-line still on display for your viewing pleasure.
“Leaving already?” You croaked out, voice rough.
Wooyoung hummed, pausing his search for a moment as he thought on what to say. “You three have some things to discuss, I’m just gonna give you the space to do so.” He spoke softly, finally finding his top and putting it on.
A frown formed on your face as he then walked over to the bed and leaned over. “This won’t be the last you see of me, don’t worry.” He gave you a wink and then placed a kiss on your forehead, nodding to the other two as he left the room.
After the door shut, the three of you sat in silence for a moment. Your eyes glanced between the two men as Mingi finished with the towel, throwing it toward your laundry bin.
“Do you want a bath? We can start one for you.” Mingi offered, but you shook your head.
“We should probably talk about this.” Yunho spoke softly, eyes glancing between the two of you.
You hum in acknowledgement, moving to sit up slightly so as to be at the same level.
“I think… I know what I want now.” Mingi spoke hesitantly, eyes down, looking at the bed.
“And what’s that?”
“I want both of you... I want you both to be mine, whatever that looks like.” He spoke, eyes glancing tentatively at Yunho.
“And you baby girl? You want the same?” Yunho asked, eyes moving to you.
You nodded, “Yeah, it sometimes already felt like I was with both of you. I just want the confusion and tension gone.” You admitted with a small smile. Mingi’s hand moved to yours, thumb rubbing over your knuckles as if apologizing for putting you through that. His eyes met yours and held a loving softness to them that had your heart melting all over again.
“I want you both too.” Yunho spoke, bringing your attention to him. “I used to think I was jealous of Mingi, thinking I just wanted you, but then there were times where I wanted to be in your place as well. I had thoughts of both of you, but after what Wooyoung did tonight, I realized I wasn’t necessarily jealous of either of you, I just wanted in. I just wanted both of you.” Yunho confessed.
“Fuck, we coud’ve done this so much sooner.” Mingi cursed, causing you to laugh.
“Let’s not think about that too much. Now come cuddle.” You spoke, opening your arms to both of them.
“You heard her.” Yunho joked as he moved. They wrapped themselves on either side of you, Yunho being a big spoon around you as you curled into Mingi’s chest. You knew by the end of the night he would end up the little spoon though, unable to resist having your arms around him.
Closing your eyes, you felt yourself start to drift to sleep.
“I think we’ll need to properly thank Wooyoung, you know?” Yunho mumbled into your hair.
Synopsis. Five times Ryomen Sukuna’s “wingmanning” family is the biggest cóckbIock in existence, and the one time he finally gets what he wants - you, his nephew’s hot preschool teacher.
Pairing. Ryomen Sukuna x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!teacher!reader, 5 + 1 things, Itadori family shenanigans, unckuna, he has the BIGGEST crush on you, making him blush, face-ríding, síxty-nine, Sukuna with tattoos, PÚSSYDRÚNK Sukuna, he goes feraI, p sIapping, p talking, he’s BIG, chokíng, tummy buIges, manhandIing, dúmbifícation, creampíes, through pantíes, cúmplay, slight bréeding, getting together, nosy families, lowkey crackfic, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 12.6k
A/N. HEHE TOLD Y’ALL I’D WRITE IT…
“This is my uncle, he just got out of jail.”
“Hell yeah.” Not the most courteous introduction to Yuji’s wide-eyed lil’ friends - but if Jin had bugged n’ blackmailed him into picking the brat up from preschool today then he was going to make sure it never happens again.
And as Yuji starts swinging from Sukuna’s broad, beefy biceps, he grins at his miniature crowd. “He also has tattoos and likes to drink.”
“Hell yeah- don’t forget about the cars, twerp.” Sukuna’s nodding, breezing past the horrified faces of parents that tugged their children at least seven feet away. Seriously, how long was this teacher going to take? He could see your back hunched by another corner of the classroom, hugging a sniffly student goodbye.
“Oh yeah- and he likes driving fast and slashing tires.”
You straighten, probably hearing every word - not that he cared, Sukuna couldn’t imagine who’d want to be around this all day. “Hell ye- oh.”
Until you turned his way.
And Ryomen Sukuna feels his heart drop- right along with the muscular right arm that was stuck out for Yuji to climb all over like a handlebar. And with it, his nephew.
Who seems quite disgruntled at his sudden meeting with the soft, padded floor of the preschool classroom, standing on his own two feet for the first time since Sukuna had arrived here. He furrows his light brows, “Hey- wha’s the big- oh! Teacher!”
Seems like it runs in the family, Sukuna muses - because all it takes is one glimpse of you starting to head their way before Yuji lights up as brightly as the Sun itself. And to Sukuna, whose nephew was a perpetual Christmas tree, it almost made him wish he wore his usual shades.
At least that would’ve hid the way his crimson eyes sweep up n’ down your figure, languidly. Breath stuttered, mouth partly agape.
Sukuna’s utterly forgetting himself before he’s called out by one of Yuji’s friends- a squeaky, orange-haired girl no older than five. “Ewwww- why are you red?”
“Shut it, bob-cut.”
“So—” Perfect timing, you sidle up to the bustling little group right as Sukuna spits out the tail end of his sentence. A brow of yours raised, bob-cut?
And oh- you’re even more perfect up close. Is it really too late for him to enroll in preschool? He didn’t see any age restrictions around, and he could count till ten, surely. Genuinely considering, he’s gulping at the way your pretty eyes narrow. “Jin’s not here today? Yuji, do you know this man?”
The boy in question bounces with excitement, “Of course! This is Sukuna, my uncle who just got out of jail and drives fast cars.”
“Ah- ahah.” Said Sukuna chuckles gingerly, eyes flitting between his beaming nephew and your blank expression. Finally settling on the kid, “Yuji! What have I told you about uh- the benefits of um- safe driving and caring for our fellow civilians on the road?”
And there was Sukuna’s first mistake - asking a question, because surely that was a sign for Yuji to nod solemnly. “That it’s for lame pussies who- mmpf!”
“Ah…” You blink.
The damage was already done- but Sukuna’s clapping a meaty palm over Yuji’s mouth already. Oh, he was smashing this kid’s iPad when they’re home. A thin line of nervous sweat beads down his temple as he stares up at you, “K-kids these days, right, ma’am?”
Yuji frowns, “But you do call them lame pussies who-”
“Yuji!”
“Right right, miss.” The lively girl from before - Kugisaki, he thinks her name was - latches onto your swaying skirts. “And he also likes to drink.”
“And slash tires.”
“Tuna mayo.”
The crowd mercifully quietens down for a split-second. “…”
Until a grumpy black-haired boy peeks through his bangs at that last line, as if translating. “He says he also sets fires.”
Sukuna never said that - but he doesn’t get a single chance to say so. Too busy staring at the constant knit of your brows, the way your gaze was darting from the children to Sukuna like a tennis match, trying to bite back a smile. “I-is that so?”
“And he has a lotta tattoos.” Yuji pries off his uncle’s muffling palm, back to climbing him like his very own jungle gym. As if to prove his point, he pokes the bulging band of black ink that encircles Sukuna’s bicep. “See?”
And if he was any less devastated about making himself look like an absolute fool in front of his nephew’s pretty preschool teacher, then maybe he’d have noticed that look in your eyes.
Maybe.
Maybe he’d have seen the slight glint in them as you followed Yuji’s pudgy, directing finger - from the wide tattoos at his biceps, to his wrist, to the circles peeking through Sukuna’s off-white undershirt. So tight that it was like the pale color was nearly painted onto him- if Itadori Jin was the sweet, soft single dad that was always early for pick-up, then Sukuna was just rugged.
From the dishevelled state of his twinning rosy hair, to the studded piercing on his left earlobe, to the naturally-honed muscles that made him look hulking.
And it almost seemed like you were…checking him out? But surely that was a figment of Sukuna’s imagination, right? Right?
You’re nodding as Yuji looks to you impatiently for approval, “Why, you’re quite right, Yuji.” The corners of your glossed lips curl upwards as you turn to Sukuna - and he feels electricity pang down his body. “Uncles these days, huh?”
Ah, he was gone for.
It was almost a comical sight, you’re thinking - such a large, towering man well over six feet, speechlessly gawking at you. Leaned forwards, ears red; barely even registering the way his nephew grabs onto the tufts of his coral pink hair like a horse- whispering for the rest of his friends to join in.
Kugisaki makes two treks grabbing onto his sides before she’s looking up and crinkling her nose, “Ew. You’re red again, Mr. Felon.”
“He’s not Mr. Felon, he’s Mr. Tire-slasher.”
Yuji shakes his head, “No, he’s Mr. Mugshot.” Seated upon Sukuna’s broad shoulders, the boy adjusts his body to stick a hand inside his backpack and search. “Would you like to see the mugshot, miss-”
“Okay, time for us to get home.”
Firmly, Sukuna tries to shoo away the army of toddlers trying to climb him as gently as possible - only four glares, now that’s a record. Nephew still on his back, bag now wrestled into his hand and well away from where Yuji could procure any printouts of his (admittedly flattering) mugshot.
He’s feeling his heartbeat pick up just a lil’ as he darts his eyes back to you, “I-it was just probation, by the way. Happened to slash some uh- tires…”
“And also drive fast!” Yuji pipes up happily.
“…That too.” Grouchy face wincing at the amused smile on your face- goddammit he’s never going to be able to show his face here ever again. Sukuna simpers out a wave, making sure to flex his chiseled biceps at you ever-so-slightly - if he couldn’t keep reputation, at least he could make you stare. “See you ‘round, teach.”
“See you around, Mr. Mugshot.”
Fuck.
.
.
.
“I thought I said I’m not doing shit for the brat’s school again.”
Jin patiently gestures for him to hush with the swearing in front of the gaggle of children, humming as he keeps handing out sugar cookies - half-off for dealing with Sukuna’s shoddy customer service. “Well, technically, we’re not in the preschool. We’re in the park.”
His younger brother seethes, flicking the ribbons of his pretty pink apron (Jin’s doing, of course.) “Having a damn bake sale-”
“Shush, Ryo. There are children around.”
“Exactly my point!” Was Sukuna the crazy one? He must be the crazy one. And he’s running a grumpy hand through his unruly pink locks- before remembering that one of those damn kids running around this bake sale had called him cotton-candy head and now he’s both irritated and unable to self-soothe.
It’d been Jin’s idea to drag him to the preschool bake sale, held at the nearby children’s park- something about raising money for a talent show.
Honestly, fuck talent shows. It didn’t even take two minutes surrounded by all the fanfare for him to have half the mind to eat those sweet treats himself and just leave-
“Oh hey, you’re Mr. Mugshot.” A little boy wearing a panda mask, one he’s never even seen before, points up at him and giggles as Sukuna glares. Did that nickname really spread?
He’s bending over their frilly pink stall with a damn good word or two about-
“Oh! Jin, thank you for coming.” Before he’s hearing the sound of the pearly gates of heaven, and an angel to accompany right along with it. You. Who’d silently meandered up to their cookie stand with an expression of both delight and concern. Your gorgeous mouth pursing as you stop to think, “And…Sukuna, right? Thank you, too, the children really appreciate the work you’re putting in.”
You remembered his name. He has to hold back a squeal.
“A-ah, yeah- yeah! Of course, of course.” He’s swiftly leaning over the stall, arms crossed so that you can fully take in the way they streeetch his tight sleeveless turtleneck.
In the faint distance - honestly, it feels like miles away - he’s hearing the panda-mask boy unsubtly whisper something to his father about how ‘Mr. Mugshot has turned red.’
Not! Obviously not- smooth. Ryomen Sukuna is supposed to be smooth, and he’s desperately attacking his features into something that resembles suave nonchalance. “I’m a…real philanthropic type of guy, y’know?” Cocking his head with a smug grin, “So, you come ‘round here often?”
You’re smirking, your giggle sounding like his favorite song. “Well, it is my preschool class.”
Ah, shit. His eyes widen just a fraction, right.
Scoffing, “Tch, uh, yeah. I knew that.”
So many days spent mentally praying that yet another one of Jin’s work meetings went over time again - just so that Sukuna would have an excuse to see your pretty face. And that’s the first thing he says?
Suddenly, he’s too aware of the ogling toddlers, of the snug pink apron that he was currently donning - and the way your eyes seem to stray down to the gaudy bow settled between his pecs.
At this point, it seems even his brother takes pity on him. Adjusting his glasses with a soft chuckle, “It seems Ryo here had the greatest time at pick-up last week, he only had good things to say about you, ma’am.”
You blink in slight surprise, eyes taking in Sukuna’s large, fidgeting figure. “I’m quite flattered.”
Yes! Sukuna’s pleading eyes snap to the interested twinkle in your eyes, and then to the other man- yes, keep going!
“Of course, Yuji did tell me he was upset he didn’t get to show you his printed mugshot of him. It was all that he could-”
Fuck no!
Catching the other’s urgent eyes, Jin sputters- “B-but- but, it was just a little vandalism, of course. Just a little ah…a little driving and- eek!” Cutting himself off promptly as soon as Sukuna steps down on Jin’s foot, syllables stumbling, looking ‘round anywhere for any distraction. “Why don’t you- ah! Why don’t you give our lovely teacher here a cookie, Sukuna. Free of charge.”
You’re waving your hands, oh-so-sweetly, “I could never, please let me pay-”
“Nah, a pretty girl like you? I should give you more, ma.” He could give you a totally different type of cookie but this might just not be the place to say those words out loud- ah, he’s still got it.
Sukuna’s thumbing out the biggest baked treat between a fluffy tissue and handing it over to you- ready to feel the sweet, sweet graze of your fingertips, if he was lucky.
But oh- it seems like the gates of heaven really have just opened up to him, because instead of taking it from his hands, you’re leaning down and taking a bite. Straight from where he held it. Humming as the candied taste floods your mouth, the soft pushness of your lips taps against the edge of his thumb.
And he wonders how they’d feel on his lips, instead.
“Ah, sorry.” You’re taking a peek at him through your lashes and maybe he doesn’t still have it because Sukuna feels his breath hitch. “It just looked so good, and my hands are a little…”
And it’s only then that he’s noticing just how many boxes upon bags of things you’d bought from nearly every stall here. Happy to support your students - oh, you really were an angel.
