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average-pirate-enjoyer · 24 days ago

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bound [hongjoong x seonghwa]

pairing: necromancer hongjoong x revenant seonghwa

rating: 18+

genre: darkfic, smut, angst, fantasy

summary: Seonghwa will die for Hongjoong, over and over again, and he pretends it means something every time his master brings him back.

wc: 3.4k

warnings: dom Hongjoong, sub Seonghwa, oral; 69, face-fucking, rough sex, choking on cock, cum swallowing, temperature play (sortof), toxic relationship; Seonghwa’s soul is contractually bound to Hongjoong, violence, blood & injury, resurrection; Seonghwa dies but he gets better

a/n: idk if i’d call these doves dead but they def ain’t the pinnacle of health ^^;; pls mind the warnings!

Seonghwa might die for Hongjoong today.

It won’t be the first time he has died, and it won’t be the last. He can live with that.

There are a lot of things that Seonghwa can live with, or so he’s discovered ever since he signed this contract. He can live with blood on his hands; he can live with the uncertainty of whether that blood is innocent.

He only cannot live without Hongjoong.

“Well done, pet.” His master’s voice is delicate today, a soft purr that never fails to make him shiver. Hongjoong reaches a cool hand to cup Seonghwa’s blood-splattered cheek, tainting his fingers with spilled life. “Hold the rest of them off while I finish the ritual, won’t you?”

“Yes, Master.”

“My brave obedient wardog,” Hongjoong either praises or mocks him — Seonghwa is never sure — and he presses his cold lips against Seonghwa’s warm mouth in a shallow kiss. Sometimes Seonghwa wonders which one of them is more alive.

Hongjoong’s intoxicating scent wraps around Seonghwa and he bites back a whine as a clever tongue briefly teases against his lips; but Hongjoong is gone before Seonghwa can lose himself in the kiss. His master turns away with a billow of his heavy fur cloak, snow crunching underneath his leather boots as he makes his way to the ancient stone altar site.

The fresh body of a careless scout lies on the dais, limbs contorted and flesh ripped. Dragged here after Seonghwa had disposed of him; an easy lonely target who wandered too deeply into Hongjoong’s net. The scout’s lack of caution volunteered him for one of Hongjoong’s aberrant ceremonials, ensuring he will never report back to the hunting party that follows behind.

Hongjoong bends down next to the body and runs a gentle hand across the torn skin, and jealousy pierces through Seonghwa like a fiery hot blade. He tries to shake it off, reminding himself there is no cause for envy. His master holds no contract with this miserable scout; no soul will be pulled from the wretched remains that Hongjoong is about to lay his hands on. This unremarkable corpse is nothing like Seonghwa.

No one else is like him.

He is special.

He does not know why Hongjoong choose Seonghwa’s body and soul to bind with his. Seonghwa is a gifted warrior, but so are countless others. He was desperate when Hongjoong found him — but who isn’t, in this war-stricken land? Out of an overabundance of choice, Hongjoong still picked him.

That means something. It has to.

Otherwise, none of this means anything at all.

Seonghwa focuses himself back to his task, extending out his awareness to the forest around him. Heightened senses are one of the benefits to his contract; his revived body finely attuned to the world. Death has brought him closer to life, so Hongjoong likes to say.

Seonghwa closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and makes note of every sign of life in this otherwise dead forest. Ever since his master made this place his ritual site, wildlife has long fled the area. Driven off by the slow petrification of thickets and flowers, drained of their vitality. And as Hongjoong’s circle of corruption expands, any living thing here is threatened by the same fate.

Except for Seonghwa. Seonghwa thrives.

Just as his master feeds on life, Seonghwa feeds on him; and Hongjoong always provides him a rich meal.

It does not take long for the hunting party to skitter into the edges of Seonghwa’s eyesight, though he sensed their imminent arrival long ago. They have not split up, tactics abandoned by the blind faith in their superior numbers. It is their first mistake.

They close in on Seonghwa, believing him to be the true threat to eliminate; their second mistake.

Hongjoong is the true threat, and Seonghwa is nothing but his fierce guard dog.

He protects his master not only with his body and sword, but by concealing him in the shadows of Seonghwa’s reputation. He covets anonymity, and so Seonghwa eagerly feeds into the horrid myths of a black-clad warrior of otherworldly beauty. By now, there is not a single soul in the land who has not heard of the infamous Black Repose.

Even his attire is deliberately imposing. Black leather armour covers him from neck to toe, stitched with intricate golden patterns that flatter the elegant lines of his body. His head is left unprotected; exposing the coldness of his dark eyes to his enemies. The delicate, icy beauty of his face is framed by long strands of black hair, slightly curled by melted snow.

He holds up a heavy long sword in his hand, the double-edged blade resting across the back of his shoulders as he waits for his prey to trap itself. Darkened steel flashes in muted sunlight as he slowly moves into position, putting himself between Hongjoong and the soon-to-be-dead.

The first hunter to gather his courage goes for Seonghwa’s unhelmeted head. They always do.

It never works.

Blade clangs against blade in the petrified forest, and Seonghwa is unleashed. He deflects the blow easily, his face contorting in fury as he lets out a rage-filled shout and goes on the offence. Soon the clearing is filled with violent chaos, with Seonghwa at its centre. Steel connects with steel over and over again — until steel finally connects with flesh.

His blade bites deep into muscle, hot sprays of vivid red smeared across the snow-covered grounds. Every move is graceful, filled with purpose, a dance of macabre beauty that Seonghwa performs at his master’s every whim. And Hongjoong doesn't even spare his performance a glance.

No, he is fully immersed in his ritual, nearing completion. The air thickens with rot, permeating Seonghwa’s senses. He can taste the decay on his tongue, a thin film of something cloying gathering on his skin.

Soon there is only a trio of hunters left, confused and shaken by the curdled air around them. One of them finally notices the cloaked figure on the stone dais, and Seonghwa sees the moment of realisation on her face; she has recognised the true source at the heart of this corruption.

She charges forward at the altar.

Seonghwa has no choice but to admire her commitment, as desperate and foolhardy as it is. But fools can make for the most dangerous of opponents; and this is one of them.

The hunter moves so suddenly that Seonghwa is forced to wildly fling himself between his master and the threat, skewering himself on the incoming blade. Adrenaline overrides pain, but Seonghwa knows the wound is deep.

Ah. So he will die for Hongjoong today.

Seonghwa smiles faintly, even as every breath draws blood into his lungs. Imminent death is no excuse to shirk his duties.

The hunter crumples to the ground with her sword still sunken into Seonghwa’s chest. The remaining two watch in horror how Seonghwa still stands, seemingly unencumbered by the grievous injury. That horror is their downfall, holding them frozen in place as Seonghwa’s blade finds their necks in one last brutal swing.

Silence falls in the clearing, only broken by Seonghwa’s heavy, gurgled breaths; and the skittering of bones. Hongjoong’s new servant has returned to this earth in a soulless mockery of life.

