littlemisshyperfixation
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✰ 26 ✰ svt ult ✰ she/her ✰ professional fangirl ✰
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MY LOVES I’VE MISSED YOUUUUUUU
💖💜💗
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JUN JUN JUN JUN JUN JUN JUN JUN JUN JUN JUN JUN JUN JUN JUN
BAD INFLUENCE SEVENTEEN (2025)
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MY SWEET BABY
please don't take away his beans
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I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM I MISS HIM


Melon Magazine : ‘HAPPY BURSTDAY’ Exclusive Photos
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adore u
🔞 18+, minors do not interact • masterlist • submit a request 🚨 minors and blank blogs will be blocked
after a career drought full of dead end positions, you finally land a job you can be proud to include on your resume—prestigious company, room for growth, and most importantly, a salary that will allow you and your boyfriend, soonyoung, to breathe a little easier. what you don’t expect is the discrimination and vitriol you’re met with on the job. as office life gets harder and harder for you, soonyoung finds it increasingly impossible to sit back and watch you repeatedly get hurt like this. so he dusts off a mask he never thought he’d use again, and when your colleagues start dropping dead one by one… well, that’s none of his business.
♫ i did something bad taylor swift
pairing: ghostface!soonyoung x fem!reader wc: 23k 🤨 tags: horror fic (kinda not really), scream fic, established relationship, alternating povs, normal (used loosely lol) lovers to crazy psycho lovers, screenwriter!soonyoung, corporate slave!reader, “he hates everyone but her” trope except make it “he hates and brutally murders everyone but her” ┐( ̄ヘ ̄;)┌ a/n: the platinum blonde spiky hair ghostface soonyoung brain rot had me in a chokehold. this all started just bc i saw a gifset of him looking soooo early 00s fuck boy pop star and immediately my brain was like “ghostface hoshi.” so here we are. i do watch horror but like. i’m here for a good time not a critical time LOL. i am no expert on horror movies! i just like watching the more digestible ones, and if there are inconsistencies with the reasoning for becoming a killer or the relationship between killer and lover of killer or how realistically easy it would be to catch the killer… well, just pretend there aren’t :) i’m just trying to eradicate this ghostface hoshi brainworm :) so enjoy it :) or don’t :) this is more for me than anyone else :)
warnings READ ALL OF THEM!
content: murder… obviously (it won’t be overly gory, but it is described, so be careful. it won’t be anyone in svt), he’s a psychopath (again… obviously), blood, knives/stabbing, torture, domestic violence (not between mcs), traumatic brain injury, misogyny, daddy issues, eh mommy issues too why not, male use of the word “whore” and “bitch” against a woman, workplace harassment (bullying, hazing, finance tech red pill bro culture), sexual harassment in the workplace (inappropriate comments, sexualization of reader by male coworkers, etc. but no physical sexual assault takes place), no physical description of reader but she’s called a diversity hire by her harassers (whatever makes her diverse can be up to you), murdered people could possibly share names with idols idk but if they do, that’s a coincidence bc these are just random names, protectiveness to insane levels, possessiveness, codependency, jealousy, toxic and unhealthy relationship, reader is also crazy smut: marked at beginning and end if you’d like to avoid, unprotected piv, creampie, roleplaying (kinda? like, is it roleplaying if they’re roleplaying as themselves but one of them doesn’t realize it’s themselves?), squirting, kink exploration, mentions of bondage, mentions of blindfolding, mentions of choking, mentions of degradation, mentions of knife play, light breeding kink, shower sex, oral (both receiving), face fucking, fingering, uh horniness supercharged by murder so… whatever tag that is, dirty talk except make it about murder, honestly don’t look at me
🎞️ a portion from an early draft of the script for cult classic horror movie, “adoration,” by renowned screenwriter kwon soonyoung
IN AN APARTMENT
a man (jake) dressed in a disheveled suit returns home late at night presumably from work, though from his mannerisms, he seems drunk.
he takes his jacket off and lets it fall to the floor. he is grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge when his phone rings. the number is private. he declines it. when it rings again, he fumbles to hit the right button for several seconds but eventually answers, swaying drunkenly as he does.
JAKE hello? (he hears loud breathing) hello? (no answer) who is this? (hangs up and mutters to himself) fucking weirdos.
his phone rings again, and he watches his cell vibrate on the counter. he closes the fridge door and answers the phone, obviously ready to yell at whoever it is, but he is cut off by a raspy male voice.
PHONE STRANGER hi, jake.
jake freezes, too flustered to speak.
PHONE STRANGER oh come on, don’t be rude. where are your manners? this is where you say hi back. go on, try it.
JAKE who is this?
PHONE STRANGER that’s too easy, don’t you think? and too easy is never any fun.
jake seems to deflate, his exhaustion too potent to argue with a stranger. he hangs up once more. the phone rings again. he answers it in an almost violent fashion.
JAKE leave me alone!
PHONE STRANGER hang up on me again and i’ll take that pretty, little butcher knife (jake’s eyes dart to the knife block on his kitchen island. camera changes focus to knives) and run it down the entirety of your torso until the floor is slick with your blood and organs.
jake looks around the apartment, understanding there is a large chance he is being watched.
camera angle changes to a shaky shot farther away from around the corner in a dark hallway, suggesting whoever is watching is already in the apartment with him. goes back to jake in kitchen.
jake inches forward, wrapping his fingers around the very same knife he was just threatened with.
PHONE STRANGER hiding it won’t help you, jake. and neither will using it. i promise.
jake’s fingers immediately let go and he takes several steps back in horror as he realizes he is definitely being watched.
PHONE STRANGER good boy! (sounds genuinely excited) so you do listen after all. now. let’s start over. hi, jake.
JAKE hi. (voice cracks, clears his throat) what do you want?
stranger clicks tongue in disapproval.
PHONE STRANGER jake, jake, jake. didn’t we talk about manners already? (jake inches toward the front door, stranger laughs) eh, i probably wouldn’t go that way if i were you. (jake freezes, eyes flitting around the room wildly) what do you want to try next?
camera briefly shifts to a dark corner closer to jake now. goes back to kitchen.
JAKE who are you?
PHONE STRANGER my name is hoshi. (jake is very obviously surprised) didn’t expect me to tell you my name, did you? thought i’d keep that a secret? you don’t have to ask either; that’s my real name.
JAKE why?
HOSHI why what?
JAKE why are you telling me your name?
HOSHI well, it doesn’t matter if i tell you my name. it’s going to die with you anyway.
jake quickly takes the phone away from his ear and begins to dial the police. being drunk, he mistypes several times.
HOSHI i won’t try to talk you out of that. someone needs to find your body after all. i do want people to know you’re dead. i want her to know you’re dead. that you’re never going to hurt her ever again. so by all means, call the police. but i assure you. they won’t come in time.
JAKE (in a shaky voice) yes they will.
HOSHI no. they won’t. and you know how i know?
jake finally gets the call going, phone automatically putting hoshi on hold.
HOSHI i know because you’re a dumb ass and you never even put me on speaker.
camera focuses on jake’s face front on as his eyes widen and he freezes. audience hears dispatcher answer the line.
DISPATCH what is your emergency?
hoshi appears behind jake in a white mask, face contorted into a permanent scream, and a black tattered robe. audience hears a squelch as jake’s mouth falls open in pain and he stumbles. his phone falls out of his hand, ending the call.
camera angle switches to side view, where audience can see a hunter knife buried in the middle of jake’s back. hoshi slowly slides the knife out of him, letting him fall to the floor, where he’s immediately crawling away.
hoshi makes no move to follow him yet. simply watches him kick and struggle to stand.
HOSHI i knew you were dumb, but i didn’t realize you were this dumb.
he slowly walks after him, watching as jake pathetically tries to make it to the front door, blood trailing behind him. he crashes into most of his furniture as he stumbles past.
hoshi reaches him and kicks him in his stab wound, causing jake to fall back to the floor, screaming in agony.
JAKE god, why?! WHY?!
HOSHI question of the night, huh?
JAKE (sobbing, turns over and pulls himself away enough until he’s slouched up against the back of his couch) i don’t even know who you are!
hoshi squats down in front of him, forearms on knees, eye level. he keeps his bloody knife threateningly close to jake’s face.
HOSHI but i know who you are. oh man, i know exactly who you are. i’ve heard all about you, jake. more than i should’ve ever had to hear about you.
jake sobs harder as hoshi runs his knife gently across his neck, leaving his own blood on his skin.
HOSHI you couldn’t just be the quiet coworker who came to work, minded his own goddamn business, and went home, huh? you had to be the red pill loser.
JAKE (weakly) what…? i don’t… huh?
HOSHI you hurt her, jake. and when you hurt her… well frankly, you hurt me. and i don’t let anyone get away with hurting me.
JAKE who’s “her”?! who are you?! i don’t even know what you’re talking about, dude. please! please! i promise i won’t tell anyone! i’ll do whatever you want! i’ll give you whatever you want—just let me live!
hoshi doesn’t say anything for several seconds. resembles predator watching prey. when jake starts blubbering and begging, he sighs.
HOSHI what if what i want… (tilts his head menacingly at him) is for you to die… (wipes his knife along the length of his sleeve, cleaning it of blood) an incredibly slow and painful death? hm? what if that’s what i want? will you still give it to me, jake?
JAKE i don’t get it, please, i don’t get it. who are you? what do you want?
HOSHI god you’re a fucking moron, i literally just told you what i fucking want.
he drives his knife into jake’s thigh. when he screams, hoshi backhands him to shut him up.
several seconds pass as jake tries to catch his breath.
JAKE why are you doing this?
hoshi removes his knife from his thigh, just to plunge it into his abdomen. jake doubles over, blood spilling past his lips.
hoshi lets go of the knife, leaving it buried inside jake. he tries to reach up and remove it, but hoshi gently presses a single finger to the hilt. jake screams and lets his hands fall away. hoshi removes his finger.
HOSHI (casually) honestly, it’s kind of futile explaining this to an idiot who gets off of shitting on women.
jake’s breathing is labored as his screams subside.
HOSHI (comically scratches his head) like, how do i even explain love to a greasy little incel like you?
JAKE (incredulously, while stuttering) love?
HOSHI yes, jake. love. you know, it’s so funny. i really, really hated that word for most of my life, and then… one day that just… changed, i guess.
JAKE you’re killing me because… you love… me?
HOSHI (sputters/laughs) what?! are you fucking—what?! (backhands him again) i can’t even fathom how fucking stupid you are! what the fuck? (jake groans) no, you jackass, how could anybody love you? you’re like shit on the bottom of my shoe. (mutters again) what the fuck?
JAKE i don’t get it.
HOSHI (sighs) i know you don’t, dimwit. that’s why i’m not going to bother explaining why you’ll die tonight. you’ll never understand what it’s like to love someone the way i love her. i fucking adore her.
he watches jake carefully, head tilting to the other side like he’s studying his looming death. or enjoying it.
HOSHI and jake (just barely skims one finger from where the blade disappears into flesh, up the hilt of the knife) one thing about me?
jake’s eyes go up to meet the black holes in the mask, breathing coming out in short gasps now.
HOSHI my adoration is killer.
without warning, hoshi grabs his knife once more, other hand holding jake’s shoulder down as he pulls the knife up his torso with alarming force. he makes good on his promise to cover his floors with his own blood and organs.
your life has become a sad routine of miserably crying monday through friday, suffering an emotional hangover on saturdays, and spending the entirety of sunday shaking with anxiety over the mere thought of having to go back to work and do it all over again the next day.
your job, for the most part, is predictable. you expect to come in and endure catcalls, unprovoked insults, glares, and lewd gestures all before you even reach your desk. you expect to have your work—as flawless as you know it is—ridiculed and mocked, just for someone else to copy it word for word, claim it as his own, and receive endless praise for it. you expect your boss to sheepishly shrug and tell you boys will be boys and to be a “team player.” you expect to be told you’re useless, you’re just a diversity hire, and all you’re good for is something nice to look at.
as the only woman on an all-male, all-asshole team, you expect pure torment.
what you don’t expect is to be corralled into the company auditorium with hundreds of other employees first thing in the morning, where you’re all informed that jay, the psychopath you share a cubicle with, was not just playing hooky and skipping work like you and all his buddies assumed, but that he “tragically” passed away earlier this week. you’re in a daze as they tell everyone grief counseling is available and that those close to jay can take bereavement effective immediately if they have to.
what you also don’t expect is to return to your desk, google his obituary, and be met with several articles detailing a gruesome murder that took place in his apartment building. jay isn’t directly named, but you don’t need him to be to know it’s him. the executives were too dodgy about the announcement of his death for this to be about anybody else.
your eyes scan over words like “stabbed,” “bloodied,” “screams,” “ripped,” and “spilled.” the journalist describes it as the most grisly homicide to take place since the “prank call killings”—even goes as far to make connections between jay’s murder and the string of deaths that took place years ago, in a small town not far from where you are.
both involved victims with multiple stab wounds.
both were indicative of a frighteningly large hunting knife with unique serrations used as the weapon.
both ended with the torsos being carelessly cut open down the middle—while the victim was still alive.
the one difference is that police found no evidence of calls made to jay’s phone before his death.
this begs the question: after nearly a decade, has the prank call killer made their return, or has a copycat ascended their throne?
the closing line sends a chill down your spine, but you’re not sure it feels bad.
in fact, there’s one last thing you don’t expect that comes of today: as you turn in your seat to look at jay’s desk, exactly how he left it, you find that you don’t feel horrified about his death. contrarily, you find yourself feeling relieved. elated, even. and that’s what horrifies you.
as the team that housed jay, your boss releases you all from work for the rest of the day, some for the whole week. not you, though—never you. you are expected to return first thing in the morning to begin sorting through jay’s work and figure out where you can fill in and what you can split amongst your coworkers. but you know that won’t be happening; no one on your team would lift a pinkie to help you even if you were on the floor dying. everything jay left behind will be your responsibility now, not that that’s much of an issue. the man was already pawning all his work to you anyway.
“baby?”
soonyoung’s voice filters through the noise of the coffee machine as you close and lock the door behind you. a head of blonde, spiky hair pokes out from around the corner. your boyfriend’s eyebrows are raised, mouth puckered into a cute, surprised o.
“hey, what are you doing back?” he asks as he completely exits the kitchen and walks around the corner. his hands are immediately pressed against your forehead and neck when he reaches you, eyes running up and down your body like he’s checking for injuries. “are you okay? do you have a fever? are you sick?”
you don’t even have the energy to playfully slap him away and roll your eyes like you normally would at his overly worried behavior. you just shake your head slowly.
“what’s wrong?” he mutters, letting his hands fall to snake around your waist. soonyoung watches you so closely and so attentively, you almost swoon enough to forget why you’re so distraught.
“i…”
soonyoung doesn’t urge you to speak, patiently waiting for you to find the words you want to use. you shake your head again.
“jay’s… jay is dead?” you announce, sounding unsure and confused even though it’s literally just a fact now.
soonyoung snorts. “that would be a dream. how would he die? what’s the most satisfying way to imagine it? hit by a bus? fell into an open manhole? choked on a—”
“no,” you interject, gripping his forearms and squeezing. he moves to let go of you but you keep him where he is. “he’s actually dead, soonyoung. like… dead dead.”
he raises an eyebrow, still obviously hesitating. “okay, i want to say you’re joking… but your use of my government name is telling me you’re not…?”
“i’m not!” you insist, slapping his arms away now.
“hey.” he pouts.
“why else would i be home right now?!” you point out. “park told us to take the day off.” you toe off your shoes and push past soonyoung, further into the home you share. “something about grieving.”
you go straight to the couch, flopping onto it face down.
“oh my god?” your boyfriend murmurs in a daze as he follows you, brows furrowed into a deep frown.
he sits on the small sliver of couch you’re not occupying, automatically arranging you so that you’re laying face up against him between his legs. his arms find your waist once more.
“what… what happened…?” he asks, obviously trying to tread the topic carefully. he knows how much you hated jay—hell, as your biggest supporter, he hated him too. but for him to die? you’re full of complicated feelings. “is that why he’s been skipping work?”
you nod. “and it’s not just that… park and the other execs didn’t say this, but… i looked up his name to see if i could read the obituary.”
“mmm,” he hums, nodding. “tracks for a nosy girl like you.”
“not the time!” you whine, already pulling away. he tightens his arms around you, keeping you from moving.
“okay, okay! sorry! i’ll be serious—i swear! i’m sorry!”
you huff and relax against him once more.
“so you looked up his obituary…” he encourages you to continue, voice lower as he tries to be serious—a feat for him, honestly.
“i… i think jay was murdered.”
you whisper the words without meaning to, like you’re scared of giving life to them. like if you say them loud enough, the prank call killer—or their copycat—will come bursting through the door and shred you and the love of your life into ribbons of blood and flesh.
soonyoung remains quiet and you can almost hear the gears in his head turning as he tries to find the correct thing to say. you bet he’s trying to scour his brain for anything that isn’t an inappropriate joke.
“murdered…?” he asks in a small voice. “why… how…?”
you rest your hands over his on your stomach, pressing even further into him as you retell what you read.
a victim was found in his own apartment, stab wounds to his back and left thigh. it was clear he was attacked in his kitchen and that his assailant let him make it halfway to his front door… before they cornered him against his own couch. then, they gutted him—from lower abdomen to sternum, where his bones wouldn’t give any more way for the knife. they didn’t name him. they didn’t even describe his appearance. all they said was that he was 28, and he lived alone.
but you knew, and from the way you spoke, you were confident soonyoung wouldn’t question you about it. he was good at trusting you and believing in you.
“that’s… fucking barbaric…” he breathes out after you recount the story. “i mean, the guy was a fucking asshole, but… that’s… i mean, it’s… i—”
“i feel happy.” you blurt out the words that have been brewing in your head since you left the office.
to his credit, your boyfriend has taken most of this information well despite the poorly timed jokes. but at this new revelation, his entire body tenses against yours, and you immediately regret being honest.
“you think i’m a monster, don’t you?” you ask quietly, ready for him to gently remove you from him. to admonish you. maybe even leave. “you think—”
“i don’t think you’re a monster.”
he says it with so much conviction, you believe it the first time he says it. soonyoung repeats it anyway.
“i don’t think you’re a monster, baby. please don’t say that. i’m just… surprised. i mean i’m definitely not mourning the guy, but i know how these kinds of things can upset you.”
you know he’s referring to all the times news headlines made you cry, or the times bleak documentaries pushed you into a weird episode of feeling like there was no meaning to life and everything was pointless. you’ve always been easily affected by the world around you, so it’s fair for him to be surprised that being this close in proximity to a victim of such inexplicable violence doesn’t send you straight into a panic attack.
“he just… he made my life so hard, soonie,” you say, not expecting the tears that fill your eyes. your voice cracks on your boyfriend’s name and he immediately rests his lips against the crown of your head and whispers his love for you.
“i know,” he says after he’s told you he loves you at least a dozen times. “trust me, i know.”
soonyoung actually knows best because he’s the one who’s picking up the pieces when you come home broken and inconsolable. he’s the one who calms you down enough to explain what happened this time.
jay purposefully knocked your coffee over a report that took you a week. jay took credit for a project you were forced to collaborate with him on—a project you ended up doing all by yourself. jay was telling everyone you were a ditzy bimbo that couldn’t do her job right. jay went out drinking with the boss and spent the whole night talking shit about you. jay wouldn’t stop trying to convince you you were only hired because you had a pair of tits. that those tits are all you’re ever going to be worth.
he’s the entire reason the team is the way they are around you now. he’s the one who emboldened them to treat you the way they do.
and day after day, week after week, for almost a year now, soonyoung has had to endure all your rants—rants that were exactly the same because you didn’t know how to stand up for yourself. the only thing you knew how to do was “be a team player” in the hopes that you could find a promotion into another team or even better, a new job altogether.
being the best boyfriend there is, soonyoung never complained about your venting. even on nights he had to abandon the latest script he was working on, even on days he had to call in sick to the writers’ room because he had insisted on staying up until the sun rose, consoling you—he never complained or even hinted that he was tired of you. not once.
even more meaningful to you, he never chastised you for being unable to find the strength to speak back or enforce your boundaries, something you were already plenty embarrassed about. he never made you feel less than; he knew you already had enough of that from the men in your work life.
soonyoung was the gentleness and softness you craved and needed so desperately in your life. he was safety and love and warmth and he was what continuously healed you as your job tried over and over again to break you.
he knew all of this. he knew how much you hated it and how much you hated jay, and it comforts you to know that he doesn’t think you’re a monster for being happy he’s dead. it gives you the courage to be even more honest with him.
“i’m relieved,” you tell him, wiping away your tears. “i’m so relieved he’s gone, and that it’s over. that maybe now… maybe now, i’ll be safe.”
his hold on you tightens and he leaves more kisses in your hair.
“and… i feel like a terrible person saying this…”
“whatever it is, you’re not. so don’t.”
it’s the push you need.
“i’m glad he suffered,” you admit, feeling lighter as soon as it’s out of your mouth. “i’m not just happy he died… i’m glad he died in the most heinous way. and i’m glad his killer made it hurt.”
once the words are out, you can’t take them back. and soonyoung doesn’t make you feel like you should. after a few seconds of silence, he just sighs and leans forward to kiss your cheek.
“then i am too, baby. if you’re happy, then i’m happy.”
he says it like you didn’t just tell him the grossest thing you’ve ever said in your life. and when you look up and catch his reflection in the window opposite of you, unbeknownst to him, you find him smiling into your hair almost like he’s pleased with you. you believe that he really is happy when you’re happy.
and honestly, you love him even more for it.
“i love you, soonie.”
“i adore you,” he says, his favorite way to express his affection for you—even moreso than “love,” though he learned to return the four-letter word once you expressed how important it was to you. “endlessly.” he pauses briefly before promising: “i’ll love you forever.”
it takes just one week, when everyone returns from their bereavement, for you to realize you aren’t safe—that jay’s death just put his friends on edge and made them more dangerous than ever. that for some fucked up reason, they felt that torturing you was the best way they could keep their sick friend’s memory alive.
and it makes you wish they were all dead too.
🎞️ a portion from an early draft of the script for cult classic horror movie, “adoration,” by renowned screenwriter kwon soonyoung
as hoshi stands over his bed, clean of the blood he shed just hours ago and watching his girlfriend sleep, a montage of traumatic events from hoshi’s childhood begins flashing—switching between his memories and their bedroom until his memories win out.
FLASHBACK
a very young hoshi screams as he throws his tiny body against his father’s uselessly. his father has his hands around his mother’s neck, choking her mercilessly.
YOUNG HOSHI stop it! stop! get off my mommy! (begins punching but makes no headway) stop! please!
DAD you think i wouldn’t hear about you coming around to that dead beat’s house under the guise of asking for sugar, you fucking whore?!
YOUNG HOSHI please! mommy!
hoshi’s father removes one hand from his wife’s neck to shove his son aside. hoshi stumbles several steps before falling and hitting his head on the corner of the table and blacking out.
memory moves to hoshi’s recovery, when he is back home with a bandage around his head. blood blooms on the back of it. he is freshly woken up, in his pajamas, and his mother is changing the dressing on his injury.
there is something eerily blank about his face.
MOM (in a hoarse voice) let me know if it hurts, sweetheart.
YOUNG HOSHI okay. (pauses in what seems to be thought, though his expression does not change) will you let me know if it hurts too?
camera follows his gaze, focusing on the bruises around her neck. his mother’s hands still on his head before she continues in silence.
hoshi does not urge her to answer him, his eyes almost glazing over as he stares at her bruises. his mother finishes up changing the bandaging.
MOM you don’t worry your cute, little head about mommy, okay? in fact—
she pauses to put the medical supplies away into the first aid kit resting on the nightstand and smooths her dress before crouching in front of hoshi’s bed. she takes his hands in hers.
MOM mommy doesn’t want you interfering like that ever again, okay? (hoshi’s face remains blank as he meets her eyes now) when you hear daddy or mommy shouting, i want you to stay right here, in your bed, with the door shut and locked, and i don’t want you to come out until i come get you, alright?
YOUNG HOSHI am i in trouble?
MOM no, no sweetie. you’re not in trouble. but daddy will be home soon. in the next day or so. and mommy needs you to be safe and healthy, so will you promise me that you’ll stay out of it?
YOUNG HOSHI why does daddy hurt you?
MOM daddy is… he’s sick, sweetheart.
YOUNG HOSHI if someone is sick, is it okay for us to let them hurt us?
despite hoshi’s blank stare, his mother recognizes this will be a pivotal moment that informs the way her son sees the world. she blinks rapidly as her thoughts go into overdrive and she tries not to cry.
MOM (whispers) no. (she pauses, shaking her head and quickly wiping away her tears before returning her hand to hoshi’s) no, it’s not okay. you don’t let anybody hurt you, sweetheart. not you. no one hurts you.
YOUNG HOSHI why do you let daddy hurt you?
MOM i… i love him, hoshi. i love your father. and he loved me once too. maybe he will again. but either way, i will still love him. he gave me you.
hoshi’s blank stare breaks at this, like the idea of any part of him being from his father bothers him. like he realizes he might be the only reason his mother stays with his father.
YOUNG HOSHI you love him… (his mother nods) i never want to love someone then.
memory moves years forward, when hoshi is 17. they remain in the same home, but messier and much sadder. colors are cooler than the past warmer memories audience has seen before.
hoshi is seated on the edge of a bigger bed now, in the same position as the previous memory, this time without his mom.
hands grip the comforter tensely. works his jaw anxiously as he stares, expressionless, at the door.
sound is muffled as camera zooms in on door. audience hears high-pitched whining sound as shots quickly flash between the door, hoshi on the bed, and the blood that spread on the floor from his head injury when he was young.
the whining gets louder as all the memories that flash now focus on young hoshi’s traumatic brain injury (blood, his mother screaming, blood, cops, stitches, bandages, blood, blood, blood).
the sound comes back full volume as the flashing comes back and stops on his closed room door.
MOM i’m sorry! i’m—
his mother’s pleas are cut off with her own scream as the walls shake and boom with the force of her body being thrown against them.
hoshi relaxes his fingers and smooths the comforter where he wrinkled it. he stands calmly, making his way to the door. his hand hovers over the locked handle.
flashes back to his conversation with his mom.
MOM will you promise me that you’ll stay out of it?
young hoshi’s face is blank but the way his eyes search his mother’s face in a way audience did not see before now implies that he possibly could’ve been weighing his options, even as a child.
YOUNG HOSHI why does daddy hurt you?
back to 17-year-old hoshi.
HOSHI (mutters to himself) you never promised.
audience sees he made it to the kitchen during the flashback. he faces the doorway from the kitchen to the living room.
camera focuses on door. mother is thrown across the living room, father stalks after her. the sounds of punching are heard but they’re beginning to muffle again.
flashes back.
MOM you don’t let anybody hurt you, sweetheart. not you. no one hurts you.
flashes back to memory from beginning of film.
MOM (both sprawled across grass on a sunny day) you and i, we’re one, hosh. you’re made of me, and i’m made of you!
YOUNG HOSHI i’m you and you’re me?
MOM hm. not quite but sure, yes! and we’ll always have each other.
flashes to conversation after brain injury.
YOUNG HOSHI why do you let daddy hurt you?
MOM i… i love him, hoshi.
we come back to teen hoshi in the kitchen. his mother’s voice is still there, but as muffled as the rest of the sounds are.
he walks forward and calmly retrieves the biggest knife from the block on the counter.
MOM (muffled voiceover) i love your father. and he loved me once too.
he weighs the knife in his hand and flips it so he’s holding it blade up. he holds it like someone who’s practiced this before.
he turns back toward the living room, walking to the doorway that separates it from the kitchen.
MOM (muffled voiceover) maybe he will again.
he watches as his father punches his mother wherever she can’t block him. as he takes a step forward, the high-pitched whining returns, the camera begins to shake, and the house seemingly starts to crumble around him as he walks forward.
scenes once again flash between hoshi approaching his father, the conversation on the bed, and the blood pooling from his brain injury.
MOM (voiceover, warped by the whining) but either way, i will still love him.
the scenes flashing now show bits of hoshi reaching his father amongst the rubble of their home, grabbing him by the shoulder and yanking him off his mother and onto his feet.
whining and shaking reaches a fever pitch before going eerily silent and the scene shows sunlight filtering through leaves.
MOM (clear voice) he gave me you.
camera comes back to hoshi and his mother sprawled across the grass. the memory is different this time.
MOM (said less warmly, more an order now) you and i, we’re one, hosh. you’re made of me, and i’m made of you.
as dialogue progresses, sun disappears, covered by dark clouds. hoshi sits up and narrows his eyes at the sky. when he turns toward his mom, he sees they are now both in the living room, the house completely in tact again, and she’s holding his small body—the younger version of him, limp in her arms as he watches from across the room. she’s covered in his blood, and so is the floor and coffee table.
MOM (blankly with no urgency) you and i. we’re one. someone hurts me, they hurt you. and what did i tell you?
HOSHI (voiceover as camera begins to follow the trail of blood gushing from young hoshi’s head) no one hurts me.
complete silence, camera still following young hoshi’s blood as it flows across the hardwood floor.
the flow joins the massive pool around two pairs of shoes, both facing each other. camera stays there for a few moments, before his mother’s screams pierce the silence.
camera slowly travels up hoshi’s legs from behind, until it reaches his head, where it looks like his dad is embracing him.
something heavy falls into the blood (presumably organs), creating a splashing noise, and shortly after that, hoshi shoves his father. it’s clear he had simply died and collapsed onto him.
his mother starts screaming and sobbing over his body for several minutes, but hoshi finds that he feels relieved, his face breaking out into the smallest smile for the first time since he hit his head.
when his mother gains her senses, she grabs his face between her hands, her own face bloody, puffy, and bruised.
MOM go! you have to go! they won’t understand, they’ll take you to jail, hoshi! you have to leave!
HOSHI (frowning) but we’re safe now.
his mother freezes.
HOSHI he’s gone. we’re safe now.
MOM (she swallows and nods shakily) we are. but i can’t let them take you to prison, sweetheart.
his mom begins leading him through the house, quickly forcing him to change out of his blood-soaked clothes, gathering important belongings and food, finding years’ worth of hidden emergency cash she never found the courage to use, stuffing it into his backpack.
HOSHI mom… what… i…
his mother brings him to the back door, weaving his arms through the backpack and smiling unconvincingly. she takes his face in her hands once more and kisses both cheeks as her tears start to fall.
MOM you be safe, okay?
HOSHI are you mad at me? do you hate me?
MOM what? no, no, sweetie. no. (said forcefully. pauses to think) i’ve only ever felt adoration for you, hoshi. adoration and nothing else. i’m sorry i let this happen. i’m sorry i subjected you to this.
HOSHI mom—
MOM but you need to go now, okay? the neighbors will have heard all the screaming. take the cash, go far away, and whatever you do, don’t come back.
HOSHI but—
MOM go!
she all but shoves him out of the door. she lingers there for a moment, trying her best to let the last memory of his mom be one of her smiling. she whispers an i love you before slamming the door shut.
PRESENT
we return to present-day hoshi, who is now seated on the edge of his girlfriend’s side of their bed. he strokes her hair away from her face as she breathes softly, still asleep.
he smiles, obviously, genuinely in love.
HOSHI (whispers) adoration.
you’re back at work the next day, much to soonyoung’s chagrin. he had been hoping you’d get the rest of the week off, and maybe he could get out of going into the writers’ room and keep you company at home. but he knows that was wishful thinking, especially with how set your team has been on not only working you to the bone, but ruining your life. but at least you enjoy the rest of the week since no one else is there to bother you.
for the first time since jay entered your life, you start to look light again. you start to smile more freely, joke more, and come home with bright eyes. it brings him hope that this is how it will be now—that he did the right thing.
though, he already knows for a fact he did the right thing.
soonyoung can’t describe the pure ecstasy that ran through his veins the moment you admitted you were happy that jay was dead—not only that you were happy he was gone, but that you were glad the killer made it hurt. you didn’t say it, but he heard it loud and clear.
you were proud of him for what he did. you adored him for the way he punished jay, and he would do it again. no matter how many times it took—how many lives it took—he would spill gallons and gallons of blood for you, and he would do it happily. no one would ever hurt you again. not with him around, and he planned to be around until you were both buried six feet deep.
there wasn’t anything that could beat this feeling, he had decided the moment you bared your heart to him—so naked and vulnerable, and still trusting him to hold it gently. you weren’t horrified by his means of protection. you weren’t running the other direction. you were grateful. and he doesn’t know why he thought you would be any other way. there’s a reason he’s with you, after all.
if there’s anything even remotely similar to a soulmate, that’s what you are. you’re meant to be his—made to be his. and he was made to be yours—to serve you, to keep you safe, to kill for you. it doesn’t matter that his habit started long before he ever even met you; now, his talents are only reserved for you.
and it made excitement bubble under the surface of his skin knowing you liked it. you didn’t even know he was jay’s murderer—hell, you didn’t even know he was the prank call killer—and you still admired his work anyway.
“what are you smiling at?”
he startles and looks up to see jihoon peering at his laptop screen, still only half a page full although they’ve been in the writers’ room the whole day. his colleague and friend frowns.
soonyoung sighs. “just daydreaming, man,” he says. it’s not dishonest. he shuts his laptop and stretches in his seat before standing and drawing the attention of the small handful of writers left. “going to head out now, everyone. got a pretty lady waiting for me at home. don’t stay too late, okay?”
he gets the usual playful eye rolls and smiles and cooing from the others as he slaps jihoon on the back and promises to get dinner with him soon. at work, he’s only known for three things: the exceptional writing that got him his lead position on the show, his fixation on horror movies, and his “obsession” with you. he liked it—the idea that when people thought of him, they immediately thought of you too. they know you belong to each other, and that’s exactly how he wants it.
soonyoung barely has the car started and in reverse when you call. he answers immediately.
“hey, baby, i’m just lea—”
“soonyoung?”
his heart stops at the sound of your voice. it’s clear you’ve been crying. for how long, he doesn’t know, but your words are still thick with tears. you sound exhausted and broken and worst of all, defeated. you sound like the day you came home and he decided he was going to kill jay—the first person he’s killed since he graduated college almost 10 years ago.
he puts the car back into park, clenching his jaw for a moment so that his first response to you isn’t tell me his name and i’ll have his head in front of you in an hour.
“soonie?” you whimper. “are you there? i’m sorry to call, i know you’re at work. i—”
“y/n, where are you?” he asks as calmly as he can.
“i’m home,” you answer, voice so small, it makes his rage burn hotter.
the fact that you’re home gives him at least some relief.
“i was hoping you’d be here,” you tell him, voice shaky. “i just need someone to talk to. i had…” you whisper your next words like if you’re any louder, you’ll completely break down. “i thought work would be better. fuck, soonie, i thought work was going to be better.” your words devolve into devastated sobs as you repeat yourself.
soonyoung’s instinct is to race to you, to hold you until your tears stop, and to put you to bed and make sure that every time you wake up from a nightmare, he’s still there, arms tight around you, unyielding. protecting you and in turn, protecting himself.
but his mask, robe, and knife are still in the trunk from his visit to jay’s last week, and right now, he thinks that paying a visit to whichever idiot you’re going to tell him about is the best way he can help.
he forces himself to turn the engine off.
“tell me everything,” he says softly, though his body feels so tense, he thinks he might pop a blood vessel.
“you’re not busy, are you?” you hiccup through your tears. “i can wait until you—”
“i’m not busy, love,” he says, eye inadvertently twitching from using the word.
soonyoung still struggles with it. he tries not to because it’s an affection that makes you feel comforted and, well, loved, and he’ll do anything to make you feel that way. still, he doesn’t know how to keep it from feeling like an insult to you.
love was what his father gave his mom. love was what made his mom stay with a monster. what he has for you isn’t the same; it’s leagues beyond it. he doesn’t think there’s a word for what he feels for you at all.
“go on,” he encourages you. “i’m listening. tell me.”
and you do.
soonyoung used to think he never had a control issue with his habit. it wasn’t something he craved or thought about the way he read that other serial killers did. no, his murderous tendencies only ever reared its ugly, useful head when he needed a solution for an ugly, useless lowlife.
the first was his father. something about cutting his stomach wide open, feeling the warmth of him rush over his hands, hearing the sound of him fall to his feet in pieces—he decided that would be the way it happened each time. he wanted to see a man who didn’t know how to treat a person right—and he wanted to feel the life flow right out of him. without meaning to, it became his M.O.
he found himself hopping city to city after being forced from his home, and there was no shortage of men who needed correction—or, eradication. it was simple at first; he’d see a horrible interaction between lovers or a father and a child or classmates or even strangers, he’d follow the offender until they were alone, and he’d gut them like a pig. he didn’t think about hiding or burying the body, leaving it in plain sight to humiliate his victims further. he didn’t even have his mask yet, and in retrospect, he’s not sure how he didn’t get caught because he was careless in those early days.
he took it as a sign from the universe that he was doing exactly what he was supposed to.
soonyoung was smart with the money his mom left him and picked up part-time jobs until he had enough to put himself through school. university was crawling with losers begging to be killed, but he was a little older and a little wiser, and he knew a serial killer on campus would draw too much attention. so he forced himself to focus on the worst of the worst. and that was when he realized his M.O. was evolving.
it started with a frat president rumored to drug and take advantage of girls at their house parties. soonyoung watched him for a whole semester, taking note of his schedule, his routes, his haunts, his friends. then, he started calling him. nothing more than heavy breathing at first. but when he could hear the man’s nerves fraying—and that didn’t take long—he started talking to him. he found that he liked psychologically torturing him as much as he’d tortured the girls he’d hurt.
hi, allen.
who i am isn’t important.
i hear you can’t get a woman to consent to having sex with you. what’s the problem? is it small? well, even if it is, that isn’t really an issue—just gotta know what to do with it, right?
well, i mean, why else would you resort to drugging and assaulting women?
don’t lie to me. i see everything.
one night, weeks after he’d started calling allen, soonyoung had one last phone conversation with him, one where he was no longer bluffing. he actually was seeing everything, standing in the dark corners of the kitchen in their fraternity house—this time in full disguise—while allen and his brothers got drunk in the backyard.
oh, allen, it’s a bad night to be drunk, buddy.
why? because i’m going to free this campus of you tonight. gonna cleanse the floors of this horrid fucking house with your blood.
it’s too late for “sorry,” allen. besides, i’m not the one who needs to hear it.
the frat president tried to stay with at least one person at all times after the call, but as his brothers got drunker and drunker and started stumbling off to bed or passing out, allen found himself alone. and in the morning, his brothers found him the same way, except this time, with his insides all over the outside.
soonyoung killed two more people while in college, and even though they were far enough apart, he still got dubbed the prank call killer, a name he found childish and dumb. besides, he didn’t want a name; he wanted men to be scared. at least scared enough to try to be decent.
then, college ended, he packed up to follow the shows he wanted to write for, and it led him to you. and he didn’t have time to think about anybody else, let alone plot their demise. soonyoung was occupied by you, your smile, your laugh, your scent, the way you made him feel normal—the way you made him feel at all, something he struggled with since his accident as a child. and once he actually had you? it was over. he knew there was no possible way he’d ever be able to let go of you ever again.
and the killing just… stopped. with you, he learned how to make friends—made a ton of them. he learned to enjoy other people and their company. he learned how to love, even if it sometimes made him want to plunge a knife into his own stomach. but he did it for you because he adored you, and nothing was more important than you.
so no, he didn’t think he had a control issue. it was largely easy minding his own business and refraining from stabbing men left and right when he had you next to him.
but then, you started this stupid fucking job. you met jay and all his little cronies, and soonyoung realized it wasn’t a matter of his control; it was a matter of your safety and happiness. because now that you were the center of his universe, you two were one. if someone hurt you, they were hurting him.
and the way he sees it, his only job is to make sure no one hurts him. no one messes with what’s his.
it’s not about control. he has none now. it’s about you.
by the time you finish telling him everything that happened that day, he has a strange calmness about him he hasn’t felt since before you. he can’t do anything but stare blankly forward, watching as employees of the studio walk to their cars and pull away.
“i’m so over it,” you grunt, having passed from sad to angry fairly quickly. “i don’t think i can do this anymore, soonie. i know money would be tight and i don’t want to put that stress on us but—”
“no, don’t be silly,” he says, feeling like he’s on autopilot. “please quit, baby. i’ve wanted you to quit since the first day; i just… didn’t want to be that boyfriend.” he means every word and yet, he can’t feel any of them as they leave his mouth. “we’ll figure it out. please quit.”
there’s a heavy silence between the lines until you sigh deeply. “okay, love. i will. i’ll do it.”
he thinks he should feel relieved. he doesn’t and he knows he won’t until he kills them. “yeah? you will?” he asks, hoping he sounds excited enough. “you promise?”
your smile is loud and clear as you speak. “yes, i promise, soonie. i’m going to march in there tomorrow and quit without notice, and i’ll tell them i hope they all drop dead—no!”
you gasp and correct yourself.
“i’ll tell them i hope the prank call killer comes for them just like they did for jay!”
soonyoung feels something then. he doesn’t know what; he can’t define it, but it quickly grows into something bigger the more you speak. it pulls both his spirits and the corners of his lips up. it kisses him and fills him with light. it makes him feel alive, more than a shell for a soul he isn’t even sure he has.
“i don’t even know if any of them realize what really happened,” you think aloud before sighing like you’re daydreaming. “ugh, what i wouldn’t pay to see them on the news like that. ‘grisliest murders since prank call killings plague corporate hell’! that would be nice, huh?”
soonyoung smirks. that, he can deliver.
“yeah, baby. it would. a headline like that… i’d die happy.”
“me too,” you agree before telling him: “no one gets me like you do, soonie.”
his heart soars.
🎞️ a portion from an early draft of the script for cult classic horror movie, “adoration,” by renowned screenwriter kwon soonyoung
after he’s done gagging howard—so tightly, the fabric is cutting into his skin, a punishment for the earlier kick to the head—hoshi stands in front of the two men, leaning up against the pool table and watching them.
they both have cuts and bruises on their faces, from the struggle to get them into the dining chairs, but hoshi’s knife is still nowhere in sight.
HOSHI (begins mindlessly and slowly pacing in front of them) i bet you want to ask me who i am… what i want… why i’m doing this, right?
howard glares at him but chris is already crying.
HOSHI and usually, i’d entertain the questions because prolonging the hope that you’re going to survive makes this more fun for me, but… (stops facing away from them) i’m tired. and i think i’m beyond having fun tonight. (turns head toward them and chris flinches at the mask) i think… (fully turns toward them with hunting knife in hand, catching the light) i just want to wipe you two off the face of this earth and be done with it.
howard’s glare falters and chris urinates on himself. hoshi snorts.
HOSHI (walks up to chris, who cringes away from him) chris, right? (leans down so chris is face to face with his mask) i asked you a question.
chris nods obediently and quickly, gag soaked in his own tears.
HOSHI so you’re the one who called my girl a bitch, hm? (chris frowns but he doesn’t seem to know exactly who hoshi is yet) called her a bitch in front of the whole office… told her she’d be better sucking your dick under the desk than trying to assign you work?
howard’s eyes widen as he realizes exactly who hoshi is talking about. chris starts sobbing loudly, begging for his life incoherently through the gag.
HOSHI (looks down at chris’s soiled lap, points his knife at his crotch) you want her to suck this dick?
chris’s begging becomes more desperate, thrashing in his seat as he realizes what’s about to happen.
HOSHI (looks up at chris briefly and huffs a single laugh) what dick?
he shoves his knife into chris’s crotch. chris screams in muffled agony and howard starts shrieking and flailing in an attempt to scoot his chair away from the other two.
camera is focused on hoshi’s upper half and audience can see his arm jerking quickly back and forth as chris’s screams continue and howard finally starts crying. then, there’s a dull thud on the floor, and hoshi straightens back up and takes a step away, knife disappearing in his robes as he tilts his head and views his work.
HOSHI looks like there isn’t a dick to suck there, chris. shame.
chris’s wailing continues as hoshi looks to howard now, who begins shaking his head and crying through his gag.
HOSHI and you, you annoying little fuck. (crouches in front of howard) it wasn’t enough that you’re making her life a living hell, you wanted to piss me off even more and kick me in the head, huh?
hoshi rips his mask off, revealing his face to howard. there’s already a bruise spreading across the top of his left cheek. he smirks.
HOSHI my name is hoshi, if you’re wondering. and yeah. i’m her boyfriend. and as her boyfriend, she tells me all kinds of things. i’m sure you can imagine.
he stands up and walks back to the pool table, resting his mask against the felt before turning, leaning up against it once more, and crossing his arms.
HOSHI and today, she had a lot to tell me. she told me that jake’s two closest idiot friends were trying to continue his legacy as biggest asshole in the office. do you know how jake died, howard? won’t bother asking mr. no-dick, over there. seems busy.
camera goes to chris, who keeps fading in and out of consciousness, face soaked with sweat, tears, and drool slipping out of his open mouth.
HOSHI no guesses? (a gagged howard looks at him incredulously) okay, fine, fine, i’ll tell you. i killed him.
even though his tone sounds prideful as he speaks, his face is blank. he stares at howard with soulless eyes, and it unnerves him further.
HOSHI i snuck into his apartment while he was out drinking with you guys. (howard makes a noise of surprise) yeah, that’s right. you two were the last people to see that moron alive. i should probably thank you. (tilts his head up at the ceiling like he’s reliving the memory) his inebriated state made it a lot easier to tease and kill him. not a lot of fight in that one. surprising, don’t you think? (head remains tilted at ceiling, but eyes flash down to meet howard’s) that someone who tormented a woman’s life the way he did would die so easily… so quietly… so… pathetically.
chris regains consciousness and starts screaming and sobbing again, head hung over where his member used to be
HOSHI (brings his head down and looks at chris now) how will you two die? (eyes slide over to howard) will you beg for your life the way jake did? will you… offer me meaningless apologies and promises? will you… tell me that you’ll give me whatever i want?
he brings out his knife again and wipes it against howard’s pool table, smearing chris’s blood against the green felt. he inspects it like he’s making sure it’s sharp enough. camera focuses on hoshi’s reflection in the blade.
HOSHI (shrugs, puts knife down) i guess we’ll see in a few moments—how similar you are to jake. i will say, (pushes off the pool table, taking his mask with him) you two seem to be even worse than that deadbeat. do you agree, chris?
chris screams at the mere mention of his name, convulsing as hoshi walks closer to both of them. he stops just a couple of steps away from them, right in between the two.
HOSHI jake was a demeaning, narcissistic misogynist. and i tore him wide fucking open. let his intestines spill all over his own floor. made his living room a shallow sea of red.
both howard and chris beg through their gags.
HOSHI can you imagine what i’ll do to you if i think you’re even worse? (puts his mask back on and looks at howard) can you imagine what i’ll do to the man who told the whole office that he was gonna fuck the ambition and fight out of my girl, whether she liked it or not? what do you think i’ll do to that man if i made a massacre out of the dumbass who said a few mean things?
howard desperately shrieks excuses against his gag, no success in saying even one understandable word.
HOSHI (sighs like he’s come to a decision) yeah, i’m beyond having fun tonight. (quickly slashes chris’s throat, shallow enough that it will take a long time for him to bleed out. howard screams) at least with him. but with you? (crouches in front of howard again) the night has only started for you, howard.
IN THEIR HOME
TV NEWS ANCHOR authorities are doing their best to calm increasingly panicked citizens as fears that a serial killer is rampant on our streets spread. last week, 29-year-old jake lee was found brutally murdered in his downtown apartment (camera view switches to hoshi’s girlfriend as she tidies up around their living room. she looks pleased upon hearing that sentence), stabbed multiple times. last night, police answered multiple calls to 911 reporting the screams of a man in their high-rise apartment.
she stops tidying, turning to look at the news broadcast from where she stands. her eyes are wide and her mouth hangs open in surprise.
TV NEWS ANCHOR upon entering, they found 27-year-old howard wang and 25-year-old chris vu’s bodies in the former’s apartment. authorities have not yet released details of the crime, but sources report that the nature of their deaths is comparable to that of jake lee’s. we have maya on the scene, reporting.
the tv turns off as she sinks into the couch, obviously in a dazed shock. the camera focuses on her from straight ahead, slowly zooming in on her for several, silent seconds until only the lower half of her face is visible. after a few more moments, she smiles.
you watch soonyoung carefully as he washes the dishes, something he insisted on doing since you cooked tonight. you think it’s the least you can do for the sole earner of the household now that you’re unemployed, but he refused to let you do it yourself.
from where you stand, you have a clear view of his sharp profile. the bruise he says he got from falling down the stairs at work earlier this week has become a deep purple, spreading across his cheekbone and toward his jawline. you suppose he could’ve gotten that in a fall. a fall that took place the same night hayden and charles were murdered. the same night you told him you wished jay’s killer would come for them next.
you want to say your boyfriend would never do something that insane. you want to say your boyfriend doesn’t have the kind of temperament required to commit vengeful crimes like these. but after almost ten years together, you think there have been enough signs to make you take pause.
soonyoung almost never got visibly jealous—never paid any attention to men who looked at you a little too long or sent the server to deliver you a drink. he was confident in his trust in you. it should’ve been comforting how unbothered he was by the attention you received, but sometimes, you felt offended that he wasn’t at least a little bit jealous.
these thoughts were vanquished immediately when one night, someone grabbed you at a bar. it wasn’t even inappropriate; the man just took you by your forearm and yanked you toward him in an attempt to keep you from getting crushed by a drunken patron who had zero spatial awareness.
you’ll never forget the rage you saw in soonyoung’s eyes when they landed on the stranger’s hold on your arm. he didn’t do anything—simply threw the hand off you and led you away, but the look stayed with you. it was a raw, all-consuming, unadulterated, and unchecked rage you don’t think you’ve ever seen with your own eyes before.
the kind of rage you think could be capable of murder, given the right circumstances.
it should’ve scared you. just like the idea of soonyoung murdering your coworkers one by one should scare you. but it didn’t, and it doesn’t now. exactly like back then, it gets you wetter faster than foreplay itself.
soonyoung turns the faucet off and wipes his hands on the towel. when he turns, he’s so startled to find you standing so close to him, he stumbles back.
“oh shit,” he breathes, laughing a little. “i didn’t realize you were so close. you move so quietly.” he notices the way you stare at him intently. like it’s second-nature, he wraps himself around you and pulls you into his chest. “what’s up, baby?”
“i want to try something,” you say softly, a little hesitantly.
you know what you’re about to ask for is depraved and worrisome and… inhumane. but you can’t bring yourself to care right now, not when your panties are this soaked at the thoughts flying wildly around your head.
“okay,” soonyoung says, laughing a little. “can you be more specific?”
“i want… to roleplay a little,” you say, gaze going down to soonyoung’s neck, then his chest. your fingers trace the edges and dips of his collarbones and his pecs.
his grip on you tightens. “is that right?” he says, smirking. “and who do you want us to pretend to be? are we strangers in a bar?”
you shake your head. “no, not strangers in a bar.”
“okay,” he acquiesces easily.
soonyoung is always eager to give you whatever you want, and it bolsters your confidence to ask this of him. he leans down to graze your ear with his lips.
“am i your sexy sidepiece you’re cheating on your boring ass husband with?” he whispers, running his hands down to your ass and gently squeezing, pressing your hips against his so you can feel him already hardening from this conversation alone.
you smile, eyes fluttering closed as he nips at your lobe. “nope, not that either.”
“tell me who you want me to be, and i’ll be whatever it is, baby.” he subtly grinds into you and you try not to moan.
“you promise you won’t judge me?” you whisper.
“i would never,” he promises, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck now.
“i want you to be him,” you say as he starts to bite and suck. “i want you to be the prank call killer.”
he completely freezes in your arms, mouth still against your skin. for a horrifying minute, you think you’ve crossed the line. of course soonyoung is going to think you’re a freak for asking something so debauched and immoral of him. you have little to no evidence that he would ever enjoy something like this.
you’re about to push him away and start groveling for forgiveness and promising to seek therapy, when he grabs you by the face with both hands and envelopes your lips roughly with his own. his kisses are hot and wet and his tongue is in your mouth before you can ask if this means “yes.”
he presses you up against the kitchen island, and you can feel his entire length against your thigh, fully hard now and begging to be inside you. you groan just thinking about it—thinking about the murderer that took your tormentors off the street fucking into you viciously and relentlessly.
“and who are you?” he asks, breaking away from the kiss and lifting you so that you’re sitting on the counter.
soonyoung’s voice is rough and raspy with desire you haven’t heard from him quite like this before, and you feel the wetness between your legs grow knowing he’s willing to do this for you.
“i’m exactly who i am right now,” you say, feeling a little shy, but when he moans at your words, you feel bold enough to be honest with your fantasy. “i’m your girlfriend,” you inform him, hands diving under his shirt and caressing the muscles there. “and you’re going around killing all the losers i fucking hate because you adore me so much.”
“fuck, you’re so goddamn hot,” he mutters as he takes both hands and rips your blouse open, buttons popping and fabric ripping. you gasp and he smirks at the sound, slipping the ruined piece of clothing off you. “shhh, don’t be scared, baby. you’re the one person in this world i would never hurt.”
the sentence undoes you.
“oh god,” you breathe, diving forward and capturing his lips again.
soonyoung makes quick work of your bra, throwing it somewhere behind him once it’s off. he massages your breast for a few moments before taking your nipple between his fingers and tugging.
you break the kiss to tilt your head back and groan, and he takes the opportunity to bite and suck at the space where your neck meets your shoulder.
“rougher,” you breathe. “c’mon, you’re a murderer.”
soonyoung laughs a little at that, his love bites turning into gentle pecks up and down your neck.