“Oh, let me.” Ever the gentleman, Jin hastens to move around a few bags so that you’re more comfortable. All while Sukuna can only hold out the cookie and freeze. Slack-jawed.
Completely ridiculous.
He doesn’t move a single millimeter, not even when you’re now able to easily grasp the baked good from him. Expectantly waiting, palm raised - while he only ogles you.
“I uh- let me just-” And it takes Itadori Jin both hands to pry the crumbling cookie from Sukuna’s hands, sighing before wrapping up about two more in apology and handing them over to you. “We do hope you like them, ma’am.”
“Mhm—” Rubbing over the crumbs at the edge of your lower lip with one hand, you look dead-set on Sukuna as you murmur. “It was delicious. My compliments to the chef.”
Sukuna might not have been the chef - baker, whatever you said goes - it was Jin, but he can’t help but feel on top of the world as if he was. Waiting just until you’re out of sight, walking through the sunny Spring park up to the next parent-manned stand, to pump his fist with a low ‘hell yeah!’
“Ryo, you haven’t been this smitten since- well, ever.”
“Daddy, Mr. Mugshot is really weird.”
Sukuna whirls at a few staring parents- “The fuck are you lookin’ at?”
.
.
.
“Remind me why you’re here again?”
“Remind me why you’re here again?”
Arguing with a thirteen-year-old wasn’t very high on Sukuna’s bucket list, and yet, it seemed to happen on a nearly daily basis. He would blame middle school for being the root of Choso’s attitude, but he suspects the new emo look has something to do with it, too.
And maybe the fact that the older man was accompanying one of his weekly visits to Yuji’s preschool playground. Cutting off just the last of Friday’s classes just so that he could walk down the street to see his little brother. Despite seeing him at home every day, but still.
That’s also what Sukuna himself was here for- of course. Why else would he-
“Ah ah- Kugisaki, what have I told you about using the toy construction hammer for things other than construction? We don’t hit, m’kay?”
Sighing, the way that Sukuna’s towering frame leans against the playground’s cherry blossom tree for support draws such disgust from Choso. Dark eyes flickering between his blushing uncle, and you - in the middle of the sand pit, trying to wrangle a class of toddlers. “You’re pathetic.”
“Shut it, scrawny.”
“Why don’t you just talk to her?”
Sukuna’s life flashes before his very eyes, and strangely it’s mainly made up of every moment where he’s embarrassed himself in front of you. Looking away with a huff, “It’s…complicated.”
The other snickers, “Well, it’s about to get a whole lot more complicated because she’s coming up to us right now.”
Oh, fuck.
Now, he might have had the sense to ‘accidentally’ bump into his oldest nephew just as he was on his route to meet Yuji (Sukuna had memorized his schedule, sauntering by this very block for an hour until he’d run into Choso) - but he didn’t have enough wit for this.
Conversations? With both parties and a classroom of preschoolers participating?
He was just about ready to race right out of here and leave Choso to the wolves-
“Cho! You’re here as always.” You’re smiling as you waltz up to them, a neat line of toddlers following you as they would a mother duck. Hitting him with your scent of flowers n’ the sunniest of days, “And I see you’ve brought along a guest with you- how are you, Sukuna?”
“F-fine.” F-fine? With a stutter? Sukuna simply bristles at the smirk his nephew shoots his way, already feeling the tips of his pierced ears start to scald bright hot.
“Bubba!”
Saved by the bell-like shriek of Yuji, enough to make Choso take a few steps over and hug his toddling brother so tight that the former squeals. Checking him over for scratches, dust, stickers- you name it.
You’re catching the raise of Sukuna’s brows and chuckle, “He is always quite the attentive older brother. You should join us more often, I’m sure Yuji would enjoy having his favorite uncle around.”
Mouth dry, “I’m- I’m his only uncle.”
Yet, your grin still stands - a slight knowing curve in them that makes his brain fuzzy, and his lips just a bit too loose. Did he say he liked drinking again? What a fucking lie, you got him more buzzed than a shot of straight vodka pumping through his nerves.
And he’s finding himself reaching over to brush a stray petal of cherry-pink from your crown. Blurting out before he can stop himself, “Hey…so what’s your ty- I mean, are you seeing any-”
“She’s mine!” Cuts off an annoying, grating voice - one that understood what you evidently didn’t, with the few syllables that Sukuna had been able to croak out.
And he’s looking over your shoulder to find himself being stared down (stared up at?) by a boisterous, buzz-cut boy slightly older than Yuji. Protectively standing behind you as he glared daggers, “When I’m old like you, she shall be my bride, Mr. Mugshot.”
Huh.
You’re droning out in your nicest tone, wagging your finger. “Now now, Todo Aoi, what have I told you about not proposing to your teachers?”
“To not.”
“And what are you doing?”
“Proposing.” Stifling a sigh, you realise that it would be yet another chat with Todo’s guardian about the boy’s harmless little puppy crush.
But before you can direct the conversation back towards anything else, he’s stabbing an accusing index up at Sukuna’s looming frame. “Miss teacher here-” Not quite your name, but close enough. “-and my sweet idol Takada-chan are the only ones I shall marry. You can’t have either!”
“Who the hell…” Sukuna furrows his brows- what was this boy talking about? “Listen, kid, I-”
“Pffft–!” He could recognize that burst of muffled laughter anywhere, and at least Choso was having a grand ol’ time- whispering to Yuji, “Don’t you think this is like those late-night dramas dad pretends not to watch?”
No! Sukuna’s internally groaning.
“Oh- oh yeah!” An over-hearing Kugisaki bounces at the mention of dramas, “My mommy watches those. Times like this the two guys will fight over the pretty girl.”
Todo puffs up his chest, “Then fight me, old man- I demand a duel!”
“I’m not even thirty?”
“That’s old.” Choso nods.
“You’re thirteen.”
“I’m five!” Yuji jumps up, and immediately his older brother’s pulling his phone out to snap a few hundred photographs at the cuteness.
Todo stomps, “Fight me, fossil–”
And his young nephew - that traitor - is the next one to shrill with glee at the altercation, clapping his hands once Todo charges forward with a damn war cry to pummel Sukuna’s abs with hits about as fierce as cotton. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
At the slight raise of your brows at the chaos, Sukuna rushes to explain, “Please excuse my nephew’s behaviour, ma’am, I don’t know where he got it from-”
Choso deadpans, “But you’re the one that taught us that the best talk is to talk with your fists because-” The two brothers turn to each other in unison, as if preaching the truth and nothing but the truth. “-we’re no weakass bi-”
“Their father.” Sukuna grits out- okay, maybe that kid’s punches were getting a little more painful. Or maybe it was just the way you were cocking your head at him that made his stomach churn, “Surely.”
“Defend the honor of your woman, geriatric–!”
Seemingly snapping out of the little reverie of taking in whatever the fuck this was, you clap your hands in that teacherly way to demand silence. “Alright alright, break it up. You wouldn’t want me to take down any of your star points, would you, Aoi?” Tugging away the boy from Sukuna, you grimace up at him. “I’m so sorry about all of- well- this.”
“Y’know how they apologize to each other in the dramas?” Kugisaki speaks up, and honestly, this girl really did speak up at the most inopportune times. She glows at all the attention on her, “They kiss.”
And she was a genius.
An absolute genius, bob-cut!
Yuji - ever his lil’ ally - starts pumping his fist with whoots- “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
Starting up a slight chant within your group, you turn to him in question.
“I uh…” Sukuna starts, tilting his body down ever-so-slightly, until you could could nearly every thread on his dark hoodie. The way his slashing tattoos framing his jaw ripple as he gulps, “You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, ma- that’s assuming you wanted to do something, and what I meant was-”
It was one second. A singular, heavenly second that your lips graze the right side of Sukuna’s cheek as he rambled - fluttering away right before his skin started to scorch with a blush.
Quite frankly, fuck nonchalance.
“Ewww, he’s red again. What’s wrong with him?”
“Were you this red when you were setting fires, Mr. Mugshot?”
“He looked nothing like this in his mugshot- wanna see?”
“Salmon.”
Ears tinting a shade that matches his hair, voicebox void of any coherent words, Sukuna barely even functions until he’s hearing the sharp ka-chick! of a camera shutter. Whirling his head ‘round to find Choso with his phone pointed at him, catching him in all his flustered glory. “I’ll send it to the family groupchat.” He turns to you. “And to you on the preschool groupchat.”
Imagine Sukuna’s surprise when he finds you nodding, “Mhm, oh, and I should really be getting the kids back now, it’s almost time for the bell.” Making the kids waddle into a neat line once more, you wave. “Thank you for the visit- do come again, it was quite…interesting.”
And they stare - Choso at Yuji, Sukuna at you - as you and your classroom disappear back within the preschool walls. “No phone for you for two weeks.”
“No hot teacher’s number for you forever.”
Only after a second- “Hey- hey kid. Show me that number again? I’ll make it one week.”
.
.
.
Sukuna had almost, mercifully, forgotten about that damn talent show.
The bake sale? Gaping at you for nearly five full minutes straight? Never happened.
And he’d almost convinced himself of that- until the time came for him to be seated right on the very front row of the cozy preschool auditorium. Taking up nearly three chairs as he squeezes himself into the humble seat, arms crossed and scowling.
“You know…” Jin claps as Yuji and Kugisaki fight to clamber onto stage first, with a reluctant Fushiguro in tow. About to showcase whatever it is that they’d been practising with doves and sticks all week. From the corner of his mouth, “When we had the kiddos over, Megs told me something very interesting the other day.”
“Hm.” Sukuna’s grunts noncommittally when Yuji pulls out a comically large fairy wand - ah, a magic show.
“Something about you duelling with a kid for the hand of a certain someone.”
Letting out a strangled groan, his eyes immediately find you - as they always seemed to do. Stuck on the way you were kneeled by the front of the stage, motivating each little performer tonight. “Y-ya don’t say…”
Jin beams, “You know, you should really ask her out, Ryo- oh! Do you need our help? I can tell you this, the Itadori family makes great wingmen.”
“Ya don’t say.”
Tattletale, Sukuna’s grousing. And just as Fushiguro Megumi finds himself being stuffed into a box - to be sawed in half as all good magicians did, apparently - the older man slowly, menacingly pulls out his prized camcorder.
Just in time for Fushiguro to glance over and have his face pale at the blinking, recording lens.
“After all, Megumi did say you were blushing like a- what was it- ‘maiden in love’ that day. How cute.”
“Ya don’t say.” Sukuna zooms in, right on the black-haired boy’s ashen face once the saw raises high in the air to magically cut him in half. And to make things even worse, he starts pointing at his camera, mouthing through a grin, ‘Oh yes.’ At Fushiguro’s slight shake of his head. ‘You are dead.’
But, alas, it was too good to be true.
And instead of having the little snitch be the casualty in one of Yuji’s magic tricks, the talent show goes shockingly smoothly. Hell, Wasuke slept through only about half of it, which was as much of a compliment as one could get.
All because of your efforts, surely - and when the entire thing ends with (surprise, surprise) every little brat getting awarded a winning prize, Sukuna finds himself not half-annoyed that he’d actually sat through all of it.
Well, right up until about when it was time for the exhausted preschoolers to be taken home by their families.
And Yuji comes bounding up to the four with a squealing—“Dadda–! Bubba–! Gramps–! Mr. Mug-”
“Another word out of you and I’m throwing your iPad out the window.” Sukuna grumbles, heart leaping to his throat when he’s spotting your chuckling figure follow up behind his nephew, as if Jin’s elbowing wasn’t a sign enough.
Yuji frowns, “Aw, but I already told everyone here.”
Damn gremlin- but before he can get another word in, you’re already greeting his brother and father with a smile. “It’s so great to see you again, Mr. Itadori- I hope that blood pressure you were telling me about is better now.”
“Ah, ya know- I won’t be dying any time soon.” Wasuke barks out a hoarse noise of laughter, before beadily eyeing Sukuna. “This one, however…”
Your gorgeous face drops in worry, and he doesn’t know whether to whine at his father for letting you make that expression, or giggle because you cared about him. Fuck. “Oh no- everything alright, Sukuna?”
But Wasuke answers for him, “No. Not at all, quite the incurable disease, my dear.”
He watches on in matching confusion with Yuji as Jin lights up beside him, “Ah- ah! Right right, that-” Soothing his face into something pitiful as he turns to you, “That ah- thing that only heh- one person can solve.”
About as subtle as a sledgehammer.
And just as efficient in bagging the woman of one’s dreams.
Because you only furrow your brows in confusion, “I’m…sorry? What?”
Sukuna’s older brother’s smile tightens in desperation, nervously laughing. “You- you know…that thing?” And you tilt your head, eyes darting between the four as if trying to work out the punchline. “The thing like- the heart condition? No- not something serious but like…the butterflies?” Now looking to Sukuna for help - as if the other man wouldn’t just let him rot in the very grave he’d dug for himself.
Then at Choso, who’d been quietly attempting to disappear into the wall plaster. Trying not to laugh as he dotes on Yuji, “The doki-doki.”
Jin snaps his fingers, “Yes! Like the doki-doki? The-”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake- he wants to fu-”
“That’s enough for tonight, pa.” It really does run in the family - because in a split-second, Sukuna has his palm clapped over Itadori Wasuke’s mouth. Smile painfully plastic, “Did you take your meds today, dear father? I don’t believe you took your meds today.”
He plunges his sprightly father into Jin’s arms, “Say, Jin, why don’t you get dad his meds.” Making note of the way that you - still thoroughly confused, and now thoroughly off your shift helping each student get to their guardian - were toyin’ with the cute decorations of your car keys.
Letting his mouth work before his brain could regret anything- “And why don’t I walk you to your car, ma?”
“I- what.” You’re somewhat shocked at being addressed so directly, and at the kindly incline of Sukuna’s head. “Don’t you have a heart condition? I wouldn’t want to exert you, Sukuna.”
Wasuke grunts, “Exert him in another- mmpf-” Hastily shushed by Choso’s palm, more for his sanity’s sake than his uncle’s.
These damn- he narrows a glare down at an unabashedly-eavesdropping Jin and Wasuke. “No. No, don’t worry about it, they were just joking. Ha. Ha.”
Well…it was quite dark outside the building, even with the surrounding streetlights. And your vehicle might just be a little ways away but it never hurt to be extra safe, did it? Especially when his stature was so intimidating anyways?