Faintly, Seonghwa hears his master call out to him.

There is concern in Hongjoong’s voice, or so Seonghwa likes to imagine. In the moments before death, he always allows himself these sweet indulgences.

Seonghwa collapses as the light leaves his eyes; but it will be back. His master will make sure of that.

It starts again with a heartbeat.

Sluggishly, the heart pushes at the blood that has accumulated at the bottom of this body, forcing a current to flow through drained arteries and veins once more. Function returns to the body’s organs; to its undamaged ones, at least.

An impulse sparks through a vast network of nerves, shooting all the way up the spine into the brain. It has one clear message for the newly reborn cognition inside this body’s skull:

Pain.

Muscles flex to open this body’s mouth. The mouth screams.

The pain is excruciating, it is all-encompassing. Anything in this body that is capable of sensation, senses nothing but agony. Torn flesh, punctured lung, shredded skin, all freshly knit together but still filled with memories of past injury. Even the unmarred pieces of this body are screaming in pain, death still clinging onto its meat with clawed fingers. Nothing else exists, endless and endless and endless—

— until it is endless no more. Even the infinite cannot survive superior power.

The pain is not gone, not entirely, but it has receded just enough for the brain to remember its body’s name. Seonghwa.

The entity that knows himself as Seonghwa realises he is naked and cold, and his muscles have regained enough strength for him to shiver uncontrollably. His skin’s nerve-endings send a cacophony of information to his brain, which he slowly untangles to know he is laid down on rough stonework, scraping against him with every twitch of his body.

A pair of familiar hands runs over his skin, a distant voice whispers by his ear.

To translate sounds into language into meaning is still a challenge for his freshly revived brain, but Seonghwa knows the voice belongs to Hongjoong, and that is enough. Seonghwa’s vocal cords vibrate when a jumbled noise escapes past his lips, and he prays that he just begged “please��.

He aches for Hongjoong; the pain of his need for his master is just as agonising as his resurrection, if not moreso. His soul is unmoored on this mortal plane, threatening to drift away, and only Hongjoong can anchor him.

Bleary vision returns to Seonghwa’s eyes. The forest is dark around him, and Hongjoong’s cloaked figure is nothing but a distorted shadow above him. Seonghwa whimpers, not understanding why the blurred image does not clear up — until his master reaches to wipe away his salty tears.

Hongjoong’s fingers are wet, smearing blackened blood across Seonghwa’s cheeks. Its metallic, festeringly sweet scent invades Seonghwa’s nose, but underneath it all he can still smell Hongjoong. His scent like a frigid winter’s morning, all sharp ice and no gentle snow.

His master’s delicate hands on his body go down, down, down, until they find a part of Seonghwa where Hongjoong’s touch causes him to shudder and arch. Pleasure. That's the sensation that throbs through him like a fever, heat flooding his newly alive body. His heart beats faster as it sends blood down to where Hongjoong’s hands stroke and tease. Sharp breaths fill Seonghwa’s aching lungs with oxygen, the air returning out his throat as even sharper whines.

“Are you back, my pet? You performed your duties so admirably today…” Hongjoong coos, his weight settling on Seonghwa’s thighs. As he shifts, his heavy fur cloak falls away to reveal a naked, lean body. He is unbothered by the night’s cold, already hard for his loyal servant. “Allow me to reward your devotion.”

The crescent moon provides little in the way of light, but Seonghwa’s enhanced vision allows him clear sight of the faint glisten gathered on the tip of Hongjoong’s cock. This is why Seonghwa’s master never mocks him for dying, never treats it as a failure in the line of duty. It excites him too much.

“Master…” Seonghwa rasps, feebly reaching for Hongjoong. He can barely lift his arms; his muscles are still weakened from his temporary demise, leaving him entirely to Hongjoong’s mercy. (Then again… isn’t Seonghwa always at his master’s mercy, even at his full strength?)

Dark satisfaction flashes across Hongjoong’s face at his pet’s desperation, knowing exactly what Seonghwa craves. Hongjoong leisurely palms at his cock, smearing his fingers with the clear fluids of his arousal. He then laughs lowly at how Seonghwa’s face contorts in pathetic pleasure as Hongjoong feeds it to him. Seonghwa’s long tongue swirls around cold fingers, moaning at the salty flavour. He always wants the first thing he tastes to be Hongjoong. He needs it to be Hongjoong.

“Such a diligent servant I found,” Hongjoong says with a slow, wicked smile, delighting in Seonghwa’s whine when he pulls his hand away. “So faithful, so greedy. You want more, my loyal soul?”

yes yes yes—

Seonghwa’s voice cracks as he tries to answer, his airways scratchy and raw from his earlier screams.

Hongjoong laughs again — fondly, Seonghwa convinces himself. He is allowed these sweet indulgences in the moments after death. A wired excitement thrums through him while Hongjoong repositions himself, caging Seonghwa’s head between his knees. Seonghwa eagerly cranes his neck to run his tongue over the underside of Hongjoong’s cock, unwilling to wait even a moment longer before he attends to his master.

Hongjoong hisses, his thighs flexing above Seonghwa’s face. “Patience, pet. Find your strength first,” he chides, bracing a hand on Seonghwa’s hip to lean over and wrap his lips around Seonghwa’s flushed cockhead. Seonghwa groans at the wet heat of him; the inside of Hongjoong’s mouth is one of the few parts of him that runs hot. Even his lips are cold, a constant contrast to Seonghwa’s senses as Hongjoong engulfs him, sliding up and down at a torturously slow pace that has Seonghwa writhing underneath him. He is always sensitive, but even moreso at these times, like death has torn the memory of pleasure out of his body, every experience new like it's his first time being ravished by the skillful hands and mouth of his master.

Even in his weakened state, Seonghwa can't stand it anymore; can't stand being the one attended to when it should be him, him on his knees before Hongjoong in ardent worship. He tips his head up to lap at a throbbing vein that runs along the length of Hongjoong’s cock, then takes him inside.

Seonghwa’s worship is clumsy, his muscles stiff from revivification, but he is devout, eager, and Hongjoong accepts what is offered with a zealous groan. He uses Seonghwa’s mouth with deep rolls of his hips, his moans rippling through Seonghwa’s own cock — then a cruel chuckle when Seonghwa gags on him. Hongjoong bucks again, forcing himself deeper down Seonghwa’s throat, like he does not care if his devoted servant suffocates right on his altar. Seonghwa does not care either. He would die for Hongjoong right here all over again — just as long as Hongjoong comes on his tongue first.

Pleasure crackles through Seonghwa’s veins, his eyes tearing up as Hongjoong overwhelms him, his cold lips dragging over his length only to be replaced by his hot tongue, deftly suckling and licking at him. Throbbing arousal floods Seonghwa’s senses, every emotion heightened by the sheer force of physical ecstasy brought to him by his master.