“and you think this killer… he’d be rough with you?”
your eyes blink open a few times, staring at the ceiling and losing yourself in thought. in the days following your colleagues’ deaths and your own resignation from work, you’ve had a lot of time to think—and touch—about this. when you envisioned soonyoung as your murderous protector, you saw him as vicious and wrathful and cruel. but when it came to you… his need was desperate and carnal, but always softer. gentler.
you realize it’s probably not so different from the way soonyoung already likes to fuck you: like you’re the only person in the world he cares about.
“how about…” soonyoung presses one last kiss to your neck before his hands are suddenly up your skirt. he pushes your panties aside and abruptly plunges his middle finger into your heat. your body jerks into his in response. “you let me take the lead here, and if you don’t like something, you just let me know, hm?”
every word you’ve ever known escapes you as he fucks you with just one finger, the wet sounds of your arousal embarrassingly loud as he moves in and out. his thumb lands on your clit when you let out a particularly filthy moan for him, and you lean back on your hands and open your legs wider for him for better access. he gives you another finger as reward.
“oh, soonie,” you breathe. “yes.”
“so warm, so wet,” he rasps, other hand landing on your chest and flicking your nipple. “so beautiful.”
“babe,” you whine, rolling your hips onto his fingers in frenzied movements. “tell me… tell me about—oh my god!”
“hm?” he hums before the sound of more fabric ripping fills the kitchen.
you frown and look down in time to see soonyoung bringing your panties to his nose. you have half a mind to scream at him to stop but his fingers are still inside you, rendering you absolutely speechless as he presses the lace against his face and inhales deeply. your instinct is to feel self conscious—to snap your legs closed and grab your ruined underwear back. but you watch as his eyes roll back into his head and his lips twitch up against the black lace, and you realize he loves it. he breathes in again, and this time, you feel the excitement it causes through his fingers. they move with renewed fervor, like they’re thanking you for the gift you’ve given soonyoung.
“smell so fucking delicious,” he all but growls as he balls the panties up and pockets them.
before you can say anything back, he’s bending down to let his tongue taste your clit briefly before pressing his thumb back against you. your hips jerk and you can’t help when your elbows give, making you collapse and lay all the way down on the counter.
his fingers pump in and out of you faster now, and he completely replaces his thumb with his tongue, guzzling and drinking you up so intensely, his face quickly becomes covered with the stickiness of you.
“taste perfect,” he moans into you, tongue lapping you up eagerly. “tastes like mine.”
it pushes you over the edge quickly, and your back is arching off the island counter as your orgasm seizes you. the room is filled with your boyfriend’s name as you ride out the pleasure on his fingers.
“what do you want me to tell you about?” soonyoung asks once you come down, thumb going back to your clit. he keeps his face close to your pussy as he speaks, nose occasionally slipping between your folds and inhaling as he does. “should i tell you about how i disembowelled that ugly, little douchebag, jay?”
your cunt spasms at the words and soonyoung huffs a laugh when he feels you clench around his fingers. he curls them inside you, easily finding the spongy spot he’s been purposely avoiding up until now. he slows his movements, rubbing you patiently and carefully.
you sigh at the sensation, unsure if it’s because you feel so good or because you’re frustrated he’s eased up.
“i ran my knife up his body until his bones wouldn’t let me butcher him any further,” he whispers, moving so that his mouth is over your stomach, tongue slipping out to trace patterns on your skin between words. “and i made him bleed, baby. fuck, i made him bleed so much.”
“soonie.”
“i made him bleed for looking at you, for breathing near you, for ever thinking he could make someone as perfect as you bend to his will,” he whispers, breath hot as it fans over your skin, fingers still working you to a second orgasm. “i painted his apartment red. and i made it hurt. i made sure to make it hurt. just… for… you.”
he pushes roughly at your spot as he says that last word, eliciting a lewd moan as the beginnings of your next orgasm start to settle over you. soonyoung smirks against your skin.
“as for charles, i cut his fucking cock off,” he tells you.
you gasp at that even though you know he’s just making shit up for the sake of roleplaying. still, you find it in yourself to hate how much you love the idea of soonyoung doing that to someone who told you to get on your knees and suck his dick. someone who wasn’t your boyfriend.
“he cried like a bitch,” he says, kissing your clit before straightening back up so he can properly watch you writhe under him. “cried all the way up until i slit his throat.”
you smile at soonyoung then, reaching for his free hand—the one not currently buried two fingers deep inside you—and bringing it over your tit and holding it there. he looks at you like you’re the reason he’s alive. like you’re the only good thing in the world.
he massages you, just as gently as he did when this first started.
“but my favorite…” he says, eyes heavy-lidded as he takes you in. all his. all the time. until the end of time.
he removes his hand from your chest and shoves his sweatpants down just enough for his cock to spring out. your hips immediately start to buck at the sight, but all soonyoung has to do is shake his head at you once for you to immediately stop moving. there’s something so demanding and powerful about his presence right now that you’re not willing to push the limits of his patience. the pleased look on his face makes your emptiness feel worth it. he takes himself in his fist, pumping a few times as he speaks.
“my favorite was hayden. do you know why, baby?” he asks, moaning when you start playing with your nipple and breathing his name. “can you imagine the shit i did to the loser who thought he could fuck what’s mine?”
“i am,” you sigh, nodding desperately. “i’m yours.”
soonyoung pumps even faster now, but his fingers never falter inside you, intent on getting you to another high. and it’s close. you can feel it building almost painfully in your lower abdomen.
“i cut that ugly tongue of his out of his fucking mouth,” he grunts. you clench hard around his fingers. “and i started chopping him to fucking pieces—”
“soonyoung, i’m going to cum!” you half-shout, twisting under him uncontrollably.
“i cut him up, and the entire time, i only thought of you,” he fucks into his fist harder as you start to lose yourself to your climax.
“soonyoung!”
“and i thought that i’d kill the entire fucking world if i had to… just to keep you mine.”
you cum harder than you ever have in your life, near-screaming as you squirt all over soonyoung’s hand. the feeling reaches every, single corner of your body, making you convulse with pleasure.
“holy shit,” you hear from somewhere above you.
you don’t have time to gather your senses, though, because immediately, your body is being dragged down to the edge of the counter until you’re flying right off it. your boyfriend catches you, standing you up and kissing you full on the lips as he shoves your skirt down enough for it to slip off you and pool at your feet. you take the opportunity to tug his shirt off too, hands all over his naked torso once it is.
“let me cum in you?” he asks without leaving your lips.
“god, please,” you whine, feeling the wetness soonyoung caused sliding down your thighs.
he wastes no time after that, turning you around so that your hips are flush against the kitchen counter. you feel the fabric of his sweatpants glide down the back of your thighs as he removes them, and that’s the last thing you remember before the darkness overcomes you.
your eyes squeeze shut as soonyoung slams into you in one go, giving you zero time to adjust as he starts to immediately rut into you from behind. it burns and hurts so delectably, having him stretch you like this. usually, he takes even more time than he did tonight, making his way up to four fingers sometimes, but having him fuck you like this—like if he waits even a second longer, it’ll be his ruin—it threatens to violently shove you into an abyss of pleasure you fear you’ll never get out of.
soonyoung makes sure to hold you up, one arm across your chest with his hand on your breast, the other on your neck, forcing you to tilt your head back and rest on his shoulder.
you feel his eyes on you, his breath fanning your cheek as his gaze rakes you top to bottom, and you know he looks like a god, but you can’t open your eyes to save your life right now. you think if you do, you might explode into a million little pieces, forever disappearing into the ether.
you feel his lips rest against your ear as he sloppily whispers, “do you like it? knowing i’d do anything for you?” his voice is hoarse as he fucks you rougher than he ever has, the debased sound of skin slapping against each other filling the kitchen. “that i’d kill anyone without a second thought if it meant keeping you forever?”
you moan loudly, eyes pathetically rolling when you attempt to open them. you give up, keeping them shut as you reach up and grab soonyoung’s hair. he groans as you tug.
“soonie,” you sigh, shoving your hips back to meet his and making him curse. “i love it. i love it so much.”
you don’t know that you’re playing a role anymore. the idea that soonyoung would do any of this for you is so titillating, you feel drunk off it.
“feel so safe with you,” you say in broken gasps, your boyfriend’s rhythm making it impossible to say more than two words smoothly. “know you’ll always protect me, soonie.”
soonyoung curses loudly and bites into your neck to keep from getting any louder. his hips snap to yours at an increasingly unforgivable pace.
“and i’ll always protect you too,” you tell him.
you don’t care if this is something you wouldn’t be able to double down on when his cock isn’t buried to the hilt inside of you; it feels like the right thing to say. it feels exactly like what you want to do for him too: everything and anything. just to keep him yours.
“i would do anything for you, soonie,” you whisper.
without warning, there’s a burst of warmth inside your cunt, and soonyoung’s hand briefly tightens against your throat before immediately relaxing again, nothing but his moans and your name taking up the air in the room. he comes inside you hard, hips gluing to your ass like he’s trying to keep every, tiny drop inside you.
the feeling of his dick pulsing against your walls, pushing his seed into you, claiming you as his—it pushes you to your third orgasm, a slow and rolling one, not as intense as the others, but impossibly more satisfying. because this one not only brings you pleasure and an endless well of love for soonyoung; it brings you clarity.
because as you finally open your eyes moments later, soonyoung whispering sweet affirmations, vows, and affections in your ear as he keeps his softening cock warm inside you, you realize with startling lucidity that it wasn’t just a little fantasy.
the idea of soonyoung covered in blood and gore on your behalf was the stuff made of your dreams—or, arguably, nightmares. the idea that you had someone who adored you so deeply, he would play god like that made your heart grow tenfold. and now that soonyoung has fucked the fantasy deep into places inside you you couldn’t reach, you didn’t have it in you to feel ashamed about it.
you’re happy those three are dead.
and you’ll be even happier when the rest of them are too.
🎞️ a portion from an early draft of the script for cult classic horror movie, “adoration,” by renowned screenwriter kwon soonyoung
HOSHI (leaning forward on the table) what’s your favorite scary movie?
YOUR ALIAS hmmm… (she buys herself time by taking a sip of her coffee) maybe… “saw”? why? are you big on scary movies?
HOSHI (shrugs) i like ‘em. probably more than other genres, yeah. (laughs nervously) what, um, do you like about “saw”?
she looks at him like she’s endeared by his nervousness.
YOUR ALIAS i mean, it was a really lengthy and roundabout way of doing things, but i guess i just enjoyed the idea of someone delivering retribution to people who deserved it but escaped it, not that i agreed all the victims chosen should’ve been chosen at all. just enjoyed seeing a few assholes die.
HOSHI (nods slowly) you like karma.
YOUR ALIAS (pauses with coffee at lips. she nods, maintaining eye contact) i do. (sips coffee) what’s your favorite scary movie?
HOSHI i like any slasher movie with a good final girl. if i had to pick, i’d probably say “halloween.”
YOUR ALIAS ahh, laurie, the final girl of all final girls.
hoshi visibly lights up at the comment, smiling widely at her.
HOSHI you know more about horror than you let on.
she nods, smiling back.
YOUR ALIAS just a little. i wouldn’t say i’m knowledgeable but i’ve watched a lot of the classics at least once. i’d call it a green flag that you root for the final girls. laurie’s a good one.
HOSHI i’ll take it. (obviously pleased) but humor me. why is it a green flag?
YOUR ALIAS (shrugs) when done correctly, final girls are the perfect mix of vulnerability—
scene suddenly and almost startlingly flashes to memories of hoshi’s mother for a brief second, accompanied by what sounds like a loud gust of wind. the memories are happy ones between hoshi and his mom.
YOUR ALIAS —and strength—
the memories become times his mother endured his father’s beatings.
YOUR ALIAS —and don’t subscribe to traditional gender roles and ideals. i’m not a huge fan of some films making it so that a lot of final girls are, like… holier than thou virgins, but i think the trope has come a long way.
hoshi nods, seemingly satisfied with her answer. she laughs and adds:
YOUR ALIAS unless you like final girls because you like to see a woman struggling against a violent serial killer. then red flag.
hoshi forces a laugh and shakes his head, looking down at his coffee and tracing the mouth of his mug.
HOSHI no, no. definitely more in line with the first one. i, uh… (looks up at her and seems to search for something in her eyes. whatever it is, he finds it and has the strength to be vulnerable for the first time in his life) my dad was abusive. with my mom.
her face falls and reaches forward to hold hoshi’s hand. the feeling is foreign and odd but he lets her hold it, even curling his own fingers closed around hers.
YOUR ALIAS i’m so sorry.
HOSHI she made me get out. she forced me to leave and never come back so i don’t really know what happened to her. i guess i just hope she’s a final girl.
she takes her second hand and closes it over the top of his and rubs it comfortingly.
YOUR ALIAS she must have loved you so much. (hoshi visibly bristles at that but doesn’t pull away) to be able to give you a better chance at life even if it meant never seeing you again… she absolutely is the final girl.
HOSHI (smiles) i like the way you described it. vulnerability, strength.
YOUR ALIAS (smiles back) tell me more about her.
the two talk until the cafe closes and kicks them out, and the audience sees a montage of the couple going on their second date, third date, until they are moving in together, and planning a future together. hoshi is the happiest the audience has ever seen him, and it seems the side of him that kills has been quieted, though we know that to be untrue from the murders happening present-day.
the montage moves into a scene where she comes home from work in tears. hoshi consoles her, but eventually, that same blank stare we first saw after his head injury comes back.
once she’s asleep, hoshi visits a storage unit he rents a few miles away. he reels up the door, revealing just one trunk in the unit. he walks up to it and opens it.
inside, is a mask, a robe, and a knife.
sex with you after that night in the kitchen has become twice as intense as it ever used to be, and soonyoung knows it’s because a big part of him isn’t holding back anymore—he’s bringing his whole self into bed with you, not bothering to pretend he isn’t completely eviscerating anyone who even looks at you funny in his spare time.
he tells you everything you want to hear, which funnily enough, is just the truth.
two more deaths to add to the list at your office, and he tells you exactly how he did it. he tells you what they said, how they begged, how he made them pay with their lives. between all of that, he never forgets to tell you he would do it time and time and again for you. he would do anything for you. kill anyone for you.
and the way you moan and gasp and cum at his words every time without fail is so goddamn addicting, he thinks he might die whenever he’s not inside you.
it’s dangerous, he knows that. as you start to tell him more stories you didn’t bother to when you were still working there, the itch to go annihilate that entire office becomes overwhelming, and he knows if he doesn’t control it soon, it’s bound to draw unwanted attention; he doesn’t know how it hasn’t already, with five dead bodies—all on the same team at the same company.
so for a few weeks, he doesn’t do anything about the mental list of names he has in his head, letting the headlines and panic die down.
you go out interviewing for jobs, he goes to work, you both come home and fuck each other’s brains out, and he stifles the voice in his head telling him to go murder every last person on that team.
but then, you ask for something terrifying.
you’ve been exploring your kinks ever since you first asked him to roleplay, and you’ve found the things you like and dislike—all things he agrees with so far. you like being tied up, you like blindfolding him, you don’t like calling him daddy (he absolutely fucking hated trying that one), you loved when he spit in your mouth, and he loved when you spit in his.
and while he was open to all your suggestions, there were some things he hesitated with. you asked him to choke you and though he initially agreed, he couldn’t, immediately getting soft when he tried to. you asked him to degrade you—call you a bitch, a slut, a whore—and he figured it was your way of coming to terms with what you experienced at your nightmare of a job. that maybe if it came from someone you loved and felt safe with instead of the asshole in the next cubicle, you’d slowly chip away at your trauma. but he couldn’t do that either.
you always handled his rejections gracefully, assuring him that you could do missionary with zero kinks involved for the rest of your life, and you’d be “on your knees thanking him for blessing you with his dick either way.” and you do your best to prove that to him, taking kinks off the table for a while and seemingly giving him a break. the only thing that stays constant is the “roleplaying,” though that’s probably more at soonyoung’s insistence than anything else. the intimacy he experiences from being himself in bed with you—truly himself—is unparalleled.
until one night, you ask him to use a knife on you during sex, and the panic attack it incites—the first soonyoung has ever experienced—is so massive, you almost call 911. he calms down enough to convince you not to, and the rest of the night is spent in your arms as you cry and apologize profusely for suggesting something like that when you know how his parents raised him. he tries to find the strength to tell you it’s okay, and that he understands, and that there’s no harm in asking, but each time he tries, nothing comes out of his mouth. he spends that entire time staring at the wall, and for the very first time, he experiences it: an undeniable thirst to plunge his knife into someone.
soonyoung isn’t sure why, especially since he just suffered the most exhausting mental breakdown over the measly idea of even holding a knife anywhere near your vicinity. maybe it’s to take his mind off the gruesome, nauseating thoughts of his hunting knife sinking into your flesh—images that flooded his mind against his will the moment you asked that of him. maybe it’s a need to recalibrate his brain, like if he kills another one of your tormentors, it will remind him of his devotion to you.
whatever it is, it nags at him day and night for the rest of the week until he accepts it’s something he needs to give into, no matter how callous and unwise it might be. in an attempt to convince himself it’s okay, he says this will be the last one; regardless of the handful of names left, he’ll do this last one, and he’ll move on. as such, he makes his last victim the one person who could’ve put an end to all of this from the start: your boss.
daniel park is a man of routine, soonyoung learns over the next few weeks. he leaves his home at a sharp 7 a.m., stopping by the same coffeeshop near his obnoxiously large house in the suburbs. he gets to the office around 8 a.m., a full hour after he required you (and no one else) to be in the office when you were still his employee. now that you’re gone, park is usually the first of his team in the office. he locks himself up inside his corner office doing fuck all while everyone else does his work for eight hours. he leaves the office exactly at 4 p.m., and from there, he either goes out for dinner and drinks with his team (something you were never invited to), meets equally old and ugly buddies for drinks, or goes to a bar alone for drinks. either way, the man is drunk by 6 p.m. every day.
then, around 10 p.m., he’ll make his sorry way home—driving drunk while at it—and he’ll stumble into his home, paying no mind to his already sleeping wife, who took care of the home and their child the entire day with no help from him.
soonyoung decides to be reckless one more time. it’s his last one, anyway. he wants this one to matter. he wants this one to be the one you think about for the rest of your life—enough to hold you over even if he never kills again.
he waits for a night when park drinks alone, usually around wednesday or thursday, when he’s gotten tired of his team and wants time alone with whatever stupid thoughts he has. soonyoung watches him from a corner booth at the bar, knocking back whiskey after whiskey like they’re shots. and when he stumbles out of the establishment, he easily guides him to his own car instead of park’s with little protest from the drunk.
he drives him right back to the office building that took so much energy and life out of you, using his badge to get them into the floor. he’s patient with park, letting the man nod off for an hour as he ties him up and prepares for the rest of the night.
when park finally blinks his eyes open, soonyoung is fully dressed in his usual disguise and standing before him in the darkness, only the moonlight filtering in from the windows to his left illuminating his shape. the way your boss startles so violently is deeply satisfying, and it takes everything in soonyoung to refrain from laughing in his face. park jerks his limbs, horrified to find them tightly bound to his own chair, wheeled out of his office and brought to the front of the team floor, where park keeps a whiteboard for their daily stand-ups.
“good morning, sunshine,” soonyoung says from beneath his mask.
“who are you?! what kind of sick joke is this?!”
“none of you were raised with manners, huh?” he grumbles. “all of you skip straight to your stupid questions. why don’t any of you know how to greet a fellow human being?”
he stills in the seat. “‘all of us’?”
soonyoung nods slowly, taking his knife out of his robes, freshly cleaned and polished the way it is before and after every single death. he feels a jolt of dread twist in his stomach when he looks at the blade, picturing it buried in your stomach. he shakes his head to free himself of the thoughts, and thankfully, park doesn’t notice, too busy blabbering all kinds of questions.
“shhh, shhh!” soonyoung shushes him, waving his hands erratically. “quiet, shut up, i’m irritable tonight and if you piss me off on top of that, i’ll make this ten times slower than it needs to be.”
his mouth clamps shut at that and he presses himself back into his seat.
soonyoung usually pretends to inspect his knife at this point just to intimidate his victims, but he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t throw up looking at his own weapon right now, so he lets the arm holding it simply fall to his side.
“all of you,” he repeats. “jay… charles… hayden.” he walks to park slowly, menacingly. “leo, ian.”
your boss’s eyes widen as he hears all the names of his slain employees from the last several months.
“daniel,” soonyoung finishes his list. “you.”
“wh… what…?” he sputters, shaking his head in confusion. his words slur and this close, soonyoung can smell the alcohol on his breath even from under his mask. “you were actually targeting this office?!”
soongyoung scoffs. “well, yes. the only victims have been from this office.”
“b-but authorities! they said there have been a few others that could’ve been—”
park cuts himself off with his own scream as soonyoung’s knife pins his hand to the arm of his chair.
“oh my god!” he screams at the top of his lungs, entire body jerking against his restraints. “oh my god, you stabbed me! you fucking stabbed me! oh my god!”
“i told you to be quiet, right?” he reminds him. “are you going to be quiet… or not?”
your boss stops screaming, though his whimpering and sobbing is almost just as loud. he does his best not to look at his own hand like it helps him pretend it didn’t just happen. he stares up at the ceiling, taking shallow breaths.
“do you know what all of you have in common?” soonyoung asks.
“no,” park breathes, still blinking furiously at the ceiling.
“y/n,” he states easily. “that’s what you have in common.”
park’s eyes come down to soonyoung’s mask, wide and filled with tears.
“yeah, you know exactly why i’m here, don’t you?”
“i—i—” his mouth opens and closes several times before he says, “i’m sorry.”
“whatever for?” soonyoung asks sarcastically, pulling someone’s chair out from their cubicle.
he notices a light blanket on it, yanking it off and throwing it over his shoulder before he sits down. he slouches, bringing one ankle to rest up on his knee and cradling his chin in his hand, elbow on the armrest. he tilts his head in mock interest.
“for it all!” he shrieks. “i swear, i’m sorry, i know i should’ve done more! i’m sorry! i’m a fucking coward, okay?! please! i know what they did to her was horrible!”
“do you? know that?”
“yes, yes! i swear!”
“name them.”
“what?”
“if you can name everything they said and did to her,” soonyoung says, watching the way his blood drips from the armrest and stains the carpet below. “maybe i’ll make this quick. stab you in the heart and be done with it.”
“what?!” he protests. “what about you let me live?”
soonyoung scoffs exaggeratedly. “oh no, daniel. no. that’s cute, but no. the only way you’re coming out of this building is in a body bag. it really is just a matter of whether or not this will be quick and painless or… well, y’know… the alternative.”
he’s bluffing. he already knows exactly what he’s doing with park. he just likes giving him the illusion of control. when he rips it away from him, it’ll be all the more gratifying.
“you have a minute. i’d start listing if i were you.”
“they, uh, they bullied her!”
soonyoung rolls his eyes beneath his mask.
“they catcalled her! they took credit for her work! they made her do all of their reports! they, uh… they—”
“tick tock.”
“they made sexual jokes about her! talked shit about her during dinners! uh, they—um, they spread rumors about her!”
“okay,” soonyoung says, waving a hand and nodding. “good run.” park seems to sigh with relief. “how about you, though?”
“what?”
“how about you?” soonyoung repeats himself, and even though he’s still slouched casually in his seat, his change of tone makes your boss flinch. “what are some things you said and did to her?”
“i… i didn’t…”
“uh-uh,” he laughs, wagging a finger at him. “i already know everything, daniel. don’t try to lie to me.”
it’s another bluff. you told soonyoung you told him everything, but something about the way you said it never convinced him. he knew you were leaving something out, and if this was his last time with any of your vile colleagues, he might as well try to see what it was you were hiding.
“what’s it going to be, boss man? are we going slow or are we making it painless?”
“i passed her up for every promotion!” he shouts immediately, wincing when his enthusiasm jostles his hand against the knife. “she was the most qualified and i passed her up every time!”
soonyoung motions with his hand boredly. “okay… and?”
“i told her to suck it up! that boys will be boys! i told her if she wanted to move up, she needed to get used to it!”
soonyoung glares at him from beneath his mask.
“i—” he swallows hard, tears flowing down his face.
soonyoung sits up, sensing the revelation he’s waiting for on the horizon. he plants both feet on the ground, stands, and stalks over to park until he’s towering right over him. he whips the blanket off his shoulder, balling it in his fist before he rests his hands on your boss’s forearms and leans forward to meet his eyes, ignoring the way he gasps at the pain the movement causes.
“you what?” he asks calmly.
“i… oh god, i…” he swallows nothing again. “i’m sorry…”
“what are you sorry for, daniel?”
“i… i told her if she did want a promotion… she could do me some favors.”
soonyoung’s blood runs cold in his veins. that’s not something you ever mentioned to him, and he can imagine why. he wouldn’t have just gone on a murderous rampage; he would’ve blown this entire building up. he thinks he might break his own teeth from how hard he clenches his jaw. after a few moments, he forces himself to release the tension and open his mouth once more.
“what kind of favors, daniel?” he asks quietly.
“oh god, please don’t make me sa—SEXUAL!” he bellows when soonyoung presses a hand to the hilt of his knife, pushing down another inch. “SEXUAL FAVORS!”
“ah, there it is,” he grunts, nodding.
he stands back up. soonyoung unceremoniously yanks the knife out of park’s hand, flips it so that it’s blade up once more, and without hesitating, he brings the sharp side down on all four of park’s fingers. before the man has a chance to scream, he shoves the blanket into his open mouth, muffling any noise he planned on making.
“shhh,” soonyoung mutters almost soothingly. “shhh, you’re fine. it’s just a few fingers. you don’t need them where you’re going anyway.”
he pats park’s head condescendingly two times before hitting the same spot with the blunt end of his knife.
“you’re all just fucking assholes, aren’t you?” he asks as blood starts running down your boss’s temple. “is that on the job listing? ‘requirements: must be a misogynistic pervert’?”
he grabs a fistful of park’s hair, yanking back so that all he could see was the ceiling.
“i’m sure you know exactly what happened to the others,” soonyoung says, speaking so close to him, his mask presses up against the side of his face that isn’t bleeding. “i’m sure you know all about what i did to them.”
park sobs through the blanket, drool escaping the corners of his lips the harder he tries to speak through the makeshift gag.
“i bet you didn’t count on her having someone who adored her like this, did you?” he asks, voice low. “didn’t think someone would come punish you for hurting the person they love most in this stupid fucking world?”
“no. he didn’t.”
soonyoung freezes at the female voice that cuts through the floor from behind him. your boss starts to thrash with renewed hope that someone has caught him red-handed. his fist tightens around his hair, yanking to shut him up. painstakingly slowly, and without letting park go, soonyoung cranes his neck to look behind him, heart stopping when he sees you there, standing in the moonlight looking as breathtaking as ever.
he doesn’t dare say a word. under his mask, soonyoung frantically searches your face for any sign that you’ll run screaming from him, leaving him alone, never to see you again. he doesn’t find anything other than your usual, soft smile—“resting lovely face” he would call it on his especially sappy days.
you’ve pretended to be a murderer’s girlfriend dozens of times by now, but soonyoung had no reason to believe you thought any of it was real—that you suspected him of all the heinous crimes he’s committed for you. as you let the large bag hanging on your shoulder slip off and fall to the floor and you start walking toward them, he weighs his options.
he could run, but then what? leave you with a crime scene you’ll take the blame for? absolutely not. he could throw himself to the floor begging you for forgiveness, begging you to not turn him in but more importantly, begging you to stay with him. there’s a tiny, ugly voice that suggests he could also kill you. he shudders, shaking the thought away. if he resorted to that, he would have to follow right after. that had to be his last option.
you reach them, and soonyoung knows he’s run out of time. whatever you do or say next will dictate the rest of your lives.
when he forces himself to meet your gaze, though, he sees nothing there but absolute fondness and veneration. you rest a palm against his back as he continues leaning over your former boss.
“mr. park,” you say, turning your attention to the man bound to the chair now. soonyoung follows your gaze back to the man, who’s still being forced to stare at the ceiling. he releases his grip on him, allowing him to look at you. his eyes widen in what soonyoung suspects is fear. “nice to see you again under these circumstances. really nice.”
soonyoung feels his heart skip a beat. he straightens up to his full height now, eyes on you as you continue speaking. your hand snakes from his back to his arm, and down, down, down, until your fingers are intertwined with his.
“have you met my better half?” you ask him. “this is kwon soonyoung.”
he feels like his heart jumps into his throat at that moment, and he fights to keep from choking on nothing. you must feel the way he stills in your hold because you bring his gloved hand to your lips and kiss it gently.
your boss starts sobbing twice as hard, throwing what looks to be a restrained tantrum.
“i’m sorry,” you say, faking a wince. “you must have thought i was here to help you, huh?”
soonyoung’s mouth twists into what he’s sure is the largest, most insane smile he’s ever had the pleasure of smiling in his life. the adrenaline and dopamine that suddenly releases in his system makes him feel invincible in a way he never has before. because if you, the adoration of his goddamn life, know who and what he is and you still love him… then nothing will ever be able to stop him ever again. nothing stands between him and the entire world now.
“my bad,” you sigh. “i’m just here to watch you die.”
soonyoung takes that as his cue, lifting his knife toward park. but before he can do anything, your hand comes to his forearm, stopping him. he looks down at you, tilting his head in question. you look up and shake your head.
“i want to do it,” you whisper.
he doesn’t know why he doesn’t want to talk to you while his mask is on. whatever it is, he can’t say anything as you try to take the knife in your own hand.
sensing his hesitation, you smile and nod. “you’ve done so much for me, soonie. will you let me be my own final girl now?”
without a second thought, the tension in his arm dissipates immediately, completely surrendering his weapon to you. you hold his knife in your hand, and seeing it in your grip demolishes whatever last walls he had up between the two of you. you stare down at it like you’re holding a relic, and it takes him a moment to realize you’re imagining the men he’s killed in your name with it.
he reaches out, wrapping his hand around yours and tightening your grip on the hilt. your gaze flick up to him and his other hand briefly caresses your cheek. your eyes flutter closed, smile widening for a short moment. when your eyes open, there’s a fire in them he’s seeing for the first time, and he knows that whoever he walks out of here with is going to be a completely different person than the one he woke up next to this morning.
you give him a small nod before turning away from his hold and facing the man who’s made your life a living hell this entire time.
soonyoung decides he doesn’t want to watch park’s face as the light leaves his eyes. instead, he walks around the chair behind him, holding it from behind to keep it still for you, his eyes trained on your face and only your face.
the smirk that graces it now is glorious, and it takes everything in him to keep from falling to his knees and kissing the ground you walk on.
“sorry, nothing personal,” you say, obviously reciting something he’s said to you before. “girls will be girls, right?”
soonyoung barely hears the muffled screams that follow. all he can hear is his heart singing as he watches the life, light, and joy this job stole from you come back to you all at once. he’s never been more in love. and he thinks he understands now. this. this is love.
it was clear to you that something was escalating inside soonyoung for the last few weeks, and you knew he was gearing up to commit his last crime—you were sure of it.
you had your suspicions when you asked him to roleplay with you, but it was the week after that you became confident in your intuition. the week after, when authorities finally released the circumstances under which hayden and charles died.
you shouldn’t have been surprised when you read the dirty talk soonyoung used to get you to cum over and over again practically word for word in the article that detailed their murders. there was no way he would have been able to know all this information before the public did, and lucky guesses were out of the question, especially when every, last thing he told you was listed.
after that, two more of your ex-coworkers died, ones that made particularly lewd comments at you, something you noticed angered soonyoung more intensely than any other kind of offense. it made you feel more flattered than it should have—how possessive and jealous he got because of these assholes who thought they had any kind of entitlement to you or your body.
soonyoung had ruined you for anybody else long before you knew this truth about him; he had no reason to feel jealous. still, it made you feel so special, and you didn’t stop to question the toxicity and unhealthiness of everything you’ve been feeling in the last weeks—in the last year.
for the first time in so long, you felt good and you felt safe, and you had no intentions of changing that. you’ve been all in on soonyoung since your first date. this changed nothing.
so as he started escalating, you started watching. instead of attending job interviews like you claimed to be, you were following him. most of the time, it was just to the writers’ room, but a few times a week, it was to watch him tailing your ex boss.
between following him around and snooping through his things, it didn’t take long for you to piece together what he was planning, and with how erratic soonyoung’s behavior had gotten since you made the stupid, thoughtless, grave mistake of suggesting knife play in the bedroom, you knew he was going to be prone to mistakes. so you started preparing right alongside him.
when his gear disappeared from the creaky floorboard he kept it hidden under, you knew it would be time to act soon. then, today, as your boyfriend kissed you goodbye in the morning, he told you not to wait up; the writers room was going to run late to meet deadlines for next week’s episode.
you’ll give it to him; soonyoung was a really good liar. after all, he has kept this secret from you for a good amount of time. and if he’s so comfortable doing this, you imagine it isn’t his first time killing either. who knows how long he’s been lying to you?
but now that you were looking for the signs, it was easy to tell. he maintained eye contact too well, like he was actively telling himself to refrain from looking away and seeming suspicious. he smiled a little too hard. offered one too many details if you asked a simple follow-up question.
“oh okay, what time do you think you’ll be home?”
“fuck, not sure, this episode has a lot of rewrites because one of the actors is throwing a bitch fit about his lines, and they want us back at the drawing board—well, writing board—with, like, three new options for this asshole by tomorrow morning, so. who knows how long that will take. i’ll text you when i’m on my way, though, okay? i love you.”
as soon as he was out the door, you were moving.
you made a trip to your old workplace under the guise of needing a copy of your last paystub from HR, which happened to work right next to your team. while you were there, you made sure you were seen on every camera in the lobby, made sure to say hi to several people—even if some of those people were assholes you wish soonyoung would waste too. you allowed stray hairs to fall from your travel hairbrush. you scratched wildly at your skin. you coughed openly. you gave a valid and proper excuse for your DNA—and trace amounts of soonyoung’s DNA—to end up here other than for a murder.
and when no one was looking, you helped yourself to a jay minion’s cubicle while he was away from it. alex. you pocketed his badge, which he had a bad habit of walking around without, and you scheduled an email from his account addressed to your former boss, knowing full well that a lazy idiot like him would not be noticing a scheduled message in his account.
if soonyoung couldn’t kill him, life in prison was a good alternative.
once you were done with your part, you went home, dropped your phone off so that it couldn’t be tracked anywhere but home tonight, and packed a bag of extra clothes. then, you followed your doting boyfriend from his job, and once you saw him tuck your drunken former boss into his own car, you raced back to the office, where you were 99.9 percent sure he would be bringing him back. you scanned in using alex’s badge through the backdoor, where there were no cameras, you made your way to your team’s floor, and you waited.
not long after, when a tall, lean person dressed in the gear you’d found under your boyfriend’s creaky floorboard, walked onto the floor, practically carrying park on his shoulder, it took everything to keep from shrieking and giggling at how well you knew your own boyfriend.
you watched as he methodically and carefully tied him to his chair, rolled him to the exact spot he wanted him. you watched as he polished an already incredibly clean knife, shuddering uncomfortably a few times as he did. you wondered if it still bothered him—taking life. if maybe he wasn’t as seasoned as you thought, and the act still took something precious from him.
you hated the idea that something as generous as ridding the world of vermin like your ex-teammates could affect soonyoung like that.
what you hated even more was how turned on you were watching as he walked back and forth in his disguise, the muscles of his arms and his back still prominent through the tattered robes. but before you could debate jumping out of the shadows and convincing him to just leave and go home with you so you could ride him until dawn, your dumbass boss was waking up again.
you honestly didn’t know when you were supposed to step out, but the more soonyoung’s love for you shown—the clearer he made it that he truly would do anything for you, the less you cared about staying hidden.
and before you knew it, you were holding soonyoung’s very own knife, standing in front of a very dead daniel park, covered in his blood and laughing so hard, you thought maybe your nervous system was broken. but when the giggles died down and you didn’t burst into tears the way you expected you would, you knew you were perfectly fine. better than fine. you were thrilled.
“finally,” you breathe, reaching forward to yank the blanket out of your boss’s mouth, wiping the knife on a cleaner corner. “here you go.”
you hand it over hilt first toward your boyfriend, who’s still standing behind park, splatters of blood all over him too. he gently takes the weapon from you, tucking it somewhere within his robes. you watch him carefully, wondering what his face looks like, wondering what he’s thinking. instead, all you get is that permanent scream on his mask as it stares blankly back at you.
does he think i’m crazy? does it turn him off? would he rather be the one doing the saving?
you don’t voice any of your insecurities, though. you’re far too happy and relieved to ruin this moment with those thoughts. instead, you take the blanket you’re still holding and you dip it in one of park’s stab wounds until it’s soaked in his blood. you walk to the whiteboard behind his body and swipe at it in broad strokes, stepping back to view your work when you’re done.
you look back to your boyfriend to see him looking at the whiteboard.
FINAL
not for park or any of the other men soonyoung obliterated like a hurricane passing through, but for you. the final person standing, with the help of a man who loved you enough to make sure it ended this way. you hope he gets it and that he’s appreciating it the way you are.
while he continues staring at the board, you take the time to reach into the pocket of park’s jacket, fishing his phone out of it. because he treated you like his executive assistant, you knew most of his passwords, and you were banking on it being the same.
when his phone unlocks, you breathe a sigh of relief. you navigate to his email, pleased to find alex’s email in his inbox just like you planned for it to be.
to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: ! emergency situation, action needed body: mr. park, we have a dire situation at the office that requires your attention. a few of the other team members and i will be working late into the night to remedy this; please stop by the office when you can to discuss next steps.
once you’re sure the message is marked read, you wipe the phone free of your prints with the blanket before tucking it back into his pocket. when you’re done, you let the blanket fall to the ground, eyes going back to your boyfriend, whose gaze is back on you now.
soonyoung still doesn’t say anything, simply walking to the duffle he left in the far corner. he removes his shoes, replacing them with a disposable shoe cover on each foot, before removing yours and doing the same for you, an act that feels so intimate, you’re tempted to take him right here, in the middle of this gore, effectively ruining all your efforts to keep him from getting caught.
he puts the shoes into spare trash bags and tucks them into his duffle before standing and holding his hand out for you to take. your fears that he’s mad you came here dissolve, and you take his gloved hand in yours.
he leads you away, picking up your own bag off the floor for you as you pass it. you think he’s leading you out of the building, but instead, you both end up in the showers, an amenity usually meant for commuters or people who went to the gym and worked out in the middle of their work day.
soonyoung sets both of your bags down on one of the benches in the locker room before nodding toward the showers. you follow him wordlessly, heat pooling in your stomach as you do.
he leads you into a shower stall, turning on the hot water and letting the water hit the both of you fully clothed. he turns around to face you, his mask wet with blood and water as it stares down at you. you hesitantly lift a hand up to rest on the jaw of it. you look up into the black holes of its eyes, hoping he understands you’re asking if you can remove it for him.
when he doesn’t stop you, you push up on the mask, lifting it completely off his head. the first thing you notice is that soonyoung’s platinum blonde hair is matted to his forehead with sweat, all of his visible skin slick with it. and when you meet his eyes, you’re immediately rooted to the spot, robbed of all air. his pupils are blown, making his eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them as they bore into yours. his mouth is parted, chest heaving as he breathes like he’s been running for hours.
without giving you a chance to think of your next move, he grabs the mask and chucks it somewhere behind you before wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and roughly pulling you to him. he cranes down to envelope your lips with his, wasting no time parting them and fervently shoving his tongue into your mouth.
it doesn’t take long for him to get the both of you naked; you’re not even really sure when it happens, but suddenly, he’s kicking your soiled clothes away from the both of you, his hands going from cradling your face to softly running across your shoulders, your back, your ass, and you realize he’s rinsing the death off of you, all while peppering you with feather light kisses as he does.
you hang your head, resting it against his shoulder as you watch red swirl down the drain, until it’s pink, until it’s clear. you sigh deeply at the sensation of the water pelting your skin and soonyoung’s fingertips dancing across every part of you. he presses his erection in between your thighs at the sound of your breath, and it quickly turns into a moan.
you reach to grip his cock in your hand, fisting it tightly. his breath hitches, and you decide it’s time to thank him for everything he’s done for you these last few months. you lift your head up off his shoulder and reach up to press your lips to his once more, gentle and chaste.
“thank you,” you whisper. he runs a hand across his face to get water out of his eyes.
“for what?” he asks, voice husky around the first words he’s said to you since the night started.
“for loving me like this,” you answer, pumping your first slowly as you speak. “for doing all of this for me… and for letting me be a part of it too.”
soonyoung closes his eyes, resting his forehead against yours, nothing but the sound of the water and his labored breaths as you stroke him filling the room.
“i love you, y/n,” he says in a voice you haven’t heard from him before. it sounds small, vulnerable, and emotional, and when he opens his eyes, you aren’t surprised to see tears gathered there. “i love you so fucking much.”
you don’t think he’s ever said that to you like this. getting him to even use the word “love” was like pulling teeth in the beginning of your relationship. now, he says it like he’s free of the trauma he’s tied to the word over the years of his childhood. you tiptoe to kiss the tears out of his eyes.
“i love you,” you return. “and i adore you. forever. now… let me show you.”
you kiss every bit of skin you can on your way down his body, until you’re on your knees. you look up at him one, last time, melting a little at the affection he stares at you with.
“don’t hold back, okay?”
he curses under his breath before nodding. he reaches one arm across the shower, planting a palm on the wall behind you to steady himself as you take his entire length into your mouth.
“fuck.”
you hollow your cheeks as you slide away, tongue swirling on the underside of his shaft and dragging across the veins of his cock. you wrap one hand at the base tightly before sliding him back in, knowing that taking his entire monster length wasn’t going to be sustainable for you or your throat. you blow him like this—pumping and twisting at the bottom of his shaft with your hand, your other one massaging his balls—for only a few moments before soonyoung absolutely loses it.
and ever eager to please you, he follows your instructions and holds nothing back. he palms the back of your head with his free hand and without warning, starts fucking into your mouth roughly. tears stream down your face, mixing with the hot water of the shower and the precum leaking out of soonyoung. the back of your throat starts to burn early on, but still, you want more.
your hands grab soonyoung’s ass, bringing him impossibly further into your throat on every thrust. he groans loudly, cursing in between shouts of your name.
“y/n,” he breathes, slowing his movements after a few minutes until his hips stutter to a full stop. you frown, looking up at him when he pops his cock out of your mouth. “i don’t want to cum in your mouth, baby.”
“why not?” you ask dumbly.
he laughs, obviously not expecting the question. instead of answering, he pulls you up and onto your feet, steadying you when you realize they’ve fallen asleep from the lack of blood flow. he presses you against the wall, caging you in and pressing his thigh between your legs to keep you standing as you regain the feeling in your legs. you gasp when his quad rests against your clit.
“there are better places to cum,” he finally answers, just barely moving his thigh against you.
the tiny movement is enough to coax another moan out of you, though. his fingers come down to dive in between your folds and trace your slit teasingly back and forth, gathering your arousal. he brings his fingers up to his mouth, shamelessly taking them in and tasting the way he makes you feel. his eyes close as he savors the taste.
“mmm,” he hums fondly like your lust is a five star meal. he opens his eyes, smirking at the way you’re staring at him. “want to taste?”
you nod eagerly. at this point, you’d take whatever he wanted to give you. you reach forward to kiss him, but he pins your shoulder to the wall with a hand, making you squeak in surprise, and when his other hand comes up your neck and grabs your jaw, tilting it up toward him and forcing your mouth open, you realize what he means and what he wants.
you fight your own smirk as you open your mouth wider, letting your tongue hang out as far as it will go. he presses his cock against you at the sight, cursing before he takes your face in both his hands, leans over you, and aims, spitting straight into your mouth. you whine pathetically when you feel it hit the back of your throat, immediately grasping both his arms and grinding down against his thigh while it’s still pressed between your legs.
“soonie, please,” you mewl, desperately and messily grabbing at whatever you can at this point just to get him closer to getting inside you, including his hair, his neck, his arms, his hips—anything.
he grabs your wrists when you won’t stop, holding them tightly in between your bodies with one hand, the other cupping your ass and guiding one leg to wrap around his waist, the tip of his cock already teasing your hole.
“behave,” he hisses, squeezing your wrists until they hurt. you don’t dare wriggle against his hold. “are you going to be good?” you nod. he immediately releases you, guiding one hand to his shoulder to keep yourself steady.
when both of your hands are wrapped around his shoulders, he takes your other leg and wraps it around his waist too, lifting you up and pinning you between him and the wall. he kisses you harshly and recklessly, tongue wrapping itself around yours as his cock starts to push into you.
he doesn’t wait until he’s fully buried in you the way he usually does. no, tonight, he can’t seem to help himself when he breaks away from you to remind you: “you’re mine.”
you nod, resting your head back against the wall, nails digging into his shoulders as he pushes in further. “yours,” you gasp. “always.”
“god, i love you,” he says for the third time tonight, making the burn feel all the better as he bottoms out. “you’re so perfect,” he breathes, adjusting to the feeling of your cunt around him. “so fucking tight.”
“fuck me, baby” is all you have the energy to whisper. and he delivers.
he easily bounces you on his dick in time with his own thrusts, the corded muscles of his arms hard, wet, and glistening as he holds you up against the wall. you don’t care how loud you are, letting your screams out as they come. at this point, you’re not sure you even care if the police catch you like this and arrest you.
all that matters is how soonyoung feels inside of you, how his mouth burns everywhere they press against you, how his fingertips dig into your flesh so hard, you think it’ll bruise. he rests his forehead against yours, holding unwavering eye contact with you as he fucks you like it’s simultaneously the first and last time.
“marry me,” he whispers suddenly. “fuck. marry me, y/n.”
you gasp as he thrusts hard, tip kissing your cervix. “a-are you s-seriously asking right now?”
he smirks, kissing you quickly before thrusting even faster and harder. the sounds that come out of your mouth are a pitch higher and nastier. “i’ve had a ring for a year. i can’t fucking wait anymore. marry me. god, please marry me.”
you don’t have to think twice. “yes,” you half moan. “yes, soonyoung. yes, i’ll—fuck! i’ll marry you!”
the thought does something to the both of you at the same, exact time, and you’re both shouting warnings at each other as you reach your highs. his teeth sink into your collarbone as he comes inside you, your fist closing around the hair at the nape of his neck as you reach your own climax on his dick too.
you stay in the same position for a few moments, both trying and failing to catch your breaths.
when you finally do, you tap soonyoung’s shoulder to let you down, but he refuses, stubbornly staying inside of you. you frown.
“what are you doing? we should shower and leave,” you point out, remembering there’s an incredibly deceased man outside.
“the longer i stay here, the longer my cum stays inside you, and the greater the chances i just got you pregnant,” he says cheekily.
you glare at him. “soonyoung, i’m on birth control.”
he glares right back.
“okay, fine,” you relent, laughing. the sensation makes soonyoung wince as you clench around his overstimulated cock a little. “kinda hot, though—you wanting to get me pregnant.”
he raises an eyebrow at you. “oh? another kink of yours?”
you blush, knowing you’ve been somewhat of a sex fiend since discovering your fantasy of having a murderous boyfriend—your reality now, you suppose. “maybe,” you murmur.
soonyong grins, kissing the pout away from your lips. “good. i’m going to keep trying.”
“okay, well, maybe we should try when we’re not in active danger of going to prison for life?”
“right.”
you both shower quickly, bagging the soiled clothes and changing into the outfits you both packed separately. you watch in awe as soonyoung takes out a blacklight and some kind of cleaning agent to get rid of any blood you both tracked into the shower. most of the evidence, it turns out, is right there in the stall, where his cum leaked out of you.
when he’s done cleaning, you both head to your cars, each parked in different lots, agreeing to meet at home after you pick up drive-thru dinner and he goes back to work to pick up his phone. and when you do get home, you find that soonyoung beat you there, the apartment dark save for a handful of candles. he’s on one knee when you enter, a small box open and turned toward you, the ring he claimed he got a year ago right there, staring you in the face.
“i love you,” he says. “i’ll spend the rest of my days loving you the way you deserve to be. adoring you with everything i have. will you allow me the honor of doing that as your husband?”
you don’t know how many times you scream yes at him as you drop the bags of fast food and throw yourself into his arms, the two of you collapsing into a pile of giggles and kisses.
TOP STORY • 2 MIN READ
Copycat serial killer sentenced to life in prison on three counts of torture, six counts of first degree murder
By Gale Weathers

Police investigating the torture and murder of Daniel Park, senior vice president of marketing at Loomis, Inc. two years ago.
Two years after a spree of murders rocked the local community, Alex Cho, former Loomis, Inc. employee, has been sentenced to life in prison, despite pleading not guilty to all charges.
Dubbed the "copycat prank call killer" for the similarities in mutilation amongst victims, Cho was found guilty on all counts of torture and first degree murder for the deaths of six fellow Loomis, Inc. employees, including his boss, Daniel Park, former senior vice president of marketing. Arrested just days after Park's murder, Cho was the authorities' main suspect since day one, according to a statement made by Police Chief Macher following the sentencing.
"Cho's name was on the board since the tragic murder of our first victim, Jay Lang," said Macher, "but as his spree escalated and became more frenzied, he became careless. The evidence against him became insurmountable after the death of Daniel Park."
Though evidence left behind by Cho at the previous murders still has not been disclosed by authorities to this day, his involvement in Park's torture and murder is clear. On the night of Park's death, Cho lured him to the office after-hours under the guise of a work emergency. Once there, Cho ambushed and tortured his boss before stabbing him almost 30 times and leaving his body to be found by other employees the next morning.
Police were able to arrest Cho early on, thanks to his email trail and the use of his badge at the Loomis, Inc. headquarters, just minutes before Park entered the building himself.
When asked about the sentencing of their former employee, a Loomis, Inc. representative told TOP STORY:
"Even two years on, we continue to mourn our tragically lost employees. As such, Loomis offers all our associates ongoing mental health resources and grief counseling. We also honor these victims with annual donations to various campaigns, including cancer research, LGBT support, and anti-bullying—all causes our former SVP of marketing Daniel Park championed. As for the sentenced individual, Loomis declines to comment, but ensures you that we are taking extra precautions and measures to vet all new employees, with annual mental evaluations of all existing employees. We are committed to the safety of our people, our clients, and all of our stakeholders."
As far as his "copycat" reputation goes, Cho denies drawing inspiration from the "prank call killer," though he continues to deny his involvement in the crimes at all. As of the publication of this article, the "prank call killer" remains an at-large, inactive serial killer, with the last victim dating back over 10 years ago.
Cho will be transferred to a maximum state prison later this month, where he will serve his life sentence with no chance of parole.
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🎞️ a portion from an early draft of the script for cult classic horror movie, “adoration,” by renowned screenwriter kwon soonyoung
HOSHI (clicks out of video news story of andrew's arrest) i can't believe you did all that for me.
YOUR ALIAS (smiles, scratching his scalp comfortingly with her left hand, eyes admiring the ring on her finger as she does) i told you, i would do anything for you. you protect me, i protect you, right?
HOSHI (smiles, leaning forward to press his lips to hers) always.
fades into black. credits roll.
...
POST-CREDITS SCENE
a long while later, audience finds hoshi and his wife in the kitchen of a much larger home now, seemingly as in love and as playful as they always were. they are interrupted by their teen daughter running into the room, with her backpack still on, screaming and crying. both of them immediately tend to her.
YOUR ALIAS baby, what's wrong? what happened?
DAUGHTER (shrieks) it's tiffany! she's going around telling everybody i'm sleeping with the entire baseball team! i've never even had my first kiss and she knows that!
hoshi stills, face becoming eerily blank. you both exchange a look.
YOUR ALIAS you're only 15... why on earth are they talking about those kinds of things?
DAUGHTER (throws mom an incredulous look) all of them have already lost their virginities, mom!
YOUR ALIAS (pinching the bridge of her nose) dear god.
DAUGHTER she gave my number to a bunch of dudes and now they're calling and texting and blowing up my phone asking me when i'm free to do... gross things! (wails)
YOUR ALIAS we'll change your number, baby, don't worry. and i'll meet with your principal and make sure she knows we won't tolerate this behavior, okay? are you alright if i talk to tiffany's mom?
DAUGHTER no, please don't, she's so vindictive. i know it'll just get worse.
hoshi exhales slowly.
HOSHI okay, we won't do anything you aren't comfortable with, but... you're also not going to let her treat you like that, do you hear me?
it's clear their daughter is a daddy's girl when her crying immediately stops and she nods.
HOSHI no one hurts you, understand?
YOUR ALIAS nobody.
DAUGHTER (whispers, still sniffling) nobody.
HOSHI if you won't let us talk to tiffany's parents, we're going to have to show you how to defend yourself, baby. how to stand up for yourself.
YOUR ALIAS (smiles) your daddy is really good at that. you'll let him help, right? (daughter nods) good, go get cleaned up and i'll order whatever takeout you want.
DAUGHTER (immediately) thai.
YOUR ALIAS thai it is. go on.
their daughter retreats from the kitchen, still sniffling as she goes up to her bedroom.
YOUR ALIAS we aren't going to stoop so low as to kill a teenager, are we?
HOSHI (snorts, wraps one arm around her waist) no, we aren't. but kids like that only learn behavior like that from one place.
YOUR ALIAS their parents.
HOSHI mhm.
YOUR ALIAS you have the key to the storage unit?
HOSHI mhm. (plants one kiss on her cheek before grinning and nodding to the front door) i'll drive.
cuts to black with the sound of a piercing scream.
a/n: credit for the news story photo goes to unsplash. all other photos taken from pinterest, ctto. okay bye, i don't want to talk about how crazy i feel LMFAO.
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and if I buy this shirt then what?