And so, you nod.
And he walks with you.
More like floats beside you on cloud nine, actually. Sukuna’s sure you two made quite a sight in the corridor, if the way passing parents whispered to each other signalled anything - him, with his ears flared red, unable to even look at you directly as you two were alone. You, as perfect as ever.
“Ah- so-”
“What did you-”
You’re both speaking at the same time once you’re out of the school building, laughing into the nearly-empty night air that forms clouds out of your puffs of laughter. The few minutes of a walk to the parking lot seemed like eternity - and Sukuna would have gladly let it be.
“You speak.” You’re urging.
“No you.”
“You-”
“I refuse.”
“Fine.” Rolling your eyes, you never noticed the way he always seemed to nudge his head ever-so-closely to you whenever you spoke. As if he was hanging onto your every word. “What did you think about the talent show?”
“Brilliant. All because of you, of course- got so much blackmail to use in ten years.” He cackles.
Though, that’s stopped short very soon the nanosecond you’re nudging him playfully. Heat touching heat. And he shivers, “Hit me if this is strange.” Letting the tense air clog his throat, at least, that’s his excuse for it. “But do you remember that thing I meant to ask you that one time at the playground…”
“Yes—?”
“Are you-” Sukuna’s husky baritone cracks and he twists his face into a wince, “D-do you happen to be seeing anyone?”
You blink, and there’s something about the way you look at him that makes him feel like you’re holding back such a smile. How he wished to see it right now. Musing into the silent night air, only thrumming with your footsteps towards the car, “Nope.”
“O-oh.” And if this was any other time, then he’d be embarrassed about how obviously relieved he sounds. How you surely must have picked up on it.
Faking nonchalance, he’s stuffing his hand into the baggy cloth of his ripped jeans, “Cool.” And it was a damn good thing you didn’t have x-ray vision like all the heroes in all those weekend cartoons Yuji watched - because then you’d have seen the way his painted nails dig in so deeply into his palms in pure excitement. Nearly hard enough to draw blood. “Very cool.”
“Very cool.” You’re echoing, now stood by the driver’s seat of your car - just waiting for him to say something. Anything.
Waiting as he opens his mouth- “What’s your ty-”
“Yuji- Yuji noooo- don’t interrupt your uncle’s k-drama moment- oh, dammit.” Itadori Jin, who’d been chasing after an adventure-hungry Yuji, balks at the way you were both so close. Snatching up his struggling toddler, “Forget about me! We- we never here- go back to doing whatever you were doing!”
And somehow, you lurch apart as if you’d just been shocked. Only now realizing just how warm the temperature of his proximity was, fighting to keep your professional façade in front of your spying audience.
“I bid you goodnight, Jin- Yuji.” Gesturing out a wave, you’re getting into your ride so quickly that Sukuna thinks he must’ve been dreaming you up. “And you, Sukuna.”
Nevermind- not a dream.
Definitely not a dream. Because even in his sweetest hallucinations he wouldn’t have been able to make you say his name like that. Almost a purr. Almost batting your lashes.
Almost ripping out his heart from his very chest as you then speed down the road.
“That’s the best ya could’ve done, sonny? Even after I taught you everything to know about wooing a woman?” How very much like Wasuke to manifest from nearly thin air, from somewhere out of the shadows of the building.
“Not that.”
“Especially that.”
The older man only waves off Jin’s bemoaning concern about ‘ruining the moment- they had a doki-doki moment!’ “Choso’s in the car, can’t believe I lost a bet to a middle-schooler. Dammit.”
Sukuna’s eyes widen, “You…bet on me?”
“Whaddaya think, sonny?”
Jin smiles, “Guilty.”
“Gwuilty!”
“No- no, Yuji, not guilty.”
Wasuke paces away, shaking his head. “Thought I raised you better- keh! Thought I’d get grandchildren from you, too. Tch, now I owe a middle-schooler fifty yen, oh, woe is me.”
It takes a second for Sukuna to register the words, “Wait- only fifty yen?”
“Yeah, that’s just about my belief in you, kid.”
.
.
.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
“Oi- oi, Jin. Go get the door.”
“I’m cooking dinner–! Cho, could you get the door?”
“I’m in the middle of homework- ask uncle.”
Sukuna grumbles, why the hell was he the one to always answer that damn door? Honestly, Yuji could buck up and get some experience yelling at sleazy salesmen sometimes. Sprawled out across the TV room couch, he stares at his nephew playing with a toy bow and arrows set on the floor, “Yuji, could you get the-”
“I can hear you, Ryo.”
Dammit- there was a reason why Itadori Jin was the older brother.
And there was also a reason why Ryomen Sukuna had a reputation in this quaint neighborhood for being a boor - not that that was much of a brag. But at least it explained why he was stomping up to the oak front door, damn near ripping it off its hinges with a growl- “We’re not buying any- oh.”
‘Oh’ was right.
Because standing right there on his porch was a damn sight for sore eyes - you.
You, with your mouth parted and your brows slightly raised as you looked from the messy bangs of his locks to the oversized sweater he was wearing. You, who doesn’t even flinch about the fact that he’d just answered the door yelling. You, donned in a pretty lil’ skirt that makes him gulp-
“You okay, Sukuna?”
“No. So how are you doin’ on this fine day, ma? ”
“Oh!” A happy call of your name makes you turn - even though Sukuna just stares, shell-shocked. Jin shoves him bodily out of the way, opening the door wider, “Please- come in, we’ve been expecting you.”
Looking down at the slight stain of something at the hem of his sweatpants, the other man frowns. It’s not like that was news he’d ever forget - so why the hell was he looking like that? “We have?”
“Yes?” Jin’s showing you the way in- only for you to be dragged in by an overeager Yuji anyways. And as the two of you disappear down the halls, he’s turning to his taller brother in genuine confusion. “Did Cho not tell you that we were having Yuji’s teacher over for dinner tonight?”
At Sukuna’s sputtering, Jin wastes no time grasping a nearby broomstick and thumping the wooden end up against the ceiling. “Kamo Choso–!”
And out comes a muffled reply, “I told grandpa to tell him!”
“Haaah? I told Yuji to.”
It sinks in. The fact that you were here, all prettily dolled-up and at their family home - and you’d happened to see him in nothing but a stained, ratty sweatshirt and pants torn down the side of his thigh to show off one tattoo.
Jin grimaces, “Um…we can still wingman our way through this?”
“I’m gonna kill you.”
Murder does not, in fact, come before dinner; as all good manners dictate. And Sukuna decides that revenge can wait after he’s totally, completely, utterly made you swoon.
“S-so-” Only after a quick change into his best tightly-fitted turtleneck and his silver chains did he dare to show his face ‘round you again. Spritzing enough cologne to almost overpower Jin’s omurice, he tries to smize from where he was sitting right opposite you on the kotatsu. “Nice place, huh?”
The shot of extra, extra strong sake that Wasuke slides over is a consolation as much as a ‘you’re not in a restaurant, you fool!’ He finishes the cup in one go.
“You do have a very beautiful home.” You’re nodding over at a proud Jin.
“And the- food- how is the food?” Another cup- what moral support, father.
“Mmm- amazing, I usually never have the time to cook much for myself with the kids n’ all.”
Which Jin takes as the cue for him to butt in on the conversation, helping it flow as smoothly as an enclosing dam would to a river. “You like kids, huh?” Kicking Sukuna underneath the kotatsu, he rattles the plates. “Our Ryo here also…tolerates children.”
“Really?” You’re teasing, “I couldn’t tell.”
“Why I love kids, yeah.” Sukuna tuts as he lifts his hand to pat the crown of Choso’s head- who only swerves out of the way, food finished n’ leaving the room to join his brother playing. Hiccuping, you were so pretty sat in front of him like this- too pretty, that the vision of you was starting to get blurry.
And another cup.
He’s jostled by the tap of Jin’s hand on his arms- “And he’s actually quite sweet in his own way once you get to know him. I’m sure dad agrees-” Ignoring Wasuke’s ‘I don’t’. “-that he’d make such a responsible-”
“U-unless you don’t like kids.” Still stuck on that - still. Sukuna downs it and then shakily pours himself another. “In that case, I don’t like kids either. Yeah, can’t stand them.”
And another.
Jin and Wasuke share a glance between themselves when the hulking man leans over the kotatsu towards you with what sounded suspiciously like a whine. “Would you want kids with me?”
And-
“Sukuna-”
“W-well—time for Ryo to be put to bed, I think.” Jin hastily stands up, struggling to hoist his oversized younger brother from his seat. Failing, evidently, as in that time he’s managing to gulp down another two or three sake cups. “Dad- a little- help?”
Wasuke only shakes his head gravely at you, “You should know he was switched at birth.”
“We’re nearly identical twins–”
“Twins? What-” Sukuna babbles, “Does she want twins?”
Glassy eyes blinking n’ squinting furiously down at you as if trying to figure out whether you were real. Before ultimately giving up, it seems.
Because he’s stumbling a few unsteady steps forwards, pulled by Jin, before dropping to his knees and toppling his head over your lap, just by the gap of the kotatsu edge and your stomach. He’s nuzzling his face right against your tummy, “Mmm— maybe triplets. Would be the cutest fuckin’ things if they looked anything like hck! her.”
You giggle and he gasps- as if the epiphany had just struck him. “Quadruplets?”
Starin’ down at him, at the rosy blush painting his ears, you’re muttering. “You wish.”
“Dammit- even this hck! illusion of her is fine as fuck. Shit. I wonder if her type is…”
Trailing off, he looks to his older brother for assistance- who helpfully supplies, “Sad and drunk?”
Wasuke’s contribution- “Zero game- as the kids say?”
“Dangerous?” You pretend to think, assessing over the mountainous heap of a man. “Actually- only pretends to be but is really a softie inside?”
“Yes! That- wonder if he type is dangerous…pretend dangerous. I’d give her all the kids she’d ever want- all big…n’ glowing…” It was almost like the setting of the sun, and just as quietly that Sukuna’s dipping past the edge of consciousness. “And…mine…if she wants. Oh, only if she wants- I’ve gotta- hck!” He turns up slightly to you, “-gotta woo her first, you see? Gotta date her…marry…but- but most of all…” Words slowing, heartbeat still racing whenever he looked at you. “I…just want to love you, pretty girl.”
And with that, he was out like a flickered light.
With only Wasuke, Jin, and Choso with his camera snooping through the doorway as witnesses for when you’re snaking a hand down to the phone bulging in Sukuna’s pocket. Quickly entering a few coordinates and a date.
And a heart emoji.
.
.
.
“Oh- oh, shit, mama.” Sukuna’s tongue lays over the sheeny insides of your thighs, throat muddled with groans and the cloying taste of your slick gluing to his rovering mouth.
Honestly, fuck whatever tips his family had made him memorize before coming over for his lil’ ‘talk’ at your cozy apartment, as promised. Because the two of you had barely made out two or three words before Sukuna found himself sprawled on his back on your bed.
Your knees framing his face, your clothed cunt right near his mouth.
Right near where he’s dotting your skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses that make your entire body tremble. Whimpering over your shoulder, “D-didn’t think you’d be such a tease, Kuna.”
“Because this isn’t real.” He’s breathing out, as if he’s just so sure of that fact. As if he can glide his ringed index down the dampened slit of your folds and drool- because this feels like a dream n’ he was going to savor every moment. “Fuck, there’s no way this is-”
And just at that very moment, he’s craning his head up further between your pretty, pretty legs. Greedy tastebuds darted out just so he can catch the treacly splat! of your leaking slit.
Dampening his tongue n’ drooling all down the edge of his tattooed chin, “Do you even know how many times I’ve imagined this exact moment?”
“Mmm- no-” You’re wrenching out a heady puff of air- spread on your front in the meanest sixty-nine. You gulp down your parched throat as you’re taking in the wet, bulging outline of Sukuna’s erection through his boxers. “But I can guess.”
He was just so big, aching-
Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t just rock-hard. He was hard enough that he’s sure his round, bawling tip was damn near ready to fall off, twitching oh-so-painfully in his pants as he’s snapping back your soaked panties with a wet thwack!
Just a glimpse of the wet haven you were hiding and he’s groaning throatily, “Guess-” He hisses, close enough that the straight end of his nose slides down your puffy pussylips. Nudging your panties to the side and sniiiiiffing you, “You’ll never be able to guess how badly I want you, pretty girl.”
Never.
Never would you have even been able to register that within mere split-seconds, he’d have one beefy arm looping around your hips to make you sit on top of his mouth.
Slamming the edge of your cunt against his chin, plopping your full weight down until he’s nose-deep between your quivering legs. “Fuck-” Letting the first gush of your saccharine juices flood his throat, lips against lips. “Fuck fuck fuck- what was I even…saying?”
“W-wait–” Your breath hitches, spine arching into such a perfect curvature. You claw onto his meaty thighs in an attempt to regain balance, “You won’t be able to breathe like this, Sukuna-”
“You think I fucking care?”
It’s spat - spat - out right against the swollen nub of your clit. Hazed crimson irises rolling to the veeeery deep, dark depths of his skull at the first long gliiiide of Sukuna’s tongue from top to bottom of your pussy.
Cheeks hollowed the very moment he’s pushin’ himself even closer, “You think I ngh- can care about anything else?” The very moment he’s tugging you back down - with the full force of his upper strength, hard enough that your heated aches with raw, primal bruises. “Be a good girl n’ put that hah- pussy on my face. Fucking- sit-”
“I don’t- fuuuuck—” Fingers twitching, it’s all you can do to fumble with the drawstrings of his wettened boxers.
Thighs shaking at every flicker of his slimy tongue swirlin’ and stirrin’ every inch of your outer pussy. Your head muddles with the realization that Sukuna’s tongue was just so long that he could lap at your glisten hole n’ still have enough length left over to snag on your clit. “You’re not going to be the only hah- one-”
Whimpering, you find your eyes blurring up each time the ridged texture of his tastebuds glissade between your folds. Curlin’ in just past the elastic circle of your entrance-
And you’re gasping - but you don’t know whether it’s because of the lecherous intrusion or because of the way you’re pushing down Sukuna’s snug underwear to free his massive cock.
Reddened, swollen.