Seonghwa can feel it, how his release pulses closer and closer. How all physical and emotional sensation blends together into a volatile melting pot, the strong catalyst needed to fully align his body and soul after their brutal separation; the final stage to his resurrection to prevent future deterioration. Seonghwa chases it mindlessly, light-headed from Hongjoong fucking his throat, his cheeks puffy and flushed and wet from tears.

He whimpers when Hongjoong’s nails scratch across his thigh, then down to graze over Seonghwa’s ass, two fingers rubbing around the sensitive rim of his tight hole. Drool leaks from his mouth, choking out a moan when Hongjoong ruthlessly pushes him to the very edge of his limits with wet, noisy slurps. He squeezes a hand around the base of Seonghwa’s cock, tongue swirling around the tip as Hongjoong presses his hips down, forcing Seonghwa to take him and keep taking him, staying deep as Seonghwa garbles around his cock, throat spasming.

Oxygen becomes harder and harder to come by as Seonghwa’s nose clogs up, muffled sobs barely able to escape his mouth. His hips buck uselessly when Hongjoong’s lips disappear from his aching cock, but they are replaced by a cool palm that burns against his feverish skin, and Hongjoong brutally jerks him off while sucking at his testes.

The rough edge is just what Seonghwa needs, the soft warmth spreading through his core turning sharp. He cries out, his nails digging into Hongjoong’s ass and hips as he convulses, light-headed with pure pleasure. He uselessly tries to gasp for breath with strangled whimpers, electricity shooting through his nervous system as ropes of white spill over Hongjoong’s fingers and onto Seonghwa’s stomach, swiftly cooling in the night air. Static rings through his ears, exhaustion setting in as the dizzying euphoria clears up — yet Seonghwa also feels stronger, more complete, and while the ritual might be finished, Seonghwa is not done yet

He hollows his cheeks and curls his tongue around Hongjoong’s throbbing cock, warmed by the wet heat of Seonghwa’s ardent mouth, who groans when his master’s hips move again. Hongjoong presses his hands against Seonghwa’s chest as he grinds down, thighs flexing.

Seonghwa’s eyes roll to the back of his head, darkness flickering across his vision as consciousness threatens to fade. But he hangs on, desperate to please. Crude wet squelches fill his ears, almost overpowering the sound of Hongjoong’s pitched whines. Seonghwa moans in satisfaction when Hongjoong shudders violently, the taste of him bursting on Seonghwa’s tongue, down his throat as he greedily swallows down his master’s essence.

Cold air sears through Seonghwa’s airways and fills his no longer aching lungs when Hongjoong pulls away, slumping down next to his faithful pet. He runs frigid fingers over Seonghwa’s flushed, heaving chest, grinning down on him.

“So tell me, Park Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says, his face split apart by a wide, dangerous grin, a wild glint in his dark eyes, “do you wish to renew our contract?”

The question always feels like an insult, even if Seonghwa knows it is necessary. But Hongjoong’s grin proves he also knows how rhetorical his query is, and that soothes the sting to Seonghwa’s pride in his loyalty. Of course he will.

Seonghwa had been dying and desperate the first time he committed to this agreement, left little choice unless he could make peace with his life’s end. Now he is neither desperate nor dying — yet he still has only one path forward. He doesn’t know what Hongjoong will do if he declines; he never asked. It does not matter. There is no choice; there is only Hongjoong. Seonghwa knows his place; at his master’s feet.

He wipes his ruddy cheeks, blinks the lingering tears from his eyes. “I renew our contract,” he says, steadily meeting Hongjoong’s sharp gaze as he extends his hand.

Hongjoong shakes it, his icy hand sending a shiver down Seonghwa’s spine. There is a strange sharpness to his cold touch, like tiny icicles piercing Seonghwa’s palm. Seonghwa swears he can feel blood being drawn, but his skin comes away unmarred.

And just like that, it is done. The verbal contract has been signed.

The first time, Seonghwa had waited for something grand to happen; for Hongjoong’s dark magic to coil around them in swirling black fog, swallowing them both up and spit them back out as a bound entity. It is nothing like that; no impressive displays of power, only a brief whiff of an acrid smell in the air that leaves Seonghwa dizzy and nauseous until it fades, making way for an odd, fuzzy euphoria.

Hongjoong stands up and picks up his fur cloak, putting it back on with a dramatic flourish. He always did enjoy a touch of theatrical flair. “Come, my faithful guard dog, we have much else to do,” he commands, and his voice cuts through Seonghwa’s disorientation like a siren song.

Seonghwa’s head clears and crawls back onto his feet, gathering the pieces of his black armour that are intact enough to wear. His soul brims with renewed purpose, knowing his place in life — and death. He could have said no to the contract. Hongjoong is many things, not all pleasant, but ‘true to his word’ is one of them. He would have released Seonghwa. Perhaps he would even let him live out this final life in peace as repayment for his service.

But what kind of life would that be?

Hongjoong does not need Seonghwa. For him, a thousand others. But out of all those thousands, Hongjoong still chose him. That means something. It has to.

#aaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAA this is so good #i already read it but it was so worth a reread #i was gonna say 'eats my hands' but i need those for booping so ill just yell instead #fic rec #park seonghwa #kim hongjoong

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average-pirate-enjoyer · 25 days ago

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the tragedy of side blogs is people not knowing I'm booping them back 😭😭 I am I swear yall

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average-pirate-enjoyer · 25 days ago

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Showing my cock things it's never seen before

1. The inside of a sprite can

2. h..hopital

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average-pirate-enjoyer · 25 days ago

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Baby, You Can Drive My Car - Mingi x Jongho - Kinktober 2024

pairing: Mingi x Jongho

rating: 18+

word count: 4,783

genre: smut, college au, kinktober, pwp

summary: Jongho accidentally feels up his college roommate Mingi during a movie. So, like a good friend, he helps Mingi out and realizes some things about himself along the way.

additional warnings: thigh riding,handjobs, getting together, friends to something! maybe its lovers maybe its fwb maybe its queer platonic.

authors notes: The title is a lie; this has nothing to do with cars, just guys being dudes.

ao3 link / kinktober masterlist

If it was last night, Jongho could write this off on them being too drunk after San's party. But it wasn't last night; it was right now. In their dorm room, in Jongho's bed after a long day of classes, work, and just everything .

It started innocuously.

Mingi crawled into his bed to suggest they watch a movie on his laptop. Jongho wasn't all that fond of skinship himself, but conflictingly he did like to touch others. So his hand found its way into Mingi's hair after they got comfortable with Jongho sitting up against the headboard while Mingi laid down on his back beside him. His fingers worked without his knowing, twirling the growing-out locks around his fingers and scratching at his scalp.