This can only mean one thing in kpop
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SAVE THE DATE.
pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader
genre: smut, fluff, angst, frenemies to lovers
summary: 5 weddings in one year. 5 dates you saved for you and your boyfriend to attend — before he cheated. and now, you had to force your best friend, vernon, to go with you. but after losing a bet, mingyu agrees to take vernon’s place and be your date. this wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go, but you guess you could settle going with your only one-night-stand from college.
warnings: oral (f!recieving), fingering, 69ing, unprotected sex, reader on top, praise, mingyu has boyfriend dick<3, sub-ish!mingyu, also power bottom!mingyu 👍, multiple sex scenes, marijuana smoking/shotgunning, marijuana-induced horniness lol, one bed trope, forced proximity, miscommunication, HEAVY mutual pining. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).
word count: 19.9k
note: first things first, APOLOGIESSSSS for this taking so long. I've had a lot going on (which I know just about everyone says) and I was lowkey struggling to write this, even tho I was so amped for it. nevertheless, I'm so glad I was able to focus and finish it, because I care so much for these two and I desperately wanted to share their story with you 💓 per usual, please expect angst with your smut, and if you cry, I will not judge you and honestly would love to hear it lol. enjoy friends! (taglist posted at the bottom.)
in rotation: bmf, sza / mona lisa, mxmtoon / gorgeous, taylor swift / moonstruck, enhypen / finally // beautiful stranger, halsey
Your mom had told you that the friends you make in your first year of college stay with you for life, but you didn’t expect that when you met Vernon. He had been shy, refusing to speak to anyone in your orientation group, but knowing glances turned into sitting next to each other, which then had you both whispering jokes back and forth, until finally, he told you his name. Hansol Chwe to be exact, but he insisted on “just Vernon.” By the second semester of freshman year, you both had become inseparable. He was your best friend, been with you through some of the toughest moments of your adult life, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world.
Vernon’s friendship survived through many of your boyfriends, and you knew he’d outlast many more. He experienced some of the worst ones – a.k.a. the men who refused to believe you two were just friends – and also the boring ones – the one guy who used you to get to him. But none of them had pissed him off more than your most current breakup: the man who was three years your senior and cheated on you with a 22-year-old. You assumed by age 27, you’d know how to pick ‘em, but that was clearly wrong.
Now you were left to your own devices with five weddings to attend this year. In retrospect, maybe there was a few you could’ve skipped, but you hated saying no in situations like this. You had agreed to go to all of them with your now ex-boyfriend in mind, placing a 2 on the invite’s attending line. Per usual, Vernon had stepped up and begrudgingly offered himself to be your date.
So why were you now meeting up with Kim Mingyu to discuss the dates of said five weddings?
You first met Mingyu when Vernon joined a fraternity in sophomore year to make more friends. “I can’t just have you. I need to have at least some friends that are dudes,” he said, which made you reply, “That’s the toxic masculinity talking.” And boy, had Mingyu been the epitome of that statement. Him and Vernon had connected instantly, sharing the same major and an affinity for art girls. You had never really gotten along with him like Vernon had hoped, but he was … attractive, to say the least.
Okay, maybe you had a crush on him. You had eyes.
But it was college and you both were on the cusp of 20. It was so hard to confess feelings back then, especially to someone like Kim Mingyu. Who you didn’t particularly enjoy talking to in the first place. However … he was probably one of the hottest men you’d ever seen; made in a lab for every young girl’s fantasy. Sometimes you couldn’t help but just stare at him, admiring his perfect teeth or the way his honey-gold skin shined in the afternoon sunlight. (You thanked your lucky stars that Vernon joined the college football team alongside Mingyu, just so you could secretly ogle him during practice.)
Suffice to say, you did eventually hook up. In the most cliche way possible, you had both gotten a little too tipsy at the first frat party of senior year and wound up in Mingyu’s dorm, locking out his roommate for the entire night. It almost felt weird, realizing your attraction had been reciprocated, but he hardly said a word to you come morning. In fact, he never mentioned it again, period, choosing to avoid you except in group settings with Vernon. You weren’t a fool; you were quick to realize it meant nothing to him, just another notch on his bedpost.
Mingyu was every girl’s dream, but Mingyu was also uncommitted.
And he was walking towards you right now.
You looked up from your phone after stalking – looking through Mingyu’s Instagram. You never followed him, never checked in on him after graduation, but you knew how close he still was with Vernon. He even posted a picture with him recently. You rolled your eyes. Despite his long hair, you recognized Mingyu instantly as he went up to the barista and ordered a coffee. You studied him for a moment, noticing that there was a curl to his hair and the way those dark stands hung around his eyes. His skin was as perfect as ever and – goddamn, did he get bigger? He was wearing a jacket over his t-shirt and you could still tell how big his muscles were.
When he finally looked over his shoulder and your eyes connected, his face remained unchanged, if not a little awkward. He walked up to you, rubbing at the back of his neck, and said your name as if it were a question. “Yeah. Hi, Mingyu,” you replied with a wave. “It’s been a while.”
“Five years since graduation,” he added, pulling out the chair across from you and plopping down. “So you stopped putting those blonde highlights in your hair?”
Your eye twitched. Before you could spit out a response, a cute, dark-haired barista came over and set a fresh mug of coffee in front of him, completely ignoring that your own was practically empty. Mingyu flashed her a smile, showing off his pretty canines as she walked away. You frowned.
Vernon had told you last night that Mingyu wasn’t the same guy you knew in college, but you begged to differ.
Turning back to you, he took a sip from his mug and asked, “Why did you want to meet up again?”
“Because my best friend is an asshole and you lost a bet.”
“Oh, yeah. That.” He nodded.
You almost didn’t believe Vernon when he told you. You knew he didn’t exactly want to be your date to all these weddings and probably felt like he had to, but he did offer so you didn’t think much of it. Until he told you last week that he put all his guest invites on the line while playing a drinking game with Mingyu, which the latter lost. So now Kim Mingyu, your college one-night-stand that was scared of commitment, was committing to being your date to several weddings this year.
Kill me now, you thought.
“I thought drinking games and making silly bets like this didn’t happen once your frontal lobe formed,” you said, and his dark eyes flickered up to yours.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he cleared his throat and set the mug down again. “Men never really grow up.”
You crossed your arms over your chest and sat back in your chair. “Apparently,” you muttered under your breath. “How do you have the time to actually commit to this? Don’t you have a girlfriend or something?”
“One,” he held up a single finger, “I take bets very seriously and I’m not a sore loser. It’s only removing five weekends out of the year for me. No biggie. And two,” he lifted another finger, “No.”
You raised a brow. “Well, I guess that answers all my questions.”
Mingyu stared at you for a moment, running those two fingers over his bottom lip. You suddenly had a flashback to that night, remembering his hands all over you, remembering his fingers plunging inside and curling –
Not the time.
“Don’t you have a boyfriend? Why put down two people on these RSVPs you sent back and then force just anybody to be your date?” He fought the urge to smile, trying to dig a little deeper into you. You weren’t falling for it this time. “I love the guy, but I know Vernon wasn’t your first choice to accompany you.”
“My ex and I broke up,” you replied. “Not much to it.”
Intrigued, he sipped his coffee again. “Why?”
“It’s none of your business, Mingyu.”
“Well, as your new date –”
“Drop it,” you said, voice taking on a new tone. “I’m serious.”
Mingyu raised his hand in surrender, and you shook off your anger. This was supposed to be a friendly, quick conversation, but it was seemingly moving off the rails. A sigh escaped your mouth before you asked, “So you said this is only taking five weekends out of the year. What do you do with your time? Are you working?”
“I thought I answered all your questions.”
You narrowed your eyes.
He chuckled softly, exposing those canines once again. His smile was so … ugh, you needed to stop getting distracted. “I work at a restaurant four days a week as a cook, and then teach flag football at a rec facility the rest of the time. I’ve been trying to save up to open my own restaurant for years, but I got the time to be a makeshift wedding date.”
You knew Mingyu had always loved to cook – you remembered when he’d been the resident chef at the fraternity – but to hear he was still passionate almost … melted you a little. Almost. You were dedicated to not being too swayed by Mingyu’s pretty words. This was a deal and that was the end of it.
“I see,” you nodded, uncrossing your arms to play with the handle of your still empty mug. “I’ve been working at the same marketing agency since college. Pays the bills, you know?”
Mingyu gave you a knowing look before running a hand through the long strands. “Always so committed.”
Your lips pursed. “One of us has to be.”
“Speaking of commitment,” he said without missing a beat, pulling his phone from the pocket of his jeans. “What are the dates for those weddings again?”
Save the Date for the wedding of Choi Seungcheol and Holland Levine: February 28th
It was a rainy Sunday in February. Your coworker, Choi Seungcheol, was getting married today at a local venue on the outskirts. His girlfriend, Holland – otherwise known as, Hinge Holland, when he met her on the dating app 3 years ago – was a little kooky and asked for them to be eloped that morning. Seungcheol was too in love to say no; he’d do anything she asked. They were married early morning, and lucky for you and Mingyu, all you had to attend was a reception. It was a nice way to test the waters of this deal before anything got too crazy.
Mingyu had picked you up in his truck, and together struggled to help lift you inside with your dress and heels on. As he drove away from the city and into a more rural area, he commented, “Your coworker must be real whipped to agree to a reception here.”
“What are you talking about?” You looked through your phone for the address Seungcheol had sent you months ago. “I thought the reception was at some small venue.”
Mingyu said your name, and you glanced over, seeing the smile on his face. “It’s a VFW owned by someone in his girlfriend’s family.”
You realized just how right he was when he pulled up to a spot in a VFW parking lot, seeing a crowd of Holland’s family pour into the post. You knew what the inside of a VFW looked like; you had your sweet 16 at one. But going to a wedding reception at one was a whole different story. Were the walls so old that they’d crumble once the DJ dared to play Dancing Queen?
Rain pounded from the sky, making the cold February wind even more chilly. Mingyu rounded the truck and opened your door, making sure to hold an umbrella above your head as you slid out of the seat. He looked … okay, he looked extremely handsome in his suit, tailored exactly to his body. You were in an old, off-the-shoulder black dress with mesh sleeves that were doing nothing in this wet cold. This wedding had crept up on you, and before you knew it, you remembered you didn’t have any new dresses to wear. And while it looked nice, the dress just barely zipped and you had to keep pulling up the neckline. Clearly, you had grown a bit since the last time you worn this. Probably in college.
Mingyu was staring at you now, letting his eyes wander down, and you were yanking at the neckline again. He didn’t deserve to see more of your cleavage. He whispered, “You look …”
“Just come on,” you cut him off, tugging him in the direction of the VFW. He struggled to keep up for a moment, rushing to hold the umbrella above both of you.
As soon as you both walked inside, you realized just how dressed up you were compared to the place. The building looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 1990s. There was, at least, a huge buffet-style food setup in the corner and a man so old that he probably had one foot in the grave behind the bar. A sign in front of him said, OPEN BAR, written in thick sharpie. Various family members were congregating at tables, while the DJ – who looked like a Pitbull impersonator – was setting up at the head of the room.
Seungcheol ran over the second he saw you meandering through tables. He had the biggest smile on his face, tugging his new wife over to introduce her to you before wiggling his eyebrows at you when he noticed Mingyu on your arm. Even Holland couldn’t help but ogle him. Seungcheol was one of your closest coworkers, so it wasn’t weird when he asked, “Who’s the beefcake?”
Mingyu was too busy dealing with Holland’s questions to hear you reply, “Don’t ask. I’ve cycled through many options before I was forced to bring him.”
“I’m sure it was quite difficult for you,” he snorted, before carefully pulling his wife’s hand off of Mingyu’s and introducing himself. Not long after, he was ushering her away to start making speeches.
You and Mingyu found your seat quickly, and luckily enough, you were sat with most of your coworkers. Every single one was looking at Mingyu like he was a piece of meat, but he didn’t seem to notice as he had a friendly conversation with each of them. You struggled to not roll your eyes. How was he perfect with everyone? Maybe your dislike of him was irrational and unwarranted, maybe he did change. But … ugh, could he fuck up for once?
Your coworker, Minghao, sat to your left, watching Mingyu converse with the young assistant – Amelia, right? – who was very clearly batting her eyes at him. Leaning towards you, Minghao whispered, “I thought you were bringing Vernon?”
Minghao was one of the few people you told about your breakup, as well as Vernon and of course, your girlfriends. It wasn’t like you to go around everywhere and post on social media about your breakup; it wasn’t anyone’s business. But Minghao gave great advice, and he was one of the first people that helped you get over the heartbreak. He wasn’t just a coworker. He became a trusted friend.
Turning your head, you said, “Would you believe me if I told you that he lost a bet?”
“Considering who you ended up with,” he chuckled, “I’d say it’s a win in your favor.”
“He’s not that great.”
“Then you might want to pull Amelia off of him before she starts sucking his face.”
The reception ended at an early hour thankfully. Most of the elderly guests were falling asleep anyway. Mingyu was a class act, per usual, trying to get you up and out of your seat to dance with him, but the last thing you wanted to do was dance to Toxic by Britney Spears in front of your boss at the marketing agency. Instead, he took the lead to asking Seungcheol’s mom to dance, and made Amelia’s day when he asked her to join. Minghao only continued to laugh when you rejected each of Mingyu’s advances.
Once 10 PM rolled around and you both were exiting the doors of the aging VFW, you noticed the rain hadn’t let up. In fact, it seemed to have gotten even worst. You had to run to Mingyu’s truck with him holding the umbrella above both of you and almost trip over your dress as you hopped up inside the cab. Assuming it would be fine to drive, just a few minutes in the rain left you both realizing that it might be extremely unsafe to drive back to the city in this weather. You really couldn’t argue with Mingyu when he suggested you stay the night at a motel right down the road.
The woman behind the front desk at the motel was chewing so loud that you thought the wad of bubblegum between her teeth might be larger than your palm. She informed you both that the only rooms available were ones with a single queen-sized bed. As much as you desperately wanted two, you’d take what you could get. She started grabbing both of your informations to check in when a loud bolt of lightning cracked, followed by a crash of thunder. You instantly gripped Mingyu’s arm, and he paused signing his name to look down at you.
“Are you scared of thunder?” He asked playfully.
Realizing how tight you were holding on, you quickly removed your hand. “No, I’m … it’s fine.”
His bicep felt so much harder than anticipated. All muscle.
Stop that.
The front desk attendant gave you an actual metal key to open your room, the number dangling from a kitschy pendant. This was the kind of motel where you needed to venture outside to get to your room, and with your arms locked together, Mingyu led you both through the pouring rain to the right building. He shoved the key in the lock, immediately opening the door and allowing you to walk inside first.
The room was smaller than expected. The heat was hardly circulating and you were still shivering. A queen-sized bed was situated in front of an old RCA TV, decorated with a comforter that looked strangely similar to the one from the 80s that your mom had given you when you first moved out. The room smelled like bleach and all you could hear was the rain on the roof. Noticing you shiver, Mingyu walked over to the thermostat and adjusted the heat.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” you said, hugging your arms around yourself.
Mingyu pointed to the large window by the door. “I can’t drive in that. It takes an hour to get back to the city and I can hardly see the road.”
“Okay, well –”
Lightning struck again, painting the window white, and you jumped. Mingyu shook his head and walked over, closing the shades over the glass. He looked down at you, and you were acutely aware that he was the kind of person who could say everything just with his eyes. “Better?” He asked, a smile playing at his pink lips.
He was so close that you could smell his cologne and – god dammit, you were such a sucker for men that smelled good. He smelled like violets mixed with smokey sandalwood, spicy and musky. Whatever you were going to quip back died on your tongue, leaving you to reply, “I can’t sleep in my dress. I have nothing to wear to bed.”
Walking over to the tiny closet, Mingyu spotted a robe hanging up next to the vintage ironing board. He placed it in your arms and remarked, “Take a shower and put this on.”
“Are you saying I smell?”
He laughed. “No, you’re shivering and it’ll help warm you up.”
You nodded, heading off to the bathroom and shutting the door. As you slipped off your dress and let it pool onto the tile, you realized how antagonizing you were being for no reason. Mingyu had been nothing but nice to you, but you were suspecting him to switch-up at any moment. Maybe Vernon was right, or maybe you just needed to take a chill pill.
Mingyu was helping you out, after all.
After taking the warmest shower of your life and probably using all of the hot water in the motel, you walked out into the room with your robe tied firmly around your waist. The cotton smelled like mothballs and you hardly left an inch of skin showing. Granted you weren’t naked underneath, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing your underwear. Again. After five years.
He was wearing only a tank top and boxers while setting up a makeshift bed on the floor. You struggled to maintain focus with him looking … well, like that, and eventually spoke up, “What are you doing?”
He hardly jumped at hearing your voice. “I figured it would just be easier if I slept on the floor. Trust me, I’ve slept in far worse places.”
“Mingyu, you don’t have to do that,” you sighed, pulling back the covers and tossing the mismatching throw pillows on the floor.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“I know, but it’s just –”
Thunder clashed outside, sounding like pots and pans clanging together, rattling your bones.
Your eyes connected with Mingyu’s, and you pointed to the empty side of the bed. “Sleep in this bed right now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You both agreed – more like, you told Mingyu and he listened – to place a wall of pillows between you two, leaving you on the edges of the bed. You curled up into yourself, your spine facing him, as Mingyu laid on his back and pinched the bridge of his nose. The rain was so loud. The thunder was deafening. You considered plugging your fingers in your ears as you slept.
Mingyu was shifting on the small sliver of mattress he had, wishing internally that he brought a joint or two with him. This bed was so uncomfortable that he probably wouldn’t sleep. But hopefully, you would. Although that was seeming highly unlikely from the way your back tensed with every boom of thunder.
He watched you from the corner of his eye, and eventually, you did stop shaking. Soft snores filled the room, replacing the sound of the rain. And then Mingyu felt himself relax, swiftly falling asleep with his arm thrown above his head.
Despite the pillow wall you built, you woke up with your head on his chest.
Mingyu had wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked that day, but he couldn’t find the courage to finish his sentence.
Save the Date for the wedding of Lee Chan and Adrianna Olson: April 4th
Tapping your freshly manicured nails on your bare arm, you leaned against the passenger side door of your car and huffed. You uncrossed your arms, beginning to pace outside Mingyu’s apartment building. The ceremony today started in two hours and you were about ninety minutes from the venue. Not to mention, there was only a matter of time before one of his neighbors showed up, forcibly removing you from the parking spot in front of the building you definitely did not live in. What the hell was Mingyu doing anyway? He said he’d be down ten minutes ago.
You tugged off your heels, realizing they’d be a bitch to drive in, and pulled your sneakers from the back seat. Your floral, strapless sundress blew in the Spring breeze. Your curls – that looked like they could’ve been done by a toddler – whisked off your bare shoulders as you stepped into your favorite Nikes.
“Sorry.”
Popping your head up, you halted while shoving the back door closed. You blinked, assuming your eyes were deceiving you, but there he was, sprinting down the front steps of his building with freshly chopped hair.
Mingyu was quickly walking over to shove his duffle in your backseat, pulling at his tie, when you leaned in and placed your hand on his head. Yep, that was his real hair. Those long locks that had reached his chin were gone, replaced by a hairstyle that was similar to how he looked in college.
“I know we’re running late,” he apologized, letting your fingers sink into the strands for a moment, “but do you have to –”
“This is not about that.” You removed your hand, leveling a look at him. “You cut your hair.”
Mingyu raised a brow. “It was getting long.”
You paused, blinking at him. “Why didn’t you warn me of your new look?”
“I didn’t think I had to?” He shrugged, genuinely confused as to why you were questioning him. “My hair had gotten even longer since February, so I just thought I’d freshen up for you –”
You completely missed his words – for you, he’d freshened up for you – because you were already interrupting him. “Well, it’s just – it might look weird in pictures because my hair is up and your hair is so short. And I’m already going to have so many people looking at us wondering why my ex, who’s name I put on the invite, isn’t here. And I just want to eliminate as much attention as possible. And, well – and –”
Mingyu placed both hands on your shoulders. His palms were large, practically burning into your exposed skin. “Are you overthinking?”
“No, I …”
When your voice trailed off, Mingyu hesitated for a moment longer and then slid his hands off. “Vernon told me that you dated the groom. Chan, right?”
Of-fucking-course, Vernon told him. Your lips pursed before you replied, “We were friends before that, and we only dated for like a couple months in college. I introduced him to the woman he’s marrying.”
“Then why are you so nervous?”
“I think I have a lot of reasons to be nervous these days.” You continued to stare at him, waiting for him to come up with another quippy remark, but it seemed he contested and shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit. The same tailored suit he wore to the wedding in February, a few loose threads at the seams. “Let’s get going. We’ll be in the car for a while,” you said, rounding your car and hopping inside the driver’s seat.
As Mingyu dealt with finding room for his duffle in your trunk, you took this small second to text Vernon.
You: your friend is infuriating
You: also I’m never going to forgive you for telling him that I dated chan
Vernon: you’ll get over it lol
Vernon: is that the only reason why he’s infuriating?
You: HAIRCUT
Vernon: oh I probably should’ve told you about that when I saw him last week
Vernon: sorry :/
You closed your texts when Mingyu hopped in the passenger seat, turning on your music to drown out your thoughts. The drive was long and you were lucky that you got to the venue with ten minutes to spare. You parked the car in a haste, running to your back seat and quickly tugging your heels back on. You chucked your sneakers onto the car floor, almost hitting Mingyu in the face when he went to grab his phone from the same area. Locking your car, you grabbed his arm and yanked, both of you running towards the venue attached to a pretty hotel. Mingyu, even with his long legs, was struggling to keep up. He was also slightly impressed that you could run so fast in heels, and that was definitely the only reason why he was staring at your legs. He wasn’t admiring how long they looked when the wind lifted your skirt and he got a flash of your calf.
Even from your seat in the back of the ceremony, you could see Chan’s face light up as Adrianna was escorted down the aisle. She was wearing a vintage wedding dress, the veil sheer enough to see how beautiful she was underneath, and Chan was eager enough to lift it as soon as they said, “I do.” Adrianna looked like she hadn’t aged a day since school, and you could probably say the same for Chan. But he did manage to finally remove the earrings he got six years ago, which made you giggle to yourself.
Mingyu pretended not to notice.
Most of the people at the wedding were old friends from undergrad, even a few Mingyu knew in passing. Every time you were approached, you prepared yourself for the same question: “Where is He Who Will Not Be Named?” Or, for those that actually knew Mingyu: “Since when did you know Gyu?” You weren’t sure how much longer you could fake a smile and laugh, pretend that your heart still wasn’t sore from the breakup, rehash the same words over and over again. It was tiring; you were tired.
Same explanation. Same heartbreak. You wouldn’t be surprised if the whole planet knew of your breakup by now. You didn’t announce it anywhere, besides telling your family and close friends. It was natural for people to be curious; you had been with your ex for a couple years, enough for your family to assume that he’d propose. But then he cheated, and you found out, and you were left in pieces, tied to Kim Mingyu as your date for a full year of weddings.
You just didn’t want to keep on doing this, explaining yourself ten times over, realizing that everyone was looking at you with interest. Maybe a second glass of champagne would be a good distraction …
“Wanna dance?”
You looked up from the rim of your empty glass. Mingyu had knocked you out of your daze, laying out a hand for you to take. The reception was lively with family and friends mingling on the dance floor, but Mingyu had still noticed you alone at the table, lost in your thoughts. Had he always been this attentive, or was he just prone to watching you?
Ignoring your internal monologue, you took his hand, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor. Just as Mingyu was about to place his hand on your waist, the song changed, switching to a more upbeat track you used to blast in college. You immediately started laughing at all the older folks trying to follow the beat, and then found Chan with his wife, shimmying on the dance floor. Mingyu pinched the bridge of his nose, but found himself beaming when he finally saw the smile grace your features. He didn’t let go of your hand, let you twirl him to the song that took you back to the musty basement of a frat party.
Chan, at some point, had managed to dance over in your direction, bumping into you with a big grin. “I knew all the alumni here would love this,” he shouted over the music. “Do you remember when you puked outside a window once at some party and you said that it was this song that induced it?”
You were surprised when Mingyu said, “Yes,” at the same time as you. Both you and Chan glanced at him, eyebrows raised, until he added, “That was at one of my parties. I cleaned your vomit off the windowsill!”
The four of you erupted in laughter. Even Adrianna remembered that party, considering that was the night you drunkenly introduced her to Chan. She eventually pulled you away from Mingyu, leading you towards her group of bridesmaids so you all could dance together. But your eyes couldn’t help but find Mingyu’s across the floor, and then he was looking at you, and – god dammit, staring at him felt like a crime you’d consider going to jail for.
Everyone was looking at him, but he was looking at you.
Actually, Mingyu couldn’t seem to take his eyes off you. Not once.
He stared at you as if it was just you two, as if you were stripped bare before him, just for his eyes to see. You could tell from the way he bit his lip while smiling. He looked at you as if you were naked.
Soon enough, you were slipping through the crowd and by his side once again. He was now leaning against the wall by the open bar, nursing a scotch. The party was winding down; all the older family members had left, leaving Chan and Adrianna – plus a few other young couples – swaying to a classic Ed Sheeran song. It wouldn’t be long until they ended the night with Can’t Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley. The time war nearing 11 PM.
Slinking beside him, he offered the glass to you and you took a sip, wincing at the burn. You stuck out your tongue. “How can you drink that so smoothly?”
“Years of practice,” he replied, and then flicked your nose in a way that shouldn’t make you blush. But you definitely did.
You blinked up at him, admiring how pretty he was in the faint, yellow light. Actually, he was pretty in every light, but you liked to find any excuse to admire him. Even if you denied it.
“Wanna get out of here?” You asked then, digging your nails into your palms. So afraid of rejection after all these years, even though he agreed to be here. “I think the reception is going to end soon anyway.”
“Yeah, sounds good.” He set his half empty glass on a random table and straightened his back before adding, “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
God, you needed to get it together. Those words were the bare minimum, but when he said them in that slightly muffled voice, it made your nails pinch the inside of your hands harder.
You both stood on opposite sides of the elevator, dragging up, up, up to your room on the seventeenth floor. Your eyes connected. A smile played at his lips. An unspoken tension brewing between the two of you. A feeling you didn’t want to be there in the first place, but something you couldn’t simply ignore.
This couldn’t be happening. Not today. Not tonight. Not ever again.
He opened the door for you, allowing you to slip inside and grab your bag. While he rifled through his duffle, you brought your bag into the bathroom and leaned against the sink. You allowed yourself a moment to just breathe. Maybe if you kept exhaling like this, you would release all the tension from your body. You knew how silly it sounded, but desperate times called for desperate measures. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, turning your face from side to side. Was it the makeup that made him look at you that way sometimes? Perhaps he still had a fondness for lipgloss, like he did back in the day.
When you finally stopped studying your appearance, you wiped off your makeup and tugged on a pair of loose pajamas. Wearing these would be so much more comfortable – and less awkward – than the robe you wore after the last wedding. You still had nightmares about that. Carefully tiptoeing out of the bathroom, you expected to find Mingyu already in one of the two full size beds, scrolling through his phone and ignoring the noise you naturally made. But he was on the deck just outside your room, smoke billowing from his mouth.
You stood near the unoccupied bed, balancing on the balls of your feet, as you debated your options. A smart person would go right to sleep, leave him to his business. You chewed on your bottom lip nervously.
Despite the slight warmth to the air, you threw on a hoodie, scared of the possibility of your nipples showing through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. You slid open the door and immediately closed it, preventing any smoke from getting into the room. He didn’t turn; he knew exactly who was behind him. His back muscles flexed underneath his suit jacket, the joint dangling between his lips as he prayed for his lighter to work again.
“You probably shouldn’t be smoking in this suit,” you said, saddling up beside him.
He chuckled, finally taking a long drag. “I promise to get it dry cleaned before our next adventure.”
Before our next adventure. You bit the inside of your cheek.
Your eyes didn’t leave the joint now sitting between two of his fingers. (Jeez, were they always that big?) He let more smoke filter from his lips and into the open air, clouding up the starry night sky. Without even looking at you, he asked, “Why are you staring?” His words hung in the silence for a moment. “Have you ever smoked before?”
You shrugged. “Only once or twice with Vernon. Probably as freshmen.”
“You want me to show you how?”
Blinking at him, all you could do was dumbly nod. Mingyu laughed under his breath, fighting with his lighter again, before eventually holding the flame to the end. He then cautiously passed the joint over to you, allowing the filter to brush your lips. “Take it in your mouth,” he instructed, “now inhale.”
When you did as he asked, you must’ve inhaled far too deeply, or just didn’t exhale at the right time. Because then you were coughing, doubling over as you tried to catch your breath. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, concern etched in his tone, and patted your back as you hacked up what felt like your left lung. His voice was soft, soothing, but you could hardly hear it through the ringing in your ears.
“Yeah,” you sighed, voice hoarse, “I’m definitely out of practice.”
As you stood up, his hand stayed on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing patterns. Your breath stilled as you looked up at him. Playing with the joint between his lips, he said, “Let me show you an easier way.”
“Okay,” you agreed, before your conscious could stop you.
You watched as he took a long pull from the joint, sucking it all in until you could see his eyes get a little pinker, and then moved closer to you. Instinctively, your eyes closed and your lips parted, welcoming the scent of him. His lips only lightly grazed yours as he exhaled the smoke into your mouth, letting it engulf your very being, and you felt yourself start to relax. He craned back, grinning down at you, and it took everything within you to not ask for another hit right then.
In the moonlight, you could see why you fell hard for Mingyu. He had only gotten more handsome since college. Light, in any form, was so kind to him, but with the stars hanging above his head … it allowed his dark hair to shine, casting a slightly blueish tone to his warm features. You could see the twinkling stars reflecting in his eyes, especially when he leaned back in, expelling more smoke into your mouth.
This felt too intimate. This felt like fucking.
Once you both were so high you could do nothing but laugh, Mingyu stubbed out the joint and you stumbled back into the room. You both were finally going to have a good sleep at one of these, especially since there were two beds. Rolling into your bed, you immediately burrowed under the covers as Mingyu took off his suit in the bathroom.
The last thing you expected was to feel him plop down in your bed. He was wearing so little that it made your thighs press together, or maybe that was just the weed talking. He was disoriented, laying halfway off the edge of your bed, staring at you as if you were the Mona Lisa. You huffed, “Mingyuuu. You need to get in your own bed.”
“Do you really want that though?”
His words made your eyes immediately snap open. A grin was tugging at his mouth again, his teeth sinking into that plush bottom lip. Oh, so also wanted … Oh.
You tried to sound cool and nonchalant, “Considering this is a full size bed, yeah.”
Even in the darkness, even with his back to the moonlight streaming through the glass door – his presence was making you nervous. His eyes weren’t leaving yours. You felt your hand inch over, your pinky curling around his.
“If I can be so honest with you,” he whispered, licking at the corners of his lips, “you are so beautiful that I want to kill any guy that has done you wrong.”
You exhaled, “Mingyu …”
He leaned in, smiling like he knew he caught you in his trap. “Yes?”
You were pretty sure that you knew Kim Mingyu by now. You knew that this would be just another night that meant nothing to him. No matter how much he “changed” in Vernon’s eyes, it was very clear to you that he remained uncommitted. But fuck it, your heart was still burning from the breakup, stinging from the memory of people uttering your ex’s name tonight. It was only going to be a kiss. Just something to soothe the pain.
He was so much closer now, invading your space, his hand completely eclipsing yours. He smelled like marijuana and lingering cologne. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, but you didn’t. You let him kiss you, and god, it would be so much easier to dislike Mingyu if he didn’t kiss so well.
It wasn’t long before his tongue was pushing into your mouth, his large body looming over yours as he pressed you into the mattress a little more. And you’re desperate for it; you couldn’t stop. This was supposed to be simple – just a kiss – but you could feel yourself falling under his spell, feel how his palms burned against your skin as they dragged down your torso. He explored your mouth like it was the first time, parting your legs to make room for himself on top of you. When his lips left yours, you almost let out a whine, but he helped take off your hoodie before reattaching his mouth to your neck. Those large hands snake under your shirt – up, up, and up – until he was cupping your breasts and you can feel how hard he is against your thigh.
Mingyu looked up at you as he kissed down your torso, his spit soaking through the thin fabric of the t-shirt you were still wearing. He lifted one of your legs, adjusting it so your thigh could rest comfortably on his shoulder and – shit, you knew where this was going. Reaching the waistband of your panties, he begged, “Let me go down on you.”
You mulled over his words. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“No,” he grinned against your skin, meeting your eyes from between your legs. “But that’s a tomorrow problem. Please?” His head tilted. “Do I have to beg? I’m willing.”
You bit your tongue, egging him on a little as he nipped at the inside of your thigh. He bucked his hips once, them twice, trying to get the smallest bit of friction on his cock that was currently throbbing in his boxers. He grunted softly against your skin.
“And if I say, ‘No?’” You asked with a raised brow.
He lifted his head and pouted his lips. After all these years, he still managed the perfect puppy dog eyes that could make just about anyone weak. “Don’t be mean,” he pleaded, and you couldn’t help but giggle.
“You like when I’m mean,” you quipped, giving him permission by helping him shimmy your panties off. He adjusted your legs again, presenting you like a meal.
“I do,” he chuckled, his breath ghosting over your pretty, pink folds. “Especially, when you act like you didn’t want me here in the first place.”
Before you can rebuttal, he’s pressing his face between your thighs, dragging his tongue up your slit to collect the wetness that gathered there. Just the small amount of attention had you keening, your hips jumping for more of him, and Mingyu was happy enough to oblige. His tongue flicked at your clit as he slid one single finger inside of you, testing your limits. Those puppy dog eyes lifted from between your thighs, wanting to see you crumble, knowing that it was him who made you like this. You sighed out his name, your hand coming down to tangle in his hair. And god, if Mingyu didn’t love that … he’d be a dead man. He groaned when he felt you tug at the strands, beginning to swirl his tongue in a circle around your puffy clit.
You couldn’t even prepare yourself when he shoved another finger inside, pumping them in and out at an unreasonably fast pace. But you were bucking into him, tears pricking at your eyes as you whimpered for him. It was too much but almost too little at the same time. You could practically feel him smile as he devoured you. The bed rattled against the wall when he ground his erection against the frame, so needy and aching. His plump lips suckled on your clit, your slick smearing over his face, but he didn’t want to miss a drop of you. He needed more of you, so he started curling three fingers inside of you, teasing that sweet spot.
This wasn’t your first rodeo with Mingyu. He knew what you could take.
“Mingyu,” you whined, and he glanced up at you again with the most fucked-out eyes imaginable. And still, he didn’t stop. “You’re gonna … I’m gonna cum so fast.”
He moaned into you, then begged, “Please. Need to taste you.”
He was so determined, so desperate to feel you shake and moan and cry until he was completely spent on the taste of you. And it wasn’t long before he got his wish: as he shoved those three fingers into you, grazing your g-spot while lapping at you like you were his last meal on death row. You unraveled on his tongue, muffling your cries for the rest of the people sleeping on your floor. Biting into your hand, you had physically restrain your body from shaking as your orgasm rocked through you, but Mingyu held you down with a gentle hand on your stomach. He was staring at you again and you were staring at him and fuck, his half-closed eyes made him look like he was drunk on you. You could feel him smirking into your pussy as he collected every last drop of you, knowing that he did a good job. He sighed with relief when he could finally taste you again and again and again.
Once your body settled, you felt him start to tug at your shirt and kiss up your stomach. The thought of now having him inside you made your hands clench with excitement, but dear god, he just knocked the wind out of you and you weren’t sure how you could last. You were spent, tired, probably could just fall asleep right now.
You weren’t feeling his lips on your skin anymore, so you opened your eyes. The moonlight gave you just enough to see that, despite the raging boner he probably had, Mingyu was now snoring softly with his head resting on your hips. Brows raised, you almost couldn’t believe that this was the moment he decided to fall asleep, but you couldn’t deny that you had been on the verge of doing the same.
Untangling yourself from him, you quickly cleaned yourself up and wiped his face clean with a washcloth. You sighed, using all the brute strength you had to haul him up on what was supposed to be your bed, and wrapped the covers around him. You admired him for a moment, your hand coming up to smooth back his dark hair. Somehow, this felt even more intimate than you cumming in his mouth. So you quickly moved away and slipped under the sheets of the other bed, using his snores as white noise.
The next morning, neither of you spoke of what happened.
Mingyu had wanted to tell you that he had a crush on you the moment Vernon introduced you two all those years ago, even when you disliked him. And slowly but surely, he was starting to realize it never truly went away.
Save the Date for the wedding of Joshua Hong and Jordan Lo: June 20th
Two months passed and the spring air turned sweltering. It was on days like this when you rolled the windows down and wasted gas just to get an overpriced iced coffee that you reminisced. You were taken back to a time when you waited by the curb as Vernon appeared from football practice, and even though he was sweaty, you still always agreed to drive him back to his dorm on the other side of campus. You would watch him say goodbye to his teammates and – shit, the light would catch, and suddenly you were looking at Mingyu wipe the sweat off his face while laughing with the quarterback and –
Now you were thinking about Mingyu again.
You had been thinking about him since April.
All of this felt so silly, like stupid games young 20-somethings played. You knew it wasn’t good for you in engage in – well, anything with Mingyu. He had always been perfectly uncommitted with women, and he was clearly obsessed with his work, posting his new recipes or pictures of him and his flag football team on his Instagram stories. You could handle this. You could be an adult and have a functional acquaintanceship with someone you found attractive.
So you kept your distance. On the off chance that Mingyu was free and asked if you wanted to get together (which was a shock in itself), you declined. Even if you wanted to. Even if you desperately wondered what would come of it. The next wedding wasn’t until the end of June and you were already biting you lip at the thought of seeing him in a suit again.
The only person you could finally blabber to about this was Minghao, and in typical fashion, he laughed. Not that you expected anything less.
“You’re overthinking the entire situation,” he said over drinks. “It’s completely normal for you to have a little fun, especially while healing from a breakup. That’s what being single is all about, my friend.”
He was right. Of course, he was right. But what if Mingyu rejected you yet again, like he did in college? You wanted to talk to Vernon about this. He always gave you the best advice with this stuff, but this was his friend. The last thing you wanted was to make his friendship with Mingyu weird.
You attempted to ignore him. You redownloaded some dating apps as a distraction. You deleted them just as fast.
On the morning of June 20th, your cousin, Jordan, was marrying her longtime boyfriend, Joshua Hong. You had only met Josh on a number of occasions, but considering that they had been together for almost twelve years, you trusted him enough to take care of her. You felt lucky to be chosen as a bridesmaid and you’d never make a fuss, but dear god, the dark blue of this dress clashed with just about everything. The color was so dark and the dress was clinging to just about all of you and Mingyu’s tie was the wrong shade of blue –
Damn, did he look handsome though.
Jordan had made you both get to the venue early for a rehearsal dinner, and then once the morning came, you were whisked off to hair and makeup. You had barely said a word to Mingyu, too scared to give him anything besides small talk, but you couldn’t help but compliment the new suit he bought for the last few weddings. “Figured I’d cave and invest in one that wasn’t from Goodwill,” he explained, “for you.”
For you. For you. For you.
Your heels were hurting your feet halfway through the wedding, and despite how hard you were trying to focus on Josh’s vows, you couldn’t help but find Mingyu’s eyes in the crowd. He wasn’t paying attention to anyone else, his stare burning into yours to let you know his intent. You swallowed hard. Would anyone notice if you hid your blush behind the bouquet in your hands? It felt like torture having him look at you like this, as if there wasn’t an extravagant wedding happening around them, as if he wasn’t Kim Mingyu.
It wasn’t until the reception that you could finally get a word in with your cousin, some much needed alone time after what was surely going to be the craziest wedding you went to this year. You both parked yourself near the open bar, ignoring the guests on the dance floor that were screaming for another round of the Cha Cha Slide. Tucking a strand behind your ear, Jordan said, “I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me. Jeez, I really didn’t think when I was three and met you a couple weeks after you were born that we’d be here. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
You grinned, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” The bartender handed you a new glass of wine and you took a sip. “Besides, these days all I do is work or go to weddings. The life of being a permanent wedding guest, I supposed.”
“Speaking of guests …” Jordan turned her head slightly, ogling Mingyu from where he was standing up and trying to decline your great aunt’s advances to dance. Your cousin giggled. “He isn’t the older guy I thought you’d bring.”
“Circumstances change.” You shrugged, and she gave you a look. “I’d rather not get into it.”
Jordan’s brow raised. “You guys are having sex though, right?”
You almost choked while taking another sip of your wine. “Absolutely not.”
“You sure?”
“Well, I –” You sighed, and then decided to suck down the rest of the glass in one go. Jordan whistled. “We did at one point. Very long time ago. But he’s Vernon’s friend and … it’s a long story.”
“Sounds like it,” she snorted, eyes flickering around the reception until they landed somewhere behind you. “Well, if you’re not having sex with him, my friend just might tonight.”
Your expression muddled, until she pointed over your shoulder. Turning around, you found Jordan’s Maid of Honor chatting up Mingyu near the stairs that lead to the restrooms. Her hand was inching up his sleeve and he was blushing at what you could only assume was a compliment coming from her lips. He was clearly enjoying the conversation, despite the intimate looks he was giving you earlier.
Classic fucking Kim Mingyu, you thought.
A pang of jealousy surfaced that you couldn’t control. It was probably best for everyone if you walked away and took a breather. After Joshua pulled his wife onto the dance floor, you adjusted the tight silk of your dress and headed for the bathrooms. You walked past them, your perfume wafting past Mingyu’s nostrils, a scent he would know anywhere.
Instead of going inside the bathroom, you decide to stand in the empty hall connected to the venue and brace your back against the cool wall. You sighed, gathering yourself, completely unaware it wasn’t just you here until you heard the squeak of someone else’s shoes.
“I noticed you were empty,” Mingyu muttered as a way of greeting. He was holding two glasses of rosé between his fingers, stepping down the small staircase to get to you.
It was just you two now, and he was handing you the glass while standing so close that you could smell his cologne. Had this dress always felt that tight, or could you just not breathe right now? You watched the way his eyes flickered to your mouth, and it took everything in you not to yank him closer by the tie. Instead, you took a big gulp of rosé.
“You didn’t have to come after me,” you remarked, and then nodded your head in the direction of the Maid of Honor now on the dance floor. “You looked like you were having fun.”
Mingyu simply tilted his head to the side, studying you carefully.
“She’s pretty. Don’t stop on my account, but please be aware that we are sharing a room so you can’t bring anyone back there.”
Mingyu’s lips slowly curved into a grin. “Are you jealous?”
You scoffed, “No. I’m just … being realistic.”
Taking your half empty glass from your hand, he set them both down on a side table right near the women’s restroom. Your mouth opened, but the words died as soon as he placed a hand beside your head on the wall. He was so tall that he towered over you, even in heels, leaning into your space with pretty, half-opened eyes as he stared at your glossy lips.
“Can I be realistic with you?” He didn’t give you a moment to answer. “I cannot stop thinking about our last night together. I know you probably thought it happened because of the weed, but I … these past two months, it’s all I’ve been thinking about. And it’s killing me that I’ve been trying to be normal this whole night when all I’ve wanted to do is drag you away and make you cum again.”
Your breath hitched slightly at his words. He leaned in then, grazing his nose over the side of your face, desperate to be in your orbit. You took your bottom lip between your teeth and tried to control your heart rate, but how was that even possible when Mingyu’s other hand was brushing up and down your side, tangled in the silk.
“Well, that …” You swallowed hard. “That wouldn’t be a good idea considering all my family is here.”
He tsked under his breath. “Obviously, it wouldn’t be, but …” You felt his nose at your jaw, inhaling the scent of your perfume again, the one that made him crazy. And he damn near groaned in your ear.
“Mingyu, you … you –”
“Fuck, how could you think I’m looking at anyone else here when you look this good in your dress?” His voice had taken on that needy tone he always got when he was horny. It almost felt like a reward to be able to hear it again. “I’ve been half-hard this entire reception just from looking at you, remembering the way you tasted …” He muttered another curse.
This was how he always acted. Mingyu could be so desperate and pleading when he wanted to get someone in bed, needy to the point he would do anything just to please you, but god – you couldn’t deny how much you liked it. He was reeling you in. You were like fish to bait.
Slowly, he laced your dominant hand with his and moved it from his belt buckle to his groin. You could barely breathe when you felt him harden under your touch, and then you remembered you were still in a public hallway, where just about anyone could walk by.
Your eyes met his half-lidded ones as he murmured, “Look what you’re doing to me.”
And god help you, because you whimpered at the sound of his voice, slick starting to gather between your thighs.
“Okay, Mingyu, just …” You sighed, composing yourself because you knew he wasn’t going to any time soon. Your hand slipped away from his and he huffed, his forehead falling to rest on your shoulder. “Go to our room and let me make my rounds. I’ll meet you up there.”
He stood up. For a moment, he was almost tempted to drag you into the bathroom and bury his face between your legs, too hungry to let you get away now. But one of your uncles was walking down the hall, and you separated quickly. With a nod, you walked back to the reception and said goodbye to your family that you didn’t get to talk to for too long prior. Jordan gave you a look when you mentioned about going to bed early, and even Josh told you how weird you were being, but your cousin shut him up and sent you a wink.
You exhaled heavily and headed back to hotel on the other side of the venue. Slipping your heels off once you were inside the elevator, you debated if giving into Mingyu this easily was the smart thing to do. Smart? Definitely not. But would it be enjoyable? You didn’t need to answer that question. Mingyu knew what he was doing.
As you unlocked the door to your hotel room, you began to wonder if you were just setting yourself up to be hurt again. He didn’t come back to you like this in college, but what’s stopping him from telling you that he’s “just not that into you” at the next wedding? Or what if he just thought of you as an easy hookup that would get his dick wet every 2 months? Well, you hadn’t done that yet –
Yet. Yet. Yet.
The word repeated in your head like a melody, because when you threw your purse down and saw Mingyu walking out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower and dressed in only a towel around his waist, you realized that you were most definitely getting his dick wet tonight. Whether it was in your mouth or somewhere deeper, you were salivating for it.
He was smiling at you and you were smiling at him and Jesus, he was so goddamn handsome that you couldn’t believe that he was the one desperate for you. Droplets of water trickled down his tan skin and that towel around his waist was just barely holding on. His torso was chiseled and his arms – fuck, his biceps were bigger than you remembered. He was something out of a dream – some horny, fucked-up dream that you only had after masturbating before bed.
He was on you instantly, pushing you against the wall and kissing you hard. Sighing into the kiss, your hands fist into the towel to yank him closer, but it only makes the flimsy fabric fall. You break away for a moment to mutter, “Oh, shit,” but his lips can’t stay away from yours for long. And he’s laughing, like you did exactly what he wanted. You were too hypnotized by the scent of his body wash to care.
Dragging his lips down your neck, he sucked at the spot that he knew made your thighs press together, grinning proudly against your skin when you moaned. His fingers gripped the soft silk of your dress, slowly pulling the fabric up to feel you that much closer. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how much he liked you in this dress – and god, did he like you in this dress – he needed you out of it. Now.
Mingyu unzipped your dress with precision, setting it down on one of the two beds in the room, and both of you were suddenly wishingthere was only one. His hands smoothed down your sides, his breath hot against your mouth. He just wanted to feel you everywhere. He almost didn’t want to step away, afraid you’ll slip through his fingers like sand. When you two had hooked up in college, it was quick and explosive, letting out the tension that had been building for years. There was so much territory for him to cover now, so many ways for him to find out what made you whine and sigh with pleasure. But, if he were being honest, all he wanted right now was for you to –
“Sit on my face,” he begged, caging you into the wall, pressing his hard cock against your stomach. So desperate for just an ounce of friction, so hungry for another taste of you. He could literally start drooling at the thought of it. He was mesmerized by you; he’d do anything you asked just to have your pussy on his tongue again.
But you seemed to be debating your options, biting you lip again, and he wished that didn’t turn him on even more. You were just so pretty, and the way your face scrunched as you decided on something was a sight he couldn’t help but think about when he touched himself, even all those years ago. It was just you. You.
Eventually, your face relaxed, and you replied, “Well, you don’t have to beg me.”
Mingyu’s lips pulled into a smile, and he laughed while pulling you down onto the nearest bed. Despite his request, you continued to straddle his torso and kiss him for just a little while longer. He was needy, moaning into your mouth whenever his cock bumped against your ass, but all you wanted to feel his lips on yours, tangle your tongue with his, even if it was just for another minute.
You forgot Mingyu was stronger than you, though. It wasn’t much longer before he was yanking your body up and turning you around so you knelt just above his face. He inhaled the scent of your pussy and almost breathed a sigh of relief, but instead muttered, “Such a tease sometimes.”
Now that you were hovering above him, you were suddenly self conscious about how excited you were and if your arousal was seeping onto his face. You couldn’t even see if he was thrilled or not, since he had turned you to face away from him, but the way his cock jumped in front of your eyes told you enough. His hands gripped your thighs tight. “I don’t want to crush you,” you said nervously.
“You could suffocate me and I wouldn’t have a problem with it."
You chewed on your bottom lip. His tone was firm, probably the most serious you’d ever heard from him. But you were embarrassed and this was crazy and you still so wet. With flushed cheeks, you asked, “Mingyu, are you –”
“Yes,” he answered before pulling you down onto his face.
He wasn’t teasing you tonight. He was devouring you without even letting you catch your breath. His tongue swiping at your clit before he sucked on it – hard. So hard that you let you a sound that was a mixture of a yelp and a moan. Gripping you roughly, he spread you wider, drinking more of you in. Your hips moved on their own, grinding against his face, which made him groan into your pussy. The vibration in his voice spread throughout your entire body, goosebumps lining your flesh. “Mingyuuu,” you whined, begging for more, and you could practically feel him smirk as he flicked at your swollen clit.
Leaning forward, you turned your head up and noticed again just how hard he was. His cock had always been perfect: the perfect size, dark pink at the tip, veins etched into the shaft. Precum beaded at the head, sliding down every so slowly, as he throbbed and ached and – god, his hips were almost thrusting into the air now. You didn’t doubt he could get off for hours on this, but that didn’t mean he needed to be unsatisfied.
Besides, you wanted something to do with your mouth anyway.
Mingyu whimpered as you shifted slightly to reach his cock. Your body stretched, your mouth at the perfect angle as you flicked the head with your tongue. He pulled you back towards his mouth, shoving his tongue inside your tight hole and making you gasp at the same time you licked a stripe up his shaft. His tongue worked you open while you swirled your own along the tip, and then finally took him into your mouth.
The grunt he released should’ve caused an earthquake.
You bobbed your head up and down his shaft, choking when he bucked into your mouth. You could hardly breathe, taking every opportunity to inhale through your nose, but you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. God forbid, you have a hobby like wanting Kim Mingyu’s cock in your mouth. He took the liberty of grinding you against his face with his own hands, wrapping his lips around your clit again, eager to taste your climax. And to be honest, he wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last if you kept sucking on his tip like that. He groaned each time, feeling your tongue circle his head before going back down, taking as much as you could, as if you were rewarding him. And he just couldn’t help but whine along with you.
Your lips pulled off him to kitten lick the veins along the sides of his shaft, and you breathily asked, “Are you close?”
His only response was a moan straight into your pussy.
You nodded, even if he couldn’t see it, before your mouth opened like second nature. You spit on his cock and stuffed him down your throat once again. Head moving faster, you were slobbering on him like a dog in heat, trying not to gag and failing. Your free hand snaked up to cup one of his balls, and the sound he released was deafening. His tongue flicked and sucked at your clit like he had nothing left to live for, hungry for every last drop of your essence.
But then you were cumming, and he was too not long after.
You cried, choking on his cock as you came all over his face. White blurred in your vision, and you were a mess of sweat and spit and so much cum. He exploded in your mouth a moment later, hot seed running down your throat, and you consumed all of it. Neither of you wanted to miss out on the taste of each other. It was filthy, intoxicating, how much you liked this. How much you could suck him off over and over again, and not get tired of him.
You didn’t know it at the time, but Mingyu would say the same about you. If not worse.
He could spend all day between your thighs and never want to leave.
When you both finally angled off each other, spent and exhausted, your breathing was heavy and off by two seconds. Mingyu was glancing over at you before you could even process, a smile playing at his swollen lips. He brushed away a strand of hair that was stuck to your sweaty forehead.
“Mingyu,” you finally said, “has anyone ever told you that you have boyfriend dick?”
Mingyu had wanted to tell you how much he’d been dreaming of that moment, how much you had haunted his dreams and left him waking up so hard that he felt he was going through puberty again. Sometimes he dreamed of how good it would feel when he finally slipped into you, inch by inch. You’d feel like home.
Save the Date for the wedding of Lee Seokmin and Quinn Song: July 31st
You couldn’t go a day without talking to Mingyu. Whether it be through text or over the phone, you were joking with him, telling him about your day, and vice versa. Just a month prior, you had tried keeping your distance, but now … you simply couldn’t help yourself. It was like there was a voice inside your head telling you to contact him, to send him a funny video you saw that day, to tell him about the show you were currently watching. And on nights when you had too much to drink, that voice made you text him that you missed him. He always said he missed you too.
Mingyu: I’m watching that show you recommended
Mingyu: kinda wish you were watching it with me
Mingyu: but I’m still content here and I can see why you like it so much
You: right?? I knew you’d like it!
You couldn’t help but giggle at your phone when his texts came through. And you answered them immediately, like you always did.
Mingyu: what are you doing right now?