He’s bulging all solid and girthy that it makes your hole clench ‘round his flexible tongue. The cutest ruby-red at the top of his shaft, forming a gradient all the way down to his tight, heavy balls. Mentally, you’re counting about nine- fuck, maybe even ten damn inches that hit the end of your chin as he springs up.
And from where you’re straddling him, you can make out what looked like a matching thick, black band of ink around his bulky hilt.
Letting the polished pink crown of his cockhead smear out a generous dollop of pre, you’re teasing your tongue out just enough to taste the salted caramel taste.
“You’re so…” Sinking him past your spit-slicked lips, his swabbing mushroom tip is just so big that your jaw aches just by looking at him. Just by fitting him inside, right until his drivelling slit- “-s-sho big, Sukuna.”
“Fuck- fuck-” He’s spitting into your cunt and you find yourself flinching, hard enough that his pearly white canines nip at your thighs and you cry out.
And he’s only holding you back - not letting you shift your restless hips even a single centimeter as he’s eating you out like a man dying of thirst. Dry tastebuds lavishing himself with wads of slick, Sukuna’s stuffing your tight hole with the entirety of his tongue. “You’re m-making me drool.”
You swear you’re feeling the thin line of his wet spittle stain the front of your cunt, whimpering around his bulbous cockhead. “Made ya stutter, too, Sukuna.”
“Ohhhh- talkin’ smart, are we?” Snickering, he lets off a loud spank against the front of your pussy - one that makes your bones reverberate, and your mind numb. Pushin’ back to ride the circling girth of his tongue, to ride him. “Why don’tcha put that mouth into use elsewhere?”
Elsewhere - his cock was so hot and throbbing between your swollen lips. Just the slightest slip n’ slide makes it feel like he’s pulsing all the way at the back of your throat.
Creamin’ out a spray of syrupy precum that slides down your tongue, “So big- too big.” And yet- it was just so cute how you’re suckling him like your favorite lolly, eyes criss-crossing when you’re trying to take more. He couldn’t even bottom out. “Mmm– dunno if it’ll even all fit.”
“Well…”
The way he’s drawling out in a smoky tone makes you ponder that this won’t be ending well for you. And Sukuna’s dark chuckle hits your cunt in a murky gust, “You’re takin’ it in from here—” Just at that sultry second, he’s crowning the snug circle of your hole with two fingers.
Making you break out with a shrill waiiil as he sinks in the thick, calloused curves of his fingerpads. Letting such thick digits stretch you out fully, make your head spin. “So shut it n’ take this looong fucking cock, ma.”
All that it takes for him to plunge a few more throbbing inches past your maw, oh-so-big that you’re drooling down the sides of your mouth already.
Striking the edge of your throat and making you choke on his sheer size, your nose wrinkles as you’re tickled by the curly tendrils of his pinkish hair. “This enough or you want three, pretty girl-”
“I-”
Letting out such a cloying squelch that spurts from your pussy once he’s teasin’ your entrance, “Not you, mama. She wants three.”
Moaning away wildly after each pump of his fingers- Sukuna doesn’t even have to try to dip into each nook n’ orifice. Slamming to fingers down to each knobbly knuckle with a resounding slam- “See? See?”
So cockdrunk on the feeling of his velvety tongue that you’re only partly registering the way his vocals are higher. Unsteady.
The way you’re clamping your dewy walls in a cute, squelching smooch ‘round his digits makes his voice fucking crack. “J-just take it a bit- fuck- deeper.” Mindless little half-thrusts up into your heated mouth like he can’t even control it- “You can swallow it up like a reeeeal good girl, can’t you?”
“Mmm—” Purposefully letting off your pretty sounds all over his fleshy girth, “Yes- yes yes yes- more.”
“More?”
“More.”
As if he wouldn’t fucking ruin you if he could.
“You want more?”
“Y-yes- oh.”
Only to be gifted with such a rude slap of his doughy palm, “Not you.” And he’s waiting for the soppy squelches leaking out from your cunt, the way you’re talking to him from your swollen lips just to continue.
Squelch after squelch.
Your pleas only spur him to tug at the sweet, softened ring of your cunt, latching his lips over the flexing muscle. “If you say so—” Crooning, you can feel the cold hiss of his metallic rings upon the insides of your thighs. Sukuna’s biceps shifting as he starts to tug them off–
“A-actually-” You’re popping off of the strawberry-pink curve of his cocktip with a plop! a few glittery strings of pre and spit still connecting you lewdly to it. “…Keep them on?”
“Oh. Ohoho- you naughty lil’ thing.” He’s swatting over the slope of your dripping wet pussy n’ giving your clit a good pinch with his ringed fingers. “You like it like this- like- this-?”
He’s spitting out each word into your cunt, thrusting the barrelling tips of his fingerpads to graze just below your pulsating g-spot. “All those mouthy lectures?” In vulgar tandem strokes with the thwack! of his heavy, curvaceous balls slapping your chin. “And you wanna take it like- this- mama? Ohhh, it just makes me wanna…”
Trailing off, Sukuna’s body is just bulky - oh-so-tall that he can bend and reach down to cup your throat with his one free hand.
Digging five of his fingertips into the side of your throat as he’s holding your neck and squeezing- feeling the cylindrical outline of his cock bulging your poor mouth. Up n’ down, up n’ down- he’s feeling for the precise moments his plump cockhead lodges at the back of your throat.
“Who’d have known the cute lil’ teacher would be such a slut f’me. Cat got yer tongue, girl, orrrr—s’it just my dick?” Humming over your clit, he’s adding a fourth finger that swabs at the texture of your gummy walls.
“F-fuck off- ngh-”
“Wha’s that? Try- try and say my name?” Squeezing. Only feeling your ripped, pathetic vibrations. “Can f-feel myself over here.”
With four neatly pushing fingers.
Pulling back with a sluuurp–! Slowly, just so that you whimper that the knobs of his joints, just so that he can thump right on the target of your g-spot and make you cry out in cute bliss. “So s’only fair that I’m over here, pretty girl.”
“Yes- yes yes yes—” Words bubble out and slur out of your maw, in unison with such sloshing spurts of saliva.
You’re drooling everywhere - from both pairs of lips. Your mouth over Sukuna’s hard, vein-covered erection, glazing his puffy lines of veins with sap. And your pussy slide-slide-sliiiiding down the gaping area of his mouth, wide open and eagerly lapping up each sloppy drag of your hips.
Faster.
And now that Sukuna had actually found your most favorite spot, he couldn’t fucking stop.
Not when each whack at that same exact spot makes you splash your sweetened slick all down his throat, not when you were clenching your walls and cryin’ out at the frigid brush of his thick rings.
Again and again, he’s probin’ his crowned fingertips to push against the insides of your pussy, “Don’t think m’gonna last ngh-”
“Yeah-” And that’s not to say his tongue was letting you off easy, either- simply aching with the feverish state of his movements. But it hurt Sukuna more any moment he wasn’t snogging your glossy cunt, n’ so he’s slapping your clit with a wet one-two. Spank after spank to make your hips jerk back and forth, “Whaddaya want? To cum? S’that it?”
Blubbering over the taste of his slick, sensitive slit, “Yes- yes, please- m’so fucking close.”
“Not. You.” Each word ended with two swats on your simmering pussy, you’re webbing his chin all down with syrupy sap.
Moving off from your throat with a final squeeze, a bicep tightening ‘round your hips to squeeze you in place. “Not you- but you, pretty girl.” Slickly gliding back and forth all over your pried-open cunt, all over the quivering rim of your hole. Everywhere and anywhere. “Why don’tcha talk louder?”
And it’s not just you riding his tongue dry - it’s Sukuna bucking animalistically upwards, too. Pressing the ridges of his washboard abs up against your front, you’re just fountaining out so much sappy slick that it’s running down to the large mouth that he had tattooed across his stomach. As if both his ravenous mouths were gulping up each of your slick puddles.
Crooning at the oversaturated squelch that spills out of you- he’s nodding like he’s never heard a sweeter sentence. Nudging his knuckles to bump against your g-spot, “If you say so—”
You don’t get to find out what he’s hearing - but you’re registering the gist soon enough.
Because by then Sukuna has his ringed index swiping your g-spot, coldly massaging that bundle of nerves. Hard. Sloppy. At the very same second he’s settling the fringes of his canines on your perky clit and streeeetching-
“O-oh my god I’m—” Keening out a whimper, your high runs you over like a rollercoaster. And you’re rocking your boneless body to and fro just as much, thumping your thighs into Sukuna’s sharp jawline.
“Yes-” Clenching around his motions so hard that he has to fight to unstick his digits from the sides of your bubblegum walls, still fucking you through your lecherous high. “Oh, hell yeah, been so good for you, mama- why don’tcha reward me? Use me- hck- use me.”
As if you weren’t thrusting your cunt back into his face in a frenzy already, he’s using the arm holding onto your waist to keep you repeatedly moving.
Tired-out. Fingers tugging into each crevice of your velvety walls. Cheeks aching and hollow where he’s putting such force on your throbbing clit to suck- “Ride my- mmmf-” Talking with his mouth full, “Ride my fuckin’ face raw- wanted to taste y’cumming on my tongue for so long.”
With your spine arched, you’re pulling off of the bulged tip of his cock just as he’s spewing out a slimy ribbon of ivory white. Just a single drivel of cum- just from the way you’re cumming.
“God- god fucking dammit.” Sukuna spits, right into your cunt. And he barely even takes his eyes off of your slobbering pussy to snake a free hand down and plug his geysering orifice with his thumb.
Stopping himself promptly from cumming if it isn’t anywhere near your pussy.
But that didn’t mean he was letting you get away.
Oh, no- he’s still pulling you back with inclines of his head like a man addicted. Thoroughly drunk on the heady globs of slick that travelled between your legs, pushing and pushing himself upwards to glue his glossed lips all over your cunt.
You can feel yourself squealing with each lap of his scratchy tongue- the primal overstimulation too much that great droplets of tears take over your eyes.
“O-oh– fuck- m’so sensitive, Sukuna.” You’re arching your back away- “I don’t know if I- oh!” Only to get pulled back down. Toes curling when this only spurs him to dive himself even deeper, flopping out the flexible end of his tongue to try n’ flit past your squeezing hole.
Drawling, “Remember those fuckin’ sugar cookies? You taste- hah- even fucking better.”
Sniffling, your spine zings with a few more zaps of electricity as he’s starting to caress your sweetened g-spot once more.
And the only thing you can do is try and pathetically pry his firmly-planted palm from his lengthy shaft, trying for the life of you to just get another taste-
“Oh. Oh.” Sukuna gasps from behind, pink brows raising. “I see what you’re doing, pretty girl. H-heh…hungry for more, are you?”
He didn’t need any further answer - because the way you’re cutely clenching to glaze his scouring digits tells him more than enough.
And before you know it, you’re finding yourself pulled off of his long, aching cock like some glorified ragdoll. Sukuna was just so large - in every sense of the word - that he could manhandle you with only one arm.
Clinging onto the side of your waist as he’s sitting up, he makes you straddle the twitchy length of his cock. And now that you were seated upon his lap- oh, could you admire him.
Ryomen Sukuna was a fucking masterpiece.
From the bands of tattoos circling his biceps, his wrists, straight down to the plush of his sculptured thighs. “Like what you see?” He tilts his head cockily down at you, slouching sexily back on your wooden headboard to let you take in all of his tensed core.
Glistening pecs all temptingly large, abs ripped.
“M’gonna get those pretty haaah- fucking initials of yours tatted.” He’s tapping the prominent side of his left v-line with a polished finger, “Right here.”
Climbing further upon his lap, you rest your ass cheeks back against his swaying cock, bobbing so hard n’ proud between your sheeny thighs. Pouting, “Only if you fuck me, Kuna— ngh-”
“Kuna? Tch- you see that lil’ tattoo here, mama?” He sounded as if he was shattering, and he’s leaning back so that you can take a goood, long look at the circular tattoo on his base. Nuzzled by the tufts of his pinkish happy trail, and his tender underside - but it was still there.
Like a target. And Sukuna’s thinking the exact same thing, “You’re gonna take it riiiight- till- here-” Lodging the swollen end of his shaft to plug your hole, it’s such a tiiight fit as he starts bullying inside. “Until- hah-” Feeling a hand down your tummy, your womb. “-here.”
He was going to fit himself until your pretty pussy won’t be able to forget him.
And it takes only seconds for you to be clawing onto his tattooed deltoids for dear life, feeling the inner parts of your thighs slip n’ slide down his own with perspiration. You scramble with the stringy, slightly-torn fabric of your panties still on- “Kuna- Su–Kuna, this-”
“Nah, let it stay.” Snickering, he claws onto the top of your scalp. “You have much…heh- bigger ngh- problems ta worry about, pretty girl.”
Bigger - his prolonged shaft was simply ravaging your walls. Plumply ballooned-up enough that his veiny layer rubs your sweetest spots without even meaning to, and you’re just seeing stars with every inch deeper his mazing cock spears through. “Fuck- fuck, it really is big-”
“Mhm– and you’re going- to take- it all.” Times like this he’s wishing he had just about four fucking hands. Because one’s pushing down, down, down on the lolling top of your head, the other’s pushin’ your trembling thighs apart just so you could straddle his meaty hips. “All hah- say my name. Say my name while you take it-”
And he always did love the way you said his name.
The way you’re letting free a few bubbly spurts of saliva as you’re babbling away–”Sukuna- Su-” Throat clogging up with so many sobs of utter bliss, “Kuna—”
“Again with the ‘Kuna’- s’not my name, silly girl.” Even though each sound of that slurring nickname makes him twitch against your deepest insides.
But you can’t even hear him properly, eardrums distantly popped until the only thing you can feel is the thump! of your heartbeat between your legs. And the way that his reddened, slick-glazed tip was thrashing your tight insides, “Kuna- ngh, please, Kuna. Wan’ it a-all hck! Inside.”
The swabbing girth of his cock was so fat that he has you stupid with just his size, biceps bulging as he’s pressurizing down on your head. “God-” And you can only blink pathetically once he’s bringing up his free hand to your blurry line of sight. Hissing, “Bite down-” Lips smirking as you plant a kittenish bite, he fucks up into you once to make your force increase. “Bite down harder and take it.”