The movie was… fine, but there was nothing memorable. Jongho would forget about it within months and only remember it years from now when he saw its name on some actor's IMDb credits. He slowly slid down the bed until he was beside Mingi. He lay on his side, one arm propping his head up while the other found Mingi's waist, where his shirt had risen slightly during his own shifting around on the bed.

Jongho was focused on figuring out the plot twist; he was pretty sure he could see it coming. He wasn't aware of the way the movements of his fingers along Mingi's soft, warm skin were affecting his roommate. Reaching under his shirt, he traced up his ribcage, across his chest, down his stomach, and over the bit of hipbone peaking out under his sweatpants.

Jongho rolled his eyes with a light scoff at the needless character death, killing the only minority character. "This movie actually sucks," Jongho said, turning to Mingi. The rest of his complaints died in his throat when he saw Mingi's face.

Mingi's eyes were on the screen but looked hazy. His cheeks had a soft pink blush. His teeth were digging into his lower lip to prevent making any noise. His eyes darted up to Jongho, wide and nervous— maybe scared.

Jongho's eyebrows furrowed in worry. It wasn't a horror movie, so it wasn't like Mingi had any reason to be scared. And his flustered appearance made no sense either since there weren't any sex scenes. Jongho's mouth opened to ask what was wrong when he noticed his fingers had paused, dipped below the band of Mingi's already low sweatpants.

His eyes widened, too, and he looked down at his hand in shocked betrayal. However, when he looked at his hand, he noticed the apparent tent in Mingi's pants. Jongho let out a surprised, squeaky wheezing sound.

Jongho yanked his hand out of Mingi's pants as if he had been burned, holding it to his chest. "Oh my god."

"I'm sorry!" Mingi said, sitting up quickly and putting distance between him and Jongho.

"I'm sorry," Jongho rushed to say. "I'm the one that just… did that ."

Jongho felt mortified. He knew his own face was redder than Mingi's as the heat pooling in his cheeks made it feel like he was on fire. He couldn't believe he was so focused on such a subpar movie that he absentmindedly made his friend hard. How does that even happen?

"It's okay," Mingi said awkwardly. "It was nice." He then cringed, putting his hands over his face. "No, wait, I shouldn't have said that."

"I-" Jongho couldn't say anything. What should he even say? More apologies? Crack a joke? "Okay." Well, that probably wasn't what he should have landed on.

"Okay," Mingi repeated. He spread his fingers to look at Jongho through them.

"S-should I leave?" Jongho asked, unintentionally looking back down at Mingi's erection. He screwed his eyes shut for a moment before looking at Mingi's face, head tilted higher to avoid looking at it. "So you can…"

Mingi squawked. "I'm not going to jerk off after you were just feeling me up!"

"I was not!" Jongho said defensively.

"Yes, you were!"

Yes, he was. Jongho pressed his lips into a thin line, turning his head away. His sight landed on the laptop again. "What, are we supposed just to watch the movie again?"

"We can watch something else," Mingi suggested. "You thought it was boring, so you can put something else on it."

Jongho caught the ' you thought ' part. "Well, if you liked it, we can keep watching it."

"I wasn't really paying attention," Mingi quietly admitted.

Jongho scratched at the back of his neck. "Right. Okay." He grabbed Mingi's laptop and pulled it into his lap. He minimized the movie and scrolled through Mingi's watchlist to at least give him some sort of consultation.

The next movie started, and the two stayed a reasonable distance, which was awkwardly lying on either side of the thin twin bed, nearly falling off as they tried to leave a 'no homo' space between them now.

That didn't last long. The uncomfortable position took priority over the awkward emotions, and they found themselves side by side again.

Mingi was the first to get over the reservations about skinship. He rolled onto his side and tossed one leg over Jongho's. Not by much, but Mingi's calf rested on top of Jongho's, and that was enough to get Jongho to calm down, too, finally. Well, mostly. Jongho took to tucking his hands behind his back like he was handcuffed or something. For his sanity.

When Mingi asked for Jongho to grab his water bottle off the nightstand, Mingi noticed he was lying on his arms. He scoffed at him. "Seriously?" He took the water bottle from Jongho but immediately ignored it. His hand instead grabbed Jongho's wrist to prevent him from stashing it away again. "Listen, it's fine. It was an accident. Things happen. Now can we stop being weird and go back to cuddling?"

Jongho wanted to argue that he didn't cuddle. That'd be a lie, though. He was always prickly when others initiated skinship, but he loved starting it. He'd give his friends back hugs, an arm around their shoulders as they walked, hands on their arms or legs as they sat beside each other, and even curl his body around his friends at sleepovers. He did like skinship if he initiated it. If he could easily stop it at any time. It felt less intimidating to not have to see their faces.

Jongho watched as Mingi guided his hand back to his hair. With a sigh, Jongho rearranged himself into a more comfortable position, on his side facing Mingi. When their faces were so close together that it proved to be too much for Jongho, he scooted back up the bed so Mingi's face was further away from his, now level with Jongho's chest. It was easier to thread his fingers through his hair that way anyway. Mingi adjusted too, but his leg stayed tossed over Jongho's.

The movie seemed interesting enough. This one was much better than the first, at least. It's hard to hold his attention, though, as he focused mainly on where and how he's touching his roommate. He wasn't going to let his hands wander idly this time. Each finger through his hair, each caress of his skin was purposeful.

The movie had reached its climax and was wrapping up neatly with the protagonists' lives settling in the aftermath. Mingi turned his face into Jongho, hiding from him as he let out a shaky exhale.

"Are you doing this on purpose?"

Jongho took a moment to process what his friend was saying. Then he jerked back to look down. Mingi was hard again. Maybe he was still hard? Jongho couldn't imagine Mingi really sat there the whole movie with a damn boner, but who's to say. His hand stopped on the nape of Mingi's neck.

"I wasn't even doing anything this time!" Jongho argued. He was sure he only touched his neck and shoulders and spent most of the time playing with his hair. "Dude, I think you're just touch starved."

Mingi made an indignant sound. "Rude. I'm sensitive!"

Jongho did not need to know that. He shuddered because that was too much information, definitely for no other reason.

They both hesitated. The credits began to roll as Mingi's eyes were glued on Jongho's comforter while Jongho was staring at Mingi in front of him. Slowly, Jongho's hand began to move again. Lightly, he ghosted his fingers down the side of Mingi's neck, watching in fascination as Mingi's skin erupted into goosebumps at the faint touch.

Mingi's eyes lifted to meet his as Jongho traced his collarbone. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know," Jongho admitted.

Despite his hang-ups on skinship, it wasn't like Jongho had never been intimate with people. He had his share of girlfriends and hookups throughout his time at college, but weirdly, none of them had captured his attention like Mingi had.

His hand traveled back up the side of Mingi's neck and traced the shell of his ear. He was enraptured at watching Mingi shiver. The blush deepened the more Jongho's fingers made aimless but mindful patterns on his skin. Jongho was fascinated by all the reactions.

"Jongho," Mingi said, sounding wary.