You: wouldn’t you like to know
Neither of you made the effort to go on an actual date. It was all just flirty texts with a TikTok mixed in every once in a while. Promises about going back to that coffee shop someday, but never planning the day. To be honest, this was one of those moments where you were glad Mingyu was so uncommitted. If you started going on dates that didn’t include a vow exchange in between, it would be so easy to fall for him again, and then be let down when he eventually didn’t want to see you after wedding season.
Mingyu: I mean that’s why I asked
You: I’m hanging out with
A pillow was suddenly thrown at your head. “Ow!” You shouted, head shooting up from your phone to glare at Vernon sitting on the other side of the couch. “What the hell was that for?”
“Anakin is literally burning alive and all you can do is look at your phone!” Vernon scoffed, turning Revenge of the Sith back on. You set your phone down on your lap as he muttered, “Kinda wish I never won that bet.”
Vernon, obviously, was becoming increasingly annoyed that you and Mingyu had rekindled … whatever this was. Sometimes you wondered if you were talking to Mingyu more than your best friend, but given the way Vernon was acting, that was probably the case. You probably shouldn’t even be texting Mingyu while hanging out with Vernon. Bad friend move; happens to the best of us.
You apologized to Vernon in the best way possible: you bought him fried chicken from his favorite spot.
As summer came along, so did Seokmin and Quinn’s wedding at the end of the month, an invitation that was barely hanging on by an old Britney Spears magnet on your fridge. Quinn Song had been your first ever roommate out of college. You both had met on a Facebook group to find roommates in the area and quickly hit it off. She had been your roommate up until last year actually, when her now-fiancé Lee Seokmin asked her to move in with him. It was at that point that you finally decided to live alone, besides the few days out of the week that Vernon crashed at your apartment.
The wedding was being held on a pretty island in the northeast, nestled on the expansive grounds of a bed and breakfast in the area. The spot felt warm and lived in, the exact kind of place you imagined Quinn would get married at.
Meeting Mingyu at the airport had been awkward, but at the very least, you two were sitting in different rows of the plane. Maybe it shouldn’t have been as cringe-worthy as it was, given the fact that you two had been talking nonstop, but it was the memory that the last time you did see each other in person, you were sitting on his face and his cock was so far down your throat –
Mingyu had found your eyes a couple rows behind him on the plane. Even he was blushing now, as if he could read your thoughts.
You had rented a car once you reached your destination and threw him the keys, letting him drive the convertible down the coast while the summer breeze whipped through your hair. You tried not to notice the way his hand twitched on the gear shift, like he was itching to place his palm on your thigh, to ground himself to your presence. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Especially when all you could do was stare out the window with a big smile on your face.
Unfortunately, you had to book a room at a small hotel near the bed and breakfast since all the rooms were used for the wedding party. The hotel was quaint, but definitely old and smelled like the Febreze scent your mom used to love when you were a kid. Your room was tinier than the pictures implied, but it was on the first floor and had a screen door that opened to a pretty view of the ocean. You didn’t have much time to enjoy it though, considering that the ceremony was in a few hours and the reception would probably carry on until way past midnight.
You decided to rewear the floral sundress that made a previous appearance at Chan and Adrianna’s wedding. It wasn’t like anyone here was at that event, and honestly, you didn’t care. Throwing your hair up into a perfectly messy updo, you curled a few pieces and took your time with your diligent makeup routine. Mingyu was in his suit before you could even blink, biding his time while you got ready by watching past game recordings of the flag football team he taught and trying to identify key moves they missed out on. As you finished up and clumsily slipped on your shoes, the perfume you sprayed seemed to beckon him like a siren song, and suddenly, he was leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, meeting your eyes in the mirror.
Your brows shot up. “Done with your flag football research?”
“You’re beautiful,” he replied.
You turned, unable to stop your lips from pulling into a soft smile. His expression was so warm, cheeks tinged slightly pink either from embarrassment or a nasty sunburn. He was beautiful. In ways you couldn’t even comprehend.
Holding out your necklace to him, you asked, “Can you help me put this on?”
He nodded, plucking the dainty chain from your palm. You moved back to the mirror as he struggled to open the clasp with his thick fingers, but he got it eventually. Placing the thin, gold chain around your neck, you watched the small, star-shaped pendant sit so delicately under your collarbones. He fixed the clasp on your neck, his fingers brushing the top of your spine, and you watched him lean forward in the mirror.
His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, breath hot and making the hairs on your neck stand up. “I meant it, by the way,” he whispered, and then placed the softest of kisses behind your ear.
Your breath hitched, and you were unable to form a single coherent thought. For the first time in a while, he was catching you by surprise. He was moving back, and you noticed him smirk in the mirror, knowing exactly how he was affecting you. That annoying asshole –
“Ready to head out?” He asked, grabbing his wallet from the desk.
You huffed and tugged the strap of your purse onto your shoulder. “Of course.”
The grounds of the bed and breakfast were bigger than you assumed, enough to fit an extremely large tent and hardwood floor for all the guests to congregate. The ceremony was held near the shoreline of the ocean, and it was so, unapologetically Quinn to have a few seashell pins in her veil as she walked towards her husband. You had known Seokmin as long as Quinn had been your roommate, but you had never seen this kind of smile on his face until now. He completely lit up at the sight of her, and he didn’t waste a second to say, “I do,” once his time came.
As the guests crowded into the tent for the reception, Mingyu seemed to hold onto you like a toddler with it’s parent. His arm was locked around yours, letting you lead him through the crowd, even though he was tall enough to see over the tops of everyone’s heads. His palm was so warm on your wrist, and then his fingers were so easily lacing through yours, and you squeezed because you simply couldn’t help yourself.
You were able to find your table easily, but you didn’t recognize the other people already there. They introduced themselves as Seokmin’s friends, and you remembered seeing one or two of them at a bar. You still couldn’t get a read on these people, and found yourself swiftly growing silent around their shared camaraderie. But Mingyu was suddenly so talkative, catching along with their jokes just as quickly, so you stood and whispered in his ear, “Do you want a drink?”
He leaned back to meet your eyes, and you swore time stopped for a moment. His hand reached down, squeezing your wrist, as he said, “You know what I like.”
Jesus. Fuck. Since whendid he have you this wrapped around his finger?
(Probably since sophomore year of college.)
You nodded, swinging your head in the direction of the bar, and your feet had started to head there when you halted in place. It almost felt like your heels were glued to the floor as you found the face of the last person you expected to be here. The only face that could make all the noise drown out around you.
Your ex.
He still had that same curl that always got in his eyes. He was wearing the same suit he wore to your mother’s engagement party last year. The same watch on his wrist; the same cufflinks. Same. Same. Same. And now, he was meeting your eyes across the room. Bodies formed in clusters under the tent – some hugging, some stumbling into each other – but he was unable to look away.
Until a head popped up in front of him, standing from her chair at the table. Her wedge sandals almost made her taller than him, and her dress looked expensive enough that he probably bought it. You didn’t know her, but you knew of her. Well, at least, you knew what the back of her head looked like, and that was her right there.
You couldn’t forget the night even if you tried. Exhaustion had your shoulders sagging as you unlocked the door to your boyfriend’s apartment. He didn’t typically keep it locked, but you had a key anyway. You remembered how quiet the place was, except for the soft sounds echoing from his bedroom. At first, you thought he was just masturbating, and to be honest, you were too tired to engage in anything tonight. But a voice in your head had urged you to move, to go, go, go towards his room. And you were slowly pushing open the door, only to find your boyfriend fucking your 22-year-old neighbor from behind, yanking on her short hair like a leash. You had been too scared to move, too scared to breathe, but eventually, you had started wailing. His eyes had found yours – exactly like in this moment – and he screamed, slipping away completely as your back slid to the floor. He had tried explaining, tried to yell at the young girl, but everything had drowned away in that moment, and all you could hear was the ringing in your ears –
Your breathing was growing rapid, just like that day at his apartment. Sprinting to the inside of the bed and breakfast, you tried to act normal and say hello to whoever you knew mingling by the bathroom. But something was clearly very wrong. It was evident in your eyes, the way tears were pricking at the sides. You almost thought the universe was pulling a cruel prank on you, but then you remembered that it was Quinn who had introduced you two in the first place, that he had been a friend of a friend.
Climbing up the staircase in the lobby, you plopped yourself down on the middle step and let your face fall into your hands. You began to count your breaths – one, two, three, one, two, three – anything to make you get a semblance of control. But you could feel your brain spinning, and your heart was beating too fast. Was this what it felt like to die? Was your cheating ex going to be the last face you saw before you completely slumped against this staircase? Vernon always said you had a flair for the dramatic. What a fitting way to end.
You felt a weight sink into the plush carpet next to you, and you lifted your head, tears brimming your eyes.
“You do realize that this isn’t your party. You can’t cry if you want to,” Mingyu joked, reaching out and swiping the tear at your lash line. His eyes softened then, looking at you like you were something fragile, like a baby bird. “What’s wrong?” His voice was hardly about a whisper.
You sniffled, dabbing at the corners of your eyes with your knuckles. The last thing you needed was your makeup messed up. “This is so embarrassing. I’m crying over something so …” Your words trailed off, noticing that he was leveling a look at you. You sighed before admitting, “I forgot that the bride, Quinn, might invite my ex because they were friends. Somewhat.”
“Your ex? As in that ex?” His brow shot up, and you nodded. “Did he come alone?”
You looked down at your hands in your lap, and after a moment, you watched his large palm slowly envelope one of yours. The rough pads of his fingers – the hands of a cook – brushed over your knuckles, and his touch was so warm that it could burn.
His voice was soft in your ear as he said, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
You chuckled a little, turning to look at him again. “Then we’d be sitting on this staircase forever.”
He smiled at you and stretched out his long legs. “That’s fine with me.”
Your lips pursed, and you found him staring at them for a moment. A sigh escaped, and you glanced down at your laced hands. How perfectly they fit together, how he held you with such a fierce softness. His thumb grazed the scar on your knuckle that you got the first time you fell off your bike. Finally, you answered, “He came here with the girl he cheated on me with.”
Mingyu didn’t speak, but you did hear him do a sharp intake.
“She’s twenty-two. She didn’t – she doesn’t know any better. He’s in his early thirties and he’ll do it again,” you continued, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. “I found them in his apartment after I came home from a late meeting at work. It was … messy. Walking in on them, the fallout, now this … everything about that breakup has felt like one big mess. And now, I have to see him here and be reminded of it all–fucking–over again.”
You didn’t even dare to meet his eyes as the next words tumbled out of your mouth, already feeling your voice start to break again. “It didn’t just hurt because I found them. It hurt because … I never wanted to become my mother. I love her. I really do. But the last thing I ever wanted was to become her. Be in the same situation as her. And yet, there I was, witnessing yet another infidelity that would affect my life for what seems like forever.” You rubbed at your running nose. “I found my father cheating too. It wasn’t exactly the same. I found him kissing my best friend’s mom in my parent’s bedroom one night when my mother stayed at work too late. The sentiment still stands, and history was always bound to repeat itself. Daughters always become their mothers and I always have to bear witness to another man not choosing to stick around –”
Mingyu stopped you by turning your face towards his, one hand cupping your cheek. His thumb skimmed the tears running through your blush. He didn’t say anything; his eyes let you know that he was here. That he was sticking around. Despite everything you thought of him, despite your past – Mingyu was here.
He held you for as long as you needed, gathering you in his arms and cradling your head against his shoulder. He let your tears soak into the fabric of his expensive suit, promising he’d get it dry-cleaned, which made you laugh. Your fingers clutched his lapels and you almost considered not letting go. You would give anything to stay in this bubble, to sit on this staircase in his embrace forever.
“I meant what I said all those months ago,” he said, his voice muffled from his lips at the crown of your head. “I would kill any guy that has done you wrong. Do you want me to kill him?”
You chuckled and raised your head from his shoulder. “What are you gonna kill him with? A butter knife?” You shook your head. “No chef is gonna let you in that kitchen tonight to grab a weapon. You of all people should know that.”
Mingyu grimaced. “This conversation is getting morbid.”
Another laugh bubbled at your lips. “You brought it up!”
“And you’re smiling again,” he said, making your hands hold onto him tighter. “That’s all I could ask for.”
Such simple words could take your breath away, especially when they came from his mouth. You searched his eyes for a moment, your fingers now smoothing out the creases in his lapel. Eventually, you whispered, “I don’t know if I can survive this whole reception. I hate the awkward tension, but I should stay for Quinn.”
“Trust me, I know,” he snickered, and his hand covered over yours as an anchor. “I say we stay at the reception for as long as your comfortable. Then we go to bed early. Whatever works for you.”
Your smile was so kind as you nodded along with his plan. After touching up your makeup, you took his hand and let him lead you back to the reception. Once you saw Quinn in her short, after party dress and looking at Seokmin with stars in her eyes, you instantly felt more at ease. This was her day; you wouldn’t let one person sour it. And Mingyu, clearly, wasn’t going to let your own nerves sour it either. Anytime you locked eyes with your ex, there Mingyu was, distracting you by whispering in your ear how pretty you looked or asking you about your best memories while living with Quinn. There was one moment where you saw your ex heading in your direction, assuming he was finally going to talk to you, and Mingyu stood up to whisk you onto the dance floor. His large arms enveloped you, holding you close, as you swayed to one of your favorite songs. Everything about him felt safe, secure, and he even let you stand on his feet when you told him you had never been that good at dancing. And when you looked at him, you noticed that he was staring at you like how Quinn looked at Seokmin during her speech. Even when you had cried, had let him in, see parts of you that not even Vernon touched … he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.
You stayed at the reception far longer than anticipated. When you told Mingyu that you were too tired to stay any longer, he didn’t question it. He simply grabbed your purse and jacket before taking your arm in his, walking the short distance back to your Febreze-ridden hotel. The first thing you did once you were back in your room was take off your heels. They were only a kitten heel, but your feet were already blistering, and you winced as you went to the bathroom to wash off your makeup. Mingyu had set your stuff down on the small desk before walking out onto the deck connected to your room. You craned your neck out, assuming he was going to smoke a joint, but he was just staring at the ocean, noticing how loud the waves crashed against the shore.
You padded out of the bathroom and leaned against the door frame for a moment, admiring him in the dim light. It almost left in you in disbelief how you had roped Kim Mingyu, one of the most attractive men you’d ever met and probably one of the longest crushes you’d ever had in your life, into being your wedding date for an entire year. He had a lost a bet, but he really didn’t have to be here. He didn’t have to invest in a new suit. He didn’t have take the time off from his two jobs. He didn’t have to listen to your trauma, or look at you like you were this painting to be worshipped, this Mona Lisa of sorts. Mingyu could’ve said no.
But he didn’t.
“I’m going to take a shower,” you finally informed him, and he turned to meet you eyes. “Can you help me out of my dress?”
He nodded diligently, following you to the bathroom. You pulled your hair up with one hand, and with deft fingers, he slid the zipper down your back. Typically, you would hold the dress to your chest until he left the bathroom, out of respect, but you were letting it pool at your feet tonight. You stepped out of it, your gaze locking with his as you turned on the shower. You were giving him this look and he was still standing there in his half-buttoned dress shirt, hands forming into fists as he fought the urge touch you. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for your permission.
But you didn’t even have to say anything. Your eyes said the words for you. As you climbed into the standing shower, he took his time removing his suit, pretending as if he wasn’t fucking dying to have his hands on you, and then he was behind you, the hard panes of his chest flush against your back. He closed the shower door as the glass began to fog up.
The water was scalding as it rained down on your head, steam forming around the small bathroom. You could still feel the dried tears on your face, imprinted underneath your makeup all night, and you did your best to wash them away. Mingyu noticed the way your shoulders sagged, the way you sighed while you were lost in thought, and as much as wanted touch you in places that made those sweet sounds fall from your lips, he held himself back. Instead, he let his hands comb through your wet hair before scrubbing shampoo into the strands. You relaxed against him, closing your eyes as he washed your hair.
It was so domestic that you could cry.
(Again.)
The last person you ever thought could be capable of this kind of care was Mingyu. You both had known each other for eight years, and not once had he displayed this kind of person around you. Or maybe you just weren’t paying attention, too lost in your own perception of him. Even now, you couldn’t help but remind yourself of when he avoided you after the hookup in senior year. He really isn’t the same guy, Vernon’s voice echoed in your head. Give him a chance. You had never trusted those words, but in this moment … you realized where you had went wrong.
The water began to get cold when it came time to wash his own hair and you could tell he was struggling to rush. His mannerisms made you giggle, and even though the steam began to dissipate from the room, you still turned to his front and rested your forehead on his chest, letting the lukewarm water beat down your neck.
When you walked out of the shower, you had never felt more fresh and at ease. Your body was all warm and you had brought the comfiest pajamas for summer weather. The breeze wafting off the ocean blew through your room from the open screen door, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore could lull you to sleep.
But right now, it seemed like neither of you were keen on the subject. As you slipped under the covers next to each other, you were grateful that there was only one bed: one large, king-sized bed that both of you could be using to spread out. Instead, you were huddled close, hair still wet from the shower, and his arms locked around you like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go. Your hands cupped his face, studying parts of him that you didn’t think of in your previous lust-induced hazes. Fingers traced his lips, brushed over the tip of his nose – where his tiny mole was stamped – before you skimmed the shell of his ear.
You almost didn’t recognize your own voice as you whispered, “Thank you for tonight.”
“Anytime,” he smiled.
A beat of silence. Hands stilled. Lips pursed.
“Mingyu?”
“Yeah?”
“Please, kiss me.”
His mouth was on yours before you could even finish the sentence, but he still took his time exploring new ways to make you moan into the kiss. He kept one hand splayed on your back, pressing you further into him, while the other played with the hem of your loose t-shirt. Your hands knotted into his hair as he kissed you slow, savoring you like a fine meal. And you simply let him. You were like molten lava, melting in the palm of his calloused hands.
You felt his fingers prod at the waistband of your shorts, and it was game over. Slipping them under, he practically whined into your mouth when he realized you hadn’t put any panties on after the shower. His mouth disconnected from yours, fingers sliding between your slick folds. “Are you trying to kill me?” He breathed against your lips.
“In my defense,” you chuckled softly, “I forgot to bring them to the bathroom.”
He laughed with you, and you were debating on crying again because he was so kind and good and definitely just as obsessed with you as you were with him. No matter how many times you didn’t want to admit it, you had somehow fallen into Kim Mingyu’s trap once again.
He kissed you again, hungrier this time, as he spread you open with his fingers. You whimpered, but he swallowed it with his tongue and began to rub tight circles on your clit. Your leg lifted, hooking onto his waist, and you bucked against his hand. Your body felt like it was on fire, but Mingyu was careful, plucking your strings like a guitar, and you needed moremoremore. Pushing two fingers inside of you, his kiss was like a sound barrier as he consumed all your sweet sounds, as if that would allow him to hear them forever.
It was only when you came apart that he dragged his lips to your neck, wanting to focus on your moans as he fucked you with his fingers. He felt you shake, your pussy squeezing his thick fingers, and he kept rubbing your clit through it, wanting to prolong your orgasm as much as possible. If not for you, then for him, just so he could hear you. He would make you cum as many times as you wanted if it meant he could hear his name falling from your lips.
Neither of you wanted to stop; all fumbling hands and shaky limbs as he finally tugged your shorts off. It was a lot more difficult to take off his boxers without separating from you, but you laughed and you were so pretty that he almost forgot what he was doing in the first place. Once he was situated, you rolled on top of him, straddling his lap. You held his face in your hands, and for a moment, you could almost see reflections of the dark ocean outside in his starry gaze. Your palms drifted down, fingertips tracing the hard panes of his chest. He was all muscle, sculpted like your very own David statue; his complexion so similar to golden hour personified.
You lifted your t-shirt off and tossed it onto the floor. Mingyu was already so hard that it hurt, but he took a few more seconds to stare at you. He wanted to remember this moment forever: the sight of you on top of him, naked and vulnerable, hair wet and a faint blush on your cheeks.
Sitting up on your knees, you positioned yourself right over his cock and gripped the shaft to get the perfect angle inside of you. You were looking at him and he was looking at you as you lowered yourself slightly, grazing his tip against your wet slit, still dripping from your previous orgasm. Mingyu groaned at the sensitivity, throwing his head back against the pillow and muttering, “This is so mean.”
“You like when I’m mean,” you giggled, repeating the same words you uttered that fateful night after Chan’s wedding, when Mingyu’s face was buried between your thighs.
And Mingyu recognized it too, a grin making it’s way to his lips. But that was soon replaced by look of complete bliss as you finally sunk down onto his cock. He was the perfect size, filling you just right but never uncomfortable. He gave you a moment to adjust, but you could tell from his white-knuckled grip on your hips that he was damn near fighting the urge to thrust up into you. He didn’t though. He was patient and perfect and all yours.
You anchored yourself to him with one hand on his shoulder, beginning to rock into him at a snail’s pace. Your eyes connected, and even as he moaned underneath you, he was unable to stop smiling. Mingyu let you set the pace, and you took your time, getting to know what speed had him pulling your hips harder. The angle had him buried so deep inside that you could practically feel him in your stomach, and you sighed each time as you moved against him.
“Fuck,” he whined, shifting to sit up against the headboard. “I’ve needed you so bad.”
“I know, I know,” you confessed in a breathy whimper. “Me too.”
He was digging his fingers into your hips so hard that you were sure there’d be marks, but you didn’t care right now. You just wanted him, wanted this. Wanted to be this connected to him and feel him this deep and cum together as the waves crashed against the shore outside. He began to move you on his own accord, bouncing you on his cock as he leaned forward to nip and suck at your neck. “So pretty,” he mused against your skin, breath stuttering as your walls tightened. “So pretty sitting on my cock.”
You were the one whining now, raking your fingers into his dark strands as your thigh muscles burned. Your breasts jumped with each slam of his hips against yours, and he planted hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, dipping his tongue into your collarbone, before latching his mouth around one of your nipples.
Your hands pulled at his hair. “Mingyu, please,” you cooed, not exactly sure what you were begging for. Just moremoremore.
His eyes lifted to yours and you watched him fucking smile while tugging at your nipple. You were melting like putty, and he was able to still move you with one hand, using his free one to cup your other breast and run his thumb over that nipple. Tears pricked at your eyes, feeling him pulse inside you with each pass. And when he started to thrust up into you, you were pretty sure that you were close to seeing stars.
“Wanna cum with you,” he rasped while switching breasts and flicking his tongue over your other nipple. “Please, wanna cum inside you.”
You nodded, too cock drunk to say anything besides, “Yesyesyes.”
He was rolling your hips now, practically rutting into you as he lifted his head from your chest, leaving a trail of spit. You leaned down and let his lips ghost over yours. Moans slipped from your mouth into his, and he was bouncing you on his cock so fast you almost couldn’t register to breathe. His breath was hot against your lips, so close he could feel his body shaking, but he needed you to be closer, needed to feel you tightened around him and milk him for everything he was worth.
Snaking a hand between your bodies, he found your clit easily, knowing your body better than anyone ever had. All you could hear in that moment was the sound of the ocean through your screen door and skin slapping against skin. You were so wet and warm and – shit, you were starting to clench around him. He rolled your clit between two fingers, and a whimper slipped out of his mouth when he felt your pussy clamp around his throbbing cock.
He needed to cum and so did you and – fuck, he could feel it, feel you, feel how deep he was inside.
He would do this forever if you asked.
“Fuck, Mingyu, oh my god, right there, right there –” You pleaded in his ear, feeling yourself tip right over that edge –
Then you were cumming.
And so was he.
You moaned his name like it was a prayer, shattering as you came undone. Your walls were squeezing him like a vice, and he was unable to hold himself back anymore, burying himself to the hilt before painting your insides white with his orgasm. Hips jerked, bodies went taunt. You felt your whole being dissolve into nothing but pleasure, molding yourself to him in his arms. When the rush of warmth started to fade and he felt your combined releases seep from between your thighs, he breathed out a sigh of relief, brushing kisses over your jaw.
You weren’t sure you were in your right mind. Everything was so hazy. But you didn’t want to move away just yet. Even when his cock started to go soft inside of you, you stayed connected to him, pushing his hair back from his forehead and whispering praises in his ear like, “You were so good … So good to me … My Mingyu … I’ve always been yours …” You could feel him smiling against your skin, his hands tracing circles on your lower back.
But as time seemed to stop and you felt peace for the first time in a while, you realized just how deep you had fallen. You were drowning in him.
Mingyu had wanted to tell you that it felt exactly like his dreams. If you were drowning in him, he had already sunk to the bottom a long time ago.
Save the Date for the wedding of Nathan Chaney and Your Mother: September 5th
Your mother was remarrying. Her and Nathan had been together since you went off to college, and then got engaged just a year after you graduated. They decided on a long engagement, choosing to plan out a destination wedding in the Caribbean. You thought it was crazy at first, but then your mother said, “If this is going to be my last wedding – and it is – I want to go out with a bang.” You couldn’t exactly blame her. After your dad had cheated and the divorce was finalized, you knew your mother deserved something like this. She deserved the world.
When she had called you just a week before the wedding, babbling on about who you were possibly bringing now that your ex was completely out of the picture, you paused. Holding the phone to your ear and watering one of your half-dead plants with the other, you said, “I’m … I’m going with Mingyu.”
“Vernon?” She asked, not believing what you said.
“Mingyu.”
“Like … the Mingyu from university? The football player?”
You sighed, playing with the dead leaves on the plant. “He was also – and still is – one of Vernon’s good friends.”
“Oh,” your mother said, more surprised than anything. “Well, you better watch for Nathan’s sister. If Mingyu looks anything like how I remember from Family Day, she will go buck wild over him.”
“I’ll make sure of it,” you chuckled.
The truth was … you weren’t exactly sure how this wedding was going to go. Ever since the last one, you had been progressively putting more distance between you and Mingyu. Once again. Your last night together had been so real … too real, and you wanted to save yourself from the heartbreak after this wedding when you never saw him again. As much as you hated to admit it, feelings were now involved, seeping into your bloodstream, until your heart thrummed like the sound of his name on your tongue.
Slowly pushing him away … it hurt, but it was better this way. Pain was temporary and so was your arrangement. You knew that going into it, so how did you end up in this mess? You remembered what had happened after Chan’s wedding, the way Mingyu looked at you as he was shotgunning smoke into your mouth and – yeah, you knew exactly how you ended up here.
If you kept telling yourself this was for the better, maybe you’d start believing it. Maybe your feelings would drift like smoke and your mother’s wedding would be a final farewell before you two went your separate ways.
But you had been doing that for a month now.
And those feelings refused to fade.
You had an early morning flight the day of your mother’s wedding. Typically, you wouldn’t be getting to a destination wedding on such short notice, but the ceremony was small. So small your mother refused to have a rehearsal dinner and no bridal party. It was about her and Nathan, and you had to respect that she was doing things her way this time around.
You had waited at your gate right before doors closed for Mingyu, since you were on the same flight. But he was clearly running late and you were much too awkward around him now to text him. So you finally got on the plane and found your seat, noticing the one seat in the back still left unoccupied. Once you had landed five hours later, you quickly headed to the hotel that Nathan had booked for the ceremony and reception. Your phone lit up as you hailed a ride.
Mingyu: I’m sorry, I got a new flight
Mingyu: I’ll be there just 2 hours after you land
Mingyu: I’ll make it for the ceremony. I promise
Feeling his anxiety radiate through your phone, you believed him, and then wondered if maybe this was a blessing in disguise. You were rewarded a few more hours of alone time before you had your last hurrah with Mingyu. Maybe if you buried your feelings deep enough, you wouldn’t tense up the second you saw his face. Maybe if you didn’t look into his eyes, you wouldn’t have the urge to kiss him. Or let him hold your hand. Or spread your legs to welcome him inside –
You dropped your lipgloss onto the bathroom counter, sick of your own thoughts. Your square-neck, baby blue dress was clinging to every curve, but you felt like you were being suffocated by the fabric. You had just finished doing your hair and makeup, but you couldn’t quite keep your thoughts at bay. Nerves batted against your skull, making your hands shake slightly. What would you do once Mingyu walked in? Would you avoid his stare? Would you tell him immediately how much you liked him and how this wouldn’t work out and you knew you set yourself up for heartbreak –
Maybe you needed a walk.
Grabbing a spare pair of sandals, you headed outside to walk the beach just along the grounds of the hotel. There was still an hour before the ceremony, and you could just see the planners putting finishing touches on the decorations laid out on the shore, where your mother wanted it to take place. Couples were still walking through the water. Kids were making sand castles. The sun was slowly beginning to set and the breeze was whipping your hair off your shoulders.
And you smiled, despite everything you were feeling. Because where there was an end, there would always be a new beginning.
“HEY!”
You spun around, your sandals sinking into the sand. Although you recognized his voice, the last thing you expected to see was Kim Mingyu running towards you in his pristine black tux, his tie loose around his neck and blowing in the breeze. It was like something out of a movie, the kind of movie where there was supposed to be a happy ending, but you knew you weren’t afforded luck like that in real life.
He stopped in front of you, running a hand through his hair. Sand sprinkled down the tops of his shoes.
“When did you get here?” You raised a brow.
“About twenty minutes ago. I flew in my tux because I figured I wouldn’t have enough time to change. But now it just kind of smells like …” He lifted the sleeve to his nose and inhaled. “Like peanuts and old plastic.”
You giggled, holding a hand to your mouth and just … staring at him. He was smiling at you, fangs poking out from under his top lip. His skin was even prettier in the sunset. His hair, despite the messy texture, was effortless and perfect. He embodied sunshine in its purest form.
“Well, you …” You looked to the water, your hands flexing at your sides. “You didn’t need to come find me out here.”
His voice was sweet, soft, like fresh sheets, when he replied, “Yes, I did.” His hand reached out a little, attempting to lace your fingers together, but he stuffed them in his pockets instead. “When I was wondering where you’d be, I remembered something you said to me in college … Do you remember Move-In Day of junior year when we had that bonfire with Vernon and a few other people? You really didn’t enjoy my company back then, but I sat next to you because you agreed to sharing that god awful cheap vodka we used to like.” He laughed when you grimaced. “We got to talking and I asked you, ‘If you could be anywhere right now, where would you be?’ And you said something like, ‘I want to be walking on a beach. I’ve always felt the most calm with my toes in wet sand.’”
You blinked, wondering if you had heard him right. He … how did he … “You remember that?”
“I remember a lot of things.”
And there he was, reaching out again and brave enough to brush his fingers over your knuckles. You looked down, watching his hand interlock with yours, and his palms were balmy and calloused. They felt familiar, like home. And you simply couldn’t believe that you had deprived yourself of this.
“Did you mean it when you said, ‘I’ve always been yours?’”
Your head snapped up, tsking under your breath. Hand still intertwined with his, you pushed a lock of hair behind your ear. “You came all the way out here to ask me that?” You asked, flustered and agitated.
His brow shot up. “So that’s a yes then?”
Your mouth opened, but then closed when you realized that he caught you.
He added, his voice like velvet again, “Then why are you avoiding me? I can sense it.”
“Well, if you’re that sensitive to other people’s feelings than I guess that –” You paused, taking a deep breath as you gathered yourself. Your ears reddened. “Look, I think it’s pretty obvious that I’ve … I like you. A lot. But having feelings for you would be so messy. The last time I went through this, we hooked up and you hardly spoke to me after.”
Mingyu’s brow furrowed. “That was years ago.”
“You know how uncommitted you’ve always been,” you quickly remarked, even though you didn’t fully believe those words anymore. “Weren’t you the one that told me at the start of this that men never really grow up?”
His eyes narrowed a little. “Are you playing psychological warfare with me right now?”
Slipping your fingers away from his, you shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I’ve been your date to five weddings this year. It wasn’t just about losing some bet. I did it for you.” He stared at you incredulously. “Are you really going to hold me to a mistake I made six years ago? When I was a shitty 22-year-old that was terrified to tell the girl I liked for years that I was interested in her?”
“I never … I never thought you liked me back then.”
Mingyu’s gaze softened, and he tucked another curl behind your ear that blew in the wind. “I made you believe that I didn’t because it was easier than admitting my feelings. I was terrified of rejection. And an idiot.”
You couldn’t help but snort at his comment, but you knew this conversation was far from over. “Well, I …” You rubbed at your nose and turned away from him, facing the water that looked almost sapphire in color. The waves sparkled under the setting sun. “Wedding season is over after this and we can both go back to our normal lives. Vernon won’t flip a lid when he sees me texting you all the time and everything will be back to the way it was. I always prepared for you to just forget about me after this anyway.”
“I love Vernon, but this isn’t about him.” Mingyu stepped forward into your line of vision. “What if I don’t want to go back to the way things were?”
Your eyes flickered to his, and it was his turn to step closer again. His large palm cupped your cheek, his skin always so cozy and inviting that you just had to lean into him. Fingertips traced your brow bone as his gaze lingered on your lips.
“I don’t want to forget about you or never see you again. I want to be around you,” he confessed. “I … want to go on more dates with you. I want to be your date to more than just weddings.”
You hesitated, unraveling and dissecting each word in your head, before you came to the conclusion that … oh, my god, he had feelings for you too. Had you always been this much of an absolute moron?
Getting on your tiptoes, you closed the distance between you two, your lips crashing onto his like the water against the shoreline. Your body almost suctioned to his, bringing him even closer when your arms wound around his neck. He kept that one hand on your cheek, the other splaying on your lower back, like how he always did when he was nervous. But he had nothing to be nervous about, because you liked him and he liked you. The world felt like it was spinning, but also just right, and his tongue was licking into your mouth enough to make you feel breathless. You could do this forever, be this relaxed in his arms, kiss him as if it was only you two in your own world. And as he tugged on your bottom lip to make your breathing heavy, you decided that your dream had become a reality.
When you broke the kiss, your cheeks were definitely flushed, even under the layer of blush you put on. Mingyu grinned, tilting his head as he whispered, “So you have always been mine then?”
“Such a tease sometimes,” you repeated his fateful words from June.
You turned, tugging on his hand playfully as the waves begin to lick at the sand near your feet. “C’mon,” you chuckled. “If we’re late to this wedding, my mom will kill me before I can even think about calling you my boyfriend.”
Mingyu had wanted to ask you to marry him only two years later, and thank god, he finally found the words.
tag list: @syluslittlecrows @yeosayang @eisaspresso @healingmv @nightshadeblooming @dmstoyangyang @amaraeofsunshine @thepoopdokyeomtouched @reiofsuns2001 @tigerhoshii @yoongznme @nerdycheol @gyuguys @ninixgyu4eva @tokitosun @wooyugta @dawn-iscozy @thecowboy7 @wonu-won @whoisbaek15 @alexie-blog
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IM OBSESSED W THIS EVEN MORE THAN HER POV. I love fics in the guys pov bc u can see now absolutely down bad they are. Also can we talk about Jun in the text thread? I’m in love w him.
Petition for more fic writers to write in the guys POV 📝
can’t wait no more
🔞 18+, minors do not interact • masterlist • submit a request


your pov • soonyoung’s pov ⇣
soonyoung has been best friends with you for 10 years now—in love with you for almost all of that time. one way or another, those 10 years end tonight.
♫ darl+ing svt pairing: soonyoung x fem!reader word count: 11.6k (i don't want to talk about it) tags: best friends to lovers, idiots in love, a lil miscommunication, angst, happy ending, soonyoung pov, flashbacks cw: smut - possessiveness, unprotected piv (pull-out method. v irresponsible piv. don't be like these two), reader loses virginity, spit, oral f. receiving, fingering, mention of choking, mention of masturbating, soft vanilla smut, probably a little hornier than the other pov bc this is a MAN after all a/n: happy @citruscheol birth!!! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و to celebrate this momentous occasion, i ofc had to honor her request for a soonyoung pov of we can be all we need. you don’t really need to read that before this one; after all, they are essentially the same fic. BUT! i recommend you do bc it will make this version more enjoyable + easier to understand. and y’know what, i literally had to drive myself bat shit crazy and completely alter my brain chemistry to write this. like. there isn’t enough grass in the world that i can touch to return back to normal. and idk if i can ever look at hoshi the same ever again, so the least you can do is read both ok ㅠㅠㅠㅠ kidding ofc pls do what you want haha. either way, i think you’ll enjoy whichever one you want to read! as far as smut goes, same thing as last time: i marked where the smut starts and ends, but this courtesy is for adults who don’t want to read explicit material. minors should not be interacting at all pls!
soonyoung has been avoiding you. he knows you know it because you’ve asked him multiple times now if anything was wrong, and every time, he’s lied to you and told you everything was fine. everything wasn’t fine. it hardly felt like anything was fine, actually.
because you just blew out your candles, you’re 30 now, and his time has officially run out. he can’t blame anyone other than himself, though, and he knows it. he had seven whole years to tell you, and instead, he foolishly thought if he just continued to love you the way he’s always loved you, you would simply see it yourself. you would see how hopelessly in love with you he is.
you didn’t. for whatever reason, his showering you with lavish gifts, vacations, and fancy meals didn’t strike you as odd for a friend. or the way he was constantly wrapped around you or leaving kisses on your forehead whenever he had the chance. or the fact that it’s been nine fucking years since he went on a date or slept with anyone. he’s fucking priestly at this point.
and he doesn’t do it just so you’ll get the hint. he does it because that’s how he loves you and that’s how he’s always loved you. but maybe that’s the issue: you think this is just how he is as a friend because he’s been this way ever since he met you. but you couldn’t be more wrong.
soonyoung has never even felt inclined to treat anyone outside of his family the way he treats you. as far as he’s concerned, everything he does for you are just things he watched his dad do for his mom his whole life. you’re not even aware that the way he loves you is supposed to be reserved for whoever becomes his wife.
and he’s been so happy to give you all of that even if it meant you never saw him the way he longed for you to. it fills him with pride to know that your expectations are higher because he’s loved you so well—that you know exactly what you deserve because he’s always tried to give you exactly that.
at least, up until a few weeks ago, when the horror of the truth really started settling into his bones: you weren’t going to fall in love with him by the time you turn 30. and without even really realizing it, he started distancing himself from you, deluded into thinking it would be easier to let go if he just put a little space between the two of you. he knew it was hurting you just as much as it was hurting him, and he knew you didn’t deserve it.
it’s against his hardwiring to do anything that hurts you, and it’s reflected in how terrible his life has become in just a handful of weeks. his apartment has been filthy; the only reason it was ready for your party was because he paid the housekeeper double to come even though he wasn’t scheduled to clean for another week. his work is fortunately still fine, but he spends whole days with horrible brain fog, hardly understanding or even hearing anything anyone says to him. he hasn’t seen any friends—mutual or otherwise—because he spends all his free time in bed or drinking himself into a sobbing mess.
that’s all he can seem to do these days, is cry over you.
soonyoung steps out into the balcony attached to his bedroom, leaning against the sliding door once it’s closed. he cranes his neck to look up toward the midnight sky, and takes a deep breath. it doesn’t help keep the tears at bay. he keeps his head tilted up.
he knows you don’t deserve this. he knows you’re hurting and that you feel him slipping away. he saw it. just now, just before you blew your candles out, he saw the way the joy and life immediately fled your eyes when they landed on him. he wonders what you saw. did you see the apathy he was desperately forcing? did you see how sad he was at all?
because he is. he’s the saddest he’s felt since you told him you would rather be on vacation with someone you were in love with seven years ago. someone who wasn’t him. maybe he’s even sadder now. at least back then, he was foolish enough to hope you would change your mind. at least back then, he had time on his side.
now, it’s over, and now, it’s time to give himself a fair chance to move on. you don’t deserve what he’s putting you through, and it’s true for him too. he doesn’t deserve what he’s put himself through for the last decade.
countless nights you fell asleep at his place, countless times he wished he could gather you up in his arms and carry you into a bed you shared. all the times you told him you loved him and he desperately wanted to beg you to repeat it, even if it was just so he could pretend you meant it the way he needed you to mean it. whole weeks spent overseas on all kinds of vacations, time he spent daydreaming that this was what a honeymoon with you could feel like.
it all adds up to a decade of putting his heart on the backburner so he could allow himself to continue loving you.
soonyoung scoffs at himself when the tears refuse to stop welling in his eyes. he shakes his head and steps forward, resting his forearms against his railing and staring at the blackness in front of him.
part of him hates the version of himself from seven years ago that thought making this stupid promise was a good idea. what good can come from not loving you? but the reason he’s stuck to pulling away and holding you at arm’s distance is because that version of himself somehow knew the pain would grow more and more, year after year.
he can’t do this for the rest of his life—can’t just keep making room for more heartache the older he gets. you’re 30 now, and even though you insist you’re fine and have no desire to date, he knows you’ll get restless soon. and when he thinks of you finally deciding you want to have a boyfriend, he wants to vomit. when he thinks of some other asshole’s hands on you, his lips on yours—when he thinks of you sighing anyone’s name but his, he gets near homicidal over something that isn’t even real. at least not yet.
soonyoung doesn’t want to wait for that to happen. he doesn’t want to wait for you to hate him for being unable to share you—and he won’t be able to share you. he also doesn’t want you to have to face the pressure of having to choose between a best friend and a boyfriend.
instead, he’d rather you start to hate him slowly, over time. he’d rather you allow him his space and not even realize you hate him for slipping away and leaving you behind—not until it’s years later, when you hear his name in passing, and you think, he just left, and you tell yourself it’s fine because your life is better without him anyway.
it hurts you now, but it’ll hurt less later. it’ll hurt less for both of you to endure this silence now, rather than fight until there’s nothing but resentment.
the door behind soonyoung slides open forcefully and slams closed a moment later. he flinches, looking over his shoulder to see who entered his room and ready to tell them to get out. when he sees you, though, he turns back away, trying to discreetly wipe his eyes.
“what are you doing?”
he quietly clears his throat, hoping he doesn’t sound too worn when he speaks. “just needed some air.”
“no.”
you say it in that tone that always scared him a little. it’s when he knew you were about to get your way. he wasn’t interested in doing the whole fighting thing with you; he just gave you whatever you wanted the moment this voice came out of your mouth. it always drew a smile out of you and it made his life easier.
this is about to be the one and only time he can’t let you have your way.
“what are you doing?”
soonyoung squeezes his eyes shut, like that will help him brace himself against the conversation he has to have with you.
this was coming, he tells himself. you knew this was coming. she was never just going to let you go without an explanation.
“why are you ignoring me?” you ask, voice cracking. it takes everything in him to stay where he stands and keep from wrapping his arms around you, apologizing, and begging you to stop crying. “why are you avoiding me? why are you acting like i’m not your best friend?”
soonyoung opens his eyes and almost laughs. best friend. he doesn’t know when the term became so derogatory to him. anyone would be lucky to be in your life, let alone be your best friend. he hates it anyway.
he’s your best friend. you’re not his. he would never dream of calling you that—at least not without calling you the love of his life first. his most beloved. the woman he would give anything to marry. on the totem pole of things he wants to call you, best friend is at the bottom.
“because you’re not,” he says honestly. he immediately regrets it when he hears the small whimper that escapes you. “at least, i don’t want you to be,” he adds, hoping it will soften the blow of what he just said.
“what are you saying?”
soonyoung feels so tired and sad and heartbroken. he hangs his head a little as he takes a deep breath.
“what are you saying, soonyoung?” you repeat when he doesn’t answer immediately. patience was never your strong suit.
when he’s sure he’s not going to start sobbing upon turning, he finally faces you, and even then, he can’t bring himself to look you in the eye. if he does, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to do this.
“do you remember your 23rd birthday?” he asks, gaze fixed on the stain on his balcony where you dropped a smoothie and he insisted you leave it instead of cleaning it. he forgot to do it himself and now he has a permanent reminder of how whipped he is for you.
“siquijor,” you basically spit at him. he feels your walls coming up. he feels your defenses getting ready, and he knows you’re aware of what he’s about to do. “what about it?”
siquijor. the best and worst trip of his life.
“i think i’m drunk,” you announced, words slurring so badly, soonyoung was convinced anyone else wouldn’t be able to understand what you were saying.
“what?” he asked sarcastically. “no way. what makes you say that?”
soonyoung loved being sober when you were drunk like this. he loved hearing and seeing all the silly shit you’d never say or do sober. most of all, he loved taking care of you. he loved pretending he meant something more to you and this was just another boyfriend duty of his—making sure his drunk girlfriend was happy and hydrated and safe, and that when she woke up, she had a lineup of hangover cures at her disposal.
you answered with the gnarliest burp. he burst into loud laughter, grateful the beach was far enough away from any rooms that the two of you weren’t disturbing anyone.
after a few moments, he realized you weren’t laughing along, simply leaning back on your elbows in the sand, smiling softly at him. he did what he does best: he pretended. he pretended you were just a lovesick girl staring at someone she yearned for. he pretended you wanted him just as badly as he needed you. he pretended you were in love.
“penny for your thoughts, you drunkard?”
you giggled, slipping off of your elbows and laying all the way down. he joined you, both of you looking up at the sky. it was different here than it was back home. it was quiet and warm and there was no light to disrupt the view of the stars. he loved that he was seeing something like this for the first time with you.
“my thoughts are worth more than a penny.”
he snorted. even drunk, you were a brat. “nickel?”
“nice try. a hundred bucks, buddy.”
“ha!” he shouted. “never mind, keep your thoughts to yourself.”
“soonie!” you half whined, half burped. he made a face of disgust at you. he thought he did a good job of hiding how endeared he was.
“gross.” soonyoung sighed, turning back to the sky. “fifty.”
you giggled. “deal.” there was no way in hell you were going to remember he owed you $50. “i’m thinking… i am having the best time of my life.”
his heart swelled knowing he did well for your birthday celebration.
he let his head loll to the side, watching you. you had your hands folded politely over your ribs and your legs were crossed at the ankles, your feet swaying side to side like there was a song playing that only you could hear. if soonyoung concentrated hard enough, he thought he could hear it too. it sounded like what he imagined his love for you would if it were a song.
you smiled at the stars like you were talking to them.
“i’m so happy,” you said. “best birthday ever, soonyoung. best month ever. thank you. i love you so much.”
“you’re welcome, y/n,” he said, voice coming out barely above a whisper. “i love you too.” so god damn much.
you turned to look at him when he said that, your smile fading naturally the longer you looked at him. “i…” you trailed off, frowning a little before you continued. “i think… i think i feel lonely, though.”
he mirrored your frown, immediately bringing his body closer to yours. he rested a hand on top of yours. “what’s wrong?”
you opened your mouth but before you could start speaking, you were suddenly crying.
“y/n?” he sat up, bringing you up with him. “what’s wrong, baby?” his eyes widened at the slip-up, but you were too drunk to notice, frantically wiping the tears that kept streaming down your face.
“i’m so happy,” you breathed, hand still in his. “this is everything i’ve ever wanted. this is everything i could ever dream of having.”
your words were still slurred and with the addition of the crying to your inebriated state, you’re hiccuping badly as you speak.
“then why are you crying?” he asked. “why do you feel lonely?”
“this is what i want from y—from…” you hiccuped again. “this is everything i want from someone i’m in love with.”
he felt his heart drop into his stomach, and he couldn’t help the way his hand stiffened in yours. he pulled away.
“oh” was all he could bring himself to say.
what else was he supposed to say to that?
“i’m in love with you. please let me be the one that gets to give this to you.”
“please love me.”
“please don’t break my heart like this.”
he couldn’t say any of it.
“i want you to want… i want…” you kept hiccuping, and despite feeling like his heart was breaking into smithereens, soonyoung found it in himself to rub your back comfortingly. “i want—” you cut yourself off with another hiccup.
“shhh.” it came out in a daze. the sky looked darker. the stars looked duller. the water wasn’t as bright anymore. “it’s okay. it’s okay.” he didn’t know if he was telling you or himself. “it’s okay.”
soonyoung pulled you into his arms, still rubbing your back as he tucked your head under his chin. he didn’t bother trying to find the right words to tell you; he knew you probably wouldn’t remember any of this. so he allowed himself to feel heartbroken as you wept and hiccuped until eventually, you fell asleep.
and when you did, it was his turn. he silently cried until the sun came up, and when it did, soonyoung gathered you up in his arms and carried you back—only as a friend, to a bed you’d never share.
“it hurt,” he says, tears finally beginning to stream down his face.
soonyoung never shied away from crying in front of you; he did it kind of often. but there’s something especially humiliating about it now. he’s wrapped up in his sadness, and it’s suffocating him, making it hard to speak. he thinks if he does, he might choke on his grief.
“it hurt more than anything i’ve ever felt, y/n,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. he isn’t sure if you heard him, but he can’t bring himself to repeat it.
your hands close over his, where they hold the lapel of his jacket around your shoulders. he doesn’t even know when he took it off to put it on you. loving you was exactly like that—an instinct he didn’t have to think twice about. loving you was just something that happened without his knowledge or permission.
“soonyoung,” you call his name, high and desperate. your defenses have come down. you’re not using that scary voice on him anymore. you’re not bracing yourself. he thinks you should be. “that’s not what i meant. i—”
“it’s okay,” he breathes, so many tears in his eyes, he can barely make out the shape of you. he blinks rapidly to expel them. “i’ve had time to—”
“but if you would just let me ex—”
“there’s nothing to explain,” he interjects softly, eyes coming to you now that he can properly see past his tears. “i stayed around, didn’t i?”
your fight falters and you stop trying to talk over him.
“i stayed for seven more years. if i needed you to explain, i would’ve asked the second you woke up sober.”
your shoulders fall and he knows the rest of your fight has dissipated into the night. the next question you ask almost breaks his resolve. “only seven?”
the question comes out small and quiet and defeated, and soonyoung feels his lips tremble. he rolls them between his teeth to stop himself from telling you something he doesn’t want to say: no, of course not only seven. you’ll have me wrapped around your finger until the day i die.
he takes his hands back from under your hold once he’s absolutely sure he won’t say something that would disappoint the version of him that sat on that beach in siquijor, swearing that he wouldn’t let himself feel that heartbroken in the next decade of his life.
“i didn’t mind waiting seven more years to see if you would ever return my feelings,” he says instead of answering you, fully aware of how badly his voice wavers as he speaks. “my friends, they told me i was insane for letting my 20s go to waste like that. but to me… if i still got to be around you, still give you experiences and love that made you feel like that’s what you deserved from someone you actually were in love with, then… i can’t see the issue in that. i’d happily wait seven more years. because even if it was seven years of the same longing—and even if it was seven years leading to nothing more, it was still seven years of me being able to show you how well i could…”
he swallows the lump in his throat and fails. he shakes his head and just says what he should’ve told you seven years ago.
“how well i could love you. how much i do love you.”
you look dumbfounded, and if this were any other situation—if soonyoung didn’t feel like he was actually fucking dying—he thinks he’d make fun of you. your eyes are the widest he’s ever seen them, and your mouth is parted like you’re poised to say something but you don’t even know what.
“soonie—” you start.
he doesn’t let you finish. he can’t. he’s so close to ending this—to doing the worst thing he’s ever going to have to do—and if he lets you finish, he’ll lose the courage to walk away.
“i told myself… while you slept in my lap on that beach in siquijor, that if by the time you turned 30, we still hadn’t moved past… this…” he can’t stand the look of horror on your face as you start to process what he’s saying. he looks at the sky behind your head instead. “then, i wouldn’t spend my 30s torturing myself anymore. i’d let you go.”
you don’t let even a millisecond pass before you practically scream: “i don’t want you to let me go!” at him so forcefully, he flinches. “i don’t want you to let me go, you stupid idiot! if that’s what you’ve been doing the last, few weeks, ‘letting me go’—” you make exaggerated air quotes with your fingers and a face that tells him you think he’s ridiculous. it catches him so off-guard, he almost laughs. “—then knock it off!”
you slap his chest to each word to punctuate your point.
“wh—?” he brings his arm up reflexively to defend himself.
“what i meant to tell you, it came out wrong,” you inform him. his arms slowly fall back to his side as he listens to you as closely as he can. “i didn’t even mean to tell you anything, but if drunk me outed me like that, i need you to know that’s not what i meant.”
the words came out of your mouth in a rush like you thought soonyoung wouldn’t let you say them if you took too long. when he doesn’t say anything in the brief silence, you take a deep breath, obviously trying to steady yourself.
“i was lonely. i was really lonely,” you admit, seeming to remember the feeling more than you did the actual conversation. “and yes, it was because i enjoyed that vacation so much and yes, it was because i wished i could have it with someone i was in love with, but i was having it with someone i was in love with!”
everything in soonyoung’s body tenses, like his own defenses are coming up—like this is some kind of joke and his body is preparing to be laughed at. because you just said you were on vacation with someone you were in love with in the philippines… but you were on vacation with him in the philippines…
his body braces itself.
“i just meant i wanted it to mean more for both of us,” you continue, hands waving erratically between you to drive your point home. “i wanted to be on vacation with you!”
your brows furrow and your lips thin as you helplessly fight off a wave of tears he knows is pushing to be released. he knows that when you’re too emotional—whether it’s sadness, joy, rage—you cry, and once you do, you end up blubbering for so long, you usually end up asleep at the end of it.
but still, you bravely fight it off, obviously determined to tell soonyoung what you need to.
“but you as my boyfriend! not you as my best friend! there’s no one else i would’ve wanted to be with, soonyoung!”
he’s glad his body is stiff enough to keep his knees from immediately giving out under him. because all soonyoung wants to do now is fall to the floor and cry. cry because he never thought you’d say these words, because he felt like he was getting back something he lost on the beaches of siquijor, because the two of you wasted a decade dancing around each other instead of just fucking saying something.