He wasn’t wasting any time - he didn’t have the fucking patience.
He barely even had the sanity to tease you and edge you for hours on end like he’d always wanted to. Instead fucking up into you like a damn animal- he’s swatting your cunt with the edge of his throbbing cock. Spitting through clenched teeth, “O-oh, if yer gonna ask for all of it then m’not playin’ around, ma.”
You sink your teeth in and nearly scream into the flesh of his forearm, gnawing down right at his tattoo. “Mmmpf- big- nghh–” Unable to fucking take it, the only thing you can do is arch your hips deeper and let his pummeling rams spike your poor insides.
Hitting the very back of your cervix with a wet thwack! that makes your eyes damn near bulge out of your head.
He…bottomed-out.
“Lemme check now…” Taking a single peek at the way his hilt was all covered up by your bloated folds until he couldn’t see that tattoo anymore. “S’all in.”
And the towering man wasn’t celebrating once he did - he was pumping all his fleshy inches into you like he’d gone feral.
Eyes dazed and hooded, mouth frothing with a line of silver drool - Sukuna grunts after each singular gliiiide of his watery orifice drawing down the bottom of your pussy. Sloppy. “F-fucking hell, never felt like this- what the…”
“Are you okay- oh god nghh–”
“M’fuckin’ more than okay.” Spitting out crassly, Sukuna swerves his hips off of the rickety bedsprings to drag his cock harder down your cunt. And it just felt so delicious to have his swollen veins stir up your walls, “S’just— who let you feel this good?”
Your honeyed cunt has made him way too pussydrunk that now he’s tattling out everything from his melty mind. And you can only whine– “Heh-” One hand grazing his scorched ear, “You’re blushing, Kuna- better not be ngh- tapping out on me.”
“Tapping out?” Punctuated by a hard spank against the door to your womb - exactly where he said he would be - and then a harder one against your mapped-out g-spot. “Me? Me tappin’ out?”
Blinking through the splotchy whites sparking in your vision, “Y-yeah- fuck!”
SPANK!
Oh-so-hard, he’s swatting your pussy with enough stinging force that it makes glittering drops of slick splash across his slamming palm. “You n’ this smartass pussy are gonna see.” He’s gritting through dangerously grinning teeth, “There’s a fuckin’ reason I’m Ryomen fucking Sukuna.”
Because he’s rude - and he fucks even ruder.
Pounding away upwards into you like he doesn’t care if he’s bruising great purple bruises at the bottom of your cervix. The mattress creaks in fervent protest after each gyration of his hips, “P-please-” The only thing you’re mewling out like a broken record, “I-it just feels so…”
Trailing off, your movements are sluggish as your hand starts to slither down between your rutting legs. Yearning to just touch your neglected clit-
SPANK!
“Oi- and who’d ya think you are to touch- hngh- my pretty girl?” He’s grinning, manhandling you in an instant. Before your candied brain can catch up, Sukuna has both your arms pinned behind your back, chin hitting his cushy pecs. “I’ll touch her when I feel like it-”
Such a fucking tease, at the constant timing of his slimy mushroom tip spearing your cunt like a headlight- Sukuna lifts off one of his hands downwards.
Replacing your own with his roughened fingers, he pinches your poor clit—“Sh-shit m’so sensitive there- keep going, Kuna–”
And at this point you weren’t just drooling you were sheening the entirety of his smooth pectorals with a shiny polish. Letting it smear down the side of your cheek as you drunkenly lean on them like pillows, “Chehhh-” He’s spitting out, staring down at the glistening glaze dripping down to his bumpy abs. “Tha’s supposed to stay inside, pretty girl.”
“I-inside?” Dazedly, the only thing you can think of were your rummaging insides, the way that Sukuna was fucking you like he hated you.
But it was the complete opposite. And he’s draggin’ on your clit, giggling to himself like he’s in love as he watches you huff n’ puff. “God you love it like this- c’mon, ngh- teach, milk this fucking cock- why don’t ya?”
“I-I am-”
SPANK!
“Harder, mama, make me feel it.”
With a right spank to emphasize his sentence, he’s jostling his hips upwards so you’re left throwing your head back at the full, stretching impact. Unable to even handle the slightly spring recoil that comes with striking your cervix, he’s bouncing you on his pelvis.
“S’this what you thought about every- hah- time you saw me?” Taking hold of your neck for a brief moment, he’s spitting doooown your throat. “Wantin’ me to fuck this- ngh- pussy raw?”
And the locked restraint on your neck helps bend you into the perfect geometrical curvature to stare up at him as he collapses forwards. Hot breath wafting your features, you whimper- “Y-yes.”
“Not you.”
“Kuna.”
“I’ve been dreamin’ of this for aaages now-” His clammy forehead crinkles as he’s scratching down your clit with the rough texture of his happy trail. Leaving it all stinging n’ raw to make sure the impact is extra sensual as Sukuna rubs over a slooow ‘K’ right on top.
Rutting into your poor cunt so hard that the skin surrounding his v-line was all reddened- and he can’t help but take one look and moan. “M’getting that tattooed.” Watching as his mean, curvaceous cock molded your walls constantly to him. “Oh- trust when I say-”
And then a ‘U’
“Fuh-fuuuuck, please-” It almost feels like you’re begging for your damn life by now, lungs ripping with moans every time he’s thumping up. You ride your hips in a sexy figure-eight and feel the way Sukuna’s thumb trembles on your clit.
A wobbly ‘N’
And you already knew what was headed next- oh, you were already prepared.
But what you weren’t ready for was the completely vicious way that he’s accelerating his papping hips, so fast that the dark tattoo nuzzling your entrance was almost a blur. Thump after thump-
You’re falling over until that symbolic inking of a widely-opened maw on his stomach licks up your core. Body twitching with white hot flashes of something electric running through your veins, “F-fuck- fuck, s’not gonna last-”
“S’that soooo—?” Sukuna asks down at your pussy to confirm, and only after a few ‘uh-huh’’s does he bore into your stupidly heart-shaped eyes. Tongue lolling straight out for him to lap up into his own mouth, “She says you’re close-”
A firm ‘A’
Another SPANK!
“-and I say you’re cumming already.”
“Wh-what…”
He’s ending off with a perfect heart shape rolled over your clit. What’s that spell- he’s asking mentally.
Only for you to mewl wantonly as if you’d just heard. “Kuna- Sukuna- Yes- yes m’cumming m’cumming—”
It’s like you’re enveloped in a tidal wave - you didn’t know where your orgasm started and where it ended. Just that Sukuna’s moans break into something octaves higher as he fucks you through your bliss.
You claw down the expanse of his flexing back with each burst of pre splattering your gooey insides. Toes curled, eyes all teary. “I-it’s so- hck! Feels too good…”
Turning you into absolute mush every time he pumps his thorough inches into you- and the mean fingers on your nub just tug n’ tug.
And it’s only after a few more of your shrilling whines that you’re still feeling the hot entrance of his shaft plummeting through, your walls squeezing ‘round his flared tip. “I want you to cum, too, Sukuna.”
“F-fuck.” He lets out, softly.
Cupping his attractive face, if you thought you were gone then you weren’t ready for the way that Sukuna looked. Cheeks burning hot and red, mouth parted with overspilling drool, brows furrowed into such an expression that it almost makes you feel shy.
Repeating those very same words, you start sloppily swervin’ your hips straight to his. “Cum inside m- ngh, please?”
All this time and his cute lil’ teacher was still minding her p’s and q’s.
So, of course, when you’re asking him that nicely- it’s the least he could do to listen. To let out a final, vulgar stroke that has him spilling over the edge.
In great, piling heaps of ivory cum that puddles at the bottom of your pussy. There’s so much of it that your ears ring with the lecherous sluuurp–! as your cunt walls suck up every last steaming drop.
You can feel it trailing down the insides of your thighs like a waterfall and keen, “Just like that, f-fuck…” Almost like you’re hypnotized, you drag one of his much-larger hands to palm the outside of your tummy. “Can feel it all the way here.”
“O-oh my god…” He’s groaning, eyes drifting off to the back of his head as soon as you’re meeting his tempo. Slamming down to rob his aching balls, milking him all dry - you were overspilling and it still wasn’t enough. “Y’really are a dream.”
And there’s something about the way he’s sluggishly brushing away a stray bead of perspiration from your temple. Something about that lazy, half-lidded look in his eyes, the complete n’ utter reverence in his tone as he asks- “So…s’your type ‘dangerous’, mama?”
Almost…shy.
Oh, it hits you. He’s pussydrunk.
You’d made big, bad Ryomen Sukuna completely and utterly pussydrunk.
To the point where his studded ears flare a deep crimson once you giggle, “Mmm- pretend dangerous, Kuna.” His eyes shine. You think back to that night at the Itadori household, “And I also remember something about quadruplets?”
It’s then that Sukuna whimpers.
Not even pulling out. Not even considering such an impossible feat for even a split-second before he rolls your weakened body over.
Hovering over you now, it’s so easy for his beefy arms to tug your legs over his shoulders. Still shaking. Still suffering from the aftermath of your orgasm as he’s holding them tight and bending down, down, dooooown.
Straight into a mating press.
Oh, your breath catches.
“Before I pound you until you can’t haaah- walk, mama-” Uncharacteristically, Sukuna gulps as he shifts his crimson eyes away from you. “-m’I giving you quadruplets that’ll have my last name?”
Now that was a round-about way to ask someone out- and he knows it, too.
But it only makes you shuffle up onto your elbows on the now-ruined sheets, sticking to you like glue. You place a lingering peck on Sukuna’s wobbly, overstimulated lips, “Mm- I love you, too, Kuna.”
Oh, how he loves you. He almost cums right then and there.
Fuck.
He does.
.
.
.
“You.”
“You.” Yuji narrows his eyes down at the sight of Ryomen Sukuna towering over the busy preschool pick-up. Trying to look over his broad shoulders for any sign of his father, “Huh? But dadda said he was coming to pick me up today?”
Sukuna gingerly scratches the back of his head, “Yeah, well…listen, twerp- I mean, kid. There’s something I need to-”
Only to be cut off by a dramatic gasp—“Oh no- Did dadda go to jail just like you-”
“No,”
“Did he drive fast-”
“No.”
“Did he drink-”
“No-”
“Did he slash tires-”
“Maybe once?”
And fuck- he really didn’t understand tiny children, because explain to him why the pink-haired boy starts bawling in his arms. Pitiful enough to draw the glares of parents wrenching their own children away from the perpetrator, loud enough to draw the sweet concern of you.
Walking from your station saying goodbye to one other student, “Yuji what- oh!” You’re pressing your lips together to contain your smile as you happen to see who was throwing Yuji on his shoulders to soothe him. Bouncing him lightly until he smiled- and you did, too. “I didn’t expect you so early today, Kuna.”
“Yeah, well.” He’s using Yuji’s palms to cover the pinkish ends of his blushing ears, “Decided I wanted to see ya off from work today.”
Now past grief and straight into utter nosiness- “Wait- what do you mean ‘see off’.” He gasps, “Is she going to ja-”
“Brat-”
“What your uncle means to say, Yuji-” Playfully pinching his chubby cheeks, you try to ignore the gawking stares of every other one of your remaining students as you promptly turn to face Sukuna. Giving him a sweet, sweet peck on his. “-is that you’ll be seeing a lot more of me around.”
Another gasp - well, multiple.
One from Itadori Yuji, who gapes, open-mouthed between you and his uncle - as if wondering how he ever managed to bag you, and wait does that mean you’re his auntie now?
About twenty from your crowd of students, right along with a few whispers.
“Hey, isn’t that weird Mr. Mugshot?”
“So that’s why Mr. Mugshot was always red- eugh! In my momma’s dramas they don’t get together, they just die.”
Fushiguro frowns, “I would rather die than watch him like this. Gross.”
“Caviar.”
Walking up from the group, Fushiguro tugs on your skirt. Innocently - but Sukuna could feel the evil intent. He just knew that boy was a villain. “Inumaki asks whether you mind that he sets fires, miss.”
What the fuck is with the fires-
And then finally - three distinct, unfortunately familiar gasps that make Sukuna dread turning around. Struggling against it, even as his nephew tugs on his locks of pink hair with a delighted squeal- “Dadda–! Bubba–! Gramps-”
You smile, watching Choso take flustered pictures of his uncle. “How the hell did you even win her over? All of these are going in the blackmail folder. Maybe your wedding presentation too.”
Sukuna bites back a shy blush- turning it into a scowl, “Maybe…”
“Well, I’ll be.” Wasuke nods his head in approval, “All thanks to the ah- ‘wingmanning’ as the kids say. I’ll be expecting at least three grandchildren in the future, sonny. And when I say ‘future’ I mean in nine months-”
“Dad! It’s too early for that.” Jin, ever-the-voice-of-reason, gives you a breezy handshake. “Congratulations- by the way.” And it’s all soft. It’s all sweet- that is, until you’re trying to pull your hand back and he only tightens his grip. Smile still tightly in place, “I will be the kids’ godfather, by the way.”
Settling an arm around you now, You and Sukuna don’t know whether to laugh or stand in shocked silence as Jin finally sets you free - but you don’t have to make the choice.
Because the annoying, grating voice of Todo Aoi breaks through—“Noooooo– my bride!”
@everything-you-feel-is-real I know by tumblr tradition that I'm to say "impossible, my posts never blow up like that," or "please don't do this to me."
But I feel in my bones that you are right. If this is to be my wife's moment of glory, I am willing to suffer notification overload, that the world may know she is funny. #MyFunnyWife
after your estranged grandmother leaves you her apartment in monaco, you’re ready for a fresh start. too bad the man next door seems determined to make your life a living hell.
﹙ ⓘ ﹚ warnings: non f1!au ( oscar is an engineer ), angst, slow burn romance, elements of humor. grumpy x sunshine / opposites attract, emotionally unavailable love interest that disguises pining as irritation. 8.0k words
✶ author’s note 𑣲 oh my gawddd i luv you all so much !!! the feedback i've gotten from f1blr after posting my first fic ( linked here ) is the sweetest thing everrrr ... you're all so kind i genuinely want to cry just thinking about it !!!! i don't have enough words to express my gratitude as a beginning ff writer ... anyways , this is my next offer , i was inspired to write this story because my neighbors are always soooo loud , and i sure wish that one of them was a socially awkward but handsome man that was in luv with me ( unfortunately , they are not , ugh ) . anyways , i hope you like it , the grumpy x sunshine trope is one of my faves to read about : )
THE FIRST THING YOU LEARNED ABOUT MONACO WAS THAT THE WALLS WERE THIN ENOUGH TO HEAR YOUR NEIGHBOR SWEARING AT HIS ESPRESSO MACHINE AT SIX-THIRTY EVERY MORNING.