When Jongho met Mingi's eyes again, he saw the guarded expression in his friend's eyes. "Is this okay," he whispered.

Mingi's eyebrows furrowed. "Is what okay? What's the goal here?"

Jongho's hand skimmed down Mingi's torso over his shirt before stopping to rest in the dip of his waist. "I don't know," he repeated, "but I like this."

An eyebrow quirked up. "Yeah?"

Jongho nodded. His leg slowly shifted between Mingi's, lifting it to rest his thigh between them. "Do you want to…?"

Mingi's eyes widened, and his mouth parted into a tiny o shape. Before Jongho could take it back, however, Mingi moved just as slowly as Jongho had before, yet it felt even slower to Jongho. It was like an eternity until Mingi's hips met Jongho's thigh. Both men inhaled sharply at the feeling.

That was certainly a new feeling for Jongho. He obviously knew what a dick felt like, he had one, but his mind was reeling at feeling someone else's. The heat from Mingi's cock seeped through both their pajamas, burning Jongho's skin. Yet he wanted to feel more. He pressed his leg firmer against the hot erection.

Mingi took that as a sign to stop hesitating. His hand gripped Jongho's hip tightly to keep his leg in place as he started rolling his hips slowly. The deep moan Mingi let out had Jongho swallowing heavily.

Yeah, this was no longer innocuous.

Jongho's hand rucked up Mingi's shirt so he could press his palm flat against his lower back. He felt the way Mingi's back muscles flexed with each movement. Jongho was hanging off his every grunt of effort and moan of pleasure.

"Hyung," Jongho whispered. He was startled by how much reverence his voice held. Mingi's blown pupils had Jongho press closer to him. "Feel good, Hyung?"

He nodded at him. "S'good."

Suddenly, the clothing barrier between them was too much. He wanted to see more. Jongho's fingers hooked on the waistband of Mingi's sweatpants, this time actually on purpose. "Can I—Hyung, can I take them off?" Jongho had no idea why he was also stumbling over his words.

Mingi nodded, and immediately, Jongho pushed Mingi's sweatpants down. He kept his underwear on, thinking that was too much. He didn't ask for that yet. Jongho craned his neck to look between them. Of course, his cock was still clothed, but the thin fabric of Mingi's briefs gave him more to see compared to the sweatpants. Jongho let out a choked-off moan.

Mingi was the first to realize Jongho was getting off on this, too. Mingi's hand on his hip trailed around to Jongho's front. His hand rested flat against Jongho's lower stomach, waiting for permission. "Jongho-yah, do you want me to touch you too?"

Jongho froze. His eyes widened, staring at Mingi like a deer in the headlights. Mingi's hand started to retract with a frown, worried he ruined the mood.

Mingi looked at his younger roommate with a serious expression. "We can stop whenever you want."

Jongho nodded. He knew that; he started it. Still, he greatly appreciated Mingi's attentiveness. Mingi knew Jongho had never done anything with a man, which was embarrassing. His eyes screwed shut for a moment.

Mingi's hand reached up to grab Jongho's face instead. "Hey, don't close your eyes. Look at me." Jongho reluctantly did as told. "Do you want to stop?"

Jongho rushed to answer, stumbling over his words briefly before taking a deep breath to get it together. "No, it's just—you first. Wanna see."

Mingi's frown smoothed out. The roll of his hips, which had slowed, started to pick up pace again. He dropped all reservations now that he knew he wasn't being selfish. Jongho watched Mingi move, sweat building along his skin, his eyebrows pinched together, and his mouth hung open. He gripped at Jongho's back almost desperately.

"You look good like this," Jongho admitted softly, as if he didn't want Mingi to hear.

Mingi's mouth quirked up into a smirk. "Yeah?" He said breathily. The sound had Jongho throbbing in his pants. "I'd look better with your hands on me."

Jongho jumped into action, his hand sliding down Mingi's back to grab his ass, using his strength to help Mingi get off. His other hand, which had been falling asleep from how Jongho was lying on his side, had found Mingi's throat, tilting his head back to look up at Jongho more.

"Yeah," Jongho agreed and cleared his throat. His hand cupped Mingi's jaw, and his thumb hesitantly brushed along Mingi's lower lip, which had spit gathered on it. "That is better."

Mingi chuckled and continued to thrust his hips desperately against him. Jongho's hand found Mingi's hair, and he tugged lightly, relishing the moan he got in reward. He pulled again just to hear him moan again and feel the twitch of Mingi's cock against his thigh.

"That noise, keep making it," Jongho asked, punctuating the request with another gentle pull.

"Don't be gentle—I like it rougher."

Jongho felt a thrill down his spine at that admission. He did as instructed and yanked , Mingi's head jerking further back at that. Mingi's eyes fluttered close as the loudest, highest moan was ripped from the older. His hips started to lose a rhythm and all finess. He grew sloppy as he chased his pleasure.

Jongho's hand that was gripping his ass ghosted up and down the thigh that was thrown over his leg. He even dipped his fingers under the leg hole of his underwear to touch his ass more. "Come on, Hyung."

"Jongho— ah shit —gonna come."

"Please," Jongho practically begged, as if he was the one about to come and was asking for permission.

That seemed to be what finally pushed Mingi over the edge. Jongho stopped breathing as Mingi shook in his hold, hips stuttering. He tried to sear the image of Mingi coming into his mind, eyes darting all over his face as Mingi's face scrunched up, yet his mouth hung open in a silent moan.

Jongho briefly wondered if seeing one of his best friends come in his underwear should have been a sobering moment. Instead, it seemed to fuel him further. Jongho's skin felt like it was on fire, his ears ringing.

He grabbed Mingi's wrist to bring him back to his front. He placed Mingi's hand directly over the tent straining in his pants. Mingi didn't complain, curling his hand around his erection. He was openly bisexual, so he wasn't going to shy away; he wasn't unsure like Jongho had been. Jongho felt his sanity slip away as Mingi worked his hand over his clothed cock.

"Oh my god," Jongho practically wheezed.

Mingi sounded smug almost as he asked, "Does this feel good?"

Jongho wanted to turn his face away to hide, but Mingi had already told him to look at him. And Jongho wanted to follow that instruction more. He gave a jerky nod.

Mingi tsked. "Tell me what feels good. Tell me how you like it."

The younger weakly hit Mingi's shoulder as he felt his face heat in embarrassment rather than arousal. Actually, maybe being embarrassed was also turning him on. He didn't have time to dissect that right now. The more important thing was whether he would answer Mingi seriously or not. He took in a shaky breath. " You . You feel good."

Mingi was clearly taken aback by that but quickly recovered. He mirrored what Jongho had done before, retracting his hand to hook his fingers in Jongho's sweatpants and underwear band. "Can I?"

Jongho nodded. "Yes, fucking hell, please."