“do you think i’ve been single our entire friendship for fun?!” you shriek the question through tears. “do you think it’s fun being the 30-year-old virgin who’s never even kissed anyone?! because it’s not!”
you whined about this often early on in your friendship, but eventually the complaints petered out, and he would drive himself crazy wondering if it was because that changed—if someone else had taken those firsts.
did it happen?
she would tell me.
right?
no, i’m still a dude. that’s weird, she’d probably tell a girl.
no no, i’m her stupid ass best friend. she would tell me!
oh my god, would she tell me?
what if i just die?
and so the cycle would go. he knows it wasn’t any of his business and that if you had lost those firsts to someone else, that was your prerogative, but still, he feels relieved to hear that isn’t the case.
and he knows he has no right to—not when you haven’t had the proper conversation to hash things out yet—but he suddenly feels an overwhelming possessiveness for you. because he waited for you. no one was ever going to make him stray away from you, so he waited for you—never expecting, just hoping. sorely hoping. and now he knows you waited for him too, and now… now, all he can think about is making you his. all soonyoung can think about now is giving you all the things you abstained from in the hopes you’d have it with him of all people.
it’s what you deserve, isn’t it? for waiting? and isn’t he in the business of giving you what you deserve? his hand twitches, begging him to reach for you and kiss you stupid.
“but i didn’t want anyone else! i wanted you!” you point at him almost violently, and his heart grows too big for his chest. “you waited seven years, but i waited ten! TEN, soonyoung! do you—”
his willpower can only withstand so much. at the end of the day, soonyoung is just a man who’s pathetically in love with you, and hearing you say you wanted him—hearing you confirm you waited your entire friendship just for the chance to have him and be with him and only him—it completely undoes his entire being.
soonyoung’s mouth is on yours before his brain can fully process what’s happening. he feels the shock on your lips for only a moment before you’re moving. despite it being your first kiss, you respond quickly, your body knowing exactly what to do with soonyoung’s like it’s second nature.
you taste like tears and champagne, and even with all the extravagant dinners he’s taken you on and the places around the world you’ve traveled to together, this is the best thing he’s ever tasted.
soonyoung thinks he’s happy to stand here, kissing you and tasting you and listening to your cute, little breaths against him forever. but then your hands start exploring him—his hips, his waist, his chest, before wrapping around his neck and bringing him in to kiss you even deeper. and he knows immediately that all the strength he mustered up to deal with tonight is gone. the moan that comes up his throat is loud and bordering on obscene, but you smile upon taking it into your own mouth, as if you’re feeding on his desire. as if you love the taste of it.
soonyoung doesn’t wait after that. he can’t wait after that. without letting your lips separate, he guides you back into his room, careful to keep you from tripping over the threshold and all the crap he left on the floor when he was busy having his pity parties.
he lays you in his bed gently, thankful that even though it’s unmade, he at least had the housekeeper wash his sheets. he lays on top of you, trying not to let his weight crush you, but when you wrap your arms around him, you press him to your body as close as it can possibly go, and after he releases his entire weight on you, you hold him like even that still isn’t close enough.
it’s all so much. after spending so long hoping you’d one day want him even a fraction as much as he wants you, tasting the excitement on you and feeling the adoration in your hands as they feel every surface of his body they could reach—it’s so much.
it wears down his self-restraint.
you don’t seem to mind, though, because when he runs his tongue along your lips, asking permission for more, you open your mouth immediately. and when his tongue slips in and meets yours, the moan he gets back is so loud and uninhibited and hot, he feels it in his dick.
you giggle a little, and though you recover quickly and continue trying to make out with him after that, the sound delights him enough that he stops to look at you. your makeup is tear stained and your eyes are still a little red, but you look worlds different than you did just a few minutes ago. there’s no tightness in your smile, no devastation in your eyes, no anger furrowed into your brows. when he looks at you this close, he realizes he’s never seen you this happy, this excited, or this light—like you’ve been relieved of a burden that was too heavy for you. but really, the most different thing about you now is that you just look like you’re his.
“what’s so funny, hm?” he asks, resting his forehead on yours. at the start of this night, he didn’t think he would ever hear you giggle again.
“nothing,” you claim, even though your voice still has traces of amusement somewhere in there. your hand snakes up into his hair and starts scratching his scalp. he hums at the sensation. “i love you, soonyoung.”
he lifts his forehead to look at you. it’s his millionth time hearing you say that. it’s the first time he’s hearing it in the context he’s wished to hear it for the last decade.
you love him. you love him. you love him.
“i’ve always loved you,” you announce unabashedly. “from the very start.”
in retrospect, the proper thing to do would’ve been to tell you he loved you too—so much that he didn’t even know how to process it well enough to attempt to put it into words. but instead, he pushes himself off you, slightly ashamed that your confession made his dick go from semi-hard to rock hard in record time, but insanely elated (and painfully and obviously turned on) at the idea of you having spent your entire friendship loving him just as much.
when he sits back, his pants uncomfortably pull against his erection, and he winces, glancing down at it and silently scolding it to stop embarrassing him and have some goddamn decorum.
he clears his throat and looks back at you, where you’re now propped up on your elbows, smiling at his crotch like it’s already yours. it ruins him.
soonyoung is going to tell you he loves you. and sure, you already know because he already did, but now he gets to tell you knowing you feel the same. so he’s going to tell you, and he’s going to say it over and over and over again, but once he does, he gets the feeling that he won’t want to stop at just kissing you.
he knows it’s probably a lot—to go from what you were to… this, and on top of that, lose your first kiss. and even though you made it clear that he’s the only reason you even remained a virgin, he doesn’t want to assume you’re ready to do something as big as have sex for the first time tonight too.
soonyoung wishes he could be a bigger person than the horny teenager he feels like right now. he wishes he could stop this for the both of you and insist on having a conversation first before things get any further like a proper adult would. but you want him and you love him, and it’s driving him absolutely fucking crazy, and if he gets any harder, his dick is going to start hurting.
“how far?” he asks, his voice so pathetically needy, he wants to die. “i don’t want you to feel rushed or pressured. i just…” he falters, trying to find a way to say this without making it sound like it’s all he wants from you. “we wasted so much time.” not a great start. “and i—”
“all the way,” you say, a coy smile on your lips when you interrupt him. his pants stretch even tighter.
it’s clear he was worrying for nothing; from the way you look at him, he knows you understand what he’s desperately trying to say and failing.
he watches you with heavy-lidded eyes as you lay yourself back down and wrap your legs around his torso, doing nothing when your already short dress rides all the way up to expose you.
“please,” you add on so sweetly, he groans. he won’t be lasting long at all tonight.
soonyoung rests his hands on your thighs, thumbs instinctively rubbing circles into the soft skin there as he tries to take a moment to process everything in front of him. he knows if he doesn’t, the excitement will paint over his memories with zero remorse, and all he’ll remember is that it happened—not what he said, did, or heard. and this is absolutely something he needs to remember.
he has to remember the way your knees quickly and easily fall apart and away from each other at his touch—almost like they’re sighing in relief at his arrival. he has to remember how your lower back arches and your pelvis wriggles underneath his fingertips before he’s even really done anything to you. soonyoung’s gaze rakes over your figure, taking note of every, little thing he can, when finally, they land on something that lays his fears to rest.
because there is no way he’ll ever forget the moment his eyes found the space between your legs. he stares at you now—right on the spot where your panties are already drenched with your arousal. soonyoung doesn’t care how overwhelming his excitement is right now; there is simply no possible way his brain will be able to gloss over this no matter how many years pass: the moment he saw physical evidence of just how much you craved him and needed him. how much you’ve deprived yourself of him.
and now, he gets to give you anything and everything you want from him.
his hands begin to travel up your thighs, goosebumps following the trail of his fingertips. he stops just shy of your cunt, trying to breathe deeply enough to calm his thunderous heartbeat. if he gets too lost in this, he’ll cum in his pants, and he will never forgive himself.
he stares hard at your desire, just barely able to keep from screaming when he realizes the dark spot is slowly growing the longer he sits there, unmoving. you squirm under him, and his hands involuntarily squeeze in response. your thighs are plush in his grasp, so full and beautiful, your flesh is forcing its way into the spaces between his fingers and turning white from hard he grips you.
don’t fucking cum right now, you loser, he thinks hard to himself. you cannot cum before anything happens during your first time with y/n. he exhales deeply and slowly. i will literally kill you if you cum right now.
he’s so tempted to look you in the eye just to see if you’re struggling even a fraction of the amount that he is, but he knows eye contact with you right now will just set his progress back.
when he’s mostly confident he won’t immediately finish in his pants, he has to swallow the idiotic smile that threatens to take over his entire face. finally, soonyoung gives in and he moves. just one finger, pressed against the part of your panties that sinks just a tiny bit more than the rest—right where he plans to be in the next few minutes, stuffing you full as far as he’ll go.
as soon as you feel his fingertip brush against your entrance, your hole pulses like it’s trying to clamp around something bigger than his finger that isn’t there. he feels some of the control he has on that pathetic smile of his slip, and as if it’s an avalanche, the rest of his control comes crashing down. without thinking about it, his finger sinks the tiniest bit deeper as he drags it up your slit, the wetness from your panties catching on his skin ever so slightly.
when his finger finds and presses on your clit, you begin uncontrollably writhing and gasping beneath him, and his eyes tear themselves away from your cunt long enough to finally meet your gaze. you look at him with so much lust and love and longing—all of it so loudly desperate—he completely loses track of where his finger is and what it’s doing. all he wants to do is latch his lips onto yours again and say what he should’ve at least ten times by now: that he loves you.
so instead of rubbing your clit until he teases your first orgasm out of you like he planned to, he removes his hand from your center so that he can lean forward and kiss you senseless. but as soon as his touch leaves you, a strangled whine forces its way up your throat and past your lips, making him laugh immediately.
“what?” you ask, your eyes narrowing at him. it should invoke fear in him, but he’s too endeared for that. “why are you laughing?! did i do something embarrassing?”
soonyoung scoffs as he brings himself over you. “‘embarrassing’? no, baby.” he rolls his eyes. “your neediness is not ‘embarrassing.’ it’s fucking hot.”
you turn the prettiest shade of pink. “shut up.”
he grins. “gladly.”
soonyoung kisses your nose, enjoying the shade of pink it turned under your blush. then, he kisses your lips, just for a moment so that he can lean back and look you in the eye when he says:
“i love you. i love you so god damn much, i thought i was going to die having to leave you.”
he knows it’s dramatic, but he was convinced that’s exactly what was happening to him not even an hour ago. the thought of doing life without you by his side made everything look and feel so colorless and dull and boring and ugly. dead was as good a word as any to describe what his life would look like without you.
“you’re not leaving me,” you say so matter-of-factly, the smile it brings to his face hurts his cheeks. he was so dumb to think he could; even if he had all the strength in the world to end your friendship, you would’ve never let him off the hook that easily.
“i’m not,” he says.
soonyoung gets to work covering you in as many kisses as humanly possible, his lips pressing against your mouth, jaw, neck, collarbone—wherever you have skin, his lips are all over it. your gasps and moans reach a fever pitch, and he figures it’s time to stop making you wait.
“you tell me if you want to stop, okay?” he asks, lips brushing against your ears as he speaks. “and we’ll stop, no questions asked.”
you nod so eagerly—so obediently—he can’t help but smirk. his tongue darts out to lick your lobe and bring it between his teeth to nip at before he starts kissing his way down your body.
“you sound so pretty,” he tells you as you continue to make sure he knows exactly how good you feel. all moans and groans and whispered begging. “exactly how i imagined you’d sound.” his lips graze your already hard nipples through the fabric of your dress and he earns another loud whimper. “fuck, even better actually.”
he pulls your dress down and off one shoulder to expose the breast he was just teasing, and when he sees you bare, he hangs his head, letting his forehead meet your chest as he grunts loudly.
what is my life? he thinks to himself. this is literally insane.
soonyoung flattens his tongue against your nipple, and you inhale sharply, your hips immediately bucking up. he doesn’t realize his eyes have fluttered closed until he opens them to look at you and make sure you’re okay. from the way your eyes roll into the back of your head and your mouth hangs open in dazed ecstasy, he thinks it’s safe to assume you’re okay.
“soonyoung.”
god, his name sounds so good when you say it, especially when you say it like this.
“fuck,” he grumbles against your tit. he swears his dick is throbbing from how hard you have him.
“lower! please, god, lower!” you order him.
“whatever you want,” he breathes against your skin.
but he’s not moving before he has the chance to leave a tiny, little something that can lay claim to you—something only he and you will see. he presses his hand against the side of your breast, groaning at how full you are in his palm. he leans down and bites into the flesh just above your nipple. your hips jerk up as he sucks on the spot just long enough that he knows it will stay a few days. he smiles when he releases you, the hickey already turning a beautiful purple.
“pretty,” he mutters. he wants to cover you in them. he kisses the mark gently before removing the other strap of your dress.
with the bottom of your dress completely ridden up and the top half bunched around your waist, you’re almost completely naked, and already, soonyoung can hardly refrain from jumping off his bed and running around the room screaming.
fucking breathe, bro.
he gently lifts your hips up and off the bed so that he can slip both your dress and your ruined panties off your body in one go. once he does, all the refraining he’s been doing tonight comes to a brusque end.
“oh my god!” he shouts, burying his face into your clothes and groaning into them. “i can’t believe this is my life right now, oh my god.”
soonyoung presses your clothes against his eyes so hard, he thinks he should see stars, but still, all he can see are your perfect tits and your bare, glistening cunt and the sensual look in your eyes like they’re all forever burned into his retinas. or maybe his eyes are open?
he blinks and brings your clothes down just enough to be able to take a peek at you. nope, the image of your naked body in his bed are definitely just burned into his eyeballs.
“oh my god, i really have you naked in my bed right now, oh my god oh my god oh my god.” he probably says it 20 more times. he’s not sure.
“soonyoung!” you berate his behavior the way you always do. he smiles into your dress because even as everything is literally changing before his eyes… nothing has. you’re still his best friend, pretending to get mad at him for being silly. he knows from the fond way you look at him that you aren’t mad at all. “focus! come on, you’re just teasing me now. please.”
“okay, okay!” he says, voice muffled by your dress. “i’m so sorry, i’m not trying to tease you, i swear. i just…” he stammers, unable to stop the whole bunch of nothing that comes spilling out of his mouth. “i’m—just, i—it’s just, like… what?” the question comes out as a laugh. “y’know?”
you raise an eyebrow at him and he realizes he isn’t really sure what he’s asking you.
“like, what the actual fuck?” he adds like that will help explain.
you groan. “it’s crazy how quickly you go from sex god to loser.”
soonyoung feels his face immediately fall into a glare—one you’re used to seeing whenever you two bicker. “you know…” he says, eyes narrowed at you. “my favorite thing about you has always been your patience.”
he throws your clothes aside, hands going to his shirt to begin unbuttoning it.
“good thing i have a lot of it then,” you claim. your bratty smirk falls right off your face as you watch him slowly undress.
“right.”
when he shrugs his shirt off and lets it join your clothes on the floor, your eyes widen like you’re seeing him shirtless for the first time. your eyes sweep up and down his torso, your chest heaving as you begin to breathe harder, and it almost makes him shy—almost makes him want to hug himself and jokingly tell you to stop ogling him like a piece of meat. but he also enjoys it more than anything.
so many times you’ve been half naked together, wearing swimsuits at the beach or at the pool, and although he’s relished having your eyes on him before, this feels different. you stare at him shamelessly now, making no move to avert your eyes the way you used to. this is where he would make a joke to lighten the mood—to give you an out from a situation you might feel caged in by.
this time, he just allows himself the space to revel in this feeling of being adored.
“wait,” you say suddenly when he stands up off the bed and his hands start undoing his belt. you crawl over to him, completely naked, and he thinks he might have a heart attack watching you on all fours like this.
“change your mind? it’s fine if you do,” he assures you, already fastening his belt before his dick can get any more ideas about where the night is going.
“no,” you laugh as you rest your hands on top of his. “i’m not going to change my mind, soonie.”
you sound as sure as he does about this. it relaxes him immediately. you smile at him before you press your naked body against his, tangle your hands in his hair, and bring his face down to lock lips with you again. he holds you delicately as your tongues slide against each other—different from how he’s pressed, tugged, and groped at you tonight. he forces himself to be gentler. he forces himself to slow down and enjoy the feeling of being in love with you openly.
he says as much. “i love you. oh my god, i love you. holy shit.”
“don’t start with the loser behavior again, please,” you mutter against the kiss. he wants to laugh, but he doesn’t dare leave your lips. “but i love you too.”
soonyoung doesn’t think he’ll get tired of hearing it. the past 10 years of his life have led up to this moment. it will take so much more than that for him to ever get used to the feeling of you telling him you love him.
he rests his forehead against yours and smiles. “i’m so happy.”
“me too, soonie.”
he watches as your hands leave his hair and travel down his chest, taking their time to trace every line and curve of every muscle. you finish the job of undoing his belt and unbuttoning his jeans, and that’s about all he can take before he decides it’s time to stop holding back.
before you can even touch his zipper, he grabs your face and kisses you roughly, tongue twisting with yours immediately. he kisses you like he’s held his breath for 10 years and you’re air. you kiss him back the same, exact way.
he finishes undressing, kicking his pants away and wasting no time picking you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he does. his cock twitches violently once it’s sandwiched between you and his stomach, and he has you laying back in his bed in mere seconds.
our bed, a voice in his head reminds him. a bed we can share. if you want.
when you tear yourself away from him to catch your breath, your eyes immediately go south, and he doesn’t have to follow your gaze to know what you’re gaping at.
“see something you like?”
you don’t even pretend to hear what he said. “uh, what?”
it inflates his ego to unprecedented levels, but he doesn’t gloat and annoy you the way he usually would. mostly because his laughs are cut off with your frantic begging.
“soonyoung,” you whisper so suddenly and seriously, he freezes. “put it in me.”
the order catches him by so much surprise, he laughs even harder than before. “i can’t just put it in you.”
you shove him and he pushes off the bed to put some space in between you. he looks at you, amused. “what?! what do you mean you can’t just put it in me?” you sound the most offended he’s ever heard you. “is that not how sex works? you put that in me? like… over and over again?
“baby, please,” his laughs are bordering on uncontrollable wheezing. “you’re making this so unsexy.”
“you made it unsexy first!” you complain. “put it in me, soonyoung!”
he wants to keep pretending that this is incredibly unsexy, but this exchange, however goofy, is just making him want to fuck you even more. “stop saying that!”
“why?! you keep making me wait!”
the way you complain and beg makes soonyoung briefly forget that you’re losing your virginity, and he isn’t letting that happen without proper foreplay first—without getting at least one orgasm out of you.
“pu—”
before you can tell him to put it in you again, he presses his hand against your mouth. “okay!” he says, raising his voice to drown out your muffled pleas. “okay! shhh. relax, and i will. alright?” your eyes widen and he feels a burn in his stomach when he sees the submission in them. you nod. “good girl.”
you moan into his hand and grind your hips up into his.
“oh, you like that?” he asks, smirking. all you do is squirm more.
he releases your mouth, and when you stay silent on your own accord—so willingly compliant—he thinks there are a few things he’d like to try in bed later on down the line.
soonyoung plants a wet kiss on your lips before he rests his hand against your neck, eyes watching as you swallow underneath his fingertips. he thinks you look pretty like this: bare throat adorned by his fingers. he has a passing thought to ask you if you would ever be into being choked, but there’s no fucking way he’d do that during your first time having sex. he lets the thought go, making note of it for a later time.
“so pretty,” he says, finger tapping your lower lip. when you take his finger into your mouth all the way, sucking it and releasing it with a pop, he has to spend a few moments reminding himself he can’t cum already. “jesus christ…” he sighs. he needs to move fast or he will be embarrassing himself tonight. “let me know if i do anything you don’t like, okay?”
you nod quickly—impatiently. your enthusiasm stutters when he doesn’t immediately “put it in” like you’ve been begging. you frown as he pulls away again, but when he settles with his head between your legs, your tune changes immediately.
“oh.”
soonyoung has dreamed about this moment for so long. he’s had obscene, vulgar thoughts about you—thoughts he would touch himself to. he’s spent an embarrassing amount of nights moaning your name while vigorously grinding into his fist, and all it took for him to cum was the thought of tasting you. he didn’t even have to think about fucking into your pussy or how wet you would be or how warm you would feel—all he thought about was eating you out until you came all over his face, and that would do it for him.
if he was looking to get a quick orgasm, maybe release some frustration from a day spent hanging out with you, he’d just rub one out in the shower. but if it was one of those nights he was tossing and turning, thinking about how much he loved you and how much he wanted you to be his, he’d throw his blankets off, grab a bottle of lotion, a box of tissues, and sometimes, when he was feeling especially depraved, his favorite photos he’s taken of you. there was something about looking at photos no one else has seen of you—no matter how ordinary or innocent—that turned him on.
his daydreams always started with getting you sinfully wet. yes, with your own arousal, but with his spit too. he’d massage it into your clit, mixing the both of you and your pleasures together until your hips are bucking and shoving your needy cunt in his face. then, he’d give in and lap your clit gently and the first taste would send his eyes rolling into the back of his head. he would try to stay cool and composed, but realistically, he knew tasting you would send him into a frenzy.
he’d already be close by this point in his fantasies, whining and groaning, his phone and photos of you long forgotten because he has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from coming before he could finish playing everything out in his head.
because soonyoung couldn’t cum before his favorite part: when he would imagine shoving his face as far in between your legs as he could, extending his tongue as far into you as humanly possible. you’d say his name the way no one has ever said his name. you’d pull at his hair until he was sure you were permanently damaging all of his follicles. sometimes, he’d immediately cum after this. other times, he’d be able to at least get to the part where he starts fucking you with his fingers.
on lucky days, he would reach the end of his dreams. by this time, he’d be feverishly tugging on his cock, a mess of sweat and whimpers of your name as he thought about you squirting all over his face. he would drink you up like it’s the fucking elixir of life. you would make the filthiest mess of his face—chin dripping, cheeks sticky, lips swollen and covered in you—and he would thank you for it and beg for more. of course, more would never come because he would make a mess of his own hand after that.
he always felt like a pervert after—always felt so guilty picturing his best friend like this and doing something so dirty with you in mind—but the next night would come and the next night and the next, and he couldn’t think of anything else. anyone else.
and as lewd and impure and delicious and downright euphoric as his fantasies were, nothing could have prepared him for how much fucking better the real thing would feel. how much better the real you would taste.
by the time you cum on his face, not once but twice, he knows this is something he can do for the rest of his life. he would never even need you to fuck him or blow him or give him a handjob; all he literally needs is to devour your cunt any time you’d grant him the privilege to and he’d be a happy man for the rest of his life.
you’re still panting, chest heaving from your orgasms, when soonyoung climbs up over you once more and wraps his arms around your waist, kissing, nipping, licking, and whispering i-love-yous from your collarbone and up until he reaches your lips. he kisses you lightly just in case you don’t want to put your lips on him after he just ate you out, but when you deepen the kiss and hug him even closer, he thinks you might actually like the taste of you on his mouth.
“soonie,” you eventually whisper against him.
“mmm?”
you say something that he’s been wanting to hear for a decade. you confirm something he’s been desperately searching for signs of for your entire friendship. “i want to be yours. i want to be yours so bad.”
he stops peppering you with kisses and watches you carefully, like this all might still be a hallucination that will fade if he gets too lost in the moment. but you remain where you are, looking at him with as much love as he imagines he’s always looked at you. tears gather in your eyes, some escaping the corners. he catches every single one that does, pressing it back into your skin with his finger.
when you give him a small smile to tell him you’re okay—that these are just tears of happiness—he leans in, presses his cheek to yours, and promises you, “then i’ll make you mine.”
just being inside you is enough to make soonyoung want to cry. he does his absolute fucking best not to because you already are and he doesn’t want you to think of anything other than yourself and your pleasure during your first time. but he wants to cry as he buries his face into your neck and slowly pushes into you, only moving whenever you say it’s okay to.
when he woke up today, he did it with swollen eyes from a night spent crying over you. he tortured himself all day, thinking about how every last time he had with you was the last and he didn’t even know it—the last laugh he heard, the last smile he saw, the last time you bickered with him, the last time you told him you loved him. he steeled himself to face your tears or your screaming or whatever else you did to him when he ended your friendship.
at the start of the day, soonyoung was preparing for his life to be over—for you to take every good thing he’s ever had and felt with you when he forced you to walk away.
now, he’s fully buried inside you, forehead resting against yours as you both struggle to adjust to the overwhelming feeling of each other. it’s when you tell soonyoung that after 10 years, there’s nothing that will change your mind about him, that he finally moves.
“oh fuck,” he breathes as he starts rolling his hips, cock dragging in and out of you in an astonishingly seamless fit. “your cunt is perfect.”
you bloom at the praise, and you don’t shy away from returning it, chanting his name over and over again, whispers of how good he feels wherever you can fit them in between—how good he is for you, how he was made for you.
“y/n,” he gasps. he tries to tell you that if you keep saying his name like this—like he’s yours—he’s going to cum inside you. but all that comes out is: “oh my god.”
and all you say is “soonyoung” again and again and again. he’s never put any thought into his birth-given name, but tonight, he decides it’s his favorite string of letters. he never wants to hear you say anyone else’s name. he never wants anyone other than you to say his name. it’s yours and yours alone.
at some point, he can tell you can handle even more, and he pushes up off you, using the headboard as leverage as he pounds into you harder and rougher, rhythm becoming erratic and frenzied. the noises that come out of your mouth are so nasty, he’s on the brim of losing it.
“oh my god. look at you,” he pants, his sweat dripping from his face, his neck, and his chest onto you. a drop lands on the corner of your mouth, and without hesitating, your tongue darts out to lick it up, and he groans.
it’s too much: your neediness, your obedience, your eagerness. your tits—one sporting his hickey—bouncing wildly as he fucks you at a brutal pace. your unbelievably tight cunt, sucking his cock in so desperately, near-strangling it and refusing to let him go.
“so fucking perfect,” he tells you.
you make it clear that you’re not lasting long—that your third orgasm is on the horizon. it’s a bittersweet realization; on one hand, he’s relieved because he’s been holding his own orgasm off since his tongue met your clit. on the other, he never wants to stop fucking you.
but this is just the start, he tries to remind himself. this is just the first time, and there will be so many more now—now that you’re his and he’s yours.
your voice rings loudly in his ears again. i want to be yours so bad.
his voice is hoarse when he asks, “do you feel like you’re mine yet?”
you nod frantically, pussy squeezing tightly around him like the thought is pushing you even closer to finishing. “yes, god, yes. yes!”
“say it,” he demands, eyes never leaving yours. he can’t look away when you look like you would say or do anything for him.
“i’m yours,” you say immediately. “soonie… i’m yours, soonyoung.” his name comes out in a tortured whimper.
“i never want to hear another name come out of your mouth ever again,” he declares. “ah, fuck, holy shit. you feel so fucking good, baby. just for me, huh? oh fuck.” his orgasm is begging to be released, but he refuses to let up until you reach yours. “you’re mine. and i’m yours.”
you barely finish agreeing and calling soonyoung “mine” when your pussy is suddenly and violently quivering around him, pulsing and throbbing as you ride through your third orgasm of the night. the feeling of your climax squeezing around soonyoung is unreal, and he pulls out just in time to avoid coming inside of you, painting your beautiful, soft skin with his bliss.
it feels like it lasts forever, the spurts of white splattering you. he thinks he could get hard again when you let your mouth hang open and catch some of him on your tongue.
“holy shit,” he breathes when he’s tugged himself dry, leaning back and trying to catch his breath. he feels drops of sweat sliding down his body everywhere, his muscles burning deliciously.
soonyoung looks down at you and is pleased to see you covered with him: his cum, his sweat, his spit. he made good on his promise. if you don’t look like his right now, he has no idea what you look like.
“c’mere,” you whine, reaching for him with grabby hands when you have no energy to sit up and actually take hold of him.
he smiles and leans in to kiss you, before retrieving a towel from the bathroom to clean you both up with.
for the rest of the night, you two stay tangled up in each other’s arms and talk about when you fell in love.
you: when you first met him.
him: when you first walked into the room.
neither of you know if the other is telling the truth or if you’re just trying to win the i-loved-you-first competition (you’re both telling the truth).
you talk about what the future looks like. you decide you don’t know for sure, but one thing you’re confident about is that you’ll be facing it together. one thing soonyoung is sure about is that he’ll be making you his wife.
you ask if you can make your anniversary two days from now so it doesn’t land on your birthday. soonyoung asks if you can make it two days prior so that he can forget that he was trying to leave you on your 30th birthday. you agree.
you both run through every big moment either of you can remember being so hopelessly in love with each other, it hurt and what the other person was thinking at that moment. for every memory of yours soonyoung can remember, he’s able to tell you he was suffering just as much as you were. the same is true for you. for every memory he can’t remember, he feels like a kid, giggling and kicking his feet in bed with you hearing about how you were equally, pathetically down bad for him.
your birthday party is long forgotten, traded for an intimate night getting to know each other in drastically different ways than you did as best friends. soonyoung feels like he’s meeting you for the first time again—a privilege he never thought he would be afforded ever again. aside from learning what you liked from your time in his bed tonight, he learns a lot.
like for one, you actually are very into physical affection, something soonyoung thought you didn’t like displaying since you were constantly shoving him away; you just avoided it because it exacerbated your feelings for him and blurred the lines too much for you. in fact, you stay burrowed into his side the entire night, whining any time he moved a tiny bit away, even when it was just to adjust his position or reach to turn off the lamp. you love playing with his hair and tracing little patterns on his chest (he thinks one of the things you traced was your names together). you constantly thread his fingers with yours and when you get tired of that, you still keep your pinkies linked.
he learns you love hanging out at his apartment more than you like the fancy dinners. you feel the most at home with him when you’re actually home with him. you tell him your favorite nights are when you’re in charge of placing a food delivery order at his place while he unwinds from his workday, showering and changing (and unbeknownst to you, probably jacking off in the shower to make sure he doesn’t accidentally get hard while you two hang out). you say it feels like you’re his wife and this is your home too. the sentiment is enough to make him tear up, and you, of course, tease him mercilessly once a fat teardrop lands on your head.
by the time the sun is rising, soonyoung realizes you both have rewritten siquijor in the confines of his bedroom. all the miscommunication (or absolute lack thereof) and the pain and heartbreak have been replaced. from where you two lay in bed, he watches the sun’s rays start to reach into the sky, turning it stunning shades of orange, pink, purple, and blue, and for the first time in seven years, he doesn’t cringe away from it and the feelings of loneliness it used to bring. he doesn’t feel heartbroken all over again like he used to.
this time, the sun rises, and soonyoung feels so ridiculously happy. you quietly watch the sky with him, and he thinks you know what he’s thinking of as you continuously trace hearts, one after the other, never-ending, into his skin.
“it’s a new day,” you say quietly.
“it is,” he agrees, his heart full. “it’s a new day, and i love you even more than i did yesterday.”
you hug him tighter to you even though there is literally no space between you.
“i love you, soonie.” you yawn. “is it time to say good night?”
“it’s morning, baby.”
“no, we didn’t go to sleep. it’s definitely still night.”
he grins and doesn’t bother arguing with that logic. he moves to get out of bed, but you immediately lock your arms so he can’t. he snorts. “i’m just going to pull the curtains so we can sleep.”
you sigh like it’s still an inconvenience, but you release him all the same. “fine. you should get, like, a remote for them or something. isn’t that what rich people do?”
he rolls his eyes as he gets up and closes the curtains, bidding the sunrise—the best of his life—a farewell for now. “rich people stay rich by not buying things they don’t need, baby.”
“i don’t think so,” you disagree, arms opening again for soonyoung to lay back in.
“you know what, whatever you say,” he says as you kiss all the skin you can reach from where you hug him. he preens at the feeling. “you’re always right.”
you hum, smiling against him. “good boyfriend.”
“soon-to-be husband,” he mutters before yawning.
you giggle the same way you have been every time he’s corrected you tonight. “soonie-be-husband.”
he scoffs. “boo,” he heckles you. “bad! get off the stage!” you laugh harder, and it coaxes a soft smile out of him as he watches you.
“best friend” doesn’t seem like such a bad title in this moment anymore. he thinks he gets it now that he’s able to call you even more than that; it’s such an honor to be able to be both your boyfriend and your best friend now. it’s such an honor to be able to build something more on a foundation of friendship as strong as the one he shares with you.
when the laughter subsides, you both sigh, sinking into the bed further and getting comfortable.
“good night, love of mine,” he says, kissing the top of your head.
“mine,” you repeat like you can’t get enough of the sound of it. “yours.”
soonyoung smiles and his eyes flutter closed with exhaustion, thoughts bleary but still painted with you and the last 10 years as he starts to drift off to sleep. if this is what he gets to have now, whatever pain he withstood and however much time he wasted is nothing to him—just a moot point in the story you’ll both tell for years to come.
he dreams of you two in siquijor that night, this time both of you sober and wrapped in each other and in love, with the rest of your lives ahead of you.
bonus (performance unit group chat):
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Oh my god this was so cute and so good I could throw up. Bc this is exactly how I would imagine hoshi in this exact scenario. The way he’s so down bad for her? Switching between sex god and loser? Immediately skipping the gf stage and calling her his wife? all very really and made me laugh so hard
we can be all we need
🔞 18+, minors do not interact • masterlist • submit a request
(っ˶˘ ᵕ ˘˶)ᐣ✎ ᝰ request from this prompt game
@studioeisa: "hey trixie i saw u rb the writing prompt thingo .. 👀 i can’t see the issue + soonyoung (or dealer's choice on any member!!!)"
soonyoung's pov • your pov ⇣
soonyoung has been pulling away from you for weeks now. it seems that tonight is the night he wipes his hands clean of you.
♫ darl+ing svt pairing: soonyoung x fem!reader word count: 8.7k tags: best friends to lovers, idiots in love, a bit of miscommunication, angst for like one second, happy ending cw: smut — unprotected piv (v irresponsible piv don’t be like these two); reader loses virginity; spit; oral f. receiving; fingering; sy likes the idea of people hearing them fucking but no one actually hears them; just really vanilla, really soft, really mushy smut tbh, vanilla pudding smut if you will lol a/n: for the biggest-brained, funniest, most talented kae – i hope you like it <3 if you don't, just lie to me <3 • i know the request didn't include smut, but this one truly TRULY got away from me (as you can tell from this monstrous word count lol), and it kinda just wrote itself, smut included. i did mark where the scene starts and ends in case anyone doesn’t want to read it, but that's a courtesy to adults uninterested in reading explicit material. if you're a minor, pls scroll away
you look around, grinning widely as everyone sings to you. the lights are turned off in soonyoung’s apartment, the light from the thirty candles on your cake more than enough to illuminate your face. you meet each of your friends' eyes, your heart so full of love as you look at each of them.
you leave the person you want to look at most for last. finally, you meet soonyoung’s gaze. you don't mean to, but you feel your smile immediately falter.
he’s singing, but you can barely hear his voice—already uncharacteristic of him on its own. he's spent every, single one of your birthdays since you've met obnoxiously scream-singing, arms usually wrapped tightly around your neck as he bent over you, caging you in from behind. whether it was in front of a party of people (like tonight) or just you two, he was always singing like the fate of your year relied on how loud he was in those first few moments of it.
he'd always press his cheek against yours, swinging you both back and forth to a beat only you two could hear. then, after the singing was over, and after you made your wish, he would press a kiss to your temple, wish you a happy birthday once more, and he would be the first person in your life to tell you they loved you in your new age.
so this silence is painfully loud. on top of that, he also doesn’t smile back at you, a faraway look in his eyes as he mindlessly sings. it’s like you’re not even there. it’s like he’s singing to an empty seat in front of a cake that definitely counted as a fire hazard.
things with soonyoung have been weird for the last several weeks. if you were being honest, things have been hard. you, of course, continuously asked what was wrong, and he, of course, denied anything was wrong. but the writing was on the wall: he dodged your calls, rescheduled hangouts over and over until plans just completely fell through, and hardly texted back anymore. it was clear to anyone with a pulse that he was avoiding you.
and when he finally invited you over tonight to blow out your candles, and you walked in, completely surprised to find your friends all gathered to celebrate you, you thought, oh, that's what was wrong. he was just planning to surprise me
you thought the awkwardness and flighty behavior was over. the surprise went well, he kept everything a secret—didn't spoil anything—and you were grateful. but here you two were, looking at each other from across the room like you were strangers. and you weren't strangers. kwon soonyoung is the most important person in your life. he's your best friend. and you're so achingly, painfully in love with him, this distance feels like it's slowly peeling every layer of you away and letting it disintegrate into thin air.
when everyone finishes singing, you clear your throat and try to force the smile back onto your face. you lean forward, careful to keep your hair from catching any of the candles, and you close your eyes to make a wish—the same one you've been making every year for the past decade you've known soonyoung.
i wish for the courage to love soonyoung loudly.
you open your eyes and you blow hard, cheeks burning when the absurd amount of flames won't go out. people giggle, and when you stop to take a huge breath, fanning your face from the effort, seokmin and seungkwan both laugh and lean in to help. the three of you get the job done, and they immediately put you to work cutting your cake while they help plate and distribute.
you lose track of soonyoung while on cake duty, and by the time everyone has a slice, any appetite you had for dessert is completely gone. you sink back into the seat you were in while everyone was singing, and you breathe shakily, trying your best not to cry at your own party.
did you do something? is he just getting tired of you? or can he tell that your feelings extend past friendship? after 10 years, did he finally realize? is this his way of letting you down without having to really do it?
you can't help when your eyes start to well with tears. you notice someone starting to look a little too closely at you from your peripheral—probably joshua, the most observant of your friends—so you abruptly get up, blushing when the chair almost falls over behind you. you go to the only place you know you'll be left alone in this huge apartment. it's the one place soonyoung doesn't let any of his guests go, except for you.
you all but barrel into his bedroom, quickly closing the door behind you and leaning against it. you made it just in time for your tears to start flowing.
soonyoung's room looks different from the last time you saw it. he’s a generally tidy person; of the two of you, you’re the messy one. right now, the state of his room feels like a reflection of your thoughts and feelings: disheveled, chaotic, and messy. he has clothes, both clean and used, strewn all over the place—the bed, the floor, his corner chair. drawers are thrown open, their contents very clearly rummaged through. he has a pile of empty water bottles in the corner, and his nightstand is so littered with random stuff, he has no room to even set a phone down. it astounds you enough that you momentarily stop crying.
you wipe your tears away, frowning at everything that has managed to change in the weeks leading up to your 30th birthday. this was not the way you wanted to start the new decade.
you hear a muffled cough and you're panicked to realize that soonyoung had the same idea you did. he's outside on the balcony attached to his bedroom, leaning up against the railing and looking out into the black night. he hasn't noticed that anyone has entered his room, and you're about to leave when something stops you.
"you're 30 now for god's sake," you mutter. "get a fucking grip."
you're tired of wishing for the same thing every year—wishing for something that isn't even out of your grasp because you could just decide to be brave. and instead of choosing to do that, you spent the last 10 years cowering behind the excuse that you desperately needed soonyoung in your life however he would take you, even if that’s just as his friend.
but if you're losing him now anyway, you might as well lose him for the reason you feared you would for the last decade.
you turn away from where you were about to escape back into the party, and you're joining your best friend outside before you can think twice.
he startles a little, briefly glancing at you, but when he realizes who it is, he simply looks back into the night. it hurts more than just being told to go away—to be ignored like this.
"what are you doing?"
"just needed some air," he answers quietly.
"no," you say, willing your voice to stay steady even though your eyes are already filling with tears again. "what are you doing? why are you ignoring me? why are you avoiding me?" you pause, taking a deep breath. "why are you acting like i'm not your best friend?"
soonyoung lives near the damn top of his pretentiously tall apartment building, and the wind is cold and biting up here, especially with how short your dress is. it doesn't compare to what he says next.
"because you're not." he says it the way he would say that he's having a good day. or that work was tiring. or that he wants to order food delivery. he says it like it's not something that has the power to kill you. “at least, i don’t want you to be.”
"what are you saying?"
you don't hear it, but from the way his shoulders dip, you can tell soonyoung sighs deeply. and it looks so sad and so spent, you have trouble grasping that you could possibly be the cause of whatever this is that's eating at him.
"what are you saying, soonyoung?" you ask more forcefully, unable to keep the tears out of your voice this time. if he was going to end your friendship, he was going to have the balls to say it to your face. you aren't leaving until you're forced to.
he turns away from the railing, pressing his back against it to face you. he slips his hands into his pockets and stares down at the floor. his eyes are just as red-rimmed as you imagine yours are, and you hate—you hate that your first instinct is to ask him what's wrong. to hold him and comfort him when he's the one who's telling you he no longer wants to be friends.
"do you remember your 23rd birthday?" he asks, voice gravely with emotion, as if he’s spent the entirety of the last few weeks crying. your chest hurts. maybe he has.
you turned 23 in the philippines. soonyoung has always had more money than he knew what to do with, and he has always been uncomfortably generous with it—at least when it came to you. and that year, he surprised you with a month-long trip that ended the weekend of your birthday, where you both found yourselves on a beach in siquijor, sharing an alcoholic mango smoothie and a small ube cake that soonyoung had gotten for you.
you knew you loved him long before then, but you remember that birthday being one of your most miserable, solely because it was the best. and it was what you wanted with soonyoung, but you could only have it as his best friend. you had never felt so loved and so lonely at the same time.
"siquijor. what about it?" you ask, a little irritated. if you were going to have your heart stomped on the moment you turned 30, you'd rather he just get on with it.
soonyoung smiles for the first time tonight, but you hate it. it's half-assed, sad—and not just sad, but nostalgic sad—and it's being wasted on the floor.
"do you remember why you cried that morning?"
he uses the term morning loosely. it was 4 a.m., so yes, morning, but also no, not morning because you had both stayed up all night. and unfortunately, he had gotten you several more alcoholic drinks before the bar closed, and you were all but blacked out by 2 a.m. you only know that because your last selfie on your phone was time stamped just before two.
you wouldn't have believed him when he insisted you were conscious that entire time if he hadn't shown you videos of you passionately trying to convince him that in another life, he could've been a k-pop idol.
you hardly believe him now because you don't remember crying at all. and he certainly never told you that you had.
"i..." you don't know what to say.
"you don't," he confirms, sounding bitter. "it's okay. i had a feeling you didn't."
you frown, eyes falling to the spot on the floor you're sure is the same one he's been staring at. you don't realize you're shivering as violently as you are until you see soonyoung's feet step into your line of vision, his jacket slipping across your shoulders.
large hands carefully adjust the jacket around your neck and when they're done, they gently grip the lapel and hang there, dead weight against your sternum. you dare to look up and find that he still refuses to look you in the eye, instead staring at his own hands.
the wind isn't what's making you shake, and the jacket doesn't help it stop.
"you said you were lonely," he informs you quietly. he sounds as choked up as you feel, like you're both battling the same stubborn knot in your throat. "you told me that this was everything you could have ever wanted—that you were so happy and it was the best month of your life. and you told me..." he breathes deeply and sniffles before continuing. you look up and watch his eyes fill with tears. "you told me you just wish you were experiencing it with someone you were in love with instead."
you involuntarily let out a strangled noise, feeling like that knot is suddenly demanding to be let out. “i—what?”
there’s that horrible smile again. “i tried not to let it hurt me,” he admits. “i tried to be a good sport. you were drunk, you were sad about never having had a boyfriend, and i know you weren’t trying to hurt me.”
your stomach turns painfully and you’re glad you didn’t have cake, otherwise it might’ve been regurgitated all over soonyoung by now.
you never had a lack of suitors or options; you just knew it would be impossible to look at anyone else, let alone be in love with them, while you were so preoccupied with your best friend. until now, you still haven’t ever had a boyfriend, still haven’t even had your first kiss, still haven’t felt what it’s like to have someone tell you “i love you” romantically.
soonyoung takes a watery breath, lips trembling, as the first of his tears begin to streak his cheeks. “but it hurt,” he can’t speak above a whisper. “it hurt more than anything i’ve ever felt, y/n.”
your hands close over his, more out of instinct than anything else, and you hold them like it’s the only thing that will keep him from running out of your life. you hate that, among all the warring emotions inside you, you suddenly feel hope blooming over everything. saying that only would’ve hurt soonyoung if he wanted to be the person you were in love with. right?
“soonyoung.” his name comes out of your mouth with sharp, desperate edges around it. “that’s not what i meant. i—”
“it’s okay, i’ve had time to—”
“but if you would just let me ex—”
“there’s nothing to explain,” he says quietly, finally, finally meeting your gaze. “i stayed around, didn’t i?”
the question shuts you up. or maybe it’s the way his eyes are swimming with pain you realized he’s been harboring for much longer than the last few weeks.
“i stayed for seven more years. if i needed you to explain, i would’ve asked the second you woke up sober.”
your hope deflates. the way he says the number of years makes it sound like that’s all it will ever be now. seven years. the last birthday he’ll be sticking around for.
“only seven?” you ask quietly.
you feel his fists tighten around the fabric of his own jacket briefly before his hands slip away from under you, retreating back into his pockets. you feel so cold.
he doesn’t answer, and that feels like an answer in itself. “instead of throwing myself a pity party, i decided i’d wait until your 30th birthday,” he tells you. “i didn’t mind spending all of my 20s pining after my best friend.”
your heart leaps into your throat.
“i didn’t mind waiting seven more years to see if you would ever return my feelings,” he says, voice shakier and shakier as he continues. “my friends, they told me i was insane for letting my 20s go to waste like that. but to me… if i still got to be around you, still give you experiences and love that made you feel like that’s what you deserved from someone you actually were in love with, then… i can’t see the issue in that. i’d happily wait seven more years. because even if it was seven years of the same longing—and even if it was seven years leading to nothing more, it was still seven years of me being able to show you how well i could… how well i could love you. how much i do love you.”
it strikes you then that the way soonyoung looks at you isn’t a way that anybody has ever looked at you. you used to think it was the delusion of being in love with him—that your brain was tricking you into thinking he felt a certain way about you because that would be convenient for you. but standing here, pinned down by his gaze, you have no choice but to accept that it was clearly in front of you this whole time.
“soonie—”
he keeps going like if he lets you speak, he won’t ever be able to muster up the courage to say this again, and you realize you both did waste your 20s. you wasted it being afraid of just telling each other how you felt. the fact that you could’ve had soonyoung the way you’ve always wanted since you were 23 devastates you.
“but i told myself… while you slept in my lap on that beach in siquijor, that if by the time you turned 30, we still hadn’t moved past… this…” he looks away again, opting to stare at something over your head. “then, i wouldn’t spend my 30s torturing myself anymore. i’d let you go.”
“i don’t want you to let me go!” you practically shriek. he flinches at the sudden outburst, his eyes snapping back down to you. “i don’t want you to let me go, you stupid idiot!” you repeat. “if that’s what you’ve been doing the last, few weeks, ‘letting me go’—” you make exaggerated air quotes out of your fingers, clearly agitated. “—then knock it off!”
“wh—” he makes a disgruntled noise as you slap him in the chest.
“what i meant to tell you, it came out wrong. i didn’t even mean to tell you anything, but if drunk me outed me like that, i need you to know that’s not what i meant.”
all the words he kept cutting off tonight tumble out of you quickly and freely now.
“i was lonely. i was really lonely, and yes, it was because i enjoyed that vacation so much and yes, it was because i wished i could have it with someone i was in love with, but i was having it with someone i was in love with!”
his body stiffens and his eyes widen but you don’t stop.
“i just meant i wanted it to mean more for both of us,” you explain desperately. “i wanted to be on vacation with you—but you as my boyfriend! not you as my best friend! there’s no one else i would’ve wanted to be with, soonyoung!”
you feel tears on your skin now, and you try to speak even faster because you know you’re on borrowed time before you devolve into a mess of sobs that won’t let you explain anything.
“do you think i’ve been single our entire friendship for fun?! do you think it’s fun being the 30-year-old virgin who’s never even kissed anyone?! because it’s not!” you screech through tears. you can’t even muster up the energy to be mortified at how horrible you must look right now. “but i didn’t want anyone else! i wanted you! you waited seven years, but i waited ten! TEN, soonyoung! do you—”
his lips are on yours.
your mind is quiet.
the wind isn’t cold.
you taste champagne and salt.
soonyoung holds your face gently, thumb caressing your cheeks while his long fingers slide into your hair. you’ve imagined how he must kiss a million times in your head. every time he licked his lips, puckered them for a photo, pressed them against your temple in what you deluded yourself into thinking was platonic affection—you would imagine exactly this.
soft, plush lips slotted in between yours, moving like you’re the only person they were made for. and even though you didn’t imagine it would be so salty from both of your tears, it’s exactly as perfect as you wanted your first kiss to be—as perfect as you wanted your first kiss with soonyoung to be.
when you get over the shock of it, you rest your hands on his chest, exploring the planes of it. you pause for a moment, enjoying the way you can feel the erratic beat his heart before reaching up, wrapping your arms around his neck, and pulling him into an even deeper kiss. it coaxes a sound out of him that convinces you he’s really yours, and he lets go of your face to circle your waist and hold you close.
you don’t know how and you’re not even sure when, but you end up in his bed, every inch of his body deliciously pressing against yours after he walked the two of you inside without ever leaving your lips.
his tongue slips into your mouth, and the moan that escapes you does so without your permission. you feel him twitch against your thigh and you can’t help but giggle into the kiss a little.
he pulls away, mouth pink and swollen. he rests his forehead against yours and smiles.
“what’s so funny, hm?”
it’s the first time in weeks that you’ve really heard his voice—the way you know and love it. light, happy, and, now that you’re equipped with the proper information, in love with you. you hear it loud and clear. you wonder if he hears it too.
“nothing,” you breathe, threading your fingers through the long hair at the nape of his neck until your hand is resting against the buzzed part of his undercut. you scratch his scalp there and he hums in contentment. you smile. “i love you, soonyoung.”
he lifts his forehead to better look at you. his eyes soften impossibly more and he looks like he’s trying to commit every detail of your face and this moment to memory. you realize you’re doing the same.
“i’ve always loved you,” you add, wanting to erase any lingering doubts that your 23rd birthday caused. “from the very start.”
his response is to push himself up and off you so that he’s on his knees, resting between your legs. you prop yourself up on your elbows, frowning from the sudden space. it’s exactly the opposite of what you want, but you know from the look on his face that it doesn’t mean he’s going anywhere or that he’s changed his mind. it confuses you to think that he looked at you this way for most of your friendship and you never thought it meant anything. it means everything.
he clears his throat, looking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. you only notice the bulge in his pants then, and you smile knowing that you felt that react to your moans.
“how far?” he asks, his voice so coated with desire, you shiver. he doesn’t need to elaborate. “i don’t want you to feel rushed or pressured. i just… we wasted so much time, and i—”
“all the way,” you say confidently, letting yourself lay back down and slowly wrapping your legs around his middle, trying not to feel self-conscious as your dress rides up and exposes you. “please.”
soonyoung groans like he’s in pain, hands instinctively resting against your bare thighs, eyes drifting down and unable to move from the wet spot between your legs once he sees it. his hands travel painfully slow toward the apex of your thighs, eyes never leaving you. his hands torturously stop when they reach the top.
several seconds pass with you fighting everything in your body to keep from squirming. if he notices, he doesn’t show it, seemingly too mesmerized by what’s in front of him. his thumbs burrow into the shallow divot where your legs meet your torso, the rest of his fingers kneading the flesh of your thighs, hard enough that you kind of hope they’ll bruise—give you something to remind you this was real. this happened.
he moves just as you’re about to ask him what he’s thinking about.
suddenly, as if he’s giving in to a voice telling him to just take what he wants, soonyoung allows his right hand to close the distance, tracing your skin until it leads his index finger straight to the part of you that needs him the most right now. he looks downright hypnotized as his finger meets your panties at their hollow part, where your hole is. you clench around nothing and you know he can tell when he finally breaks out of his thoughts and smirks. he only presses far enough to brush against the skin of your entrance before cruelly moving on.
he slowly drags his finger up your slit with a little more pressure than he afforded your hole and you sigh into the movement, trying to move further down so you can feel him more. he squeezes your hip to keep you where you are, though, biting down on his lip as he watches you closely. if you weren’t so turned on, you’d be self-conscious under his attention.
then, finally, his finger finds the place you swear it belongs, and he’s pressed against your clit. your panties stick to you uncomfortably but you don’t have the words to properly tell him to take them off, writhing under the pressure of his finger instead.
soonyoung doesn’t move, just watching you breathe and beg incoherently in shallow gasps, and just when you think he’ll finally move his finger—that he’ll finally start giving you what you’ve wanted for so long—he takes his hand back. he laughs a little at your whine of protest, pushing down on your hip with the hand that’s resting there when you uncontrollably buck up into the space his finger just vacated.
"what?" you hiss at him. he laughs even harder, his pretty eyes turning into those narrow crescents you love so much. he crawls over you once more. "why are you laughing?!" you complain, face getting hot. "did i do something embarrassing?"
"'embarrassing'?" soonyoung repeats incredulously. he does nothing less than scoff in your face. "no, baby, your neediness is not 'embarrassing.' it's fucking hot."
your face gets even warmer. whether it's because he's being lewd or because he called you baby, you're not sure.
"shut up," you mutter. he grins down at you.
"gladly."
to your dismay, he doesn’t press himself against you like he did earlier. he hovers, planting a light kiss on your nose, then on your lips, lingering for only a moment before he leans back a little like he's trying to get a good look at your face. he brings his hand up to cradle your face, pushing the wind-tangled hair away from it.
the tiniest of smiles pull at his lips.
“i love you,” he finally returns. “i love you so god damn much, i thought i was going to die having to leave you.”
“you’re not leaving me,” you say firmly. the love you’re feeling for him is so strong, it leaves no room for doubt. you know that as long as you’ll have him, he’ll stay. and as long as he'll have you, you will too.