Not loudly, either. That was the unsettling part.
Most people yelled when they were angry, but not your neighbor. He sounded calmly, professionally furious, like a man filing a formal complaint against God himself.
“You useless piece of —”
A metallic clank. After a moment, very distinctly: “I swear to Christ.”
You stared up at the wood tiled ceiling of your grandmother’s apartment, still tangled in unfamiliar sheets, sunlight spilling through the gauzy curtains in watery gold. For one peaceful second after waking up, you forgot where you were.
And then it punched you in the gut. You were in Monaco, following the surprise inheritance…and the funeral. You still couldn’t believe the fact that you’d uprooted your entire life — or whatever meager semblance of a life you had — on what could generously be described as an emotional breakdown and a legally binding whim.
Then the espresso machine hissed again, like a snake waiting to strike.
“Oh, come on.”
You blinked slowly. Your neighbor’s accent was distinctly Australian, so unlike the prim and prudish French accents that were common in Monaco.
That difference, somehow, made it worse.
Rolling onto your back, you checked your phone. 6:34 A.M. Why the fuck was your neighbor cursing at his coffee machine at such an ungodly hour of the day?
You considered several possibilities.
One: your neighbor was the victim of a murderous kitchen appliance.
Two: he was deeply unstable.
Three: Monaco apartment walls were apparently constructed from decorative tissue paper.
The machine gave one final tortured sputter before a cupboard slammed hard enough to rattle a framed painting in your bedroom.
You bolted upright, heart pounding. “Jesus,” you muttered.
On the other side of the wall, the man sighed. Not a normal sigh, either. A long-suffering, exhausted sound. The sigh of someone moments away from throwing a very expensive appliance directly into the Mediterranean.
Against your better judgment, you laughed at the thought. Immediately there was silence, and you froze.
The silence somehow felt… pointed. Like he’d heard you. Which was very possible, considering you could hear every phonon of movement that he made.
Then came three sharp knocks against the shared wall. You stared at the blank space, contemplating what to do — either respond and interact with your Negative Nancy of a neighbor at an hour where half the population was fast asleep, or just go to bed yourself and pray he didn’t send that espresso machine flying through the wall. Before you could choose, though, another three knocks were rapped. Your eyebrows lifted slowly in pure astonishment. “No way.”
Three more knocks in quick succession.
You climbed out of bed, still wearing oversized sleep shorts and one of your oldest university hoodies that definitely had a hole in the armpit, and crossed the apartment barefoot. The hardwood floor was cold beneath your feet as you pressed your palm lightly against the wall.
“…Hello?”
Nothing for just a second.
“Your laugh is loud.”
You gasped. Actually gasped. “Oh my God,” you whispered to yourself, horrified.
The voice came again, muffled through plaster. Dry. Flat. Annoyingly attractive. “And your footsteps.”
You narrowed your eyes at the wall. “You’re the one verbally abusing an espresso machine before sunrise.”
“It’s not my fault.” He said it as easily as though he were stating the freezing point of water.
You stared for a beat longer before a disbelieving laugh escaped you again.
Instantly, your neighbor shot back: “See? That.”
“Oh, you cannot possibly be serious.”
“You’ll find,” the voice replied coolly, “that I usually am.”
The audacity. The sheer, unbearable audacity of this man. Whoever he was, he had a massive ego and a chip on his shoulder, and you wouldn’t stoop so low as to engage in these petty squabbles.
You looked around your grandmother’s apartment as though searching for hidden cameras. Yesterday, you’d landed in Monaco carrying two suitcases, grief wrapped tight around your ribs, expecting reinvention and glamour and maybe a little healing by the sea.
Instead, you’d inherited a passive-aggressive wall enemy before unpacking your shampoo.
“Incredible,” you muttered. No response. You waited another second before asking, “…Did your coffee at least work?”
Begrudgingly, your neighbor answered, “No.”
You bit your lip to stop smiling. Which was unfortunate, really.
Because you had the distinct feeling your neighbor would hate that.
A month prior, you’d been standing in uncomfortable black stiletto heels beside a coffin wondering whether grief was supposed to feel more dramatic than this.
Rain tapped softly against the church windows. Someone in the second row was crying. Your aunt was pretending to dab away tears.
And you? Well. You mostly felt tired. You hadn’t seen your grandmother in almost four years.
That was the part nobody said out loud. Not during the service, at least.
Instead, people spoke about her elegance, her intelligence, her impossible standards. They talked about the way she carried herself through rooms like royalty and the way she never repeated an outfit twice in the seventies and how she once insulted a French ambassador so severely he refused to attend dinner parties she hosted afterward.
You believed every word of it.
Your grandmother had been difficult in the way expensive perfumes were difficult: sharp, overpowering, impossible to ignore. Loving her had always felt like the equivalent of losing an argument.
“You should stand straighter,” she used to tell you as a child, gently tapping your spine with two fingers.
“You should call more,” she’d say later, over increasingly strained phone calls, where long stretches of silence became more and more frequent. “You should want more from your life than this.”
This, apparently, meant everything. Your studio apartment in New York City. Your degree in art history. Your relationships, of which you had none. Your job as an intern at the Met.
You never seemed to reach the moving target of her approval, and eventually, you stopped trying to.
So one missed Christmas became two, a birthday phone call never went through.
And now she was dead.
The priest said something solemn. Your cousin sniffed loudly. You stared at white lilies until they blurred at the edges.
You thought grief would feel heavier, but instead it felt unfinished. This couldn’t be it; it just couldn’t. And yet it was.
After the burial, your family gathered beneath gray awnings outside the cemetery while rain misted over black umbrellas and expensive coats.
Your aunt Marianne caught your elbow before you could escape.
“There you are,” she said tightly, words clipped. “The lawyer is asking for everyone to meet Monday regarding the estate.”
You blinked, taken aback. “There’s an estate meeting?”
“She owned property in three countries,” Marianne replied, as though you were thick-headed. “Of course there’s an estate meeting.”
Right. Normal grandmothers left behind photo albums and recipe cards, but yours was anything but normal.
You almost didn’t go when Monday arrived, heavy and humid. You spent most of the morning sitting in your old Kia outside the law office debating whether you could fake your own death instead.
Unfortunately, curiosity won.
The lawyer’s office smelled like polished wood and old paper. Everyone sat around a long table wearing expressions ranging from grieving to openly competitive. Your cousins looked like they were putting on their best imitation of a shark, eyes bloodthirsty and slitted as they waited to hear what the lawyer had to say. You took the chair closest to the exit. Just in case.
The lawyer adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. “Thank you all for coming. We’ll begin with the personal allocations.”
The meeting dragged on.
Jewelry, investments. Art collections. Properties in two different continents, places you’d never been to and could only dream of going to. A stake in a film company.
Your grandmother apparently possessed the financial portfolio of a minor Bond villain.
You stopped listening after twenty minutes. Until —
“And to her granddaughter —”
You looked up automatically, heart suddenly thrashing in your chest like it were a rabbit trying to free itself from a trap.
The lawyer smiled politely. “The apartment located in Monaco.”
Your brain completely shut down.
“…Sorry,” you said after a second. “What?”
Across the table, your aunt’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly.
“The residence in Monaco,” the lawyer repeated calmly. “Per your grandmother’s instructions, ownership transfers fully to you.”
You laughed. Not because it was funny, but because there was genuinely no other possible response. “I think there’s been a mistake.”
“There hasn’t.”
“No, I —” You looked around the room helplessly. “I haven’t spoken to her in years.”
The lawyer’s face softened slightly. “She amended the will six months ago.”
Six months ago.
“She also left a letter,” he added.
A cream envelope appeared in front of you moments later, your name written across the front in your grandmother’s elegant handwriting.
Suddenly, you couldn’t breathe properly. You stared at it for several seconds before opening it apprehensively.
Darling,
If you are reading this, then I am dead, which is unfortunate timing because Monaco is beautiful in spring.
You swallowed hard, tears pricking in your vision, yet you charged on.
You were always too sentimental for your own good. Too soft-hearted. I suspect the world has punished you for this already. But softness is not weakness, no matter what I may have taught you otherwise.
The apartment is yours because you are the only one who will live in it properly. Do not waste your life waiting for permission to become someone else.
And for God’s sake, answer your phone more often.
— Grand-mère
By the time you finished reading, your vision had gone embarrassingly blurry. You stared down at the paper, feeling completely out of your depth. Even her final act of affection still somehow sounded like criticism.
“Are you alright?” the lawyer asked gently.
You folded the letter carefully before answering.
“No,” you admitted. After a beat, you added: “But maybe I could be.”
By the time you arrived in Monaco, you were operating almost entirely on caffeine, blind optimism, and the kind of emotional dissociation that only occurred after making several catastrophic life decisions in rapid succession.
The train station spilled sunlight and noise and expensive luggage onto the streets in dizzying waves. Everything gleamed. The sea in the distance looked unreal, too blue to belong to an actual country, and every person you passed seemed aggressively well-dressed. Women in silk trousers walked tiny dogs that probably had trust funds. Men in linen shirts leaned against polished cars worth more than your student loans.
Meanwhile, you were dragging two overstuffed suitcases with one broken wheel through the streets while sweat collected at the base of your spine.
A glamorous entrance like no other, truly.
The apartment building itself sat tucked along a quieter street several blocks from the marina, elegant in that understated European way that made American luxury suddenly feel embarrassingly loud. Cream-colored stone climbed four stories high, ivy curling around wrought iron balconies. The windows were tall and narrow, their shutters painted faded green from years of Mediterranean sun.
You stood across the street for a long moment staring up at it.
Your grandmother had lived here.
The realization landed strangely every time it returned. You could still barely connect the woman who corrected your French grammar over Christmas dinners with this place that looked like it belonged in a film.
For a second, fear crawled unpleasantly into your throat. What if you didn’t belong here either?
Then one of your suitcases tipped sideways and nearly launched itself into traffic. “OK,” you muttered, yanking it upright. “Fantastic start.”
Inside, the building smelled faintly of lemon polish and old books. Cool air wrapped around your overheated skin as you stepped into the lobby, immediately grateful.
Until you saw the staircase. You stared upward. No elevator. Presumably, your grandmother’s final wish was for you to die dramatically hauling your earthly possessions up four flights of stairs.
The apartment keys dug into your palm while you mentally calculated how many trips this would take. Too many.
By the second trip, your arms were shaking. By the third, you were actively considering abandoning half your belongings on the staircase and reinventing yourself as the kind of woman who owned exactly two shirts and no cookware. The final box, a massive one filled almost entirely with books because apparently you’d inherited your grandmother’s inability to travel lightly, was balanced precariously against your chest as you stumbled up the last flight.
You couldn’t see, vision blacking out with sweat and sheer fatigue.
“One more step,” you whispered to yourself breathlessly. “One more —”
The box slipped out of your slick grasp. You made a strangled sound, knees buckling as the entire thing tilted sideways. And — a hand caught the edge of it, steadying it effortlessly.
You looked up. Oh.
Oh, that was unfortunate.
The man standing above you on the landing was tall in a way that felt deeply inconvenient at the moment, broad shoulders blocking part of the afternoon light streaming through the stairwell window. Dark brown hair curled slightly at the ends like he’d run a hand through it too many times, and his expression?
His expression was profoundly unimpressed.
Not annoyed, exactly, as that would have implied emotional investment. No, he looked at you the way someone might look at an unusually loud pigeon.
You straightened slightly, breathless and sweaty and immediately defensive. “Thanks,” you said, as politely as you could manage.
His eyes flicked once over the massive box in your arms, over your wobbling posture, and back to your face. “You know,” he said evenly, accent unmistakably Australian, “most people make more than six trips.”
You blinked at him. The nerve. “I have made more than six trips.”
“Hm.”
“Hm?” you repeated incredulously, too winded to even think about the ridiculousness of that one word.
He released the box slowly, clearly unconcerned whether it crushed you or not. “That explains why you look like that.”
You stared.
He stared back. Completely serious.
The worst part was that he wasn’t even mean about it. There was no cruelty in his voice, no mocking grin. Just blunt observation delivered with the emotional warmth of a spreadsheet.
You adjusted the box against your chest with increasing offense. “Wow. You’re really committed to being unhelpful, huh?”
His gaze drifted toward the staircase below, where another one of your bags had fallen over dramatically. “You seem to have it handled.”
“I very clearly do not.” You waited for him to help.
He did not help.
Instead, he slid one hand into the pocket of his dark trousers and tilted his head slightly, studying you with mild curiosity. Like he was trying to determine whether your situation was genuinely concerning or simply entertaining. You suspected it was the second one.
You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Not at all,” he responded.
“You hesitated.”
“I was thinking.”
You cocked your head to the side, studying him. “About?”
“How someone survives adulthood while carrying a box like that.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh. He blinked once at the sound, almost caught off guard by it.
Up close, he looked around your age. Mid-to-late twenties, maybe. Tired eyes. Sharp jawline. One of those faces that would probably look devastating if he ever smiled…which, judging by current evidence, had perhaps never occurred.
He wore a black button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing strong forearms dusted faintly with grease or graphite. Engineer, maybe. Or mechanic. Something precise and frustratingly competent. Definitely not a job that involved being surrounded by people, for sure.
“Do you always stand around watching women suffer for fun,” you asked, shifting the box again, “or am I special?”
His gaze dropped briefly to the way you were struggling to hold it. “You’re loud,” he answered.
You frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You’ve been swearing in the stairwell for twenty minutes.”
Heat crawled immediately into your face. “Oh my God.”
“One box said fragile before you dropped it.”
“It slipped!”
“Hm.” There it was again. That stupid little hum.
You already hated him. Which would’ve been easier if he weren’t annoyingly attractive in that severe, exhausted sort of way.
“Do you live here?” you asked.