Mingi laughed lightly as he lowered Jongho's clothes as much as he could in this position. Jongho huffed in frustration and rolled onto his back. He lifted his hips, finished pulling down his clothes, and threw them onto the floor. Jongho decided to crawl on top of Mingi. The older's face briefly flashed in surprise as his hands grabbed his waist for stability.

Jongho didn't like being face-to-face with skinship with his friends. It felt too exposing. Stirred up weird feelings in his chest. It was happening again as he hovered over him, straddling one of Mingi's legs. Jongho blinked down at his Hyung, watching the other watch him , his eyes scanning Jongho's body. His chest constricted, heart beating erratically against his rib cage as his friend's hands settled on his waist. Just like his heart always did when his friends got in his personal space.

Oh.

" Oh ," Jongho whispered.

Mingi cocked his head to the side. "Oh," he repeated questioningly.

"I think I'm gay."

Mingi stared at Jongho for a few beats of silence. He then pressed his lips together, holding back a laugh, and snorted instead. Jongho glared at him, hitting him in the shoulder. "Sorry," Mingi said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "It's just, straight guys usually don't get off watching another guy come. Glad you realized that, though. Congrats."

Jongho's hands braced against Mingi's chest, continuing to frown at him. "Whatever."

Mingi smiled, folding his arms behind his head to work as a pillow. The casual look that showed off his arms muscles had Jongho's dick throb. Mingi noticed, smile growing. "Why don't you ride my thigh," Mingi suggested.

Trying to be nonchalant, Jongho started to rock his bare cock against his thigh. The skin-against-skin contact was too dry at first, making Jongho wince. Mingi took pity on him and spit into his hand. He wrapped his hand around Jongho's cock to slick him up. Jongho thrust into the tight fist of Mingi's hand, whining when he took his hand away.

Hands finding his hips again, Mingi started to move Jongho back and forth, rubbing his cock against his thigh. The glide was better than before, with no painful drag to take away from the pleasure. Jongho's head tilted back as he moaned and rocked his hips faster.

As Jongho found his rhythm, Mingi's hands began to wander. He kneaded Jongho's tensing thighs, appreciating the thick muscles there. His hands traveled up his torso, under his shirt, tracing his muscles just barely hidden under a layer of fat. He groped Jongho's chest, rarely getting the chance to with Jongho's aversion to skinship and tendency to wear layers that hid his torso. Jongho suddenly got why Mingi had reacted the way he did when Jongho was feeling him up during the movie. It felt good .

As Mingi's fingers brushed over his nipple, he let out a whimper. Jongho's eyes widened. His hand slapped over his mouth, and his face burned red. Mingi laughed softly, retracting a hand from his shirt to pull Jongho's wrist off his mouth.

"I," Jongho began, still wide-eyed. "I don't think I've ever made that sound before."

Mingi's eyes scrunched up as a broad smile took over his face. "Keep making it."

Jongho hesitated, now self-conscious. Mingi grabbed his hips again and helped him find his rhythm again. The sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine made Jongho get out of his head quickly, though. Mingi's hands tightened on his skin as he let out more sounds. Jongho wondered if he'd leave bruises. He kind of wanted him to.

"You're doing so good," Mingi softly praised.

Jongho cracked open his eyes, having closed them at some point. He felt his hair matted to his forehead with sweat. "Hyung, help."

Mingi raised an amused eyebrow. "But I am, Jjong." He pulled Jongho even harder against his thigh to prove his point. He had the nerve to smile as Jongho whined. "What do you need?"

"I don't know," he complained. His arms struggled to support his weight, and his elbows buckled. Mingi let out an oof as Jongho landed unceremoniously on top of him. "Sorry, sorry."

Mingi shushed him, pressing a kiss to his temple, hoping he'd get away with it since Jongho was lost in a haze of pleasure. "It's okay."

A lightbulb went off in Jongho's head. He looked at Mingi expectantly, unintentionally batting his lashes at him to try to blink sweat out of them. "Hyung, can I kiss you?"

Mingi didn't seem at all surprised by that. He nodded, and Jongho propped himself up on his elbows to lean up and kiss him. The first touch of their lips was just a simple peck, nothing more than a quick press of their lips. Jongho was trying to find out if it was weird or not. It wasn't.

He gave a satisfied hum as he dove back in to kiss him with more intent. Jongho had plenty of experience kissing, too, but while his exes said he was good at it, he never saw the point. Now though? Now he got it. It was exciting and grounding at the same time, helping him come back to Earth and focus as Mingi let him lead.

Mingi pulled Jongho up by tugging on his hair. Jongho whined again when their lips separated. "Why?"

"Can I be a bit selfish again," Mingi asked.

Jongho furrowed his eyebrows. "You haven't been selfish." If anything, he felt like he was the one being selfish, using his friend as a gay awakening.

"Come here," Mingi instructed, the hands on his hips now guiding him up and away from his thigh, much to Jongho's dismay. He maneuvered him so he was now hovering over him, legs straddling either side of his hips.

He looked down to see the drying cum that had ruined Mingi's underwear, thrilled to see Mingi was hard again. He let out a whistle. "Damn, you've got a crazy refractory period."

Mingi nodded. He looked so pleased with himself. "It's part of why Wooyoung pounces on me so much."

Jongho let out his own laugh. He knew Wooyoung slept around with their friends. Wooyoung had once tried to make a move on him until Jongho told him he was straight. Jongho later found out Wooyoung pivoted that night to sleep with San. The next day, Wooyoung went on a whole spiel about queerplatonic relationships and hoped he didn't make Jongho uncomfortable. Jongho wondered if Wooyoung would still be interested and want to hook up now.

Mingi grabbed his own underwear, looking questioningly at Jongho. Jongho took the initiative and pulled Mingi's briefs down. He watched, his cock twitching as Mingi's dick sprung free and slapped against his stomach.

He knew he was staring. In his defense, he hadn't seen another person's hard cock in person before. He already knew Mingi was huge; Wooyoung had ranted and raved about his dick rearranging his insides multiple times, corroborated by what he felt against his thighs. Still, he wasn't fully prepared to see how big he was. He didn't know why that made his mouth water, but it did.

Mingi rubbed soothing circles on his thighs to ease any anxiety Jongho might be feeling. Jongho wasn't feeling nervous, though. He finally sat his weight down on Mingi's upper thighs. He rocked his hips forward again. Both gasped as that made them brush against each other.

" Fuck ," Jongho tucked his face into Mingi's neck. He started rolling his hips to make them both feel good, chasing the feeling. With hands on his ass, Mingi helped guide him in a way that'd make them both feel good.

"There you go," Mingi praised.

He took them in hand to give them both even more stimulation. Jongho groaned deep in the back of his throat and started to rut into Mingi's hand. He felt so close already, the coil in his gut tightening, body buzzing from all the pleasure. He was leaking so much precum, making a mess over them.