“i’m not,” he agrees.
he doesn’t say anything else, instead leaning down to capture your lips again. he doesn’t let it last long, though, moving from your mouth, to your jaw, your neck, and your collarbone. you’re a mess of gasps and moans as he kisses his way back up, until his lips are just barely grazing your ear.
“you tell me if you want to stop, okay?” he whispers softly. “and we’ll stop, no questions asked.”
you nod and he nips at your lobe before beginning to kiss his way back down, making you moan again. you don’t know if this is always how it feels like or if you’re just overly sensitive from being a 30-year-old virgin, but everywhere soonyoung touches feels like fire.
“you sound so pretty,” he mutters as he makes his way lower, unabashedly biting and licking wherever he wants as he goes. “exactly like how i imagined you’d sound.” you groan loudly when his lips brush over your nipple through the fabric of your dress. “fuck, even better actually.”
he reaches up and tangles a single finger around the thin strap of your dress, then gently pulls it off your shoulder. he briefly hangs his head in mock agony when he confirms you’re not wearing a bra.
you stifle another giggle, not wanting to keep laughing during something as serious as losing your virginity—to soonyoung, no less.
"what is my life?" he whispers more to himself than anyone else as he lowers his head and shamelessly envelops your bare nipple with his tongue.
the inhale you take at the sensation is sharp, and soonyoung briefly glances up without taking his mouth off of you, one eyebrow quirking as if to ask if you're okay.
you’re more than okay. you feel like your soul is about to float right out of your goddamn body, and the scary thing is he’s barely done anything to you yet. you open your mouth to try and tell him as much, but once your lips part, nothing comes out. you close your eyes, your body arching in response to soonyoung as his swirls his tongue around you, gently nipping every now and then.
“soonyoung,” you gasp.
“fuck.”
“lower,” you beg. “please, god, lower.”
you feel him smile against your chest. “whatever you want,” he whispers.
but he doesn’t leave immediately, instead cupping his hand around your breast and biting into the flesh just above your nipple. your hips jerk up against his torso but he doesn’t let go, sucking for a few seconds before he releases you with a pop.
he grins down at the blooming mark, giving it the gentlest kiss. “pretty.”
soonyoung finally makes his way back down between your legs, but not without releasing the other strap of your dress first. he must find some mercy to spare you because, without making you wait the way he has been all night, he lifts your hips up off the bed, pulls your dress down, and in one smooth move, slips both your dress and your panties off you.
“oh my god!” he groans immediately, squeezing your clothes against his eyes. before you can even wonder if something’s wrong, he says, “i can’t believe this is my life right now, oh my god.”
he brings your clothes down just enough to look at you. his eyes narrow like he’s about to cry and you immediately laugh at the idea of soonyoung crying during sex… because he absolutely would.
“oh my god, i really have you naked in my bed right now, oh my god oh my god oh my god.”
“soonyoung!” you scold him, coming up onto your elbows and bringing your legs together so your thighs squeeze him. “focus! come on, you’re just teasing me now.” you’re fully aware that you’ve never sounded whinier in your life, but you can’t bring yourself to care. “please.”
“okay, okay, i’m so sorry, i’m not trying to tease you, i swear. i just… i’m—just, i—it’s just, like… what?” he asks it so giddily, you can’t help but smile through your frustration. “y’know? like, what the actual fuck?” he babbles, very obviously just starting to process what the hell is happening right now.
you groan, glaring at the ceiling. you’re annoyed at how empty you are right now, but at the same time, you feel your affection for soonyoung growing exponentially. even when he’s about to take your virginity, he can’t help but be so aggressively him. and you love it so much.
“it’s crazy how quickly you go from sex god to loser,” you murmur, unable to stop from grinning when he glowers at you.
“y’know,” he starts, voice considerably lower. you hate how much of an effect it has on you. “my favorite thing about you has always been your patience.” you snort as he carelessly tosses your clothes aside.
“good thing i have a lot of it then,” you retort, eyes catching on his long fingers as they start to undo each button of his shirt.
he hums, narrowing his eyes at you. “right.”
the grin on your face fades fast as he finishes undoing the buttons and shrugs the shirt off. it’s nothing you haven’t seen before; after all, you spent many vacations together in nothing but swimwear the entire time. but as your eyes sweep the dips and curves of his muscles and the way his stomach flexes as he slips off the bed, you realize you’re looking at him in a way you haven’t been able to before.
you’re looking at him like he’s yours.
“wait,” you say suddenly, sitting up all the way and crawling over to the edge of the bed where he’s standing, hands frozen in the middle of removing his belt.
“change your mind? it’s fine if you do,” he assures you quickly, already starting to fasten his belt again.
you rest your hands on his to stop them. “no,” you say, laughing a little. “i’m not going to change my mind, soonie.” he visibly relaxes at the nickname.
you reach up to kiss him, hands going up and into his hair. it’s slow and tender and careful, and you feel like you’re being held with so much care, you suddenly get nervous that you might be the one that ends up crying during sex.
“i love you,” soonyoung whispers between kisses, his arms snaking around your naked waist. “oh my god, i love you, holy shit.”
“don’t start with the loser behavior again, please,” you joke against his lips. you feel him smile. you pull away and sigh, your fingers running across his chest in admiration. “but i love you too.”
he breathes deeply, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. “i’m so happy.”
you smile softly. “me too, soonie.”
you look down and watch your hands travel down his naked torso until they meet his belt. you finish undoing it, not bothering to remove it from the loops and going straight for the button of his jeans. soonyoung’s breath hitches when you pull his zipper down. before you can shove his jeans down, he grabs your face and brings your lips to his roughly, his tongue inside your mouth in seconds. you don’t know whose moans are whose anymore as he kisses you—not like it’s the first time, but like it’s the last.
his lips get clumsy as he starts to remove his pants himself, shoving his boxer briefs down with them. you don’t get much of a chance to ogle him before his lips are on you again and he’s cupping your ass, forcing your legs to wrap around him. you revel in the feeling of him against your stomach—long, hard, and yours.
he kneels onto his bed, carrying you back to where you were laying before and setting you down gently. when you part, you suddenly understand soonyoung’s brief meltdown. because holy shit. soonyoung is in bed with you. naked. and you physically cannot stop looking down at him.
“see something you like?” he asks, his voice teasing. even with how arrogant he sounds, you can’t look away.
“uh… what?”
he laughs then, burying his face in the crook of your neck and effectively cutting off your intense eye contact with his dick.
“soonyoung, put it in me,” you whisper frantically. “hurry up!” you near shriek at him.
he only laughs harder. “i can’t just put it in you.”
“what?!” you push him away just far enough to be able to look at his face. “what do you mean you can’t just put it in me? is this not how sex works? you put that—” you widen your eyes at the monster resting against you. “—in me? like… over and over again?”
“baby, please,” he wheezes with laughter. “you’re making this so unsexy.”
“you made it unsexy first,” you pout. “put it in me, soonyoung!”
he bursts into giggles again. “stop saying that!”
“why?! you keep making me wait!” you complain. “pu—”
his hand clamps over your mouth before you can repeat yourself. “okay,” he says, laughter finally subsiding. “okay. shhh. relax… and i will, alright?” he doesn’t move so you nod. “good girl.”
you make a strangled noise against his hand at the praise and his eyebrows shoot up.
“oh, you like that?” his lips quickly curve into a smirk when your only response is to wriggle under him, hips trying their best to move his dick in the direction you need it to go.
he releases your mouth slowly and when you stay silent, his smirk deepens. he brings his hands to your face, squeezing your cheeks together and kissing your puckered lips before he rests it at the base of your neck, fingers splayed across your throat. you briefly wonder if he’d choke you during your first time if you asked. you quickly wave the idea away because you know he wouldn’t.
“so pretty,” he murmurs again, finger tapping your lower lip. you dip your head to take it into your mouth and he groans. “jesus christ.” you release him and he sighs roughly. “let me know if i do anything you don’t like, okay?”
you nod eagerly, thinking it’s finally time to get what your body has been screaming for. so when he pulls away, you make a noise of protest and watch him in confusion as he moves down your body. it isn’t until he forces your knees apart and lays back down between your legs, breath hot on your skin, that you realize what he’s planning on doing.
“oh,” you whisper pathetically.
soonyoung looks up at you and you swear he looks excited to absolutely demolish you. without breaking eye contact, he unfurls his tongue from his mouth as far as it’ll go, the tip of it just a breath away from touching your clit. you try to move but his grip on your thighs don’t let you. you watch with bated breath as his saliva slides down his tongue, dripping right where you were hoping it would.
it’s so fucking obscene, and the second you feel the warmth of his spit on you, you throw your head back and moan.
“soonie,” you mewl.
“god, i haven’t even done anything and you’re a mess—’s so fucking hot,” he tells you, letting go of one thigh to press his thumb into your clit, massaging his own spit into it. you gasp, bucking into the sensation now that one hip is free from his hold. “patience, baby,” he reminds you.
soonyoung doesn’t give you a chance to talk back because with no warning, his mouth replaces his thumb and it takes everything in you to keep from screaming. he places his hand back on your thigh just in time to keep you from reflexively caging his head in. he holds you down as he devours you, tongue flicking, sweeping, and circling around all the places no one has ever been. you could cry. you think you might already be. you can’t tell anymore.
he begins to massage where he holds you when your thighs start to tremble.
“soonyoung,” you gasp, hand diving into his hair and fisting it without your permission.
he doesn’t mind though, responding with a moan of his own, straight into your cunt. you half-sob at the vibrations of his voice against you. it doesn’t take long before his finger slips into you. then another. multiplying the pleasure tenfold. his tongue never falters as his fingers find and stimulate the small, ribbed spot inside you, pressing and pushing and rubbing to a rhythm that—as always—only you and soonyoung can hear.
“oh my god, soonyoung,” you repeat his name. you don’t know if you’re capable of saying anything else anymore. “soonie.”
“yeah, baby,” he mutters against you, kissing your sex with as much vigor as he was kissing your mouth earlier. “still okay?”
you nod wildly. “yes, yes. god, yes.”
he moans again, eyes flicking up to you as he does. “you sound so pretty, baby. be louder.”
“the…” you sigh as he gently removes his fingers, softly kissing down your slit. “the party…”
“let them hear you,” he mumbles. “let them hear how good i make you feel.”
“but…” you never finish your sentence.
he leaves one last whisper of a kiss before he suddenly takes two fingers, holds you open, and fully presses his face into you, his tongue entering you—stiff, thick, and so, so warm. you unwillingly follow orders, half-shouting and half-groaning his name. your back arches as he presses impossibly further into you, his tongue touching you in ways you only ever dreamed he would.
“soonyoung… soonyoung!” you call him, grip in his hair tightening. “i’m going to… i’m…”
“go ahead, baby,” he encourages you. “god, go ahead,” he practically begs before his tongue dives back into you.
his thumb finds your clit once more, working it harder and faster as he slips in and out of you, the sounds of him feasting on you so vulgar, you could listen to it forever. your body starts to inadvertently grind on his face the closer you get.
“soonyoung, i’m… i’m going… i’m…” you stammer, trying to pull him up by the hair. “stop, stop, i’m going to cum on your face.”
soonyoung frowns, thumb never stopping as he takes his tongue back. “that’s the point baby. i want you to cum on my face.” his eyes roll back at the thought, and he moans before seeming to shake the thoughts out of his head. “god, you better cum on my face.”
“but—”
“cum on my fucking face, y/n.”
that shuts you up and all you can do is nod quickly, allowing him to get back to what he was doing. it doesn’t take long after that. it hits you like a wall, slamming into every part of your body at once, reverberating to every corner of you over and over again. and because soonyoung is a demon and he doesn’t stop, the echoes of your orgasm ripple through you mercilessly until just mere moments later, you’re having another one.
and if the way soonyoung smirks into you is any indication, you know he’s aware of exactly what he just did to you. it could have been seconds or it could have been hours when you feel soonyoung’s arms wrapping around your middle, torso pressing into yours as he kisses your neck and makes his way up until his lips are on yours again.
you taste yourself on him and you think it should be gross, but it just makes you even wetter knowing that he took that part of you for himself—that he drank you up and he loved it.
“soonie,” you whisper, breath still coming in ragged gasps. he pushes your hair off your forehead as he looks down at you.
“mmm?” he hums, still kissing you wherever he can reach, but always coming back to your lips.
“i want to be yours,” you say. you’re not even sure that’s what you meant to say. you’re actually 90% sure you wanted to demand he put it in you again, but that’s what comes out. it’s still true—maybe even truer—so you repeat it: “i want to be yours so bad.”
soonyoung looks at you with so much love, you feel your eyes burning. he doesn’t point out your tears, simply pressing his finger against each one that escapes your eyes. he leans in, presses his cheek against yours, and he whispers: “then i'll make you mine.”
he presses against your entrance then, and you gasp.
“shhh,” he soothes you. “try to relax, okay?”
he props himself on one elbow, other hand coming to your hip and rubbing gentle circles into the skin there. his touch is comforting and grounding, and you feel your muscles relaxing even as he starts to push into you. your hand comes up to his shoulder, grasping tightly as the stretch starts to burn more and more. you squeeze your eyes shut, head turning to the side as you try to focus on relaxing enough to let soonyoung bottom out.
“slow, slow,” you breathe, even though he’s already barely moving as it is.
he plants a kiss on your temple, murmuring apologies against your skin. “i’m sorry, baby. do you feel okay?”
you nod, eyes still closed. he pauses for a minute or so, settling for peppering kisses all over you. his patience and love help—they’re everything. you adjust and that desire to be completely full comes back to you and you nod quickly at him.
“keep going, soonie.” you’re too eager to be full of him to be embarrassed at how needy you sound. he smiles, coming off his elbow to lay back on you.
you’re not sure if the kissing is a distraction, but it works. you’re so preoccupied with the things his tongue is doing with yours that by the time he’s fully sheathed inside you, it doesn’t burn anymore.
“oh my god,” he breathes, pressing his forehead against you and closing his eyes like he’s trying to concentrate. “oh shit.” he breathes deeply and evenly. “you won’t change your mind about me if i cum too fast, will you?”
you laugh but that’s a mistake because it causes you to clench a little, and soonyoung immediately groans, hand going to your shoulder and squeezing to get you to stop.
“don’t, don’t!” he says quickly. “don’t squeeze, baby.”
“sorry,” you whisper, trying not to giggle. you give him a few moments to collect himself, just like he did with you. “no, by the way,” you say. he opens his eyes and looks at you. “i won’t change my mind. it’s been 10 years. nothing will change my mind.”
the words do something to him—seem to inject some resolve into his bloodstream—because without saying anything, soonyoung starts moving. your lips part at the foreign feeling of his cock dragging against your walls. his every dip and ridge fits to your every ridge and dip, and you don’t need any more evidence to know that soonyoung was made specifically for you.
“oh fuck,” he groans, burying his face in your neck and kissing the skin there. “you feel so good—so fucking good,” he says, his breath hot and heavy in your ear. “your cunt is perfect.”
you let your eyes flutter closed as a mouthwatering mixture of pain and pleasure start to pool together in your lower abdomen. you don’t know when you start, but as he continues thrusting in and out of you, the deepness of his thrusts gradually increasing, you can’t stop moaning, gasping, chanting his name. it becomes a prayer to you.
soonyoung. soonyoung. soonyoung.
no, not a prayer. a wish coming true—all 10 of the birthday wishes you spent on him coming true. you were finally loving soonyoung loudly.
“y/n,” he pants, sweat dripping onto you. “oh my god.”
“soonyoung,” you answer, moans sandwiching his name.
and just when you think his thrusts are as deep as they can go—pulling all the way out before slamming right back into you—he pushes off of you, holding himself up with one arm and holding the headboard above the both of you for leverage. and somehow, he gets impossibly deeper, impossibly rougher, impossibly better, coaxing all kinds of screams and noises from you.
“oh my god, look at you,” he mumbles, eyes darting between your chest, your lips, and the place where he keeps disappearing inside you. “so—fucking—perfect.” his cock slams roughly into you with each word, easily aggravating all your pleasure points.
“‘m not gonna last long,” you breathe. “soonie… ‘m not—”
you cut yourself off with your own cry when his hips start to drive into you at an unforgivable pace. tears leak from the corners of your eyes, leaving hot streaks as you try to remember how good this moment feels—how fucking good soonyoung feels. how perfectly soonyoung fills you up.
“i’m not either, baby,” he says. he starts grinding his pelvis down on your clit roughly, making you grab his forearm in a weak attempt to ride out the overwhelming and overstimulating feeling of an orgasm building up inside you mercilessly.
he lowers himself again, closing the distance between you two and pressing his lips to yours. “i love you,” he says. “i love you so fucking much.”
“i—” you gasp as his pelvis presses down on you ruthlessly. “i love—oh my god, soonyoung,” you groan.
“do you feel like you’re mine yet?” he asks, voice raspy, hips ramming into you so hard, there’s no way you won’t be bruised tomorrow.
you nod frantically. “yes, god, yes. yes!” you shriek the last one as your orgasm approaches its summit. “yes!”
“say it,” he grunts, eyes boring into yours.
“i’m yours,” you pant. “soonie,” you whimper, eyes shutting on their own accord. “i’m yours, soonyoung.”
“i never want to hear another name come out of your mouth ever again,” he tells you, the statement followed by a string of colorful curses as his hips begin stuttering uncontrollably. you know he’s holding off as best he can for you. “you’re mine.” he moans loudly. “and i’m yours.”
“m-mine… soonyoung…” you open your eyes to find him still watching you intently. “soonyoung! i’m coming! i’m—” you grasp him as hard as humanly possible, your third orgasm of the night ripping through you.
for a few moments, soonyoung continues to thrust into you, trying to help you through your orgasm, but he doesn’t last, quickly pulling out and coming all over you, cords of white coloring your stomach, chest, even your face. you gasp, bits of it landing in your mouth. you lick the corners of your lips as you come down from your high, smiling a little when you finally get to taste soonyoung.
“holy shit…” he huffs, sitting back on his heels and throwing his head back. you try not to gawk at how beautiful he looks on his knees like this, his still semi-hard cock covered in your pleasure.
“c’mere.” speaking suddenly feels like such a chore as you realize how sleepy you are.
soonyoung half obeys, leaning forward to kiss you quickly before getting out of bed and ignoring all your protests over it. he returns from his restroom with a towel, gently wiping you both clean, even leaving kisses as he goes. it’s like he’s making up for his seven years.
“how do you feel?” he asks when he slips back into bed, pulling the covers over the both of you.
“like i’m in love,” you say, eyes closing as you curl into his chest. he laughs as he wraps his arms around you. “it was perfect. thank you, soonie.”
he kisses the top of your head. “i’m sorry about how weird i’ve been acting these last few weeks… and i’m sorry for thinking i could just… end our friendship like that.”
you open your eyes and crane your neck to look at him. “i wouldn’t have let you,” you inform him. he grins. “and i didn’t.”
“you didn’t,” he agrees. you hum. “i love you.”
“wait… do you love me?!” you ask jokingly after hearing it at least a dozen times tonight.
he rolls his eyes. “good to know our dynamic is going to be fine.”
you giggle. “i love you more.”
“whoa, fighting words.”
“ten years, soonyoung.”
“it was ten years for me too!” he protests.
you frown.
“i gave myself seven years before i forced myself to move on,” he reminds you. “i loved you long before that, you fool.”
you glare but your heart swells. you hug him even tighter. “so… what are we?’
“are you fucking kidding me?”
you laugh, burying your face in his bare chest. “yeah, i am. i’m joking.”
he pinches your side. “good. it would’ve been awkward to have to inform you you’re my wife now.”
you shriek-laugh and you know it’s infectious from the way he bursts into laughter at your reaction too. you spend the rest of the night like that, talking about the moments you knew you were in love, joking around, and planning your new decade and your new life, your birthday party long forgotten.
just before you both drift off to sleep, you exchange your last i-love-yous of the night.
“good night, love of mine,” he whispers.
“mine,” you repeat, smiling. “yours.”
you know your 30s are going to be the best years of your life.
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Forget b’s and c’s this fic gets an A+++++++
also um where do I sign up for a roommate like hao?
Here’s a chain of emoji’s dictating my live reaction to reading this fic
😇🫢🤪🫣🫢😦🥵 the end
watch and learn ♾️ minghao x reader.
“show, don't tell.” # day four of (the)8 days of minghao.
☆ includes: mature content, mdni. alternate universe: non-idol, art student!minghao, f!reader, best friends & roommates, pet name (‘pretty’), cussing, nude modeling/drawing, fingering, implied oral [m receiving]. word count: >4,000
It takes you all of five minutes to figure out why your best friend-slash-roommate looks like the world has crashed down on him.
The answer comes in the form of a piece of art on the coffee table. You crane your neck to check the bright red mark on Minghao’s latest homework. “A grade of ‘B’ isn’t so bad,” you offer, even though you can already see how he’s going to react from a mile away.
Sure enough, he shoots you a sidelong glare that would be withering if you hadn’t been on the receiving end of it for years.
“That’s what the ‘B’ stands for,” he deadpans. “Bad.”
You’ve long since reconciled with Minghao’s tendencies when it came to his academics and his art. With a half roll of your eyes, you settle down onto the couch next to him. The offending assignment stares up at you.
“It’s not bad,” you say as you eye the piece. In your honest opinion, it really isn’t terrible. A part of you must admit, though, that it’s not really up to Minghao’s usual standard. The strokes are not as defined; the edges are a little rough.
What’s supposed to be a piece for his The Art of the Human Form class looks more like something akin to abstract impressionism.
Minghao lets out a low sound of displeasure at your feedback. “You don’t understand,” he says frustratedly.
When you don’t immediately respond, he runs a hand over his face. “Sorry,” he sighs. “I just— I really need to pass this class.”
You give him a reassuring pat on his knee. For a moment, the two of you just sit on the couch, staring down at the homework that’s brought him so much grief. “What’s your issue with the class, anyway?” you ask after a long moment of silence. “Is it the professor?”
“No, the professor’s good. Great, even.”
“Your material?”
“That’s never been the problem.”
“Well, what is it then?”
A groan slides past Minghao’s lips; he lets his head fall on to the back of the couch. You turn to glance at him and you see the way his face is contorted with defeat. The words he speaks next sound like they were an actual struggle for him to verbalize.
“I’m not good with live models,” he admits. A beat. He seems to realize that you’ll see right through him, so he adds, “Nude live models.”
You sink your teeth into your lower lip. Minghao catches the telltale sign of you holding back your laughter and he turns to glance at you again. “What?” he grumbles.
“You’re too… polite, Hao,” you say delicately, leaning back against the couch until your shoulders are pressed against each other.
“You think I’m a prude.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You were thinking it. ‘Polite’ was just your way of letting me down gently.”
This time, you don’t hold back the fond giggle that escapes you. It was no secret that Minghao was a bit of a prig. When asked about his lack of experience with dating or intimacy, his answer had always been the same: Too busy. Too busy with uni to fuck around and find out, to mess with people he didn’t really care about.
Some of Minghao’s annoyance seems to ebb at the sound of your laughter. He gives a slight shake of his head like he’s ridding himself of an unbidden thought before saying, “Maybe I should just drop the damn class.”
You nudge him in the side with your elbow. “You’ve never given up on anything in your life,” you chide. “Don’t start now.”
The platitude does very little to lift Minghao’s mood. He goes into a rapid-fire tangent about his gripes with the class, ranting about everything from the models to his coursemates. You zone out a bit— knowing it was sometimes for the best to let your best friend go on and on— until you feel the buzz of your phone in your pocket.
Right. You had a study session.
You try to extricate yourself from the conversation by cutting through Minghao’s tirade with an absentminded, “Well, if you ever need my help, you know where to find me.”
That shuts him up.
“Wha— what?” he stammers.
Both of you fall into a terse moment of silence. It’s like you’ve just realized what you said, what you’ve implied, and you mentally curse yourself for spacing out to the point that you’ve suggested something so out of left field.
You rise from the couch without glancing down at Minghao; a part of you thinks this might give you some more courage to double down, to feign nonchalance. “If you need any help with the class,” you say as breezily as you can manage. “Like, if you need somebody to model for you or something.”
There’s an almost distressed way to how Minghao says your name, then. “I’m supposed to work with nude models,” he repeats, like he’s not unsure you caught it the first time.
“I’m aware.”
“Are you—”
“Only if you need it, Hao. It’s not that deep.”
It is kind of that deep, honestly. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of its chest, but you do your damndest to keep your expression neutral as you go to grab your things. You’ve never been so grateful to have a valid excuse to cut your time short with your roommate.
“If it’ll help you stop complaining,” you joke in a bid to inject some levity in the conversation. “Then I’m all for it.”
He only lets out a disgruntled mumble in response. His words are incoherent, lost in the way you’re already halfway out the door.
You call out your usual goodbye. “Text me what you want for dinner.”
His typical response— “Take care”— hits just as the front door closes behind you. You might’ve imagined it, you think, but Minghao’s voice sounded just a little bit strained around the two words.
It takes Minghao two weeks to come to a decision.
Clearing his mind helped, but it’s really the most recent graded assignment that gets underneath his skin. A ‘C’. Minghao has never gotten a ‘C’ in all of his years of art school.
You’re working on something by the dining table when Minghao bursts into your shared apartment.
“Does the offer still stand?” he spits out before he can change his mind.
“Hm?” You glance up at Minghao, unsuspecting as ever. “What, getting pizza for dinner? I mean, yeah.”
Your nightly text exchanges about what to have for dinner is the last thing on his mind. He takes a fortifying breath, his fingers clutching tightly around the strap of his messenger bag.
“Not dinner,” he grits out. “The other offer.”
Good Lord, he thinks with despair as you stare up at him skeptically. I’m really going to have to spell this out.
He decides to go for the ‘show, don’t tell’ route. He fishes through his bag until his fingers snag his latest graded homework. Wordlessly, he crosses the room and sets it down next to your laptop.
Your expression of confusion gives way to one of something that resembles sympathy. “Oh, Hao,” you say, and the words grate in his ears.
“I don’t need your pity.” His sharp words are dulled by the way he’s raised his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose in a gesture of sheer exhaustion. “I just need to practice.”
The realization of your flippant offer being taken seriously seems to dawn on you. Minghao wants to die then and there. He’s already backtracking, attempting to take it back before you can say a word.
“Forget it,” he says. He can only hope his ears don’t look as red as they feel. “That was stupid.”
Your hasty call of “no, no” has him freezing. “Sorry, I just— wasn’t expecting it tonight,” you say.
Minghao can’t even look you in the eye without wanting to die of shame. You go on, your voice cautious as ever. “The offer still stands. Of course it still stands.”
He attempts to sputter out some words about you not having to do this, about not wanting to make you uncomfortable, but you’re already getting to your feet. “Don’t make this weird,” you reprimand him.
“But this is weird,” he protests weakly.
“I’m your roommate. I’m your best friend!”
“That’s precisely why this is weird.”
You’re standing in front of him, now, trying to rearrange your expression into one of sternness. It doesn’t really do much, considering the way you’re at least a head shorter than him.
“I’m the best shot you’ve got.” You plant your hands on your sides and tilt your chin up. There’s a hint of a challenge in your gaze. “So what’ll it be, Xu?”
“No need to pull out the surname,” he says dryly. After going through a single, quiet prayer in his head, he jerks his head towards the living room. “Let’s go at it, then.”
“Now?”
“When else?”
It’s your turn to blush this time. Minghao tries his darndest to keep a straight face as you stumble over your complaint. “I haven’t showered yet—”
“That’s nothing new to me,” he shoots back, earning him a swat to the chest. He rubs at the spot you hit before grumbling, “Fine, fine. How long do you need to get ready?”
“I’ll be quick,” you promise him as you dart off to the bathroom. Minghao resists the urge to say that he doubts it.
His worries aren’t unfounded. By the time you emerge from your ‘quick’ shower, over half an hour has passed. He’s doodling absentmindedly in his sketchbook when he hears the door creak open.
“About goddamn—” The last word catches in his throat as he turns to face you.
Minghao has seen you in various states of undress in your years of friendship. He’s seen you in the skimpiest outfits before heading out clubbing, seen you in sinful bikinis during your yearly beach trips. But this? The sight of you in a beige bathrobe with the belt left untied, revealing a hint of your bare front?
He clutches his pencil so tightly that he’s scared it’ll snap.
“About time,” he manages, even though he’s not entirely clear what he’s referring to.
It takes an hour for you to regret your offer.
Once the initial shyness had passed, all that was left was the restlessness. Minghao had put one of the dining room chairs in the living room for you to pose on, and you’ve spent the better half of the past sixty minutes just sitting there with your feet flat to the ground.
It’s surprisingly easy to comply with Minghao’s mumbled requests. Shift a little to the left. Move your hand to your thigh. Stop moving.
The last command is muttered with a lot more frequency. When you try to cross your legs. Stop moving. When you go to scratch your elbow. Stop moving. When your eyes wander over to some nondescript point in the room. Stop moving.
“You’re brutal,” you rumble after his nth ‘stop moving, please’. “This is inhumane.”
“You signed up for this,” Minghao answers, his gaze briefly flitting over his sketchbook before going back to his work.
There’s something undeniably attractive about the way Minghao’s fingers are clutching his graphite pencil. A lot about him was attractive— the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the purse of his plump lips as he worked. But his fingers were a whole other monster all together. Long and lithe, with the nails painted to whatever he thought matched his flavor for the week. You can almost imagine what those fingers would look like in your—
Minghao drags you out of your unbidden daydream with a call of your name.
“Could you tilt a bit to your right?” he says gruffly. You scramble to comply, almost like you’re terrified he might have heard your thoughts if you didn’t move fast enough.
He lets out a small ‘tch’ of disapproval at just how much you twist. “Not like that,” he protests, putting his pencil down for the first time in the past hour. “Only about an inch. No, no—”
“Pose me, then.”
Where did this brazenness come from? You think that your tenseness is partly to blame, but there’s also an undercut of provocation in your tone. Surprise flits across Minghao’s expression for only a moment.
He schools his expression into something more neutral as he places his sketchbook face down on the couch. This is a bad idea, you think, as he crosses the distance between you in small, measured steps.
It’s a bad idea, you muse, because if he touches you, he might just feel the rapid thump, thump, thump of your pulse.
If he does notice, he makes no indication of it. His gaze is perfectly cool as he gently holds your shoulders. You can see the pencil marks on the side of his palm, the smudges of graphite transferring to your otherwise unblemished skin.
Minghao does as you’ve asked. His pushes are light as he maneuvers you to angle yourself some certain way, and you swear there’s not a single breath of oxygen in the room.
“There,” he’s saying as he goes to take a step back.
Something akin to panic rises like bile in your throat. You don’t know why, you don’t know what has possessed you, but one of your hands shoots out for Minghao’s retreating form. He pauses when your fingers wrap around his wrist.
“Where—” The words escaping you are almost a gasp. “Where do you want my hands?”
Minghao looks down at you, his eyes imperceptibly wider now despite his attempt to keep calm. “Right where you had them,” he replies.
You swallow around the lump in your throat, your hand sliding down to clasp his instead. “I— forgot where they were,” you say. It’s a lame excuse, but Minghao doesn’t seem like he’s about to call you out on it. “Show me again?”
His hand is limp in your hold. For a long, terrible minute, you think you’ve overstepped.
Then, something in Minghao’s jaw twitches. The hand that’s holding yours pushes your arm, just enough for your elbow to rest on the back of your chair.
He goes to position your other hand right over your upper thigh. Near where you want it, where you need it, but not quite there.
Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you bite back a groan of frustration. Minghao catches the look on your face.
“Why?” he asks quietly, his voice a touch tight. “Uncomfortable?”
“No.” You freeze at how your response comes out almost like a whine. Minghao freezes, too.
You try to think of propriety and professionalism. You try to think of your years-long friendship with Minghao; of how awkward it would be to keep being roommates if you’ve somehow overread into this situation.
All that goes out the window as you shift your hand slightly upward. His hand— the one still on top of yours— follows as your fingertips brush over your core. Your tone is shaky as you prompt, “It would be better here, no?”
Minghao’s gaze snaps from your hand near the apex of your thighs, to the barely-concealed heat burning over your cheeks. His sharp features are perfectly controlled but there are the smallest signs spurring you on. His dilated pupils, the bob of his Adam’s apple.
“You want it here?” He isn’t moving his hands. He also isn’t moving away. He looms over you, one hand holding your upper arm; the other, still close to your center.
“I’m open to suggestions,” you say, your eyes roaming over his face for any signs of discomfort.
A beat. And then—
Torturously slow, Minghao begins to move. He guides your hand closer to your heat until your fingertips are pressing a little more firmly against your entrance, where wetness is already beginning to pool. You clench around the feeling of nothing as Minghao remains careful about not letting his own fingers touch you just yet.
“I think this is good.” His voice is lower now. “What do you say?”
You feel like your entire body will betray you if you try to say anything. For now, you opt to only give a jerky shake of your head.
“No?” A corner of Minghao’s lip twitches upward in the ghost of a smile. You cling to that familiar grin as he pushes your hand up just a little more, just enough to have the tip of your middle finger pressing into your entrance. At this point, he’s moved his own fingers to wrap around your wrist.
“Not enough?” he coos, even though he doesn’t look like he’s faring any better himself in the department of restraint. “What about here, then?”
Minghao tugs at your wrist until your middle finger is sliding right into your slick.
Your breath hitches in your throat. You feel your hand twitch, but Minghao only tightens his hold around your wrist.
“I need you to answer me,” he mumbles, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s keeping you from moving your finger any further, and something about his demeanor tells you that it would be a bad idea to use your free hand to regain some control. Not when he was looking at you like this.
“More,” you croak out.
Minghao’s tongue darts out to swipe over his lower lip. “More,” he repeats, his own voice equally broken. He finally breaks his gaze to look down at the way your finger is buried inside you, at how your hand is completely his to move. “Alright, then.”
Wordlessly, he guides you into pulling your finger out and then easing it back in. This time, his focus is entirely on the way you swallow up your finger with each shallow thrust; how his own movements are dictating your pace, your pleasure.
You writhe in the chair, feeling absolutely mortified at how quickly you can feel heat building in your stomach. It’s been simmering for the past hour; this was only leading you to the tipping point. And Minghao isn’t even touching you yet at this point, just helping you get off.
“Hao,” you exhale, your breath warm against his face. He finally looks back up at you and you can see all of his want on his expression, clear his day. “Hao, I need—”
Him. You need him. That’s what you mean to say.
But your best friend seems determined to drag this out for all its worth.
“You need to stop moving,” he murmurs as he deftly pries your index finger free from its curl. “I don’t think I’ve said that enough.”
This time, he helps you push two fingers into your heat.
Your head lolls back and your lips part in a silent gasp. Minghao seizes the opportunity of more skin being bared to him. He leans down to press a chaste kiss to your jawline, then to your collarbone. All the while, he keeps driving your own fingers into you.
It feels like a special kind of purgatory.
“Please, Hao,” you plead.
“Words,” he mumbles against our skin, rewarding— or punishing— you with a particularly sharp thrust of your two fingers. You fold in half at the sensation, only managing to still sit somewhat upright by virtue of Minghao’s other hand holding your back up against the chair. “Use your words, pretty.”
You bury your face in the crook of his neck. There’s a wretched quality to your voice as you pant, “Need you, please. Need your fingers instead.”
“And why’s that?”
“‘Cause—” You clench around your fingers; he feels your body tense underneath him. Both of you let out small sounds of pleasure at the reactions. “Your fingers are better, they’re— they’ll get me there faster— please, oh—”
Your incoherent babbling seems to amuse and appease Minghao, enough for him to give in.
He pulls your two fingers out and, before you can whine about the loss, he replaces them with two of his. They’re as brutally precise as you’d imagined them to be. Your knees almost close in an attempt to tide the pleasure that’s about to crash down, but Minghao holds your thighs apart with his other hand.
“Don’t.” His voice is strained with effort. “Wanna see you. Please?”
It’s the tacked on please that bowls you over, that has you nodding helplessly. You’d do anything Minghao asked if he asked in that tone.
The squelches of his two fingers thrusting into you are obscene, but not quite as filthy as the sounds that slide past your panting lips. You moan and whimper and whine, and each little noise only seems to have Minghao moving with renewed vigor. He’s pulled away from your neck to watch you, but his eyes keep darting from your microexpressions to the way his fingers are swallowed up by your velvet heat. It’s like he can’t decide where to look first.
“You’re a work of art,” he chokes out, his teeth grinding together as he focuses on your face. “So goddamn beautiful— sitting here all nice and pretty for me.”
One of your hands fly to his hip in a desperate bid to hold onto something, to anything of him.
“Gonna finish,” you sob as you force your eyes open to meet his. Inadvertently, you cant your hips upward to meet one of his sharper thrusts, and the friction has the two of you moaning a little more. “Hao, fuck, can I—?”
“Please,” he pants. “I need it. I need it so, so bad—”
You climax with a silent scream, a sound that’s muffled as you lurch forward and press your face back into his neck. His other hand holds the back of your head in a supportive gesture as you come undone, coating his two digits in your slick.
Minghao lets out a low cuss as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “You’re so beautiful,” he says dazedly, sliding his fingers out of you carefully. “How are you so beautiful?”
All you can manage is a shaky laugh as you come down from your high. As you keep your head pressed against Minghao, you catch sight of the tent in his sweatpants. Tentatively, you reach up one hand to cup him over the fabric.
He says your name like it had been punched out of him. “Hey—” he tries to say in warning, but his body betrays him by bucking into your hand.
“How long has that been there?” Your voice trembles, thick with a heady mix of exhaustion and desire.
Minghao’s gruff response comes as your fingers twitch around the outline of him. “Since you stepped out of the damn shower,” he admits lowly.
You let out a contemplative hum. There’s still a low ringing in your ears, a slight buzz in your brain from the last vestiges of your orgasm, but it can’t just be you who’s having all the fun.
You shift back a bit so you can meet his gaze. You’re torturously slow as you palm his aching hardness, and you revel in the way Minghao reacts above you. His eyes have all but rolled into the back of his head and breathless little gasps are rising from the back of his throat.
“You’ve posed my hands,” you say, trying— and failing— to keep your tone even. “Wanna show me where my mouth should be, Hao?”
His fingers tighten at the strands of your hair. He lets out just one more cuss before he’s using his other hand— the one still coated with your release— to pull down his bottoms.
“Watch and fuckin’ learn, pretty,” he breathes, and you have a good feeling that he’ll make good on the threat.
(Minghao gets an ‘A’ on his next assignment.)
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anddddddd I need part 2 immediately. I’m in love w this fic and I also have no patience. PLEASEEEEE I need part 2
dude, nice try!
◀ teaser • series masterlist • part one
joshua hong has had the immense privilege of living 30 whole years without ever feeling so much as an ounce of jealousy. that is, until you come prancing into his picture-perfect life on your dumb burner account with evidence that his long-time girlfriend is cheating on him… with your boyfriend.
as he gets tangled up in your chaotic plan to get back at your adulterous partners, he begins to wonder if this growing discomfort in his chest was ever even heartbreak to begin with, or if it’s something entirely new to him—something that has the ability to eat him alive from the inside out.
♫ get him back! olivia rodrigo ⟡ hot girl bummer blackbear ⟡ lackin’ denise julia ⟡ mascara xg part one: 9.4k words pairing: joshua x fem!reader cw: strong language, mentions of/implied sexual activity, reader is highly emotional and tbh kind of crazy maybe even toxic but idc bc i support women’s rights and wrongs <3 tags: strangers to partners-in-crime to partners PERIOD, joshua pov, pining, he fell first AND harder oops, he’s also so incredibly whipped from the jump, a few smau bits but mostly writing, no smut, inspired by get him back! by miss rodrigo, basically john tucker must die except joshua is sophia bush hehe iykyk a/n: as stated in the teaser, this was a request for jealous!shua, though you should consider joshua’s affair with jealousy a slow burn in this one haha. if you read the teaser, i suggest you do not skip the parts you recognize here because i did cut some stuff out for the sake of length when i posted the preview! okay enough blabbing, enjoy!
dividers by cafekitsune! cover by yours truly!

prologue
the first message from you came in the middle of the night, as if the idea of reaching out to joshua had kept you up and tortured you mercilessly until you just couldn’t physically take it anymore. in retrospect, the thought of that is silly to him considering your first and only message was ridiculous and absolutely ineffective for what you were trying to do. but it makes him smile anyway. you’re just… so you.
of course, there was also the fact that joshua had been sound asleep at 3 a.m., so your plan really wasn’t well thought out—more a product of the rage that joshua isn’t sure whether he admires or should have you committed for.
his instagram notifications had been off back then, back before he felt the need to see everything you were doing and saying and posting on the stupid app.
it made sense that he kept you waiting, not noticing your first message until about halfway through his sunday morning.

he remembers feeling like it was an unfair assessment to make of his own long-term relationship, especially coming from a stranger. he also remembers having to sit back in thought for several minutes after reading that to contemplate what on earth you could even mean.
of course he loved mina. she was his girlfriend of a little over a year. you don’t stay with someone for a whole year and not love them, right? it was such a bizarre idea to him at the time—the thought that anyone could be in a relationship and not love their partner.
unfortunately, he learned that you were right pretty early on in your friendship. you've proven it enough times now that joshua knows you often are—right.
as he sits here next to you now, frowning at the odd sensation in his chest and listening to you frantically explain yourself to the bewildered officer across from you two, he realizes that not only did he never love mina, he's also starting to wonder if he ever loved anybody.
he has let go of all his ex-girlfriends so frighteningly easily when he thinks about it. on the other hand, he’s had a single month with you and he can’t imagine his life without you in it anymore. the thought makes him nauseous.
so now, it’s not a question of whether or not he ever loved mina; he knows he didn’t. now… he’s wondering if maybe, without even knowing it, he was just letting each relationship he’s been in happen to him—if he was just passing time.
passing time until what?
he doesn’t have the courage to respond to his own thoughts with the obvious answer, but he knows it’s the wrong question.
he watches you speak at a million words a minute, your cuffed hands waving in the air erratically and your brows pinching in the middle as you plead your innocence. he was sure you thought it was a pitiable enough expression for the officer to let the two of you go, but really, it was just painfully cute.
he bites back a sigh.
yeah. it was the wrong question. passing time until *who?

one month ago
“i believe her.”
joshua looks up from where he’s pulling up your messages on his phone and glares at jeonghan. “she’s a stranger. and you haven’t even seen what she said. how on earth can you already believe her?”
his best friend shrugs casually, bringing his straw to the corner of his mouth and sipping his americano nonchalantly like they’re not discussing the possibility of joshua’s girlfriend cheating on him. “i have eyes? ears? literally any one of the five senses? pick one and it can definitely pinpoint mina for the absolute snake she is.”
“okay, you’re biased, you hate everyone i date,” he mutters, returning to his phone so he can show jeonghan your conversation—if he can even call it that. most of it was just you screaming.
“yeah,” jeonghan agrees easily. he never made an effort to mask his feelings, something joshua still wasn’t sure if he appreciated or loathed. “because you date the most vapid, boring people.”
“oh, i’m sorry my tastes aren’t up to your standards,” he snarks, not bothering to look up.
“y’know, i’m glad you apologized—someone had to,” jeonghan says dramatically, making joshua roll his eyes. “i don’t know why you keep dragging these duds not only into your life but my life as well. why should i have to suffer too? you don’t even like any of these people.”
joshua immediately puts his phone down on the table. this is now the second time in 24 hours someone has claimed he doesn’t love or like mina. jeonghan raises an eyebrow at his sudden attention.
“what makes you say i don’t like mina?” he asks, eyes narrowing.
the man sitting across from him scoffs before putting his drink down and leaning his elbows on the table. “do you like mina?” jeonghan dodges the question.
“of course i like mina,” he says incredulously. “why would i stay with her this long if i didn’t like her?”
“beats me, i’d like to know too,” he retorts.
“jeonghan.”
he sighs, knowing he’s wearing joshua’s usually never-ending patience thin today. “okay, fine. you like mina,” he says in a way that blatantly confirms he doesn’t believe him. “what exactly do you like about her?”
“what?”
“what do you like about her?” he repeats easily.
“what do you mean?” joshua asks when his best friend doesn’t clarify.
jeonghan looks at him like he has two heads. “what do you mean what do i mean?” he asks, irritated. “it’s not some kind of trick question. what do you like about your girlfriend, dude?”
joshua is dismayed at his own silence. he realizes the first things that come to mind when he thinks about mina are physical traits. he likes her long hair. he likes the way she dresses. he likes the way she does her makeup. he likes her lip gloss—wait, no, not really because she doesn’t let him kiss her when she has it on… which is almost always. sure, she’s pretty, but… what does he really like about her?
he doesn’t have the time to ask himself what it could mean that he doesn’t have a meaningful answer, and jeonghan doesn’t have the time to laugh in his face and drive his point home. because at that moment, his phone pings, and it’s one message from you, just a little over 24 hours since your last message about him being heartless went ignored.
joshua glances down and feels his stomach turn.
i have evidence.
an hour later, joshua and jeonghan are sprawled across the latter’s living room. when they’d seen your message, both of them had quickly and wordlessly vacated the cafe they were holed up in, gotten to jeonghan’s apartment frighteningly fast, and rifled through the series of messages you sent—all of them photos you took of your boyfriend’s phone screen.
at first, joshua was just annoyed at how hard snapchat made it to read messages; most of the ones sent by whoever your boyfriend was were deleted. he was ready to wave you off and call your “evidence” a reach. but then, he got to more damning photos—photos he was a little vexed jeonghan got to see too.
because they just proved his know-it-all best friend right. mina was a fucking snake.

he’s shocked at the lengths they went to to be able to communicate with each other without being caught.
but perhaps the most damning piece of evidence of them all comes last: a photo of a woman’s naked back as she laid on her side in a bed—that wasn’t joshua’s or mina’s—away from the camera. it could’ve been anyone. the small tattoo at the base of her neck told joshua exactly who it was.
it wasn’t something he could refute anymore; you were obviously not a random person and you definitely weren’t mingyu playing some kind of sick prank.
“so what now?” jeonghan asks, both of them still starfished on the floor and staring at the ceiling after spending several minutes furiously swiping and cussing at his screen. “let’s fill all her shampoo bottles with hair remover,” he answers his own question before joshua can even open his mouth. “oh! or we can follow her around, inevitably find this tool, and kidnap him! i’m sure this y/n person will appreciate that too!”
joshua doesn’t bother entertaining his best friend with a proper response, choosing to ignore the suggestions altogether. his mind is racing a mile a minute, trying to find the point in his relationship mina might have started straying away. has it been happening the entire time? or did she recently decide joshua wasn’t fulfilling her needs to her liking?
“… his car and it’ll probably break down and explode at some point later that week?”
he frowns, realizing jeonghan has been suggesting ridiculous things they can do to mina and your boyfriend the entire time he was contemplating his relationship. it’s his first time getting cheated on, but he isn’t surprised at his best friend’s reaction to it. he’s more surprised when silence blankets over them for several long seconds before jeonghan asks:
“are you okay?” he sighs. “i know that’s a dumb question to ask. you’re obviously not going to be okay after finding out your girlfriend cheated on you.”
his frown deepens at that. it’s a fair statement. he always imagined this kind of thing would throw him into some kind of jealous rage—emotions he’s not really familiar with. rage like yours.
he wonders if he had been the one to find out about this, would he have had a meltdown the way you did? make a burner account and find you to tell you the way you did? try to find someone to commiserate with—even if it’s a stranger—the way you did?
no, probably not. he was telling the truth when he told you that all he would do is break up with mina.
and he’s incredibly confused to find that, contrary to what jeonghan is saying, he feels very okay with that. he can’t really imagine caring enough to do anything more, and he doesn’t know why. shouldn’t he care more?
if you and jeonghan were wrong about him loving mina the way he was so convinced you were, why didn’t he care more?
“joshua,” jeonghan reaches over and pokes his shoulder. “speak. you’re scaring me.”
he snorts. “i’m fine.”
“okay…” he responds slowly. “so still in shock?”
“no, i really think i’m fine,” joshua says, shaking his head at the ceiling. “i feel… normal. i guess just confused about when and why she decided to cheat.”
“you did nothing wrong. she’s just a conniving, slutty ingrate who doesn’t know that she’s throwing away the most decent man in the universe,” he assures him. “which brings me back to my initial question. what should we do now to punish said conniving, slutty ingrate?”
joshua sighs. “we’re not doing anything. i am breaking up with her as soon as she gets off work.”
jeonghan perks up, rolling over onto his stomach and crawling to him until his head appears in his line of vision. his best friend has a shit-eating smile on his face that makes him instinctively roll his eyes.
“can i be there?”
he knows he should say no. it’s an absurd request and it shouldn’t even take joshua more than a second to answer. but as he thinks about it, jeonghan continuing to smile at him like a little devil on his shoulder, he thinks it might be nice to have him there and shame mina for cheating in a way he knows he doesn’t really care to do himself.
he shrugs. “sure, why not?”
jeonghan squeals with delight, scrambling to get up. “come on, we have to make sure you look smoking hot so it hurts her twice as bad. you can borrow my leather pants.”
“leather?!” joshua repeats. “it’s the middle of summer!”

joshua texted mina to let her know he wanted to talk to her after work and he would be dropping by. she told him several times that tonight wasn’t a great time and insisted they wait until tomorrow, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about her convenience, so here he is, with jeonghan practically vibrating with excitement at his side, standing outside her apartment building.
“i still think you should’ve worn the leather pants,” his best friend says, “but you look killer. she’s gonna shit herself.”
joshua recoils at the idea but thanks him anyway.
“ready?”
he sighs. “yeah, i guess. ready as i’ll—oof!”
he stumbles a few steps and right into jeonghan as someone violently shoves him, continuing to push and slap at both him and his best friend until they’re several steps away from the entrance to mina’s apartment.
“what the—”
“and what the hell are you doing here?!” a female voice shrieks.
he wants to yell at this stranger for putting her hands on him. he wants to tell her to have some manners and to get away from him. at the very least, he wants to glare at her until she shrivels up in shame and scurries away. but all ideas of even attempting to do any of that die as soon as he lays eyes on the stranger.
your instagram photos don’t really do you justice (of course he looked. he really thought mingyu was pranking him and had even mentally applauded him for his effort to find a cute girl to post so consistently). your photos were well-taken and curated perfectly for your profile, but now that you were—for some weird reason—standing in front of joshua and jeonghan, he can confidently call your photos dirty liars. he can’t blame them, though. he has a feeling no camera in the world can capture how pretty you actually are in real life.
prettier than anyone i’ve ever dated, his intrusive thoughts remind him. prettier than mina.
“well?!” you screech when neither of them answer you, making them both flinch. you don’t notice your effect on them, though, because you’re busy frantically looking between them and the entrance of the building like you’re scared the three of you will be seen.
he knows jeonghan is thinking the same, exact thing he is because he is never rendered silent.
“i—uh,” joshua stammers for what he thinks might be the very first time in his life. “we…”
jeonghan glances at him, face twisted in amused confusion before he schools his expression and points his signature stunning smile at you. “you’re y/n! hi!”
“who the hell are you?” you turn back to them, cross your arms, and practically bark at him.
his best friend’s laugh is exaggerated and several decibels louder than it has any business being. it grates joshua’s nerves. he glares at him but jeonghan pays him no attention. “i like her,” he mutters to him before saying, “i’m jeonghan.”
“okay, jeonghan,” you spit his name like venom, obviously unimpressed, making him giggle.
joshua rolls his eyes at him and his increasing giddiness. his best friend doesn’t date often, but he shouldn’t be surprised that he enjoys this kind of vitriol. jeonghan is, at his core, attracted to the same chaos and mischief he himself is made of.
“what are you doing here?” you ask again, raising an eyebrow at joshua to make it clear you’re talking to him.
“i’m… here to break up,” he answers weakly. “with mina! i’m here to break up with… mina.”
he doesn’t know what’s come over him, but being confronted by you in person and unnervingly close in his vicinity has him forgetting how to properly communicate. the thought of blocking you was a lot easier when he had no idea if you were a real person. now, he feels like there’s no escaping you.
“what are you doing here?” jeonghan asks the question he forgets to return to you.
you ignore him, eyes staying trained on joshua as you speak, and something about you pretending like his best friend doesn’t exist forces him to fight down a smile.
“you’re not breaking up with her today,” you order him confidently, like you know saying it is enough for joshua to agree. if the way his palms start to sweat are a sign, you might be right. “she’s up there with siwoo.”
“who’s—”
“my boyfriend,” you answer before jeonghan can even finish his question. “i followed him here when he told me he was getting drinks with coworkers.”
joshua’s stomach flips. he’s not really sure how anyone can even think about another person in your presence, let alone cheat on you. maybe your intensity scares siwoo, though. it definitely kind of scares him.
“you mean… they’re up there right now… and they’re probably…” jeonghan’s sentence trails off, but you’re you and you don’t shy away from finishing it.
“fucking?” you ask with a biting and sarcastic enthusiasm. “yeah, jeonghan! probably!”
joshua winces. your rage was already palpable via DMs, but it’s near suffocating in person. it grabs him by the neck and shoves his face back into the dilemma he was quietly contemplating back at jeonghan’s apartment: why isn’t he sharing the same anger? why isn't he doubled over, throwing up at the idea of mina having sex with someone up in her apartment at this very moment?
“are you hungry?” you direct the question to him.
“what?” he asks dumbly.
“are. you. hungry?” you repeat, irritation laced in your voice.
“i am!” jeonghan announces.
you give him a blank stare before looking back at joshua. when he fails to say anything, you sigh, your temper appearing to deflate infinitesimally.
“they’re going to be a while,” you inform him like you’ve done this before. “there’s a fried chicken shop i like nearby.” okay, so you’ve definitely done this before. “we can eat and… talk, i guess.”