“Yes.”
“Great. Then you’re my first Monaco enemy.”
Something shifted in his expression. Not quite amusement, but close enough to count. “You just moved in?” he questioned, lips quirking upward insufferably.
“Yes.”
His eyes flicked toward the door beside yours. The apartment next door.
The realization hit you instantly. Looks like this intolerable, unaccommodating jerk was going to be a staple of your new life in Monaco. How wonderful. And you didn’t even know his name — which was for the better, since you did not want to be on friendly terms with this jackass.
He glanced down at the box still threatening to crush your internal organs. “You’re holding that wrong.”
“Oh, now you want to help?”
“No,” he said calmly. “I’m criticizing your technique.”
You made a noise of outrage. And to your absolute horror, the corner of his mouth twitched. Just slightly.
Not a smile.
But dangerously close.
Five days into living in Monaco, you came to two important conclusions.
First: the city was absurdly beautiful in a way that became almost irritating after a while. Every street looked curated, a perfect home feed on Pinterest. Every café seemed to exist solely to make tourists romanticize their lives. Even the air smelled expensive, saltwater and sunscreen and citrus drifting together beneath the afternoon heat.
Second: your neighbor was either avoiding you deliberately or naturally moved through life like a suspicious alley cat.
You’d heard him through the walls plenty.
Cabinets opening at precise times. Low music occasionally humming through the apartment. Classical sometimes, instrumental piano other times, once an aggressively miserable jazz playlist that lasted nearly four hours. You’d also discovered he worked insane hours, judging by the fact you’d heard his front door close sometime after midnight twice already.
But actually seeing him was rare.
It was beginning to annoy you on principle.
Especially because every interaction so far had ended with him looking faintly exasperated by your existence while you developed an increasingly inconvenient curiosity about his.
So on Thursday afternoon, after unpacking exactly half your kitchen and collapsing over a box labeled miscellaneous wires, you decided you deserved a break.
Monaco unfolded lazily beneath the sun as you wandered downhill toward the older part of the city. Laundry fluttered from narrow balconies overhead. Scooters buzzed past. Somewhere nearby, church bells rang softly through the heat.
You stopped in little shops mostly to escape the temperature. A tiny bakery where the woman behind the counter called you darling after you butchered your French pronunciation. A stationery store filled with fountain pens you absolutely could not afford.
Then finally… the bookstore.
It sat tucked between a wine shop and a florist, nearly hidden beneath climbing ivy. The sign overhead was faded slightly with age, the windows crowded with stacked novels and handwritten recommendation cards.
You paused outside immediately. Unlike most places in Monaco, it didn’t feel polished. It felt lived-in.
Inside, the air smelled like paper and dust and old wood soaked warm by sunlight. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling in crooked little aisles, books stacked sideways where they no longer fit properly. Soft jazz played somewhere overhead. You exhaled slowly.
OK.
This might be the first place in Monaco that didn’t make you feel wildly underdressed. You wandered aimlessly at first, fingertips brushing over spines. French novels. Travel memoirs. Architecture books bigger than your torso.
A sleepy orange cat blinked at you from atop a stack near the register.
“This is perfect,” you whispered.
The cat yawned.
You drifted toward the back corner before stopping abruptly, fear clenching your chest nonsensically.
Your stupid neighbor — Oscar — stood near one of the shelves with a book open in one hand, entirely absorbed. Dark gray T-shirt this time. Black trousers. Glasses perched low on his nose.
Glasses.
You stared for a second too long. They somehow made him look even more severe, like he was someone who corrected grammar in emails for fun.
Unfortunately, they also made him hotter, which felt deeply unfair considering his personality.
You should probably leave him alone. Instead, you walked directly toward him.
“Are you stalking me,” you asked pleasantly, “or is this just fate?”
Oscar looked up slowly. His expression changed the exact same way it always did when he saw you: a tiny flicker of recognition immediately followed by visible mental exhaustion. “You live next door to me.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“No,” he agreed calmly. “It doesn’t.”
His eyes returned to the book.
You stared at him. He focused on the page, as though you no longer existed to him.
“Wow,” you muttered. “You really commit to the whole emotionally unavailable thing.”
“I’m reading.”
“In public. Dangerous choice.”
A pause. Without looking up, he countered: “You’re loud in bookstores too?”
You scoffed. “That was almost a joke.”
“Well, it wasn’t supposed to be.”
You moved beside him anyway, tilting your head to read the title in his hands. Advanced Structural Systems Engineering.
You blinked. “Holy shit.”
“What?” he said, exasperatedly.
“You actually read these voluntarily. And here I was, thinking that nobody could ever find building infrastructure fun.”
Oscar finally looked at you properly again, gaze steady and unreadable behind his glasses. “It’s relevant to my work.”
“Oh God, that’s worse. Why would you choose that of all careers?”
“You ask too many questions,” Oscar muttered, but he lowered the book and affixed his eyes on you again.
“And you answer too few,” you retorted.
“That usually discourages people.”
“Well, disappointingly for you, I’m deeply irritating.” You flashed him a wide smile.
He scowled, lines marring his face. “I noticed.”
The thing was, he never sounded cruel. Dry, yes. Constantly unimpressed, absolutely. But there was something strange underneath it all, something restrained rather than genuinely cold. Maybe speaking too much physically pained him, but listening didn’t.
Because he did listen. You were beginning to notice that.
Even now, his attention stayed fixed on you with unsettling steadiness despite his minimal responses. Most people waited impatiently for their turn to speak. Oscar seemed content letting silence stretch between your words.
“So,” you said, pulling a random novel from the shelf and thumbing through it. “Engineer.”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Mechanical.”
You blew out a low breath. “That sounds important.”
“It’s mostly spreadsheets and suffering,” he remarked, tilting his head to the side.
You laughed. Again, there it was, flitting on Oscar’s face — that almost-expression. Close enough to a smile that you caught yourself wanting to earn another one. You leaned lightly against the shelf. “You know, when I first met you, I thought you were incredibly rude.”
“That implies you changed your mind.”
“Oh, no,” you said quickly. “You absolutely are.”
Oscar’s eyebrows raised.
“But,” you continued with a hint of a smile on your face, “I think maybe you’re secretly less horrible than you pretend to be.”
There’s a moment of silence as he thinks of what to say. “That sounds like a disappointing realization for you.”
You laugh again, bright and loud. Everything Oscar claims he hates.
The bookstore owner shuffled past pushing a cart of books, eyeing the two of you curiously before disappearing again. Oscar glanced toward the architecture section nearby.“You inherited the apartment?”
The sudden change in conversation surprised you slightly. Maybe because it was the first personal thing he’d asked. “Yeah,” you answered more softly. “My grandmother’s.”
“She lived there a long time.”
“You knew her?”
“A little.”
You watched him carefully. “Did she terrorize you too?”
To your shock, his mouth actually twitched upward. Small. Brief, but definitely real. “She corrected my pronunciation once.”
“Oh my God.” You snorted. “That means she liked you.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” he objected.
“No, seriously. She only bothered correcting people she found interesting enough to fix.”
Oscar looked down at the book in his hands again, thoughtful now. The light from the windows caught against the frames of his glasses, softening the sharpness of his face. For the first time since meeting him, he looked less like an irritation and more like he was… lonely, maybe.
You wondered how long he’d lived next door. The thought sat strangely heavy in your chest. “You know,” you joked, “you can smile. I checked. It won’t kill you.”
Oscar looked at you for a long moment, and then reached past you toward a shelf overhead, entirely ignoring the comment. Unfortunately, his arm brushed yours lightly in the process.
Your brain short-circuited instantly. He pulled a book free.
“You’d like this one,” he said, handing it to you.
You looked down automatically. A Moveable Feast. Your brows lifted slightly. “You’re recommending me books now?”
“It’s Hemingway.”
“That doesn’t answer the question either.”
Oscar met your gaze evenly. “No,” he said again, quieter this time. “It doesn’t.”
Something shifted after the bookstore, but not as dramatic as one might expect.
Oscar did not suddenly become warm or talkative or capable of expressing emotions like a normal human being. He still looked vaguely inconvenienced every time you appeared unexpectedly within his line of sight. He still answered most questions with the fewest words possible. He still treated social interaction like a mildly unpleasant administrative task.
But the edges softened, tiny things at first. The next morning, the espresso machine was quieter. Not fixed, exactly — you still heard a muffled curse around six-thirty — but quieter in the deliberate way that suggested Oscar had used a modicum of effort to not be as loud.
Which was a ridiculous thing to think.
You stood in your kitchen holding a spoonful of yogurt and stared at the shared wall suspiciously. “Was that for me?”
Faintly, Oscar’s disgruntled response. “No.”
You grinned into your breakfast.
Later that afternoon, you found a folded piece of paper slid beneath your apartment door. Not a note, but a list. Three cafés written in precise handwriting. Good coffee, not tourist traps. Stop going to the one on the corner. Their espresso tastes burnt.
You laughed so suddenly you nearly scared yourself. Even though there was no signature, you knew exactly who the list was written by. Like there was anyone else in the building passive-aggressive enough to leave anonymous coffee criticism at your doorstep.
You went to all three cafés. And despite your reservations, he was right.
After that, Monaco started feeling smaller in strange ways. You’d spot Oscar unexpectedly throughout the week like some bizarre recurring character only you seemed able to unlock.
At the market buying exactly six oranges and nothing else. Walking home late at night with rolled-up blueprints tucked beneath one arm. Standing outside the florist beside your building while an elderly woman enthusiastically spoke French at him while he listened with the exhausted patience of a hostage negotiator. And every time you interacted with him, he stopped a little longer when talking to you.
Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for you to. You were observant in that sort of way. “You’re becoming significantly less terrifying,” you informed him one evening when you crossed paths on the staircase.
Oscar glanced at you from beneath tired eyes. “That sounds unlikely.”
“You gave me coffee recommendations.”
“You were drinking bad espresso. I could smell it.”
You harrumph. “OK, but you carried my groceries upstairs yesterday.”
“You dropped a tomato,” he rebutted.
“It burst dramatically.”
“It exploded.”
You smiled brightly. “And yet you helped me anyway.”
He adjusted his grip on the folder tucked under his arm. “That’s since you were blocking the staircase.”
“See, that’s the thing,” you said, pointing at him accusatorially. “You always pretend you’re helping people accidentally.”
Oscar looked almost wary now, like he disliked being perceived too closely. “Do you analyze strangers often?”
“Only interesting ones.”
That earned you silence. Not the dismissive kind you were familiar with, but the thoughtful one. You were beginning to understand the difference, slowly but surely.
A handful of days later, rain swept over Monaco in silver sheets so heavy the streets below your apartment blurred completely. Thunder rolled somewhere over the sea while warm wind rattled the shutters. You’d spent the evening curled beneath a blanket reading the Hemingway novel Oscar recommended.
Which was annoying, because it was good. Quiet and aching and observant in ways that slipped beneath your skin without permission.
You were halfway through rereading and admiring a paragraph for the third time when someone knocked on your door. Three sharp taps.
Your stomach flipped immediately, and you opened the door to find Oscar standing there holding two mugs of coffee.
You blinked at him. Rain darkened the shoulders of his dark ebony sweater slightly, curls damp from the weather. He looked unfairly good in low lighting, all sharp lines softened by the glow spilling from your apartment.
“The power’s out in my kitchen,” you said.
Oscar glanced past you toward the darkened appliances.
“I know.”
“You know?”
“The whole building lost partial electricity twenty minutes ago.”
“Oh.” You looked at the coffee, then back at him. “So to commiserate the loss of my appliances, you brought me pity beverages?”
“You looked miserable earlier.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “You noticed I looked miserable?”
“You sigh loudly when frustrated.”
“I do not.”
Oscar smirked. “You do.”
Offended, you crossed your arms. Oscar held one mug out slightly.
“It’s temporary,” he said. “The outage.”
You took the coffee carefully, fingers brushing his for half a second.
Warm. Dangerously so. “Thanks,” you murmured.
“You finished the book?” The question caught you off guard, and you took a second to reorient yourself.
“Almost.”
Oscar nodded once towards the general direction of his apartment. “I have more. If you want.”
Your brain buffered as you understood what he was suggesting. “You’re inviting me over?”
A flicker of hesitation crossed his face then, so brief you almost missed it. Like he was already reconsidering the decision in real time. “It’s raining,” he said finally. “And your apartment currently smells like burnt toast.”
Heat rushed immediately into your face. “That happened one time.”
“Not true. You set off the fire alarm twice.”
“The second one was unrelated,” you argued.
Oscar’s expression remained perfectly neutral. “You can come over,” he said. “Or continue destroying your kitchen independently.”
You stared at him for another second, but you couldn’t help it. A slow smile grew on your face. “Wow. Oscar Piastri voluntarily initiating social interaction. Historic moment.”
“I can leave,” he pointed out.
“No, absolutely not.”
His apartment looked exactly how you imagined it would. Clean to the point of suspicion. Dim warm lighting. Bookshelves arranged with alarming precision. One massive desk crowded with sketches, mechanical parts, and monitors filled with things you absolutely did not understand.
The place felt lived in quietly, as though someone who spent most of his life inside his own head but had tried, carefully, to make solitude comfortable.
Music played softly somewhere in the background. Piano again.
“You own candles,” you said immediately, spotting one lit near the bookshelf.
Oscar shut the door behind you. “That’s your first observation?”
“You don’t seem like a candle person,” you informed him.
“What does a candle person look like?” Oscar scoffed.
“Happier.”
To your delight, you caught it again. That tiny near-smile. “You can sit down, you know.”
You wandered instead, deciding to uncover some fragments about the mystery that was Oscar’s life. “You alphabetized your books,” you accused him as you inspected his perfectly organized shelves. The ones in your apartment looked nothing like this.
“No.”
You paused, looking closer.
“Don’t tell me it’s chronologically? By publication date?”
“Yes,” he confirmed, a soft blush spreading on his cheeks.
“That’s somehow worse.”
“You reorganized yours by color yesterday.”
You turned sharply. “How do you know that?”
Oscar froze for approximately one second too long. “You left your curtains open,” he answered finally.
“Oh my God.” You pointed at him accusingly. “You do watch me.”
“I live next door.”
“That is not helping your case.”