Jongho sped up, panting against Mingi's skin. The other shivered below him, and Jongho remembered how sensitive Mingi was. He pressed wet kisses to his neck, relishing the moans Mingi let out. His fingers threaded through Mingi's hair and yanked.

" Nngh ," Mingi keened, making those pretty sounds all because of him now.

"Hyung, close, I'm close."

The hand that was still on Jongho's ass trailed up his spine and grabbed him by the back of the neck. He pulled Jongho in for a kiss and licked into his mouth. Jongho's toes curled. He definitely understood the hype around kissing now.

Mingi tightened his hand around them. "Go on, Jjong."

The coil finally snapped. Jongho managed to choke out the most wrecked moan he had ever made in his life as he came. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, limbs trembling and hips still desperately moving against Mingi. He tried to drop his head, but Mingi's hand quickly grabbed his cheek to keep him up. Jongho's eyes fluttered open to look at Mingi through heavy lids.

The eyes boring into him made him let out a small moan. Mingi was taking in his every reaction, just like he had earlier. Jongho's hips slowed to a stop. He rolled off Mingi onto his side, trying to catch his breath.

Mingi continued to touch himself, and Jongho's eyes followed the movement. Mingi's hand worked over his cock, watching the head appear and disappear through his fist again and again, smeared with both their cum, flushed red and leaking. Jongho instinctively clenched. He wasn't ready for any of that, though, and pushed that thought into the back of his mind.

He felt his dick start to stir, but he definitely wouldn't be able to get it up again. So instead, his hand found Mingi's hair again. Mingi's eyes slipped closed at the feeling, his hand picking up pace. His fingers danced over his features and began to kiss his neck again.

"Fuck, Jongho ," Mingi gasped as he came again, back arching off the mattress.

Jongho hesitated for a moment. He reached out and swept his fingers through the mess on Mingi's stomach. Mingi watched with a curious but nonjudgemental expression as Jongho brought his hand to his mouth. His tongue darted out to taste Mingi's cum.

" Ack , no," Jongho gagged. He was not a fan of the salty, bitter taste. He quickly wiped his hand off on the blanket below them.

Mingi let out a wheeze. "Yeah, it's not for everyone. Some guys are so adamant about swallowing, but I don't care either way."

Jongho nodded in agreement. It hadn't mattered to him if the girls he had been with spit it out or if they tried to lick up every drop. He glanced down at Mingi's softening dick again, briefly wondering if he'd like sucking dick.

He sat up and reached into the nightstand to grab tissues he had stashed away for cleanup. Mingi snagged a few from him.

"Are you alright?" Mingi asked, sitting up too as he started cleaning himself up. Jongho raised an eyebrow at him, so Mingi bumped their shoulders together. "You're not spiraling, are you? Freaking out over realizing your gay?"

Jongho stuffed the crumpled tissues in his trash bin. "No, I'm fine." And he meant it. He actually felt good about it, and not just because he was full of endorphins from coming.

"Good, good, cool." Mingi nodded to himself. "Well, if you do freak out in the future, you know all of us are here to help."

Jongho snorted and closed the forgotten laptop, putting it on his nightstand. "Help like you did?"

Mingi rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"I do," Jongho said with a soft smile. "Thank you, Hyung."

Mingi pressed a kiss to Jongho's temple and crawled off the bed. "You're welcome. Come on, let's go shower."

#kinktober 2024 #persie posts #ateez fic #ateez smut #song mingi fic #song mingi smut #choi jongho fic #choi jongho smut #jongi #jongi fic #jongi smut

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average-pirate-enjoyer · 27 days ago

Text

Princess By Dawn - Yunho x Mingi - Kinktober 2024

pairing: Yunho x Mingi

rating: 18+

word count: 3,497

genre: smut, 'canon compliant'/idols, kinktober, mostly pwp, fluff? an attempt at fluff was made.

summary: Princess Agenda Mingi.

additional warnings: praise kink, handjobs, anal fingering, anal sex, shower sex

authors notes: heyyy, how y'all doing. I knew I was going to be crazy busy during October but really thought I'd be farther along in Kinktober than this by now :') Came back to look at my notes for each day to just 'princess mingi agenda shower sex', with no memory of what the "plot" (if you can call it that) was. But, here we have it. Hopefully, fingers crossed, I'll be able to finish kinktober before December

ao3 link / kinktober masterlist

The second the ladder game ended with him and Yunho as roommates at this hotel, Mingi knew he was in for a treat after the concert. Throughout the day, both on stage and off, he felt Yunho's eyes watching him, fueling him to give his all and then some during the performance. Even as they loaded into the vans to head back home, Yunho's gaze felt like a pleasant weight on his skin.

Yunho unlocked the door for them before holding it open for him. "After you, Princess."

Mingi thanked him with a laugh as he walked into the hotel room. "Do you want to shower first?" They had removed their makeup after the concert, but their skin was still caked in cooled sweat and grime, and there was no way they'd go to bed before washing it off.

"Actually," Yunho began as he shut the door behind them. "I thought we could shower together."

Mingi paused before narrowing his eyes at him. "We are not going to try to have sex in the shower again." He almost cracked his head open last time, and they swore off it. Or at least he thought they did.

Yunho giggled, shaking his head. He crossed the room to find his suitcase containing his toiletries and pajamas. "No, of course not. Just want to pamper the Princess."

Mingi bit back a smile and agreed. He grabbed his things and met Yunho in the bathroom. He let out a whistle upon seeing the size of the shower. It had plenty of room for the two of them and a bench seat. Yunho turned the faucet and kept adjusting it until it was perfect while Mingi stripped out of his clothes.

Yunho gestured for Mingi to step in first as he shed his own clothes. Mingi opened the glass door and stood under the spray. He sighed as the warm waters eased the leftover tension from the concert. Yunho slipped in behind him with a loofah in hand and grabbed the complimentary body wash. The comforting scent of coconut and shea butter wafted through the room as Yunho pumped the soap onto the loofah.

"Sit down," Yunho said softly. Mingi sat down on the bench and gave Yunho his hand when he gestured for him to.

Yunho ran the soapy loofah over Mingi's skin. Gently but meticulously, he washed his arm, across his shoulders and neck, down his chest and stomach before going up his back, then down the other arm. Mingi's eyes slowly closed at Yunho's gentle ministrations, and he tilted his head back against the wall in bliss. He let Yunho's gentle touches guide him where he needed to be, twisting to and fro when required. Yunho paused occasionally to massage any tense knots in his muscles. His hands were followed closely behind with his lips, leaving kisses in his wake.

"You did so well today," Yunho said as he washed Mingi's leg. Mingi's eyes fluttered open to see Yunho kneeling to wash the limb. The sight of Yunho kneeling for him had his blood flowing south. Yunho smiled up at him as he massaged his thigh, ignoring his hardening dick for the time being. "You were on fire, seriously. They might just have to let you into the demon line."