“we would love to talk. right, joshua?” jeonghan asks, pinching his side with more force than necessary. he fights to keep from jumping.
"sure," he finally agrees. "i could eat."

"thanks for ignoring me amidst my weekend-long menty b, by the way," you say sarcastically as you set down a pitcher of beer and three glasses next to the tray of friend chicken on the table.
"ment—?"
"mental breakdown," jeonghan whispers to him as he reaches to pluck a piece of fried chicken from the tray.
instead of depositing it on his own plate, he stretches across the table to put it on yours. joshua's eyes involuntarily narrow at the gesture. he doesn't realize he's glaring at his best friend until he speaks again.
"what?" he pouts at him but his eyes glint with mischief. "ladies first."
"thanks," you murmur, not-at-all sounding thankful. jeonghan snorts. "well? explain your rude behavior." he looks back over to you to find you sulking. you add more chicken to your plate even though you haven't touched the one jeonghan gave you.
"ah." joshua shakes his head. "i was just... not all the way convinced you weren't my friend trying to mess with me."
"mingyu," you say the name a lot like you said jeonghan's and for some reason, it makes him smile.
"yeah," he confirms, laughing a little. "mingyu. he's been known to play a prank or two on me."
"our joshua is just very gullible," jeonghan supplies as he serves joshua chicken now. the statement feels like a crack to the ribs. it's what mina called him when she was messaging siwoo. gullible. "so he's slow to trust."
joshua doesn't have a chance to argue that because you're, once again, ignoring jeonghan to ask him another question. "and now?"
"now what?"
"i take it you're all the way convinced?" you clarify as you tear into your first piece of chicken like you haven't eaten in years. with a full mouth, you add: "i mean, i assume you are if you're here to break up with your girlfriend."
"uh... yeah..." he nods slowly, distracted.
joshua is often described by his friends as a gentleman—elegant even. with the exception of jeonghan and mingyu—the two people who know him best—he is always polite and accommodating. he's careful that his clothes are always pressed and lint-free. he always has good posture, and he does his best to remember his table etiquette, especially in the presence of elders. he tries to be buttoned up and put-together almost all of the time, sometimes even to his own detriment.
so staring at you, wiping soy garlic sauce off your mouth with the back of your hand and talking with your pieces of chewed up chicken tucked into one, puffy cheek, he should absolutely feel repulsed.
he frowns at you and knows it probably looks like he is repulsed by you. but really, he's just confused about why you look so endearing sitting there, eating like it pains you to while taking turns glaring at your drumstick and glaring at him and his best friend.
"hello?" you wave your saucy fingers in front of joshua's face. "is he always this... spacey?" you ask jeonghan without taking your eyes off him.
"i'm glad you asked! no," the man next to him answers—also through cheeks full of chicken. "i've actually never seen him this nerv—"
"sorry, what were you saying?" joshua interjects before everyone at this table, including him, has to face the fact that yes, he is very much nervous and he's unsure why.
you sigh as you wipe your fingers on a napkin. "what is it about me that men's eyes just begin to glaze over as soon as my mouth opens?" you complain, the signature rage joshua has come to expect from you in the one hour he's known you bubbling back to the surface.
his eyes widen in horror at the thought of you mistaking his fascination with disinterest. "oh! i didn't—no, i'm not—i—"
"what joshua is trying and failing miserably to say," jeonghan cuts in, sneaking him a look that screams get it together, "is that no one here is ignoring you. he's just... trying to process all of this. after all, you had all weekend to think about this, and he just realized you were telling the truth, what? two hours ago?"
you stare at jeonghan with the same unimpressed expression you’ve been forcing on him since you met him. after a moment, your gaze travels to joshua, and he gives you a meek smile. you finally hum in understanding.
“sorry, i know i’m projecting. i’m just all…” you wave your hand wildly near your temple to mimic a muddled brain. “siwoo has done a number on me.”
joshua finally gains enough composure to string a sentence together. “i’m sorry i ignored your messages… and blocked your burner account.” you cringe at that but nod an acceptance of his apology. “and i’m sorry i’m not fully present right now. jeonghan’s right.”
kind of. not really. he was processing your existence more than he was processing being cheated on, to be frank.
“i’m just… trying to understand what’s happening, i guess. for what it’s worth, i find it really unbelievable that anyone would ever cheat on you.”
he ignores the way jeonghan inhales deeply and slowly through his nose. only joshua would be able to tell it’s the equivalent of him scream-giggling and kicking his feet when he’s trying to be discreet.
your eyebrows rise like you’re shocked joshua is capable of more than grunts and one-word replies.
“ditto,” you say plainly. joshua can’t help the immediate laugh that escapes his mouth at that, and he’s pleased when you smile for the first time since you met. “mina seems dumb. and not just because she and siwoo are ruining my life. you’re very handsome. and if you blocking me on instagram so fast is any indication, you seem very loyal too.”
you say it easily, as if giving out compliments like that is no big deal to you. maybe it isn’t, but even if that’s true, he’s going to appreciate it nonetheless.
unfortunately, that appreciation manifests in a fierce blush joshua feels spreading across his face like wildfire, much to his mortification. he doesn’t remember the last time he blushed like a pathetic schoolboy with a crush. it was probably when he was an actual pathetic schoolboy with a crush.
he clears his throat, choosing to ignore the compliment. “yeah, i guess we have the same, bad taste in dummies.”
you suddenly groan, throw your head back, and blink rapidly at the ceiling like you're trying your best not to cry. both men glance at each other and fidget awkwardly at the abrupt change of mood, neither of them being great at handling a crying woman. joshua has little to no experience with it and jeonghan tends to fall back on ill-timed jokes during times of distress.
"i followed him here months ago," you tell them unprompted. “i followed him here so many times because he was always so fucking sketchy. but his lie always involved ‘one of the guys,’ so i just thought his friend lived in that building.”
“and you found out this weekend…?” jeonghan asks carefully. joshua rubs the back of his neck nervously.
you nod, squeezing your eyes shut briefly before bringing your line of sight back to them. your eyes are glassy but your efforts to keep from crying were mostly successful.
“he lent me his laptop because mine stopped working,” you explain, rolling your eyes like having a broken laptop on top of all this is almost enough to send you over the edge. “his texts are connected on there too. i was at a cafe with a friend, and one of those verification texts came through. i ignored it but a few seconds later, it messaged again and i saw that he’d replied on his phone.”
“he told her it was safe to text,” joshua says, remembering the photos you sent.
“yeah…” you breathe, hugging yourself tightly and rubbing your arms as you try to self-soothe. “and i just sat there in front of my friends, watching him make plans with her in real time… brainstorm the lies they agreed to tell us… and i just had to pretend to be normal or else i would’ve burned that cafe to the ground.”
jeonghan coughs as he chokes on his chicken a little. joshua pats him on the back absentmindedly, eyes never leaving you, even as his best friend stretches across him, still coughing, to pour everyone a glass of beer. you sniffle as you accept your glass with a small nod, your body visibly relaxing as you take your first sip. he tries not to gawk when you down it all in one go.
joshua thinks this is probably what someone in love should look like when their heart has been broken: drunk and sad. now that the initial shock of seeing you in person has worn off, he can see how tired you really look. there are dark, bruising circles under your eyes, visible even under your makeup, and your hair looks like it was haphazardly put up into a ponytail to avoid having to wash or brush it. your eyes are tinged pink, a little swollen, and dull, like you’ve been crying all weekend. you have been crying all weekend.
and joshua? he’s asking himself why he hasn’t felt the urge to cry at all yet because right now, he could be the poster child for soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend who is going to be okay has been okay, is okay, and will always be okay. aside from his irritation with mina and her insane audacity, today is like any other day.
he’s never had his heart broken before this, but maybe it’s just different for guys. he read somewhere that men’s emotional intelligence develop a lot slower than women’s; maybe he just hasn’t reached a level of maturity you have.
“anyway,” you say as you stifle a tiny burp that makes jeonghan giggle for the nth time tonight, “i’m going to ruin his life.”
okay, so maybe maturity is the wrong word.
“wh…” joshua glances at jeonghan for confirmation he heard correctly.
his best friend’s eyes are lit up with excitement as he leans forward with impossibly even more interest in what the pretty lady across the table has to say. joshua would slap him if they were alone. what for, he doesn’t know, but he would.
“sorry, what was that?” he asks, trying not to sound judgmental at the risk of setting your anger off again.
“she’s going to ruin his life,” jeonghan answers for you giddily. “what are you going to do? i told joshua he should fill mina’s shampoo bottle with hair remover.”
that earns the two men another smile from you, but this time, joshua finds himself annoyed it was because of something jeonghan said.
“oh my god, that’s vile,” you say even though you’re grinning and obviously love the idea. “maybe i’ll add that as a little cherry on top for siwoo.”
“oh, he’ll be so ugly,” jeonghan claims like he’s already daydreaming about it.
“you don’t even know what he looks like,” joshua murmurs.
“i don’t need to,” he responds, smiling as he stares off into the distance. “a stupid motherfucker who can cheat on our lovely y/n, here, like that has to look like ass.”
you roll your eyes at the compliment but your cheeks turn a cute shade of pink anyway.
“well, making him bald will look like child’s play when i’m done with him,” you match jeonghan’s dreamy tone, and joshua feels a chill of fear from having the two of you at the same table crawl up his spine. why was he a magnet for agents of chaos?
“is that why you haven’t broken up?” he asks. “you’re scheming to ruin his life?”
you frown. “what makes you think we haven’t broken up?”
joshua shrugs. “maybe the fact that you followed him here and then shoved me and my best friend into next week to keep us from attracting any attention?”
jeonghan snickers and your cheeks turn a darker shade.
“ah, right.” you nod once. “sorry about that.” you don’t look sorry at all and joshua finds himself thinking it’s amusing. “i suppose that was a bit… rude.”
joshua hums like he’s contemplating your apology but he knows it’s clear he’s fighting a smile as he brings his beer to his lips.
you sigh. “anyway, yes. that’s why i’m still with him. he doesn’t even know i know. i’m trying to get my ducks in a row and figure out the most devastating way to leave him.”
jeonghan smirks. “my kind of girl.”
joshua’s foot finds his best friend’s and stomps on it as hard as he can without thinking twice about it. it almost shocks him—how much it felt like instinct—but after the day he’s had, he thinks he’s entitled to a bit of a tantrum. maybe this is how he is when his heart is broken. a little mean.
“ow, what the fu—”
“so what’s the plan?” joshua asks loudly when your eyes snap up to jeonghan mid-sip over the glass of your beer.
you lick your lips clean of foam before setting the glass down, and joshua forces himself to look away when he notices how plump and pink they are.
“well, to be honest… i haven’t been the smartest,” you admit, seeming timid for the first time since you barged into his DMs. it’s an odd look on you. “i—um. i kind of rely on him… financially.”
the explanation comes tumbling past your lips after that like you’re afraid the two of them are going to judge you if you allow even a second of silence to pass.
“i had a job! i had a great job! but siwoo’s a bit traditional, and he comes from a more conservative family that really buys into gender roles, and i mean, fuck that, right?”
you give them no chance to agree.
“i’m a feminist! i swear to god i’m a fucking feminist!” you’re practically shouting now and the two men are so stunned, they can’t bring themselves to notice or care that the other patrons of the restaurant are starting to look over. “but i was in love! and i thought i was going to marry this moron! so i convinced myself i wanted to stay home and i wanted to clean the house and take care of a man—”
you say the word with so much disgust, both joshua and jeonghan struggle to keep from laughing.
“—and he was so happy when i quit my job like he’s been asking me to, and i thought i was happy too, like, what woman doesn’t want to be taken care of by a rich man?!”
you pause to burp briefly but it still isn’t enough time for either of them to get a word in.
“though again, i was in love! i was looking at that shithead through rose-tinted glasses! he’s nothing but a spoiled mama’s boy with a rich family! that asshole doesn’t have to do anything for the wealth he has! so, like, really… what woman wants to be fake-taken-care-of by a 30-something-year-old mama’s boy?!”
the words come with even more disgust than “man.”
“and he had the nerve to act like he was better than me because i had to work for everything i had before him! like, dude. if your bank account is still connected to your fucking mom’s, lower your goddamn voice when speaking to me!”
his best friend’s mouth drops open in absolute joy-filled shock at your biting remark. he’s enjoying meeting someone as chaotic as he is too much.
“and what was it for?! empty promises that he would propose soon?! endless faked orgasms for a man who’s afraid to give a woman head?!”
jeonghan chokes again, this time on nothing. joshua has more decorum but he can’t help the way his face turns bright red.
“you’d swear i was harboring a monster down there the way he cringed at the mere mention of oral, like, what is he, 12?!”
joshua has to avert his eyes to the ceiling of the restaurant at the mention of your “monster,” and he can’t even get it together long enough to nudge jeonghan when he bursts into hysterical laughter. they might as well be nonexistent, though, because you keep barreling through your rant.
“i was on track to be a director before 30! i was a fucking star! and look what he made me!” you screech, words slurring.
it takes your slurred speech and yet another burp for joshua to realize with mild horror that the pitcher of beer is almost empty, and that he and jeonghan are still on their first glasses. he elbows his best friend, who’s still cackling, and motions at the pitcher. jeonghan sighs happily as the last of his laughter leaves him and mutters a quiet: holy shit, pretty aggretsuko can drink.
“he turned me into a housewife! and i remind you: I AM A FEMINIST!” you slam your palms against the table to each word to punctuate your point. joshua can see why you picked aggretsuko for your burner account. “i support a woman’s choice to be a housewife if that’s what she wants, but my dumb ass didn’t realize that this isn’t the life i wanted until this fucking weekend! god!” you groan miserably. “all of this heartache and for what?! he cheated on me and now i’m jobless and about to be homeless and completely broke, and i…”
you abruptly run out of steam, slumping in your seat and looking at your near-empty glass of beer pitifully. joshua has the urge to round the table and give you a hug, but he stays put, trying to process the whiplash of witnessing what he imagines is a mini “menty b.”
you take a few breaths before quietly saying, “i can’t believe this is what being in love got me.”
something violently lurches inside joshua’s chest when you say that.
“i can’t believe something that’s supposed to be as beautiful as love blinded me so badly.” your voice cracks. your eyes well with tears and this time, you make no move to stop them as they begin to streak your face. “how the hell can love hurt this much?”
joshua’s mouth falls open to say something—anything. any kind of comfort or kindness or advice. but no sound escapes his lips as he watches your heart break into tiny, little pieces in front of him.
he’ll look back at this moment and realize this was the first time his heart knew something before he, himself, did: what he had with mina wasn’t love—that he had actually never even been in love before. there’s no world where mina would ever have the kind of effect siwoo has on you on him, and there isn't anything mina can do that would make joshua scorn the concept of love because it's something he never even experienced with her in the first place.
but for now, all he can think is that, despite barely knowing you and despite being somewhat afraid of you, he has an insatiable want to fix this for you. he wants you to stop crying. he wants to see the rare smiles they were gifted tonight on your face once more. most of all, he wants to make the man who made you cry sorry for ever entering your life.
the words are out of his mouth before he can think twice about them.
“i’ll help you.” you immediately stop crying and look up at him with wide eyes. “i’ll help you ruin this idiot’s life. and when the two of us are through with him, i promise you he’ll be afraid to breathe within a 10-mile vicinity of you.”

joshua is surprised you haven’t already responded to tease him about his fickle typing bubbles because for the last ten minutes, he’s tried and stopped, tried and stopped (stopped, stopped, stopped) to find a response to your question that was not only honest with you, but with himself.
it’s not lost on him how unconcerned and unbothered he was with the repulsive and heinous death his relationship suffered last night. jeonghan made sure to point it out the entire way home, all while nearly choking him and stimming his socked, shoeless feet against his torso during his piggyback ride.
“so are we going to talk about the fact that you had zero reaction to mina having a guy up in her apartment?” jeonghan muttered not one minute after demanding joshua carry him home.
“we were in the presence of a stranger,” joshua grumbled, adjusting jeonghan higher on his back. “how should i have reacted?”
jeonghan hummed in thought. “i guess if it were me, i wouldn’t have really cared about strangers. i would’ve started with busting into her apartment and hoping you were present to keep me from committing second-degree murder. that’s a start, no?”
joshua sighed. “you’ve known me practically my entire life. i’ve never been like that.”
“i know.”
he said it in a resigned way, as if a visceral reaction was a healthy one and joshua was depriving himself. as if jeonghan wanted more for him—like he wanted him to cause a scene and make a fuss. the thought confused him but he stayed silent as his best friend continued.
“i kind of just… i don’t know, worry?”
joshua smiled. he could practically hear the wince on jeonghan’s face from having to be serious as he spoke.
“i lowkey expected a meltdown like y/n’s from you at my place. are you sure you’re okay? i feel like i’m waiting for the aftershock of an earthquake.”
“are you saying you think i’m emotionally repressed?” he asked, putting the pieces together and saying what jeonghan was dancing around.
“well, if you think that’s what i’m saying, who am i to argue with your interpretation of my words?”
he snickered. “i literally cried when you told me about that deep-sea anglerfish that swam to the surface of the ocean to see the sun before it died. i wouldn’t call myself emotionally repressed.”
“okay, repressed isn’t the right word,” jeonghan conceded. “it’s just—ugh, hold on.”
he suddenly started wriggling in his hold, obviously asking to be let down without vocalizing it. joshua squatted down to let him off his back, and before he could straighten all the way up, jeonghan had him by the shoulders and was turning him around almost violently.
“ungh!” joshua grunted as he came face-to-face with him.
“listen,” he said, capturing joshua’s face between his hands, forcing his wide, surprised eyes to meet jeonghan’s. “i’m going to ask you something seriously, and i want you to answer just as seriously, okay?”
joshua frowned. “okay…”
jeonghan nodded curtly once before speaking. “your girlfriend of over a year is cheating on you.”
“dude. i kn—”
“uh-uh, i’m speaking,” he deadpanned, tapping a finger against joshua’s temple.
he sighed. “okay, go on.”
“your girlfriend of over a year is cheating on you,” he repeated, this time slower and with more emphasis, as if it was something he was convinced joshua didn’t totally understand. “she went out of her way to sneak behind your back, and not only lie to—your—face!” he practically shouted. “but laugh about lying to your face with that scumbag asshole. and when you went over to break up with her, she was entertaining her side-piece in her apartment!”
joshua fidgeted under his hold. having it repeated like this did hurt him, and although he spent a lot of this time wondering why he wasn’t as affected as you were, he felt a little sad and lonely now, standing there being reminded that his relationship just imploded.
“in all of this,” jeonghan continued, “the most reaction i saw from you was some quiet cussing when we looked through y/n’s screenshots, and i know you’re capable of being upset.” he smirked. “anglerfish aside, i know that you can express emotion healthily. so…” he took a deep breath.
when he didn’t say anything for several seconds, obviously hesitating, joshua raised his eyebrows. “so…?”
jeonghan’s gaze flicked down to him from where he had been frowning at nothing above his head.
“so…” he inhaled slowly. “do you think you really… truly loved mina?”
he hadn’t been able to answer a barefoot jeonghan last night, and even after tossing and turning for hours and thinking of nothing else this morning, joshua finds that he still doesn’t have an answer.
if he measured love by how heartbroken someone was after it ended, he’d say you were (are?) madly in love with siwoo and he’s basically been in a committed friendship with mina—apparently a shitty one at that. but is that even the proper way to measure love? did the way he cared for mina for the past year count for nothing? a tender, aching hurt bloomed in his chest when jeonghan stopped him and forced him to look at his love life closely, and it has just grown since then. he doesn’t know if it’s telling him that love is more than the way it ends or if it’s telling him he’s been living life without it.
the jarring sound of his phone ringing interrupts his introspection, and he’s startled to find your contact on the incoming call. he quietly gets up from his desk and vacates his cubicle, where he has been neglecting his work to figure out a way to respond to you. he slips into one of the office’s private phone rooms and answers.
“hello…?” he rolls his eyes at how confused his sounds. smooth.
“you’re taking ages to reply,” you inform him, forgoing a normal greeting. “thought i’d call and see what has you so committed to sending me nothing but typing bubbles.”
joshua sighs harder than he needs to, sinking into the seat in the booth. “do you have nothing better to do than stare at my messages and wait for a reply?”
“no,” you scoff. “should i remind you i’m a stay-at-home girlfriend?” you spit the words out like you’re ashamed of them. he knows that you are and winces, silently chiding himself for the poorly timed joke. “i’m not doing anything for that cheater and his apartment while i have to continue living in this hellhole.”
“fair,” joshua says quickly. “sorry. forgot for a second.”
you snort. “it’s fine. what are you thinking about?”
“um, i’m at work, so… work?”
“no, dude, in regard to my question,” you remind him, laughing. he squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to groan. he knows he’s not doing a good job of convincing you that you don’t make him nervous. “why are you overthinking your answer so hard?”
“i’m not overthinking,” he mutters petulantly. “i’m just…”
“thinking overly hard?”
he hates that he cracks a smile at that. “fine, i might be overthinking.”
“oh! well, welcome to my page. i’m glad we’re now on the same one.” he can’t help but grin even wider at your apparently never-ending well of sarcasm. “so what are we overthinking about?”
we. you just met last night—barely agreed to help each other last night—and already, there’s a we. and already, joshua feels comfortable with the notion of that.
he shrugs even though you can’t see him. he slides down until his neck meets the curve of his seat and he stares at the ceiling as he speaks. “i was there to break up with her last night.”
you hum. “i remember. and you still want to.”
it’s more an observation than a question.
“well, i guess that’s what i’m overthinking about.”
“bro, i get it,” you say, shuffling around in what he assumes is your bed. he narrows his eyes at the word bro. “staying with your awful partner and pretending like everything’s okay when all you want to do is strangle him is certainly not for the weak.”
“okay well, thankfully, i don’t want to strangle mina.”
you laugh again and he suddenly wishes he’d gotten to see and hear you do that in person last night. “so what do you want to do to mina?” you ask as the sounds of you moving around the apartment come through the phone. “please don’t say nothing. i already feel like a horrible enough person as it is.”
the statement derails joshua’s train of thought. “why do you feel like a horrible person?”
“probably because i’m committed to doing whatever it takes to burn siwoo’s life to the ground instead of just breaking up with him and moving on like a normal, well-adjusted adult, and if you say ‘nothing,’ it will just remind me moving on is exactly what i’m supposed to be doing. and i don’t want to do that! not without fucking some lives up first!” you end your ramble with a grunt of frustration.
“i don’t think that makes you horrible,” joshua counters. “i think that just makes you… human? i feel like the normal reaction is to want to hurt someone as badly as they hurt you, right?”
at least from how joshua sees it, he thinks that’s probably the normal reaction. if jeonghan’s pressing questions say anything, it’s that his lack of reaction isn’t normal.
the sounds in the background pause like you’ve stopped to think about what he said. after a few moments, your only response is: “thanks.”
“i’m just being honest.”
“i know. thanks for saying it anyway,” you sigh as you continue to do whatever you were doing. “well?”
“well, what?”
“you haven’t answered my question.” you repeat it for him. “what do you want to do about mina?”
he groans, letting his eyes fall shut. “i want to break up with her and forget she happened.”
“do all men move on that fast?” you ask, sounding genuinely curious. “like, do you all just decide you don’t love someone anymore and move on after, like, a week?”
“i’m not moving on fast,” he argues, opening his eyes once more and sitting up. “i just want to give myself a chance to move on at all.”
“so mature of you,” you comment. something tells him you don’t believe that, though, and you prove him right with your next sentence. “or you just don’t love mina as much as you think you do.”
“what is with you guys and insisting i didn’t love my long-term girlfriend?” he complains.
“who’s ‘you guys’?” you sound too excited to realize more than one person in his life has made this observation about his relationship.
“nobody,” he practically hisses, not wanting to give you and jeonghan something to bond over and tease him about.
if he had his way, he’d probably make it so that you two never hung out again; your threatening energy as a duo honestly freaked him out a little and something about the way his best friend acted around you irritated him to no end. but he knows that helping you with siwoo will probably entail jeonghan butting in somewhere at some point.
“i loved mina, okay?” he insists, annoyed with the way he sounds like he’s trying to convince not only you but himself. “why do you even think otherwise?”
he doesn’t think he needs to point out that ultimately, you two don’t really know each other. you don’t have enough evidence to make such a massive assumption about him.
“i don’t know,” you mumble, “ugh.” he hears something clink against what sounds like porcelain. “i guess i’m having a hard time knowing that i’m devolving into this… child who’s having a world-war-sized tantrum, but someone who’s going through the same, exact thing i am is able to handle his emotions maturely... and gracefully… and just walk away. you’re so level-headed. meanwhile, i feel like my anger is consuming me.”
he rolls his lips over his teeth and bites, like that will help him from saying something too intimate to someone who’s still virtually a stranger. he suddenly feels sad for you again. it shoves away the newly formed pain in his chest that jeonghan forced there last night and burrows deep in his ribs the same way it did when he was watching you sob over fried chicken and beer.
“it’s kind of funny,” he starts, his voice soft and hesitant. “i thought something was wrong with me for not reacting the way you were.”
“nothing’s wrong with you,” you assure him. “sorry, i know me joking that you didn’t love mina probably makes you feel that way. i’m just trying to find an excuse for why you’re doing this so well and i’m… not. guess it’s easier to tell myself you’re moving on so fast because you didn’t love her in the first place.”
“you know,” joshua starts making his own observation as he thinks about the way you apologized for projecting your feelings about siwoo on him last night, “you’re super self-aware.”
“pfft, well as my therapist would point out, what good does that do if i’m aware i’m being self-destructive and i do it anyway?”
he smiles. “does that make me an accomplice to your self-destruction?”
“of course. you’re still willing to help with project destroy-siwoo-and-maybe-y/n-in-the-process, though, right?”
he grins wider. “of course,” he parrots before getting serious again. “but hey, i’m definitely not a good bar to set yourself against when it comes to break-ups. i’ve had too many to be someone you want to compare yourself to. you’re not not doing well.” he frowns at himself. super eloquent, joshua. “i think you’re handling this as best as you can. plus, i’m not going to pretend like siwoo doesn’t deserve everything that’s coming to him.”
you giggle like the thought of siwoo’s life crashing to the ground excites you. he knows it does. “okay, well if you’re committed to enabling me, i’m not going to make you stop.” joshua laughs loudly at that and you join in. “you have a nice laugh,” you tell him once you both stop.
“yah,” he whines. “are you always so bold?”
“didn’t we already establish that i am? what’s the big deal, anyway? i think we should all compliment each other more. it balances out my devotion to rage and revenge.”
he shakes his head, smiling once more. his cheeks are beginning to hurt. “fine. i’ll try to get used to it.”
“good!” you chirp as he hears more clinking in the background.
“what are you doing, by the way?”
“uh, i’ll tell you later,” you give him a non-answer before quickly directing his attention elsewhere. “so are we leaving mina out of this? should i just let you move on and grieve however emotionally healthy people grieve and tear up the mina section of my revenge plans?”
he snorts. “wow, okay, i need to stop letting your antics surprise me.”
“i agree. it’ll make this friendship easier for you.”
“i’ll bite. what’s in the mina section?”
“oh, nothing huge yet since i know nothing about her. i have jeonghan’s brilliant hair remover bit in there though.”
joshua glares at the wall across from him. he agrees that jeonghan is generally brilliant but he’s irked to hear you say it anyway. “right.”
“mhm,” you hum.
“well,” joshua sighs, knowing that after several minutes on the phone with you, he has yet to give you an answer and he should really get back to work. “i guess that’s what makes the most sense for me. tearing up the mina section of the plan.”
honestly, nothing really sounds better to him than getting her out of his hair.
“okay,” you agree quickly. “i can’t lie, i’m a bit disappointed because the scorned woman in me of course also wants to ruin mina’s life, but you’re the boss.”
he has no idea why he’s the boss when this is all your master plan, but he appreciates the grace you give him. he knows it’s probably not easy for you to redirect your disdain for mina and refrain from including her in your mission to ruin lives. well, life—one life: siwoo’s.
“at least i can keep my girl’s girl reputation in tact.”
he smiles at your priorities: 1. ruin siwoo’s life 2. remain a girl’s girl.
“exacting revenge on mina would do nothing to your girl’s girl reputation,” he assures you. “she’s the one who isn’t being a girl’s girl. she’s the asshole here.”
“oooh,” you sing, very clearly delighted, “joshie’s getting mad!”
he’s glad you’re not here to see him blush for no reason. when he’s too flustered to respond, you chuckle.
“i guess we don’t really need to go after mina, anyway, huh? you’re probably just as angry at siwoo for stealing her away too,” she thinks aloud.
he stills.
joshua is a little embarrassed to admit he didn’t even consider that. he’s typically a proud man—humble and grounded, but he takes pride in himself nonetheless. is it weird that he didn’t think twice about the fact that siwoo disrespected him and his relationship by pursuing mina? up until now, his anger was mostly feeding off of your sadness.
“joshua?”
“uh, yeah,” he stammers. “yeah. siwoo’s enough.”
“figured. we’ll make him pay real good for the both of us then.”
joshua nervously squirms in his seat. “yup. well, i should get back to work,” he says awkwardly. if you notice, you don’t point it out for once. “let me know what we should do next whenever you’re ready.”
he can practically hear the smile in your voice. “okay, and you let me know how breaking up with mina goes.”
if he had his wits about him, he'd probably give you shit for sounding so happy about the looming end, but he doesn't. so all he does say is:
“bye, y/n.”
“later!”
just a few moments later, he’s back in his cubicle when another text from you comes in.
he wasn’t scared, just like he wasn’t annoyed that you ate like you were discovering food for the first time. the right word didn't come to him until he was almost done with the report he had been working on before you texted: he was charmed.

a/n: thanks for waiting! hope you liked it! as you can probably tell, this is already way longer than i planned on it being so i’m not entirely sure how many parts this will be, but it’s my priority fic rn so i’ll work hard on updates! for now, keep reading to see a teaser for the next part! (´。• ᵕ •。`) ♡
if you’d like to be added to the tag list, comment here or send me an ask! if you requested to be on the list but weren’t tagged in this post or the reblog, it’s bc you don’t have an age indicator on your page. pls add that if you want to be tagged next time.

part two teaser
and when he felt a little better in his own skin and ready to put a “realer” version of himself out there, he met mina. mina, his longest relationship, and up until now, someone he was convinced was his first love. he said as much anyway. he was the first to tell her he loved her, he reminded her he did every day, and he thought they had a nice, long future ahead of them. what he pictured in that future exactly, he had no clue. but after an odd and somewhat unlucky streak in dating, he finally felt like mina was a nice and comfy place to land.
he’s never been more wrong about something in his entire life.
and after the laughable amount of breakups he’s experienced, he’s also never been angrier after the end of a relationship in his entire life.
mina was proving to be a lot of firsts for him—first cheater, first master manipulator and liar, first person who’s ever made him wonder if he could possibly switch over to dating men instead… or simply stop dating at all! sure, he would die alone but he would die in peace.
whatever the case, he's quickly approaching the conclusion that “first love” is not among those firsts, and it probably never was. no amount of teasing from you or jeonghan did it, but in less than a handful of minutes spent breaking up with mina, he is a million percent sure this was not someone he could have loved. or else what did that say about him and his taste?
sixteen minutes earlier
joshua arrives at mina’s apartment exactly two hours after work ends for her—5 p.m. every day because she always scheduled a pilates class at 5:30 p.m. thirty minutes for her to get to her class, one hour for her to finish it, 30 minutes for her to get home, zero minutes for her to get clean because he doesn’t care how presentable she is when he dumps her.
plus, however long it takes joshua to end this.
he hadn’t bothered to tell her he was coming over; he didn’t think she really deserved that courtesy. he may be intent on a clean break, but he also wanted this to be as annoying for her as it has been for him.
so at a prompt 7 p.m., joshua finds himself casually leaning against the elevator’s railing, ascending the floors of mina’s apartment and feeling almost excited to be free of this experience.
after he got off the phone with you, he decided he would bite the bullet when work was over. he spent the rest of his day absentmindedly finishing his reports, periodically stopping to scribble an idea for what he would say to his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend.
he takes the folded piece of paper out of his pocket now and runs over his options again.
his levels of shame and self-pity were sky high when he first pulled out his notepad at the office to write his thoughts out, but after texting you and letting you know what he planned to do, you insisted on meeting at a cafe beforehand to brainstorm together while he waited for mina’s pilates class to end. and once you both workshopped the entire list, his embarrassment diminished almost completely.
it was clear you took this a lot more seriously than he did. he doesn't know what he expected; you probably have a manila folder stuffed full of notes for what you plan to do to siwoo.
as such, you were very helpful. sure, you were also really distracting, with your subtle, spiced perfume he recognized as lola james harper, and your daunting and unrelenting eye contact, and the way your eyes smiled all on their own when they weren’t busy crying over siwoo, and the fact that you graced him with your laugh in person for the first time (every bit as fun as he thought it would be), and everything else that came with just existing in your presence.
all of it was really distracting—almost to the point of it being entirely counterproductive for him. almost, if it weren’t for the fact that you were so determined on his behalf to make this the most unpleasant experience for mina. he was mostly pleased with where you two landed, and if anything, he at least had a better idea of what he wanted to say. he reads the completely ruined paper, a mess of his black ink and wrinkles where you kept trying to grab the paper out of his hands. it was already a vulnerable enough occasion talking about this with you; he did not need you seeing his notes on top of it.
TALKING POINTS FOR BREAKING UP WITH EVIL GF i know you’ve been cheating on me, and don’t try to deny it because someone sent me proof! — cannot say this without exposing that y/n knows about siwoo!!! i know you’ve been cheating on me, and don’t try to deny it because i went through your phone and saw your text messages! — better, but am i willing to look crazy just to cover for y/n? yes what am i saying NO this will do ✓ how could you do this to us, mina? i loved you! — seems disingenuous? note: yell at jeonghan and y/n for putting ideas in my head later! i literally gave you everything you could’ve wanted, and that still wasn’t enough? what does any other man have that i don’t? — ok met with y/n for feedback. she says this sounds pathetic and that i can't let her think this has affected me. but she cheated on me? this LITERALLY affects me. i will come back to this one ok y/n made a different, better point: i am perfect and i should not present myself as lacking. so true. she's very good at this! do you really think anyone with half a fucking brain cell who's willing to homewreck a relationship is really going to give enough of a fuck about you to be capable of putting up with your insufferable ass and treating you as well as i did? — y/n suggested this one. had to workshop bc she's alarmingly vulgar. plus, it sounds a little toxic to say i "put up" with mina ??? not sure do you even regret hurting me? — y/n says this is silly bc siwoo and mina obviously do not regret anything, but i told her i do want mina to feel guilty even if i'm not sure that i'm all that hurt. she now agrees and says i should add: "or are you just so heartless you don't care?" she said this more colorfully, but i will remain respectful why should i remain respectful? mina is literally the most disrespectful person i have ever met. i will say what y/n suggested: ↳ my bad, i forgot your commitment to being a heartless fucking asshole has you by your ugly ass neck and it's squeezing with both hands and i hope it kills you GET HELP! — more for catharsis. will not be yelling this at her you're going to regret this and if you think there's a world where i take you back when you do, you're mistaken — wow, no notes from y/n! must be very good. definitely say this one!! please never contact me again — note from y/n: "why are you being so goddamn polite? tell her to fuck off and if you ever see her number on your phone screen, you'll set up an appointment on her behalf to get a lobotomy." ????? note from ME: have a serious discussion with y/n at a later time about why i, a MAN, can't just talk to WOMEN like this!
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This was SO CUTE WHY CANT THIS HAPPEN TO ME????? Actually I’m obsessed w this soft haechan who’s his gfs biggest fan and down so bad for her.
fresco
🌙 starring. Lee Donghyuck x afab!Reader
🔮 preview. When you first met Hyuck in the elevator, you’d thought he was nothing more than some fuckboy line chef. But now, you see a deeper side of him. He’s thoughtful and caring, a little chaotic in the best way, but willing to calm down and match your pace. And to top it all off, he’s hot as fuck.
tw/cw. protected sex (for probably the first time ever), gentle/slow build-up sex, oral/pussy eating, slight praise, slight dirty talk, reader hasn’t been fucked in a while, low-key wholesome sex with a reformed fuckboy because you’re now cat co-parents, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous.
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.8k
🍭 aus. Restaurant au, neighbors to lovers, accidental fur baby co-parents, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. Fresco, meaning a painting done rapidly in watercolor on wet plaster on a wall or ceiling, so that the colors penetrate the plaster and become fixed as it dries. - Alternative; Alfresco, meaning a meal eaten outside “in the fresh air” - fresco is Italian for “fresh,” and the culinary usage is relatively common in English. this fic is in conjunction with Real Talk and Comfort Cuisine.
Prologue:
You’re a little shocked to hear a knock at your door around one in the afternoon on a Tuesday. As something of a recluse professional artist, you don’t get many visitors. One look out the peephole reveals that your surprise guest is a neighbor, one Lee Donghyuck from two units down.
“Hyuck?” you ask as you open the door. “Is something wrong?”
“I found a cat!” Hyuck whisper screams as he holds open his jacket, revealing a tiny, orange puffball, who immediately meows at you. “Can I come in?”
You’re so taken aback by this whole interaction that you don’t have it within you to argue, you simply step aside and let the frazzled line cook into your apartment.
“Okay, I don’t have much time,” Donghyuck explains. “My chef is going to kill me for taking the longest vape break ever-”
“Slow down,” you laugh.
“Look, I went for a vape break, I found this kitten by the dumpster, I jumped in my car and came here.”
“It’s a no-pet apartment building,” you point out.
“Can you just take care of him for the day? While I figure this out?” Hyuck pleads.
“Don’t you have other friends in the building?”
“No one who’s home all day like you are- come on, it’s a kitten, it needs someone around or it’s going to be screaming super loud and then the landlord will hear it and evict me-”
“What about a shelter?”
“I don’t have time to look up no-kill shelters, and besides, you know how the cat distribution system works!”
“Fine,” you sigh, gazing at the purring ball of fur. “What time are you off work.”
“Around nine,” Hyuck responds, holding the kitten out for you. “You’re doing me a huge favor.”
“Just this once, while you figure the whole situation out.”
One:
You’re doing your best to continue working, but the kitten has been a bit of a menace the entire day. You suppose this orange fur ball is a bit like Hyuck that way, not that you know your neighbor very well, but you have a sense for him. Hyuck has to be a little chaotic to turn up on your doorstep with a kitten he found by the dumpster, but the flip side of this whole thing is that Hyuck is showing a lot of tenderness to have cared about this cat at all.
You work as much as you can, but when the kitten starts crying, you decide to call it a day.
There’s a can of tuna in your pantry, the type that’s in water from when you were on a health kick a month ago, and you spoon it onto a little plate for the orange kitten.
He’s eager to eat it all up, making an obnoxious yet endearing gnawing sound as he decimates all the tuna.
When he’s finished, you lift the little cat up into your arms, taking him to your couch to rest while you put on a show.
The little trooper is exhausted, and a food coma comes quickly.
He lays on your lap, napping and purring and relaxing, and you can’t help but enjoy the little fur ball’s presence. He calms you, and before you even know it, it’s nine, and a knock at your door signals Hyuck’s return.
You lift up the orange kitten, carrying him to your door. Hyuck enters your apartment with a sigh.
“How was my child?” he asks, immediately reaching out to take the cat from your hands.
“He wasn’t too bad, I fed him a can of tuna. He’ll probably be good till the morning, but you’ve got to figure out what you’re doing with him.”
“Yeah, I’m still thinking about that,” Hyuck groans. “Thanks for the help today.”
“Don’t mention it, seriously.”
“I’ve gotta get home, I’m exhausted from work, and I’m guessing you’ve got things to do.”
You don’t have anything in particular on your schedule, but it’s not like you and Hyuck are very close, so you let him leave. It feels a little odd to look at your empty apartment once he’s gone- sure, you’d only had the kitten for nine or so hours, but… he’d livened up the space a little, in a way you can’t quite explain.
You go back to your couch, letting out a sigh as you turn your show back on.
Not fifteen minutes later there’s a knock at your door, and for the third time today, Lee Donghyuck enters your apartment.
“He wouldn’t stop crying for you!” Hyuck explains, handing the squirming kitten over to you. “Maybe he thinks you’re his mom now!”
“Hyuck,” you sigh. “You’ve got to sort this out.”
“I was thinking… can you… can you take him to the vet tomorrow?”
“The vet?”
“You know, make sure he’s not tagged or anything?”
“Make sure he’s not tagged?” you ask. “You’re hoping he’s a stray?”
“If he’s a stray then I get to keep him,” Hyuck states.
“Again, this is a no-pet building.”
“Everyone says that, but I know for a fact that Mrs. Sue on the fifth floor has some mega old and dying Persian, and I’m pretty sure the nonbinary couple next to me have some calico that’s missing a tail-”
“What?”
“It got out one day, I saw it scratching at their door. Have you really not seen any cats in the building?”
“I don’t go out much,” you admit.
“The point is, people have cats, they just hide them.”
You release a sigh. “I think there should be an emphasis on the word cats, not kittens, who are substantially louder and need more attention.”
“Well…” Hyuck gazes down at his feet. “You work from home.”
“So what, this is our cat now?”
“It could be,” the line chef muses. “I mean, look at him, he’s obsessed with you!”
The orange kitten is purring like an engine in your arms, making softies against your chest, and you have to admit, it’s clear he’s taken with you, perhaps as taken as you are with him.
“Fine,” you relent. “I’ll take him to the vet tomorrow. We’ll see if he’s tagged, and we’ll work it out from there.”
“You’re literally a lifesaver.”
Two:
The lunch rush is over, and Hyuck has time to think about you while he’s prepping for dinner. His coworker, Mark, is beside him, and Hyuck can feel his gaze.
“You good?” the tattooed softie of a chef asks.
Hyuck sighs. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
About you. How you’re the girl next door, the artist, the visionary, the lifesaver-
“I found a cat by the dumpster yesterday,” Hyuck admits.
“What?”
“My neighbor is taking care of it right now, and I guess we’ll find out if it’s chipped or not.”
“Isn’t your building like, a no-pets sort of thing?” Mark asks.
“That’s more a guideline than a rule,” Hyuck explains. “Besides, it’s a tiny cat that weighs two pounds, not some dog.”
Mark only shakes his head, continuing to cut carrots.
“I’m thinking I want to give the cat a name that’s related to food and art.”
“Why art?”
“Because my neighbor is an artist.”
“That’s cool, have I heard of his work?”
“My neighbor is a she, Mark, god, you’re so sexist.”
Mark stops what he’s doing, turning to face Donghyuck. “Now I get it. I bet you think she’s cute.”
“She’s super cute.”
Releasing a sigh, Mark rests his hands on the cutting board in front of him. “Names that are related to art and food. I guess you could do colors that are foods. Like, clementine or olive or something.”
“That feels too food driven, I want like, an artsy name.”
“Let me think about it,” Mark sighs.
The two continue to work, and at the end of their shift, Mark pulls Hyuck to the side. “There’s only really one super artsy name I can think of, and it’s Fresco.”
Hyuck has no idea what Fresco means, but something about it speaks to him. Without a second thought, Hyuck blurts out, “It’s perfect!” and he promises himself to look it up before he drives home.
Three:
Hyuck is practically buzzing as he arrives at your apartment, but he forces himself to rein in the excitement. “How was the vet visit?” he asks.
“You got your wish, he wasn’t chipped. The vet guessed he’s a stray, born on the streets, that sort of thing,” you explain, cuddling the kitten close to your chest as you speak. “I figured you might not have time to grab provisions for him, so I got some cans of food, a litter box, some toys-”
“Really?!” Hyuck immediately reaches into his pants to pull out his wallet, removing some cash, which he thrusts out toward you. “Thank you so much for the help!”
With a shake of your head, you accept the money. “I don’t know if you’ve thought this whole thing through.”
“He’s our cat now, the distribution system is never wrong.”
You laugh, but the chuckle turns into a sigh. “Our cat, huh?”
“I was thinking, if you don’t mind, he can stay with you during the days when I’m at work, then I’ll have him when I’m here, you know, like a child of divorce or something.”
The way you blink at him tells Hyuck you don’t find his words to be that amusing, but he can see you’re up for the task. It’s clear to him that you have fallen in love with the kitten, and Hyuck would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited about the prospect of a dual ownership- after all, it would mean the two of you would see each other more often.
“I guess we can make this work, but if the building manager finds out, I’m blaming all of this on you,” you warn.
“I’ll take full responsibility.”
“So… I guess now you just have to name him.”
“I was thinking about that!” Hyuck blurts out, unable to hide his excitement anymore. “What about Fresco?”
“Fresco?”
“I came up with it myself,” Hyuck lies, wanting to impress you. “Fresco is an art term right? Something about painting plaster?”
“Rapidly and somewhat erratically, yes,” you laugh.
“And Alfresco is Italian for eating food outside, like, fresh air, or something,” Hyuck explains, doing his best to remember the brief research he’d done on the word before knocking on your door.
“So it’s an artsy food name,” you muse with a smile.
“An artsy food name,” Hyuck agrees.
“I kind of love it.”
Four:
You suppose you should be used to Hyuck knocking on your door by now, but for some reason, it always comes as a surprise.
He steps into your apartment with a grin, holding Fresco in one hand, and a six-pack of beer in the other. “It’s my day off,” he announces. “Do you wanna hang out?”
You look him up and down, shaking your head and laughing. “I’m working.”
“Painting something?”
“I guess you can come see.”
“We won’t bother you too much, I promise,” Hyuck tells you as he follows you through your apartment to your little art office space. When his eyes land on your canvas, he lets out a whistle. “So you’re an artist artist?”
“I get paid for it, so yes,” you giggle.
“You’ve got the whole setup,” Hyuck muses, immediately heading for the small couch in the corner. When he’d first dropped Fresco off, the kitten had fallen asleep on this couch, and it seems his owner is just as able to make any place into his own home.
Hyuck collapses onto the sofa, immediately cracking open a beer. “Can I watch you paint?”
You’re not one for having others watch you do your craft, but Hyuck - as it turns out - is extremely hard for you to say no to.
“Just don’t make any comments about what I could be doing better,” you warn him.
“I don’t know anything about art, so you don’t have to worry about that,” he assures you.
“Some people don’t know anything and they still make comments,” you muse.
“Then they’re stupid.” Hyuck takes a swig of his beer, stroking Fresco as the kitten gets settled on his lap.
You pick up where you left off with the art piece, and Hyuck is quiet. He drinks his beer, pets Fresco, and scrolls on his phone, but after a while, your curiosity gets the better of you.
“Have you owned cats before?” you ask.
“Not really.”
“Well, you’re good with them. I never would have pictured you as a cat guy, it’s giving maternal.”
Hyuck lets out a laugh. “If you didn’t peg me as a cat guy, what did you peg me as?”
“Honestly? A fuckboy?”
“Everyone says that.” Hyuck shakes his head.
“So you’re saying it’s not true?”
“I mean… maybe in the past, I’ve been a bit of a fuck boy. But, everyone around me is in these long-term relationships, and I guess these days I want commitment, even if that commitment is with a cat and not a girl.”
You consider his words, and as you do so, Fresco gets up. He approaches a few of your finished canvases, smelling them carefully. You and Hyuck both watch him as he begins to pur, clearly enjoying the colors.
“He likes your art,” Hyuck grins.
“He has good taste.”
The two of you continue to chat while you work, and after a while, both Hyuck and Fresco pass out on the couch.
You note the way they’re bathed in the sun, and with a sigh, you put your current project to the side in favor of a blank canvas.
It’s rare to have a person, or an animal for that matter, sit still long enough for you to paint them, and something tells you both Fresco and Hyuck are tuckered out for the long haul.
You enjoy painting them, taking in every detail, and the creativity comes as easy as ever with the two of them as your muse.
Five:
You and Hyuck have something of an understanding now. It’s been two weeks. Hyuck works, you take care of Fresco, and when he’s off, the line chef comes straight to your house to see your shared fur baby.
The kitten has truly become your muse, and you’re enjoying the art of drawing this rambunctious cat.
It’s around nine o’clock, you’ve got a glass of wine, and you’re just putting the finishing touches on your recent Fresco piece, which is when Hyuck knocks at your door.
You’d unlocked your apartment an hour ago, and one call ‘Come in!’ has Hyuck entering. He lets out a whistle as he sees the canvas. “Holy shit, that’s good!”
“I know, right?” You can’t help the grin on your face. You’ve been testing out different methods, watercolors, acrylics, more abstracts- this one is more of a splatter piece, where you’d painted Fresco in funky colors, and then splattered it, you’d even dusted the canvas with glitter, spraying it with hairspray to get it to stick as an adhesive.
“I feel like you’ve captured his chaotic essence,” Hyuck laughs.
“He’s not so chaotic right now,” you muse, looking at the kitten who’s tuckered out on the couch.
“Do you want me to take him home? Or… do you want to watch a movie or something?”
You look Hyuck up and down. “That sort of sounds like a date.”
“I mean… these past few weeks we’ve kind of been having little dates, right? I mean- I want to ask you on a real one, but we can’t leave Fresco alone…”
“No, dates here sound nice,” you nod. “I’ve got wine, if you go and wash up, grab some beer, it can be a date when you get back.”
“Really?” His eyes practically bulge out of his head.
“Yeah, why not.”
“I’ll be right back,” Hyuck promises, nearly tripping over himself to run to the door.
He’s an odd one, but you kind of love it.
Six:
Hyuck’s not one for dates, but there’s something very comfortable about a stay-at-home sort of situation. The two of you are used to each other’s company, and the ease that Hyuck feels isn’t something he’s experienced with any other girl in a very long time.
In some ways, this reformed fuck boy is a touch obsessed with you.
Part of him wonders if it’s the joy of the chase- after all, he’s never interacted with a girl this long and not weasled his way into her pants. However, another part of Donghyuck knows his sexual attraction to you isn’t the main drive behind this connection.
There’s just something about you that he clicks with on a deep level.
He loves your whole art thing and he loves how kind and peaceful you are too.
“You know, you’re different from most of the girls I’ve gone out with,” Hyuck muses.
“Yeah, how so?”
“Well, usually I date within the industry, you know, servers, expo girls, that sort of thing. They’re all very… I don’t know, at work they’re extroverted. They always know what to say, but sometimes in the past, I’ve wondered if it’s all an act, and it’s made it hard for me to trust them, hard for me to see them as any more than flings.”
“That sounds like a you problem, Hyuck,” you giggle. “If you have trust issues, you have to own that, you can’t blame it on the women you’ve dated who didn’t contribute to the original wound that developed into a mistrust of girls.”
Hyuck sits with your words for a moment.
“Also… I used to be a server, so are you saying you don’t trust me?”
His eyes snap toward you in shock. “Really?”
“Just for a bit,” you shrug. “You’d be surprised how many people take a stint at serving, especially when they’re going through uni.”
“I guess that’s where your charm comes from,” Hyuck says, swallowing thickly. “Bet you made big tips.”
You laugh, and the way your face lights up makes Hyuck’s chest feel tight.
The sound wakes up Fresco, who has been sleeping for most of your date. The kitten yawns obnoxiously, stretching out and making biscuits against your leg.
“I’ve done alright for myself,” you muse, petting the kitten lovingly. “Which, speaking of, I think it’s about time to call it for the night. I’ve got to wake up early and finish a commission that I’ve been pushing off.”
“Right, yeah.” Hyuck shakes his head to snap himself out of the daze he’s in. “I’ll take Fresco and give you some room for your beauty sleep.”
He reaches for the kitten, who cuddles up against his chest, purring loudly as Hyuck makes his way to the door, where Hyuck stops. He turns to you, licking his lips.
“That was fun.”
“It’s usually fun with you,” you agree.
“Can I… do you mind, I mean-”
“You can kiss me, Hyuck,” you laugh, reading his mind and making him even more flustered- which is odd, because Hyuck never gets flustered.
He swallows the lump in his throat, leaning forward. You close the distance, cupping his face so he can press his lips to yours.
Hyuck melts into the kiss, but he’s also aware of the kitten purring diligently between your chests. You’re both careful not to squish the small creature, and as much as Hyuck wants to kiss you stupid, he holds back. He gets the sense you’re also restricting yourself, and it’s all Hyuck can think about as he heads home.
He could taste the passion on you, and it’s a temptation unlike any other, a need left unsatiated due to circumstance.
Seven:
“You seem eager to get out of here,” Mark notes as Hyuck hurries with his closing duties.
“Gotta get home to see my cat and my neighbor.”
“Your neighbor, you mean the cute girl next door who you somehow talked into taking care of the stray kitten you found.”
Hyuck rolls his eyes. “It’s a dual partnership sort of thing, we both love Fresco.”
“Dual partnership,” Mark mutters. “Dude, are you like… dating this chick?”
Now Hyuck turns to look at Mark, and it takes him a second, but then he simply blurts it out, “You know what, yeah! I am dating this chick! We have a whole ass child together.”
“Your kitten is not a child,” Mark groans.
“He cock blocks like one.”
Mark immediately grimaces. “Jesus, I did not need to hear that.”
Eight:
It feels like now that you’ve kissed Hyuck, some invisible door has been opened in regard to your relationship. If he’d been tiptoeing around you before, now, he’s uninhibited. He shows up at your place with a bouquet of flowers, and without a second thought, you invite him into your apartment to watch a show while Fresco naps.
While this is only officially date number two, it feels like you’ve had a lot of dates- the two of you have been spending many evenings together when Hyuck picks up Fresco after work, it’s just now, these ‘hangouts’ have a more specific purpose or designation.
You’re interested in Donghyuck, and your opinion of him has changed drastically in two weeks.
When you first met him in the elevator, you’d thought he was nothing more than some fuckboy line chef. But now, you see a deeper side of him.