He looked genuinely unimpressed by your delight over this revelation, but there was something looser about him tonight. Less guarded around the edges. You settled onto the couch eventually, curling one leg beneath yourself while Oscar sat in the armchair opposite, coffee resting untouched in his hands. “You liked Hemingway?” he asked after a while.
You looked down at the book beside you.
“Yeah,” you admitted quietly. “It feels… lonely.” Oscar’s gaze lifted toward yours. “Not sad,” you continued thoughtfully. “Just… like someone trying very hard not to say what they actually feel.”
Silence settled between you. Heavy suddenly. And for the first time since meeting him, Oscar didn’t immediately look away first. “You do that too, you know,” you said softly before you could stop yourself. His expression stilled. “With the whole pretending-not-to-care thing.”
The rain filled the quiet for a moment. Then Oscar leaned back slightly in his chair, studying you with that same unsettling steadiness he always seemed to reserve only for you. “You’ve known me for a week.”
“Mm. And?”
“And you think you understand me already?”
“No,” you clarified honestly. “I just think you want people to underestimate how much you notice.”
Something flickered across his face then. Recognition, changing the air between you two. The room didn’t suddenly become charged with cinematic tension. Nobody leaned closer. Nobody confessed anything dramatic beneath the rain and candlelight.
Oscar simply looked at you for a fraction too long. And for a man who treated eye contact like a limited resource, it felt strangely intimate.
The piano music hummed softly through the apartment while thunder rolled somewhere over the sea. Outside the windows, Monaco glittered silver and gold beneath the storm, headlights smearing against rain-slick streets below.
Inside, Oscar remained very still in his chair across from you. “You say things like that often?” he asked eventually.
“What, annoyingly perceptive things?”
“Yes.”
You smiled slightly. “Only when I’m trying to bother someone.”
“And is it working?”
“You invited me into your apartment voluntarily. I think I’m making incredible progress.”
That earned you the smallest exhale through his nose. Not quite laughter — or a smile — but God, you were becoming disturbingly addicted to making Oscar Piastri happy.
His fingers tapped once against the side of his coffee mug before he asked, quieter this time, “What made you say it?”
“The underestimating thing?”
A nod. You considered him carefully. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “You notice everything.”
Oscar’s brows pulled together faintly.
“You remembered which café I kept going to. You knew I reorganized my books. You notice when I’m frustrated… through a wall.” You gestured lightly around the apartment. “Half your personality is pretending not to care while secretly paying attention to literally everything.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It sounds lonely.”
The words slipped out before you could soften them. Immediately, silence settled again. You watched his expression shutter slightly. He wasn’t angry, or offended, just instinctively guarded. You’d stepped accidentally too close to something private. Your stomach twisted. “Sorry,” you said quickly. “That was probably—”
“No,” Oscar interrupted. His voice was calm. “It’s fine.” Which, you were beginning to learn, usually meant absolutely not fine at all.
You shifted slightly on the couch. “You don’t have to answer personal questions, by the way.”
“I know.”
“You just look at me like I’ve committed a federal crime every time I ask one.”
“That’s because you ask invasive ones.”
“You invited me over to discuss literature. This is what happens.”
“I regret it already.”
“No, you don’t,” you corrected him.
Oscar glanced at you then, and there it was again. That impossible almost-smile threatening at the corner of his mouth before disappearing. “I usually don’t invite people over,” he admitted after a moment.
Something about the quiet honesty of it made your chest ache unexpectedly. “You don’t seem like you usually invite people anywhere.”
“You’d be right about that.”
“Do you have friends?”
A pause. “Yes.”
“You hesitated,” you said, pouting.
“I was deciding if you counted as one.”
Your heart did one deeply humiliating thing, but you recovered with visible effort. “Wow. That was almost nice.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
After that night, things changed in ways so subtle you almost convinced yourself you imagined them. Except you didn’t.
Oscar started existing around you differently.
You’d hear your front door open in the mornings only to find coffee sitting outside sometimes — not every day, just occasionally. No note, no explanation. Just a paper cup from one of the cafés he’d recommended.
The first time it happened, you knocked on his door immediately. When he opened it, he looked annoyingly unsurprised to see you. “Did you leave this outside my apartment?”
Oscar leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. “Probably.”
“Probably?”
“You drank the terrible coffee near the marina again yesterday.”
“You can’t punish me into having better taste,” you reminded him.”
He shrugged. “I can try.”
You stared at him, looked down at the coffee, and back up again. “Wait. This is kind of sweet.”
His expression changed instantly, like the word itself physically alarmed him. “No, it isn’t.”
“It absolutely is.”
He fumbled for what to say next. “You looked tired.”
“So your solution was caffeine and emotional repression?”
“That solves most things.”
“Jesus Christ.” But you smiled the entire walk back into your apartment.
Another evening, you came home balancing groceries against your hip only to find Oscar sitting on the floor outside his apartment door with a screwdriver clenched between his teeth.
You stopped short. He glanced up briefly from where he was taking apart the lock mechanism. “…Did you break into your own apartment?”
“No.”
“You look like you did.”
“The lock jammed,” he corrected you.
You crouched down nearby immediately despite the groceries cutting painfully into your fingers. “How long have you been out here?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“And you didn’t call someone?” you inquired, choking out a laugh.
“I can fix it.”
“You say that with the confidence of a man currently sitting in a hallway.”
Oscar removed the screwdriver from his mouth with visible patience. “Go inside.”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m doing.”
“I know moral support is important,” you added, beaming.
He flicked his gaze up to you, brown eyes crinkling with frustration. “I don’t need moral support.”
“That’s objectively false.”
He sighed quietly. You sat cross-legged on the floor anyway.
The hallway was warm from the lingering heat outside, golden evening light filtering through the stairwell windows. Somewhere downstairs, someone played music softly while dishes clinked faintly through open windows. Oscar worked in silence for another minute before speaking suddenly. “You really don’t get discouraged easily.”
You tilted your head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Most people stop talking when I clearly want them to.”
“Oh.” You smiled brightly. “That’s because I think you secretly enjoy it.”
“I don’t.”
“You invited me over.”
“That was one time,” he refuted.
“You bought me coffee.”
Oscar tossed his head back. “You looked exhausted.”
“You repaired my window latch yesterday.”
“It was hanging off.”
You inhaled, annoyed. “You notice every time I come home late.”
“That’s because you stomp up the stairs like a soldier returning from war.”
You grinned triumphantly, finally having gotten what you wanted. “See?”
Oscar looked deeply dissatisfied with the direction of this conversation. Before you could say anything, the lock clicked open. He blinked once. “Hm.”
“That’s your reaction?” you asked incredulously. “Not even a little celebration?”
“It’s a lock.”
“You have the emotional range of a Victorian widower. God.”
Oscar looked up at you from where he still sat on the floor. And finally — he laughed. Small and startled, like the sound escaped accidentally. But real.
You froze instantly. That was significantly worse than the almost-smiles. Because now you knew what he sounded like when he genuinely laughed, and unfortunately it was warm and low and unfairly nice.
Oscar seemed to realize what he’d done a second later because his expression shifted immediately back toward guarded neutrality. Too late.
Your eyes widened slowly. “You can laugh.”
“That was barely a laugh.”
“But it was one.”
“No.”
You nudged his shoulder. “You literally laughed at my joke.”
“I exhaled.”
“You’re embarrassed,” you chortled.
“I’m opening my door now.” He stood up smoothly, towering over you again as he pushed the apartment door open. “Goodnight,” he said flatly.
You got to your feet far slower, still grinning like an idiot. “Goodnight, Oscar.”
He paused just before stepping inside, glancing back toward you standing in the hallway. “You can borrow the other Hemingway book I have when you finish,” he said. And then he disappeared into his apartment.
You stood there for another few seconds holding your groceries, heart beating strangely hard beneath your ribs. Somewhere between the bookstore and the coffee and the quiet conversations in the rain, your grumpy neighbor had stopped looking at you like an inconvenience.
By the fifth week of you living in Monaco, Oscar started lingering. That was how you knew things were getting dangerous.
Not because he became openly affectionate — heavens no. Oscar still spoke like every additional sentence cost him money. He still answered the door looking mildly inconvenienced by human interaction. He still acted personally betrayed whenever you made him laugh unexpectedly.
But now he stayed. In the hallway after brief conversations should’ve ended. At your apartment door after returning borrowed books. Beside you at the little market near the marina while you spent fifteen minutes dramatically debating between peaches and nectarines.
“You can’t actually taste the difference,” he informed you.
“That is an insane thing to say.”
“You’re choosing based entirely on vibes.”
“You say that like it’s wrong,” you protested.
Oscar looked at the fruit. “The peaches are objectively better.”
“You have strong opinions about fruit,” you grinned, “I’m surprised.”
“I have correct opinions about produce.” There it was again, that warmth hiding underneath the dryness.
It showed up more often now. In the way he automatically walked on the outside edge of sidewalks without seeming to realize it. In the way he started bringing an extra coffee downstairs if he saw your lights on early in the morning. In the way his apartment door remained cracked open occasionally while he worked, a silent invitation that you’d somehow learned how to read.
Sometimes you sat there for hours doing nothing together. You’d curl up on his couch reading while Oscar worked at his desk nearby, sleeves rolled up, glasses slipping lower down his nose while blueprints and mechanical sketches crowded his screens.
You’d always thought connection had to be loud to matter. Big conversations, grand confessions, immediate understanding.
Oscar was quiet in a way that made tiny things feel enormous. One night, you looked up from your book to find him watching you absentmindedly from across the room. “What?” you asked.
Oscar blinked once, like you’d caught him doing something embarrassing. “Nothing.”
“You’re staring at me.”
“You’re reading intensely.”
You frowned. “How does someone read intensely?”
“You keep making faces.”
“That’s because I’m emotionally invested.”
“You gasped twenty seconds ago,” he concurred.
“It was warranted!”
His mouth twitched faintly. Your chest did something deeply pathetic. The thing was, you couldn’t pinpoint exactly when you started falling for him.
Maybe it was the bookstore. Maybe it was the rainstorm. Maybe it was every tiny moment afterward: the coffee, the conversations, the way he always noticed things about you nobody else did. Or maybe, it was moments like these. The terrifying gentleness hiding underneath all that restraint. Oscar never reached for attention, instead for specifics.
The exact pastry you liked from the bakery downstairs, the fact you hated overhead lighting at night, the way you reread paragraphs when you were anxious.
He noticed everything.
And once he cared about something, you got the feeling he cared permanently. Which was horrifying, really. Especially since you were beginning to suspect the same thing about yourself.
It happened on a Thursday evening.
Warm wind drifted through the open balcony doors while the city glowed beneath the sunset. You sat cross-legged on Oscar’s kitchen counter eating strawberries directly from the carton while he made coffee with the concentration of a surgeon.
“You know,” you said thoughtfully, “for someone who claimed I was too loud, you spend a shocking amount of time with me.”
Oscar slid a cup toward you without looking up. “You’re still loud.”
“And yet here you are.”
“Hm.”
You smiled into your coffee. Outside, Monaco buzzed softly with evening life. Scooters somewhere below. Distant laughter from the street. The sea beyond the buildings turning molten beneath the setting sun.
Oscar leaned back lightly against the counter across from you, arms folded. “You like France?” he asked suddenly.
You looked up, surprised by the question. “I think so.”
“Think?”
“I’ve never… really been.” You glanced toward the balcony. “I mean, unless you’re counting Monaco as being a part of France. But I’m not sure if you are or not. Anyways, my grandmother would have loved the thought of me moving here… at least that’s what I hope.”
Oscar watched you, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “She was difficult.”
“She was terrifying.”
“She liked you,” he murmured. The certainty in his voice made you look away from him unexpectedly, refocusing down at your coffee.
“I don’t know about that.”
Oscar was quiet for a moment. “She talked about you.”
Your head lifted immediately. “What?”
He looked almost reluctant now, like he already regretted speaking. “She mentioned you sometimes,” he admitted. “Mostly after you stopped visiting her in Newport.”
Something inside you twisted painfully. “Oh.”
“She kept photos.”
Your throat tightened further.
Oscar’s gaze stayed fixed somewhere near your shoulder instead of your eyes now, voice calm and even in the way it always became when talking about emotional things too directly. “She worried about you.”
For a second, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt fragile suddenly. “I thought she was disappointed in me,” you admitted quietly.
Oscar looked at you then. Really looked at you. Something about his expression made your pulse stumble. “I don’t think,” he said carefully, “you disappoint people as much as you think you do.”
The words landed harder than they should have. Oscar never said things he didn’t mean, either because he noticed too much, or because somewhere along the way, his opinion had started mattering to you in ways that felt terrifyingly irreversible.
The dying sunlight caught against the edges of his hair and the curve of his jaw. You suddenly became hyperaware of how close he stood. How easy it would be to step forward.
Neither of you moved.
Oscar cleared his throat softly and looked away first.
“There’s a vineyard in Nice,” he said.
“That’s… random.”
“I know.” He laughed, then played it off as a cough before you could point it out.
“You hate random.”
“I tolerate some exceptions.”
Your lips curved slightly. “Do you now?”
Oscar rubbed a hand once across the back of his neck, and to your absolute shock, he looked — nervous? “They do outdoor dinners sometimes,” he continued, gaze fixed very firmly on the coffee machine instead of you. “It’s quieter this time of year.”
Slowly, your smile faded into something softer. “Oscar.”
“They have good wine,” he added, clearly making things worse for himself now. “And olives. You like olives.”
Your heart practically melted onto the kitchen floor. “You noticed I like olives?”
His jaw tightened faintly like he regretted existing. “You order them constantly.”
“And this is…” You tilted your head slightly. “What exactly?”
Finally, Oscar looked at you again. Steady, certain, but terrified regardless. “A date,” he said simply.
The word settled warmly between you. You smiled before you could stop yourself. Gentle enough that something in Oscar’s expression immediately unraveled at the sight of it.
“I’d love to go,” you said.
For a moment, he just looked at you, like he couldn’t quite believe you answered that easily. And then he smiled. Not the tiny restrained flickers you’d spent weeks chasing.
A real one.
Small and crooked and devastating enough to knock the breath directly from your lungs.
Suddenly, with the sea glowing outside the windows, you understood something all at once: You hadn’t moved to Monaco to start over.