He’s thoughtful and caring, a little chaotic in the best way, but willing to calm down and match your pace.
And to top it all off, he’s hot as fuck.
God, you pour so much of yourself into your art that you haven’t really left room for a relationship in a long time. There’s a convenience to Hyuck, given that he’s your neighbor, but this whole blossoming relationship isn’t just founded on proximity.
The cornerstone of all of this is Fresco, if you’re being honest with yourself.
Fresco, the little cat that Hyuck brought into your life because he knew you would open your heart for it. He knew that together, the two of you would be able to take care of this sweet kitten and give him a good life. Existing as something like strangers, Hyuck had been able to see your caring soul, even if you’d been blinded to his kindred heart.
You’ve already ripped the bandaid off with a kiss, and when Hyuck notices you staring at his mouth, he shifts closer.
“Hi,” he grins.
“Hi, yourself,” you giggle.
You watch him swallow a lump in his throat, his gaze flickering down to your lips and then up again. “I’m hoping that kiss wasn’t a one-time thing.”
“It wasn’t,” you assure him. “I’m just not used to dating, and making a move has never been my fortè.”
“Then I can make all the moves,” Hyuck chuckles. “We can go as slow or as fast as you want.”
“I think you know what I want right now.”
Hyuck’s grin widens. “For a girl who doesn’t make moves, that was a pretty sexy move you just made.”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
Hyuck can only laugh as he leans forward, cupping your cheek and bringing his lips to your own.
You grab at his shoulders, trying to shift closer- but Fresco is asleep between the two of you, so there’s only so much room to move.
The kiss turns heated, with Hyuck’s tongue swiping your bottom lip, and you can’t help the moan that escapes you.
He feels so good, and the way his hand cups your cheek- there’s something dominant about it. Hyuck’s clearly confident, and from the way he kisses, he has every right to be.
You’re drunk from just a bit of kissing, and you can only imagine what full-on sex with this man would be like-
A loud meow makes you jump, and Hyuck lets go of you with a sigh. Both of you look down at Fresco, who’s now awake, and as rambunctious as ever as he begins to make softies on Hyuck’s thigh.
“Cock block,” Hyuck groans, but he begins to pet the small kitten all the same.
You laugh a little, releasing a sigh as you try to calm your racing heart. Maybe you’d needed an interruption because you were about ten seconds from ripping Hyuck’s clothes off, and maybe, just maybe, you should give things with him just a little more time.
You’re horny after a long period without a relationship, and you want to be sure Hyuck’s right for you before you jump into something with your neighbor, after all, not every romp with the boy next door ends happily, and you very much like this living tension free in this building.
Nine:
It’s been a week of making out and getting interrupted by Fresco.
Tonight, you’re in the little studio room. You’re on the couch sipping wine while Hyuck uses a feather-string toy to tire out the naughty kitten.
It’s been an hour of playing, and you’re shocked such a tiny animal has so much energy, but you can see it dwindling.
“Come on, Fresco, don’t you want a nap?” Hyuck groans, lying on the ground while he flicks the feathered toy here and there for the tiny kitten.
You can’t help but laugh at his antics. At this point, Hyuck looks more tired than Fresco does, but that’s what happens when he works a nine-hour shift. He’d told you when he arrived that the restaurant was busy today, something about a walk-in twenty top just as happy hour started, and the longest order of appetizers he’s ever seen.
You’re thankful when Fresco finally yawns, and Hyuck practically jumps for joy, picking up his kitten and carrying him to the little bed you’d bought. Hyuck sets Fresco down on the green pillowy fabric, and the kitten immediately stretches, letting out a sigh.
You begin to pet Fresco as Hyuck lets out a sigh, collapsing on the couch and reaching for his beer.
“Who knew having a kitten would be like having a baby.”
“To be honest, babies might be easier,” you joke, making Hyuck laugh.
“Do you want kids?” he asks, shifting the tone rather suddenly.
“Uh… I don’t know, do you?”
Hyuck shrugs. “I guess it depends on the girl I end up with. I would be happy with kids, but I’d be just as happy with two cats and a dog, you know?”
“Two cats and a dog?” You cock a brow. “When did you come up with that specific of a dynamic?”
“Well, I figure, cats like company. Fresco would be easier to take care of if he had a playmate, you know? And I like dogs, but if we have more than one dog, then it might overpower Fresco and the other cat. So I feel like, Fresco, another cat, and maybe a cat-sized dog would be perfect.”
“I never pictured you as a small dog kind of guy.”
“Well, weiner dogs are cute as fuck, I don’t know what to tell you.”
You laugh as you imagine this perfect little life dynamic that Hyuck has clearly spent time thinking about.
“You’d have to find a different apartment to live in,” you muse.
“That’s doable,” Hyuck shrugs. “You’ve got this whole one-bedroom, den, and office space set up, but I’m in a bachelor suite right now. If you and I end up dating for a while, we’d have to find a bigger place.”
“You’ve been thinking a lot about the future, huh?”
“I’m a father now,” Hyuck jokes, petting Fresco, “I need to be thinking ahead.”
You stare at this pretty man, this man who had walked into your life only a month ago like a sudden storm. You’d initially seen him as a type of chaos, but he’s calmed down considerably. He’s a reliable, nurturing person, and now, the type of man who thinks about the future instead of just taking things as they come.
You like that he has plans, plans that seem to include you. This isn’t just a short-term thing to him, and that knowledge has your throat feeling tight.
Looking down at Fresco, you realize he’s asleep. “Come on,” you whisper, “let's move to the kitchen.”
Hyuck doesn’t question you as you both stand, and you exit your small office studio area, carefully closing the door behind you.
In the kitchen, you set your wine glass down before turning to Hyuck.
“How long do you think Fresco will be sleeping for?” you ask.
Hyuck shrugs. “Could be an hour, could be ten minutes.”
You consider his words for a moment. “I get the feeling you can work with ten minutes.”
He stares at you blankly, and you see the second the lightbulb goes off in his brain. “I mean-” He clears his throat. “If you’re up for that, I could definitely- you know, I could take care of you in ten minutes-”
“Then let's not waste any more time,” you tell him, closing the distance to throw your arms around Hyuck’s shoulders. His lips press against yours immediately, his hands grabbing your hips to pull you incredibly close- this is the first time Fresco hasn’t been between the two of you, and it feels like heaven to have full-body contact like this.
God, his tongue is perfect as it strokes against your own, his fingers digging into your hips when you release a moan from the sensation.
“Your bedroom,” Hyuck whispers gruffly, and you can tell it’s taking all his control to not throw you over your kitchen counter right now.
“Come on,” you tell him grabbing his hand and leading him to your room. For good measure, you close the door, hoping two sound barriers will allow Fresco to sleep through all of this- you’re not sure what you’d do if he began to cry while Hyuck was balls deep inside of you, and you don’t want to find out, not now.
Hyuck’s lips are on yours again almost immediately, and you grab the front of his shirt, pulling him with you as you back up toward your bed. Your calves touch the mattress and you lower yourself down, keeping your mouths connected as you do so.
“Take your shirt off,” you command next, a little shocked that you feel confident enough to tell Hyuck what to do in a situation like this.
“Whatever you say, gorgeous,” Hyuck laughs, breaking the kiss so he can tear his shirt off.
Then he’s on top of you, and your legs are wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer as your lips clash passionately.
“Can I start undressing you?” he asks, mouth moving to your throat, where he licks at your skin and makes you gasp.
“Yeah, whatever you want,” you tell him, swallowing thickly and trying to center yourself.
His fingers find your shirt, and he slowly pulls it up. You help the process by lifting your arms, and the fabric is discarded. You’re in a cute lacey bra and silky shorts now, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been dressing extra cute this past week in the hopes that this would happen.
No, you’re fully prepared. You’d taken one of those horrific ‘full-body showers’ in the morning, and you’re thanking God that it wasn’t in vain.
“This is cute,” Hyuck tells you, mouth moving down to your chest as his hand cups your breast through the bra, squeezing gently.
“Thank you,” you gasp, loving the way it feels to be touched by him like this.
You’re a little surprised when his mouth moves down past your breasts to your abdomen, and he slinks down onto the floor as he begins to drag your shorts off.
It’s clear what his intention is, and it has your heart racing- you haven’t been eaten out in ages, and most men make the whole thing feel like a chore. Having Hyuck, who is clearly eager to get his mouth on your pussy without being told to… it’s super sexy, and you can feel yourself getting wet already.
“Ten minutes, right?” he jokes, looking up at you as he hooks his fingers in your panties. “I think I can work with that.”
You can’t even find the words within yourself to respond as he strips you bare from the waist down. His hands grab your thighs and he begins kissing up your legs, looking up at you to be sure you’re okay with this.
You nod at him, swallowing thickly in preparation.
“So wet already,” Hyuck muses. “Guess you’ve been wanting this for a while too.”
“Uh huh.” God, you feel so dumb, but he just makes you crazy- he takes your words away, and as he takes his first lick of your pussy, all you know is pleasure.
Your head falls back as a groan escapes you, your body immediately relaxing as he starts to eat you out.
He’s slow with it, taking his time to explore you. You get the sense that he’s listening to your responses, gauging what feels best.
His lips suction around your clit and you whimper, threading your fingers through his hair.
Hyuck switches between licking and sucking, testing different pressures until he finds the right one, and then you’re gasping, eyes clenched shut as pleasure begins to build even faster in the pit of your stomach.
“That feels so good,” you whimper, wanting to give him praise despite your current tongue-tied disposition.
Hyuck groans against your core, and the sound has your legs shaking. Your grip tightens in his hair, and from the way he reacts, you can tell he kind of likes the pain.
Fuck, he’s so sexy- you’ve never been this turned on before, and it helps you get to the edge faster than you can even fathom.
“Shit, fuck, Hyuck-” you groan, eyes clenching shut again as your stomach muscles tense incredibly tight.
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t pull away from your pussy for even a moment, but a new vigor erupts through him, and that’s all you need as confirmation that he wants you to cum.
A few more licks, a few more sucks, and a gasp escapes you, your muscles clenching right before the release that rockets through your entire body.
Your core is throbbing, pulsing with pleasure that overwhelms you in the best possible way.
Sounds of pleasure are escaping you with no regard to being too loud- your mind is blank except for the orgasm Hyuck has just provided, and he eats you out through the entire thing until your thighs are shaking and you can’t take it anymore.
He pulls away, and you can practically hear him licking his lips.
“I’ll grab a condom,” he tells you.
Although you’re on birth control to manage your period, this is a man you’ve never slept with before, a man who hasn’t discussed exclusivity, and more importantly, a man who’s admitted to being a fuckboy in the past.
You stay quiet as Hyuck pulls his wallet out of his pants, retrieving a condom.
Then, Hyuck pushes the fabric of his jeans down, exposing himself fully to you.
You can’t help the way you begin to salivate.
His cock is thick, and it’s a decent length too. Your best friend has referred to this type of cock as ‘boyfriend dick’ before, meaning the type that’s big enough to satisfy, but not so big that it leaves you feeling wrecked.
You undo your bra, joining Hyuck in full nudity before you reposition on your bed, moving up so you can rest on the pillows.
He rolls the condom onto his cock, not whining one word of protest about wearing it- in fact, you hadn’t even asked him to, he’d just taken matters into his own hand to practice safe sex for your first time.
You kind of love this.
He’s definitely turned your opinion on him right around- this is not the man you thought he was, and the man he is… well, he’s so much better than you could have imagined.
“Okay,” Hyuck whispers as he finishes with the condom, looking up at you. “You good for this?”
“Yes, please.” You open your arms for him, beckoning him onto the bed.
He joins you, and your legs wrap around his hips, your lips meeting his own.
He kisses you deeply, and you can taste yourself on his tongue, but it’s not unpleasant. He groans against your mouth and you thread your fingers through his hair tugging gently.
Hyuck is grinding down against your core, and it feels amazing to have slight stimulus on your clit after an orgasm, but your inner walls are screaming for attention, and soon, you’re reaching between your bodies to grab his cock.
“Ten minutes, remember?” you laugh.
“Fuck, I got distracted.” He presses his forehead against yours, looking down at where you’re guiding his tip to your entrance.
“It’s okay,” you assure him. “Just focus now, I got to cum, so I want you to cum too.”
Hyuck moans at your words, and you slip the tip of his cock inside of you, making you groan too.
He smashes his lips to yours again, kissing you eagerly as he sinks into your core. He goes slowly, allowing your body to adjust, and once he’s fully inside of you, he pauses so you can both moan from the sensation.
“You feel so good,” he tells you, his breath hot along your throat as he moves to press kisses there.
“You too,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “You can move.”
“Okay, gorgeous.” He swallows thickly. “I’ve got you.”
Then he begins to fuck you. As was his pace when he entered you, Hyuck is careful not to start at a hundred percent. He builds tempo comfortably, and your moaning urges him on until he’s fucking you so hard that the bed is shaking.
You grasp his shoulders roughly, whimpering as he kisses your throat, paying attention to your sweet spot. Each lick of your neck has your body tingling, your pussy getting wetter and wetter as he rails into you.
Your nipples feel incredibly sensitive too, pushed up against his chest. Each rock of his body is a sensation against all your most important erogenous zones, and it has you going crazy.
As it was with him eating you out, your mind is blank as Hyuck fucks you, and you kind of love it.
“Fuck, you feel so fucking perfect,” Hyuck groans.
He grabs your hand, lacing your fingers as he presses it to the bed as an anchor, and then his lips meet yours again.
It feels so intimate to be fucking like this, and it makes things even more pleasurable.
You can feel the pressure building in the pit of your stomach again, can feel your core beginning to tighten around him-
“Are you gonna cum again for me?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m close,” you whimper.
“When you cum, I cum,” Hyuck tells you, pressing his lips to yours so you can’t disagree.
He fucks you even harder, and each drag of his hips has your clit being stimulated too, which is tightening the coil in your abdomen even more-
You begin to gasp against his lips, getting closer and closer until you explode for a second time, your pussy clamping down on Hyuck like a vice.
“Fuck!” He pulls away from your lips, moving to bury his face against your throat. You can tell your orgasm has triggered his own from the way he’s panting, his thrusts faltering ever so slightly- you’re pretty sure he’s doing his best to fuck you through your high, despite the fact that this might be overstimulating for him.
Maybe he likes a bit of overstimulation, as he likes the pain that comes from pulling on his hair. Regardless, he fucks you through it until you’re both gasping messes.
Then, as you lay there for a moment, you hear a meow.
You and Hyuck both break out into laughter, and you kiss his cheek. “You can go clean up in the bathroom, I’ll deal with Fresco.”
“Can I stay here tonight?” Hyuck asks. “You know, cuddle?”
“You and Fresco can both stay,” you assure him.
“The first of many sleepovers,” Hyuck tells you, standing up with a groan. “I like you a lot.”
You can sense there’s a deeper emotion behind his words, but it’s still too early to be deep diving into any feelings more serious than ‘liking’ each other, so with a nod and smile, you agree. “I like you too.”
And for now, that’s all you need to say.
☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! We love men and kittens!
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🔮 preview. You feel closer to this man than you’ve ever felt to anyone in your life, and warmth spreads from your chest at the notion of having a forever love like this.
cw/ tw.Unprotected sex, oral, blow job, hand job, pussy eating, sixty-nine, foreplay, grinding, nipple worship, overstimulation, Hyuck is a little on the rough side, multiple reader orgasms, size kink, fucking quietly/with a hand over your mouth, slight breath control/sensory deprivation, etc… I petnames. (hers) gorgeous.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 130
🌙 starring. Donghyuck x afab!Reader
bonus
It’s been six months of hiding Fresco, and three near misses with your building manager, so when Hyuck shows you a pet-friendly apartment he’s found online, you jump at the chance to view it.
“This is so much bigger than your space,” Hyuck muses as you do the walk-through. “And look, this room has better light for your paintings!”
You can see him imagining himself here, and it warms your heart.
“Are you ready for this next step?” you ask, pulling Hyuck to the side to have a heart-to-heart.
“I’ve been ready to move in with you for months,” he tells you, hands falling onto your hips.
“This is a big change,” you remind him.
“But it’s good, for us, for Fresco- and the lease doesn’t say anything about the amount of animals either.”
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at this point I’m sure you all know that I go crazy stupid dummy in the club like an idiot over camboy fics on this blog and I’d like you all to know that once again a camboy fic has never done me dirty and never will!!!!
This fic was SO GOOD JESUS CHRIST @smileysuh KILLS IT AGAIN!!! And it’s going to be a SERIES??????!!!!!?? Excuse me while I go scream into my pillow
Also for ur viewing pleasure please enjoy these texts I sent to my bestie about this fic

no face
🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader
🔮 preview. Wonwoo is even more gorgeous than you’d ever imagined the anonymous No Face being, and this time, when you close your eyes to listen to the cam boy moan, you imagine your history partner above you, his hand down your pants as he rubs you closer and closer to the edge.
tw/cw. Unprotected sex, mutual masterbation, mention of cam shows/watching cam shows, extreme dirty talk, alter ago dom cam boy Wonwoo, pussy eating oral, multiple reader orgasms, overstimulation, praise, encouragement, multiple sex scenes, fingering, body/breast worship, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.6k
🍭 aus. Svt cam boy au, frat au, university au, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. This is part 1 of a 3 part cam boy svt au. Each story can be read as a stand alone, but exists within the same universe :) Wonwoo is April, Seungcheol is May, and Mingyu will be in June. As soon as all 3 are up, a masterlist will be created, which will then be linked here.
Prologue:
You never thought you’d be the type of girl to enjoy watching men get off through a computer. But then someone had recommended a cam boy to you, and one video had hooked you unlike anything else.
Being in university isn’t easy. It’s stress on stress on more stress and then a little bit extra stress just to round things out- and sometimes, a girl just has to get her rocks off without worries.
To you, cam boy No Face is the perfect distraction.
This faceless man, who usually films from the shoulders down. There’s something so specific and endearing about him. His pretty veiny hands, forearms showed off by black compression shirts with the sleeves rolled up-
His sounds are also like heaven, and sometimes you close your eyes and just listen to him, imagining he’s the one getting you off.
People talk about the dangers of porn, but fuck it, being a tad addicted to No Face is your own kind of dark chocolate and red wine, and no one is going to make you feel bad about needing an outlet for your pent up sexual energy.
He’s a gamer too, a faceless one the likes of Corpse Husband and Dream (before the face reveal of course), and you love the fact that he’s multidimensional.
When you’re studying, his gaming streams are in the background, and when you’re done studying and ready to reward yourself, it’s straight to his OnlyFans.
Recently, he’s taken to wearing a neon blue accented purge face mask, and you love the way his dark curls obscure around the plastic.
He’s a handsome man, you can just feel it in your bones, and you can feel your orgasm roll through every inch of your entire body every time you cum with the help of No Face.
One:
History classes can be a bit of a bore at times, and as someone of a recluse, you don’t get the joy of friendly chats with other girlies. No, history is your solitary work load, which is why you’re dreading the group project that’s being set up today.
The teacher gives students the benefit of choosing their own partners. This isn’t high school, and your professor knows most people already have connections that work well for this sort of thing… most people.
You look around as people pair up, and you feel like there’s a frog in your throat. You don’t have it within you to make that leap, to ask someone to be your partner-
Which is when you notice the other antisocial person who sits at the back of the class. He’s handsome, with an angular bone structure. You’ve never once seen him smile, and that mirrored recluse nature throws you off a bit.
To make matters worse, he has dark curly hair, just like your No Face, and everytime you look at him, your mind conjures up whispered words of encouragement to throw you over the edge, and your panties get wet in history, which is a very inopportune time to be getting horny if you’re honest with yourself.
His eyes meet yours, and you immediately look away, but you can sense him standing up to talk to you.
“Do you have a partner?” he asks.
“Uh… not really.”
“Me neither.”
There’s an xawkward silence for a moment, and then you release a sigh, looking up at him. “So… should we do the project together.”
“Guess that makes sense.” He nods.
You tell him your name, and he introduces himself as Jeon Wonwoo. You exchange details and as he speaks, there’s something even more familiar about him, but you brush it off.
“So… when are you free?” Wonwoo asks, pulling you out of your daze.
“I could do the library after my last class ends, let’s say four oclock?”
“I’ll see you there.”
Two:
Wonwoo is easy enough to work with. He’s not very opinionated, and he has let you choose what topic you wanted to work on for your project. Now, the two of you are getting preliminary readings out of the way, looking into the online research that would provide the backbone of your argument for the essay portion.
You find yourself looking at him very frequently, after all, he’s a striking man, and you’re a horny girl who has been so busy doing university courses that you haven’t had the time to get laid in forever.
Your gaze dips, and you stare at his hands as he toys with his pencil. It must be some sort of anxiety calming repetitive behaviour, the way he flicks it, traces his thumb and pointer down the wood, then flicks it again.
As you’re looking at him, you notice the details of his fingers.
Although No Face’s cock is significantly - significantly - bigger than this tiny pencil, the phalic shape is the same. You’ve watched so many No Face videos, and Wonwoo’s fingers are undeniably the same as your favourite cam boy’s.
You feel like you’ve choked on air, and you look up at Wonwoo, imagining him with that neon blue purge mask.
He’s got the dark hair, the curls- he’s even wearing a black compression shirt today.
“Holy shit,” you whisper, drawing his attention immediately.
“Hmm?”
“Nothing, fuck, uh-” You look away, feeling your skin heat with embarrassment. “It’s just hot in here.”
Wonwoo simply gazes at you, and you find yourself standing up.
“I’m just going to pop outside for some air,” you tell him, not even waiting for a response as you grab your phone and dart away.
It’s only once you’re under the blue sky, feeling the cool air against your skin, that you’re able to take a moment.
You’re in a group project with your favourite gamer boy OnlyFans model, and you’re going to have to pretend as if you haven’t cum to his videos countless times.
If this is how you’re going to react every time he’s around - skin heating, heart racing, hands getting clammy - well, you’re in deep shit.
Three:
“No, I swear to God, Tina, my history project partner is No Face!”
Your friend is silent for a moment, simply watching you. “But like… how sure?”
“Tina!” You narrow your eyes at her with exasperation. “You know I watch him religiously!”
Tina nods. “I mean… there are rumours that some of the Sigma Veta Tau frat guys are into the whole cam thing, some of the sororities too.”
“Rumours?”
“Nothing confirmed, obviously, if any of them are in on that whole OnlyFans world, they’re smart enough to not show their faces.” Tina releases a sigh. “There’s a frat party tomorrow at SVT actually, maybe… we should go and I can see Wonwoo for myself.”
“Okay, but! Tina, I’m calling dibs.”
“You can’t call dibs! I showed him to you!” Tina argues.
“This isn’t time for girl code or anything else, I know you watch multiple streamers- No Face is the only one I watch, no one else has ever interested me. And I’m the one who made the connection! Tina, for real. Please.”
She releases a deep groan. “Fuck it. Fine. I guess. But if he hits on me, I’m going for it.”
“I guess you’re wearing a full sweater and showing no skin at the party tomorrow then.”
Four:
Wonwoo’s shocked to see you at his frat for a party. From being in classes with you for the first part of term, he’s pegged you as a shy and quiet type, much like himself. All month, he’s never seen you speak to anyone. You show up, take your seat at the very back of the room, and don’t open your mouth for anything.
Luckily for Wonwoo, he’s into the shy and quiet type. While his best friends are loud and boisterous, he could never see himself with a party girl, which is why he doesn’t have much of a social battery for being at his frat parties for longer than absolutely necessary.
Mingyu - the aforementioned loud and boisterous best friend - is next to Wonwoo, and Wonwoo can feel his gaze.
“Are you checking out that girl?” Mingyu asks.
“I have a class project with her,” Wonwoo responds casually, sipping his beer.
“She’s cute.”
Wonwoo simply shrugs, not wanting to divulge too deeply into his interest of you just yet. He’s a careful type, and with his scandalous online alter ego, he has to be.
“You should go get her a drink,” Mingyu continues.
“She’ll be fine.”
“If you don’t get her one, I will.”
Now Wonwoo turns to look at his friend, and the challenging gaze he receives in return makes him sigh. “Fine.”
“That’s my boy!” Mingyu grins, clapping Wonwoo on the back.
Despite Wonwoo’s confident persona online, he doesn’t have much experience with women. He’d gotten into the gaming scene first, learned how to be social and how to talk to followers of all types. Somehow that had translated to making an OnlyFans.
Choi Seungcheol, frat president, had seen his follower number on Twitch, and had suggested the creation of OnlyFans. Sex sells, and the business major had run the numbers. Cheol had broken down that if even one percent of Wonwoo’s following made the transfer to OnlyFans, Wonwoo could be making serious bank every month.
Both men were shocked to find a whopping five percent of Wonwoo’s followers had initially made the move with him to OnlyFans, and since then, that number has only grown.
Wonwoo tries to channel that confidence as he approaches you, and he kind of likes the way you jump when he gently touches your elbow to gain your attention.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” you respond, eyes wide. You look like a frozen deer, caught in headlights, and Wonwoo’s not sure if he wants to swerve, or hit this whole thing with full force.
“Want a drink?”
You nod, and Wonwoo leads you to the kitchen, where he finds you a beer.
“I’ve never seen you at one of these things,” he notes, stepping closer to you so you can hear each other over the loud music.
“I’ve never been to one,” you admit.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Wonwoo asks next, although, he suspects he already knows the answer.
“Uh… it’s loud.”
“Do you want to move somewhere quieter?”
He notes the way you swallow thickly, the way your pupils blow- but you nod, and Wonwoo once again grabs your arm to gently lead you to a different destination in the house.
His room is on the third floor, and he’s one of the lucky few that doesn’t have a roommate. The sound dies down significantly as soon as the door is shut behind the both of you, and Wonwoo welcomes the reprieve.
“I like your set up,” you tell him, looking around at all the neon blue and the PC set up.
“Yeah, I’m a bit of a gaming fan.”
“I can see that.” You’re quiet for a moment, and then you ask, “What are your favourite games to play?”
“Call of Duty is fun, League of Legends, Fortnite, all the usual ones,” he responds, moving toward his bed, where he takes a seat.
“Ah, right.” You nod, taking a sip of your beer.
“Do you game?”
“I watch gamers more than I play, you know, something to have on in the background while I study.” Your eyes meet, and you quickly look away.
There’s something in your body language that is throwing Wonwoo off, and the fact that you’ve just mentioned you watch streamers is a bit of an indicator that things might not be all that they seem with you.
Could you know who he is?
Was bringing you up here a mistake?
If you’ve ever seen one of his Twitch streams, will you be able to make the connection between him and the room?
It’s not like his streams show a lot of the room, but they show enough- and neon blue is a bit of a signature colour of his.
Neither of you say anything, and then you take a quick breath. “Anyways, I’m here with my friend Tina, and she’s probably wondering where I am-”
“You should get back to it then,” Wonwoo tells you.
“Yeah. But uh… we’re still on for our library study thing on Monday, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Five:
When No Face puts up a new video on his OnlyFans, you take the opportunity to get a better look at his bedroom.
Two seconds into the video you’re convinced that your quiet history partner is, in fact, the notorious faceless gamer turned cam boy, and it makes your stomach turn into knots.
Is it bad to keep watching this, knowing what you now know?
Is it… disrespectful to Wonwoo to be watching him? To have your hand slowly snaking into your pants as your pussy gets wetter by the second?
Do you have any chance with him?
Is this whole thing a dream?
You’ve been obsessed with one gamer/cam boy in your life, and suddenly he’s your history partner?
You thank whatever God is out there for this coincidental and miraculous turn of events, and you let out a breath as you begin to toy with your clit, relaxing against your pillows.
No Face has such a pretty cock. It’s the perfect size, and it looks even better with his long, slender fingers wrapped around it.
You listen to his quiet moans, and they urge you to echo them as you masturbate in your room.
Wonwoo’s only ever filmed himself. He’s a strictly solo man… there’s a possibility you have a chance with him romantically - or maybe even just sexually. If he gives you any chance at all, you’ll take it, everything else be damned.
Wonwoo is even more gorgeous than you’d ever imagined the anonymous No Face being, and this time, when you close your eyes to listen to the cam boy moan, you imagine your history partner above you, his hand down your pants as he rubs you closer and closer to the edge.
Six:
You need at least one citation from a physical book for your report, so today, you and Wonwoo are perusing amongst the shelves, searching for a few titles you have identified for possible quotes.
Your heart is racing just from being near Wonwoo, and you sense his gaze more often than not.
“You okay?” Wonwoo asks.
“Hmm?”
“You’re quiet today.”
“I’m always quiet,” you retort… quietly.
Wonwoo releases a chuckle, and you think it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him smile. The sight of his pretty pearly whites, the sharp canines, the way his eyes crinkle- it has your stomach erupting with butterflies.
“More quiet than usual,” Wonwoo corrects himself.
“I think you’re more talkative than usual,” you point out.
“Maybe.”
You take a breath, wondering if you should tell him that you know who he is.
If you tell him, it’s an admission that you’ve seen his Twitch or his OnlyFans- and you wonder if that will make him uncomfortable.
The two of you are quiet for another couple of minutes, but finally, you can’t take it anymore.
“I’m just going to say it,” you blurt out, drawing his eyes. “I know who you are.”
“Hmm?”
“You’re No Face, aren’t you?”
Wonwoo is quiet.
A groan escapes you. “Fuck, this whole thing is so uncomfortable, I shouldn’t have said anything, because now it’s going to make you uncomfortable-”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” he interjects.
“You’re not?”
Wonwoo shakes his head. “Just wondering which platform you’ve watched me on.”
Your heart lurches violently in your chest, and your throat all but closes up again. You choke a little on your response. “I, uh- I-”
“I’m guessing both,” Wonwoo concludes.
You’re gaze moves down the floor immediately, that familiar heat blooming through your skin, a sign of the embarrassment that surges through you.
“It’s kind of hot that you’ve watched me before,” Wonwoo sighs. “How could you tell it was me?”
“Your hands,” you say meekly.
“My hands?” You can hear the shock in his voice. “Wow, you must watch me a lot.”
“I do,” another half whimpered response, an embarrassed admittance of your cam boy loving ways.
“Don’t be shy about it,” Wonwoo tells you, and he steps closer. You instinctively move back, only for your shoulders to bump into the shelves behind you. It’s interesting how suddenly your history partner has changed from shy boy Wonwoo, to confident cam boy No Face, and you can feel your core getting wetter with each tension fueled moment. “I appreciate you being transparent with me.”
You finally look up at him, and you catch Wonwoo’s gaze dip to your lips.
Before you can even register what’s happening, Wonwoo is leaning in, and your body reacts on it’s own accord.
Your arms throw themselves around the back of his neck, and you press your lips to his. Your chests meet as Wonwoo wraps you in his embrace, his mouth hot as it moves on your own. He pushes you back against the shelves and you can’t even find it within yourself to care that you’re making out with him in a library.
There’s no shame as you make out with Wonwoo, accepting his tongue into your mouth with a delighted groan, there’s only intense pleasure, and an ecstasy like feeling of absolute elatedness that you’ve never experienced in your whole life.
Then- a sound in the periphery of your surroundings makes you jump, and you pull away from Wonwoo, looking around wildly.
“Shit,” you whisper, tearing yourself out of his embrace. “This was- uh, that was- um… I have to go!”
You find yourself running away, and you’re not even sure why. All you know is that you’re completely overwhelmed, and once again, being in the presence of the notorious No Face has you needing air like a fish out of water needs H2O.
Seven:
You shouldn’t be shocked when Wonwoo sits next to you in history class. He doesn’t say anything, but half way through the seminar, his hand moves to your knee.
Your heart is racing in your chest, a mix of anxiety and excitement. He hasn’t reached out to you since you ran away from him in the library, and you have no idea where you stand with him, so instead, you just stare at his hand.
There’s this general sense that you both deeply want each other, and it distracts you all the way until class is over.
As students stand up around you, hurrying to their next engagements, you turn to look at Wonwoo.
“What are we doing?”
“A project.”
“You know what I mean,” you sigh.
“We’re doing whatever you want.”
“Okay,” you take a breath. “But I’m shy, I don’t normally do hookups, and-”
“I don’t do hookups either.”
“You don’t?”
“There’s a reason I do solos,” Wonwoo points out.
“I guess that’s true.”
“Does the whole No Face thing bug you?” he enquires.
“Not really,” you admit. “I mean, in this day and age, most people have done it. Not me, but, you know, most people.”
Wonwoo lets out a chuckle, then it dies down. “So… do you want to be there for my next stream? You know, sitting behind the camera, watching?”
You swear it’s as if there’s a flood in your panties, and your heart leaps like a professional olympic high jumper.
“Yes,” you squeak.
Wonwoo smiles broadly. “This will be fun.”
Eight:
You’re sitting on Wonwoo’s bed, body tense with anticipation.
His camera is set up, and it’s the only thing between the two of you as he lounges in his gaming chair.
The neon blue purge mask is obscuring his features, but you can feel his eyes on you. He’s hit the record button, and you’re committed to being a silent watcher as Wonwoo visibly slips into his No Face alter ego.
There’s something about the way his shoulders drop, the way he tilts his head back, exposing his pretty throat as he gets comfortable in the chair.
Wonwoo’s hand drops down to the front of his pants, and he palms himself gently, releasing a sigh.
“Feels good,” he muses, voice deeper than it usually is in every day life. “Wish it was your hands touching me though.”
Your body tingles with the realization he’s talking to you. Sure, he dirty talks for his shows all the time, but today, it’s different.
Today, No Face is literally talking directly to you, but all his words will be eaten up by his subscribers too. It’s your very own personal cam show, and no one else ever has to know.
“Are you going to get started too, baby?” Wonwoo asks. “I can’t be the only one getting off, and we both know you’re here watching this because you want something in return. So don’t be shy.”
You swallow thickly, heart racing in your chest.
“How about this, I strip tease for you, and in return, you get yourself ready for me?” he suggests.
It’s almost hard to breathe now, but you nod, staring directly at Wonwoo. You know his eyes are on you. At this point, it’s clear he’s ignoring the camera completely, but with his face obscured by the mask, his subscribers will be none the wiser to the true event taking place.
Wonwoo starts by gently lifting up his shirt, exposing hard abs and a lean muscled body that has your core already throbbing with need.
Compression shirts are part of his brand, so Wonwoo stops the teasing there, hands instead dropping to the belt of his black jeans. He’s slow with undoing it, slow with the way his long fingers toy with his button and zipper.
He releases a sigh as he lifts his hips, pushing his pants down to his knees. His thighs bulge where they press against the black leather of his gaming chair, but the bulge in his underwear is even bigger, and it makes you unconsciously lick your lips as your eyes stay glued to every motion.
“Come on, baby, be good for me,” Wonwoo tells you, and it snaps you out of your trance.
You realize you need to be doing something too- that’s the whole intrigue of this. Wonwoo gets off on camera, and you get off behind it. Mutual masturbation, in the sexiest possible form.
Truly no hands on, just self gratification while watching the other pleasure themself.
You remove your shirt, and Wonwoo lets out a groan. “That’s it.”
Deciding to keep your bra on for now, your hands slip to your own pants, and you carefully take them off.
“Want to see you,” Wonwoo says, palming himself through his underwear.
Your hands are shaking as you remove your panties, body alight with energy. It’s not shyness per se- more like shock that you’re even in this situation.
You want it, so fucking bad, but it’s a truly difficult thing to wrap your head around. This situation is unlike anything you could have imagined in your wildest dreams, and you’ve never been more turned on in your entire life.
You’re now bare on your lower half, and you relax against the bed, lifting your legs so your feet are on the mattress, your pussy spread for Wonwoo.
He releases another deep groan, shifting his own underwear down.
His beautiful cock slaps up against his stomach, and he immediately wraps a hand around it.
There’s a bottle of lube next to him, and you watch him spurt some onto his palm, when he brings it to his cock again, you begin to touch your pussy.
You start with your clit, drawing slow cirlces while Wonwoo strokes himself, matching your pace.
“Mmm, that’s good,” Wonwoo muses, relaxing back against his gaming chair. His head lolls back, but you know his eyes are still entirely focused on you. “I know you’re feeling good too, aren’t you, baby?”
Since he’s on camera, you know you can’t make a sound, but you nod aggressively, swallowing the lump in your throat as you apply more pressure to your clit.
“That’s it, rub harder,” Wonwoo encourages you. “Bet you’re all nice and wet for me already, huh?”
It’s hard to hold in the moan that threatens to escape you, but you nod again, biting your lip to force yourself not to make a sound.
“I can just imagine your mouth on my cock, sucking me so good,” Wonwoo says. “How I’d grab your hair and help you find a rhythm. Bet you’d kind of love choking on it, love the way tears roll down your cheeks as I use you.”
Your toes curl at his words, and you rub your clit even harder, the knots in your stomach tightening deliciously.
“When you got me to the edge, I’d switch things up. I’d lay you down on the bed, eating you out until you cum on my tongue, until your thighs are shaking around my head. I’d hold you down too, because I know you’d like that. Something tells me you want to be dominated, and I could show you what that’s like.”
It’s as if he’s read your mind, as if he knows you better than you know yourself.
“Once you’re good and ready, I’d finally give you my cock,” Wonwoo groans, increasing the pace of his strokes along his length. “Bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Love to have me spreading open your insides and fucking you stupid.”
Your breathing is shaky as you rub your clit, your heart racing in your chest. Your eyes close a little as you focus on the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that’s beginning to blossom inside of you.
“I think you should slip a finger in, baby, imagine it’s mine.”
Your eyes snap open again as you stare at him.
“Come on, do as I say.”
With a shaky hand, you bring your fingers to your core, slipping one into your obscenely wet hole.
“Hmm, that’s it,” Wonwoo groans. “Bet you wish it was bigger though, huh?”
You nod, biting your lip even harder in an effort to control yourself.
“Add another finger then. They’re still not as big as mine, but you can dream, right?”
God, you were not mentally prepared for this.
To be the sole focus of No Face is the most sinfully wonderful thing you could ever experience, and the way your body reacts to his commands- following through without your mind even registering it now-
Wonwoo has you in a daze, and you kind of love it.
“Fuck that pussy with those tiny fingers, baby,” Wonwoo encourages you. “I wanna hear it.”
You’re so wet you’re almost afraid his camera will be able to pick up the sound of your squelching pussy, but fuck it- he’s given you a command so you’ll follow through.
“That’s it, feels good, huh?”
You can see he’s stroking his cock harder, and it makes your mouth begin to salivate as you watch.
“Do you think you’re close, baby?” Wonwoo asks.
You nod.
“I’m close too, something about this has me hornier than usual. Thinking about tasting you, about fucking you with my fingers then railing you with my cock- you’re doing something to me, baby, and I know I’m doing something to you too.”
You nod again, more enthusiastically this time.
“Rub your clit again, want to watch you cum for me.”
You do as he says, and you bite hard on your lip again, throwing your head back, eyes closing as you focus on the feeling.
Wonwoo begins to moan as he watches you, and you’ve seen enough videos of his to know that this is a sign he’s near the edge too.
You can hear the wet slapping of his lubed hand now, and you know he’s beating himself off hard and fast- you bet he wishes it was your pussy on his cock right now, and it makes your toes curl again as you get closer and closer to your own high.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Wonwoo moans. “Come on, you can cum for me.”
You nod, muscles tightening to an impossible limit-
“That’s it, that’s it-”
Wonwoo’s encouragement throws you over the edge and you fall backward onto his bed, grabbing a pillow to put over your face, muffling your moans as your orgasm washes through you.
Your whole body is throbbing with sexual energy, thighs already shaking as you continue to rub yourself through it- having not received a command that you could stop.
You pray to God that the pillow is enough to muffle your sounds, because the whimpers escaping you are no longer something you can keep in- especially when Wonwoo releases a grunt of his own, a sign that he’s cum too.
A shiver of tingles errupts through you at the notion that he’s tipped over the edge, that the two of you have cum together in a situation like this.
Your mind is practically blank except for this moment, and as your orgasm dies down, you can’t ignore the racing of your heart in your chest.
“That’s a good girl,” Wonwoo groans, voice drawing you back to reality.
You move the pillow away, pulling your hand from your core as you sit up again, blinking at Wonwoo.
He’s cum all over his chest, and it’s a big load too- fuck, part of you wants to just lick it up.
“You were a good girl for me tonight,” Wonwoo says. “Such a good girl.”
He’s gently toying with his cock still, but finally he stops, and after a deep sigh, he turns off the camera.
The two of you sit there in silence for a moment, and once Wonwoo has the cap back on his camera’s lens, he pulls off his mask.
His skin is flushed, and he looks absolutely beautiful. There’s nothing like a post orgasmic glow to bring light to someone’s eyes.
“You good?” he asks, voice returning to its normal tone.
“That was amazing,” you whisper.
“I can’t believe you’re seriously okay with all of this,” Wonwoo admits with a sigh, running a hand through his unruly curls before reaching for some tissue to begin wiping up his mess.
“I am.”
He chuckles. “I can tell you’re overwhelmed though.”
“Maybe a little,” you admit, anticipation bubbling through you.
“I think it’s best if we call it a night.” Wonwoo says, and something sinks within your chest at his words. “I want to fuck you, I do, but… I want to give you time to think about all of this.”
“I have thought about all of this,” you counter.
“You’ve thought about fucking No Face, but off camera, I’m just Wonwoo, and I don’t want you to be disappointed with… the reality of me. No Face is a persona, and I need to know you understand that.”
You consider his words, and nod. “I’ll spend some time thinking about all of this.”
“But we’re still on for studying in a couple of days, right?”
“Regardless of us, we have a project to finish,” you nod.
Wonwoo smiles. “Thanks for coming today, it made a difference.”
Nine:
The two of you are studying in Wonwoo’s room, and as hours pass by, it’s getting harder and harder for you to focus.
There’s a tension in the space that you could cut with a knife, and your panties have been wet since you arrived.
In the past couple of days, you’ve given the whole situation a lot of thought… and you may have rewatched the camshow you did with him about a hundred times too.
“Wonwoo?” you ask, putting your laptop to the side.
“Hmm?”
“I wanted to talk to you about us.”
He gives you space to continue and you take a breath.
“I know that the whole No Face thing is a persona, and while he’s not you, he’s still part of you. Despite that, I like who you are too. You’re calm, and smart, and level-headed- and respectful too. Most men wouldn’t have done what we did and let me go home to process the situation. You could tell I was overwhelmed and you didn’t take advantage of me, which shows you’re respectful too. I think… you and I are kindred souls, and I’d like the opportunity to get to know you better, the real you, not No Face.”
Wonwoo nods, and you can tell he’s thinking about what you’ve just said. “I want to know you better too. I never thought I’d find a cute, shy girl who would be okay with the whole OnlyFans thing. You’re quiet, but you’re kinky, like me, and I really like that.”
Your skin heats at his words, and a smile works its way onto your lips.
“Doing this project has been great,” Wonwoo continues. “We work well together, and yeah… I like you a lot. I want to give it a try too.”
“Good.” You take a breath, sitting up to move closer to him. “So… I think we’ve done enough studying, don’t you?”
Wonwoo chuckles. “Feeling needy, huh?”
“You’ve got a half chub already, so don’t talk to me about feeling needy,” you tease with a grin.
“Talking back, are you?”
“You said it yourself, you’re not No Face, you’re Wonwoo. No Face is a dominant, but Wonwoo… I’m getting vibes from you that you’re something else.”
He cocks his head to the side, looking at you with a smile. “I guess you know the real me better than I realized.”
“You talk a big game about being a dominant on cam, but… my guess is you’re softer in person, softer like this.” You reach out to stroke his face, and Wonwoo leans into your palm.
“Are you okay with soft?”
“I’m okay with a mixture,” you tell him. “Whatever feels right in the moment.”
“Part of me wants to fuck the shit out of you,” Wonwoo notes. “But… as a first time, another part of me wants to just be nice.”
“Then be nice, you can be rough later, I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
“You better.”
You move his laptop out of the way, swinging your leg over his hips so you can mount him where he’s seated on the bed.
His hands find your waist, and he looks up at you. God, he truly is so beautiful.
You’ve kissed him before in the library, but that had been all fire, all passion, all pent up tension- as you lean down to press your lips to his now, you get the sense that everything about this interaction will be softer.
He’s not playing off as his alter ego, he knows you accept the real him, that you want to experience Wonwoo tonight, not No Face.
As amazing as No Face was, you don’t want him to think that’s all you’re here for.
He kisses you gently, one hand moving up to cup your cheek. His tongue is tentative as it runs along your bottom lip, asking for entry instead of demanding it.
You tilt your head a little to make things easier as the kiss deepens, his fingers digging into your hip.
You begin to grind down against him, enjoying the pressure on your clit. He’s already hard, and you know he wants this as badly as you do, which lights a fire in the pit of your stomach.
With one movement, Wonwoo has you both rolling, and you end up with your back pressed to the bed, Wonwoo on top of you.
Now it’s his turn to grind down against you, and you kiss him harder, whimpering against his lips.
One of his hands snakes up to your breast, and he squeezes you through your shirt, groaning at the way you fit in his palm.
“Can I take care of you?” he asks.
“You can do anything you want,” you assure him, heart beating rapidly in your chest.
Wonwoo’s lips move to your throat, and then the swell of your cleavage. You throw your head back, closing your eyes and enjoying the sensation.
He’s gentle when he removes your shirt, followed quickly by your bra, and then his mouth is on your chest again. His lips are soft as they suck on your nipple, his tongue flicking the sensitive bud.
Your hands find their way to his hair, tangling in his curls as you enjoy the worship he’s providing you. Wonwoo takes his time with your breasts, and you can feel your pussy throbbing- you wonder if this is what blue balls feels like for men- this insatiable need to have attention on your core instead of the erogenous zone he’s currently enjoying.
Soon, Wonwoo’s mouth is moving down your body, and he slips onto the floor next to the bed. He takes off your pants and panties, moving slowly as if to give you time to change your mind.
But you’re not going to change your mind.
You want this more than you’ve ever wanted everything, and as he drags you to the edge of the bed, intent on eating your pussy like he’d talked about on cam, you give yourself over to him fully.
His hands massage your legs, and he peppers kisses up your calf, tickling your knee as he moves to your thighs.
Your legs adjust over his shoulders, and his hands grab at your hips as he leans in for his first lick of your pussy.
The contact of his tongue on your clit has you releasing a squeal of delight, your entire boy tingling with pleasure.
You can feel Wonwoo’s eyes on you as he begins to eat you out, his tongue pushing into your wet pussy before flicking back up to your sensitive bud again.
“Feels good!” you tell him, muscles already beginning to tighten with pleasure.
His fingers get a better grip on you, one hand moving to your thigh to hold you in place as he devours you.
He sucks your clit into his mouth and it’s a sensation that has your entire body reacting, the cord in your stomach tightening even more-
No one has eaten you out in practically forever, and to be having a man worship you like this- it’s getting you closer to the edge, faster than anyone else before.
“Shit,” you whimper, tangling your fingers in his hair again, back arching as the pleasure begins to build.
Wonwoo doesn’t relent, he eats you out like a starved man, his eagerness only growing with each second-
Your whimpers are getting louder, the sensation building more and more-
“I’m gonna cum!” you announce, eyes clenching shut as you teeter on the edge-
Suddenly two fingers are slipping into your pussy, crooking up so his digits can touch your sweet spot, at the same time, he sucks roughly on your clit and that’s all it takes to make you cum.
You gasp, your orgasm exploding inside of you unlike any other.
It’s all consuming in the best possible way, your body throbbing with unknown pleasure.
Wonwoo continues to finger fuck you, working you through it as wave after wave of ecstasy consumes you.
Your clit is almost too sensitive now, your thighs shaking, muscles beginning to hurt from the power of your high.
“Fuck, Wonwoo-” you whimper, pushing at his head.
He pulls away from your clit, his fingers slowing inside of you, and you can feel his eyes.
“You good?” he asks.
“Fuck, that was so good-” you groan, another shiver erupting through you when he strokes your inner walls again. “Need more.”
“Need what?”
“Your cock,” you tell him. “Need it so bad.”
“I’ll grab a condom,” Wonwoo muses, pulling his fingers out of your pussy only to plop them into his mouth.
As he stands, you freeze. “Wait! I’m on birth control!”
He stops, looking down at you. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure I’m on birth control, yes.”
“No, I mean, are you sure about unprotected sex?”
“Well… I’m clean,” you point out. “I haven’t had sex in forever-”
“Me neither,” he admits. “Other than, you know, sex with my own hand.”
You stare at him for a moment, and from the way he cracks a smile, you know he’s making a joke. So you begin to laugh too.
“How have we both not gotten laid in a while?” you ask.
He shrugs. “Guess we’re both pretty shy.”
“And school is busy,” you point out.
“School, gaming and OnlyFans is definitely a lot,” he agrees, pulling off his shirt then kicking down his pants. “Move up to the pillows for me, want you to be comfortable.”
You do as he says, watching eagerly as he gets fully naked for you.
God, his cock is even prettier up close, and you bite your tongue as he gets onto the bed with you. Your legs wrap around his hips instinctively, and you pull him in for a passionate kiss.
He begins to grind down against you, stimulating your oversensitive clit in a way that has you squealing with delight.
“I like your sounds,” Wonwoo muses, lips moving to your throat and ear, where he gently bites your lobe. “Was a shame I didn’t get to hear them during the cam show.”
“I tried to be good and quiet for you.”
“You were very good for me,” Wonwoo groans, voice dropping into the No Face cadence, which has your stomach flip flopping, pussy getting even wetter.
Wonwoo reaches between your bodies, adjusting the tip of his cock to your pussy. “You said you haven’t been fucked in a while,” he muses, “so if this hurts, or you need me to go slow, or stop-”
“I’ll be fine,” you assure him, cupping his face. “Just fuck me, please.”
Wonwoo kisses you then, slowly pushing his rock hard cock into you as you whimper and claw at his shoulders.
He fills you so well- your inner walls finally receiving attention from a real sized cock after way too long.
Your fingers - hell, even his fingers - don’t do his full length justice, and it feels like heaven once he’s fully bottomed out.
You both release a low groan, your toes curling with pleasure.
“I’m good,” you tell him, pressing kisses to his throat as your fingers explore his broad shoulders. “Feels good.”
“You feel good,” he counters, beginning to move.
The drag of his cock along your core has you groaning, eyes closing as pleasure consumes you.
“Shit,” you whimper, holding him tighter.
“Shit,” Wonwoo echos again, picking up his pace.
You lay there, enjoying everything he’s giving you. As himself, Wonwoo’s not much of a talker, but you’re okay with that. The two of you simply gasp and moan as conversation, and you enjoy the feral aspect of sex, the part where you’re both overcome by the feeling of each other, so overcome that words aren’t even necessary.
Wonwoo presses his lips to yours again, kissing you fiercely as he fucks you harder and harder, until his bed is rocking and you’re scared people outside his door will be able to hear you moaning.
But part of you doesn’t even care, you don’t want to hold yourself back with Wonwoo anymore, not like you did when he was on cam. No, you want him to hear every whimper, every groan, every squeal of pleasure as he fucks you better than anyone else ever has.
There’s a connection here, a spark, and it lights a fire inside you as Wonwoo fucks you for the very first time.
It’s passionate as you remain lip locked, your hands grabbing at his strong shoulders.
You don’t even care that it’s clear this will be a one position fuck session. Missionary has always been one of the more boring ways to fuck, but with Wonwoo- it’s downright magical. There’s nothing like it, being pressed chest to chest- as close as you can be as you do this.
Wonwoo’s groans are magic too, and they have your pussy throbbing depserately around him-
Then he slips his hand between your bodies, rubbing your clit-
Your pussy clamps down on him, a gasp escaping you as you break the kiss to look up at him.
“Want you to cum with me,” Wonwoo groans. “Please.”
You can’t respond, all you can do is focus on the building sensation- and in no time at all, you’re tipping over the edge with a loud moan.
Wonwoo returns your sound with a grunt, burying his face against your throat as he cums with you.
Your pussy throbs around him, milking Wonwoo of all he’s worth as he moans in your ear, fucking you through it all.
His hair is tickling your cheek, but you can’t even care as the orgasm swells through you like the waves of a warm summer ocean.
Your chests are still pressed together, and you can feel the beating of his heart. It’s almost dizzying, feeling this connected to another person, and it leaves your mind blank as you enjoy it.
Your arms are wrapped around him, cuddling Wonwoo close as his motions come to a stop, and then you just pant together, doing your best to catch your breaths.
You stroke his hair, releasing a deep sigh.
Wonwoo presses one last kiss to your throat before pulling away. “How do you feel?” he asks.
“Perfect.”
Wonwoo grins. “Me too.”
☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! This was so fun to write, I can't wait to explore this au more in other chapters!
🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below!
🔮 preview. You know there will be no more rough housing, no more use of the paddle, because No Face might be somewhat of a sadist, but Wonwoo is a pussy whipped softie, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, foreplay, dirty talk, blow job, pussy eating, hand job, commanding/dominant alter ago Wonwoo, use of paddle, impact play, pain kink, fingering, slight sadism Wonwoo, multiple reader orgasms, mentions of sex toys, creampie, etc… I petnames. (hers) baby.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3k I teaser wc. 110
🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader
bonus
You love Wonwoo. You love him for all that he is, No Face and all, and you also love that despite his online alter ego, he’s very soft and giving in bed. However… sometimes, you just want to be man handled and dirty talked until your head spins, and your lovely boyfriend is more than willing to provide that for you on special occasions.
Today is your birthday, and after you’re done classes, you go back to your apartment to shower and get ready.
You’ve bought a very sexy outfit. Garter connected fishnets, a black push-up bra, a corset, sexy high heels, and a thong to complete the whole look.
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