Mingi laughed, hand slightly swatting his shoulder playfully. "Shut up."

"I'm serious." Yunho moved to wash the other leg. "They definitely barked the loudest for you today."

That made Mingi laugh harder, rolling his eyes at Yunho's antics.

After Yunho finished washing his legs, he put the loofa aside. He grabbed the shampoo and worked it through his hair. Yunho gently scratched at Mingi's scalp. Mingi couldn't help but push his head into Yunho's hand; the gesture felt so good.

Yunho motioned for Mingi to stand as he grabbed the shower head. With a hand under his chin, Yunho tipped back Mingi's head so he could rinse the shampoo without getting it in Mingi's eyes. He then moved to rinse the soap off his body. He pressed soft kisses to Mingi's shoulders and neck.

"You have such good stage presence," Yunho continued, praising between tiny kisses. "I couldn't keep my eyes off you."

"I noticed," Mingi teased as Yunho returned the shower head to the hook.

Yunho smiled against his shoulder blade as he worked the hair conditioner into Mingi's hair. "Didn't try to be discrete."

Yunho grabbed the body wash again. Mingi assumed he would start washing himself, but Yunho's hands rested on Mingi's hips. His thumbs rubbed circled on his hip bones, and his mouth curled into a soft, adoring smile as the two looked at each other. Mingi didn't bother hiding the fact that his gaze was stuck on Yunho's lips.

Yunho's smile grew when he noticed, and he leaned in to press their lips together in a soft, slow kiss. Mingi let out a satisfied sigh as warmth spread through his chest. Yunho's hands began to move with purpose again. When Yunho's hand wrapped around Mingi's half-hard cock, he made a soft 'nnnh' sound that made Yunho laugh through his nose. Yunho pumped his hand just three times before he moved on to gently massage his balls.

Yunho gently nudged Mingi's legs apart to wash his upper thighs and taint. Somehow, this felt more exposing than all the times the two of them had sex, and Mingi felt his face heat up. Mingi's arms wound around Yunho's shoulder and pulled him closer, dropping his face to Yunho's neck to hide. Yunho didn't protest, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

"You've worked so hard; you've grown a lot over the years," Yunho praised as if he wasn't now washing between his ass. "Both your dancing and rapping have improved so, so much."

Mingi jolted as Yunho's finger rubbed over his hole more intentionally than before, rubbing a firm circle around it. "Yunho, I said we're not having-"

"We're not," Yunho confirmed. "Just helping you clean up."

Yunho finger paused but didn't retract, waiting for either the okay or protest. Mingi waited before giving the tiniest nod. Slowly but surely, Yunho pressed his finger against his rim until it let his finger in. Yunho didn't press in far, just to the first knuckle, and twisted it around. He took his finger out and grabbed the shower head to rinse Mingi off again.

Then Yunho grabbed a bottle from behind the shampoo and body wash. Mingi let out a disbelieving laugh when he saw the bottle of lube. "Yunho," Mingi chided, though he wasn't saying no. In fact, he bit his lip to try and fail to hold back a smile.

"Can I take care of you, Princess?" Yunho asked. He then quickly tacked on, "Just you. I won't fuck you, so there's no need to worry about you falling."

Mingi agreed and kissed Yunho again. The click of the lube had Mingi shiver instinctively. Once again, Yunho's finger slowly pressed into him again, and the slide became much easier thanks to the lube rather than soap, and he slipped his entire finger into him. Mingi sighed and let his eyes close again, and Yunho's free arm wrapped around his back for support. Mingi let himself sink into Yunho's hold, trusting him to keep him safe.

As Mingi's body grew more accustomed to the stretch, Yunho started praising him again. "You looked so pretty today." He kissed the corner of Mingi's mouth, feeling Mingi's walling flutter around him as he spoke. "My Princess always looks so pretty, but today especially. Couldn't stop thinking about how much I wanted to take care of you."

Mingi let out a tiny gasp as Yunho brushed against his prostate. His hands cupped Yunho's face and pulled him in for another kiss. He felt like he couldn't get close enough to Yunho as he pressed even closer to him. A sharp thrill shot through his body when he felt Yunho's hot, heavy erection against his hip.

"Hand me the lube?" Mingi asked. Yunho made a questioning noise but still did as Mingi requested. Mingi poured some into his hand before taking Yunho's cock in his hand. Yunho gasped in surprise, briefly pausing his finger inside Mingi as his eyes slipped shut to enjoy the feeling.

"You don't have to, Mingi," Yunho assured as he eased his finger out before adding a second one.

Mingi kissed Yunho's cheek. "I know. Just because I don't want to slip and die in the shower doesn't mean you can't get off too."

Yunho laughed, nudging Mingi's cheek with his nose. Mingi matched the pace of Yunho's fingers. When Yunho would hit his prostate, Mingi would rub his thumb along the head of Yunho's cock. When Yunho scissored his fingers apart, Mingi would flick his wrist the way Yunho liked.

Yunho's other hand also came down to wrap around Mingi's cock, smiling at the groan Mingi let out. Yunho kissed Mingi's neck, so badly wanting to leave hickeys but knowing the stylists would kill him.

Mingi, on the other hand, didn't care what the stylists thought. He knew how to test Yunho's patience. He let his sounds out unabashedly. It had the desired effect immediately. Yunho's finger stopped thrusting in and out to instead rub insistently at his prostate, making his knees almost buckle.

"Making such pretty sounds for me, Princess," Yunho grunted into Mingi's neck. Mingi's blood sang from how gruff Yunho's voice already was. "You're driving me crazy, but that's what you want, right?"

Mingi nodded, tilting his head back to give him more access and closing his eyes. "I look good in a turtleneck," he said.

Yunho chuckled. "You do. You look good in everything. Or nothing." Yunho grazed his teeth over Mingi's neck, still not leaving a mark. "My pretty baby wants some markings?"

"Please," Mingi begged, and he shivered at the feeling of Yunho licking up his neck.

"So polite. Good boy."

Mingi shuddered at the praise. He may know that Yunho got off on hearing him, but Yunho also knew Mingi's biggest kink was praise, with each compliment throughout the night being both heartfelt and with the intent to work him up. Between kisses, praise continued to pour out of Yunho. Mingi's breath hitched with every word out of Yunho's mouth.

Yunho finally sucked a mark into Mingi's skin, making his thighs start to tense. With a hand somewhat shaky from the adrenaline, he reached out for Yunho, pulling him close to kiss him again.

The kiss was a complete 180 from the previous ones; Yunho was much more feverish than before. Mingi's hand pressed flat along Yunho's spine to keep him close. Yunho sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, digging his teeth into the flesh, though not too hard to truly hurt. Mingi moaned at the feeling, which gave Yunho access to slip his tongue into his mouth. Mingi's hand skimmed down Yunho's back before grabbing his ass, squeezing the handful appreciatively.

Mingi pulled back, gasping for air with a string of saliva connecting their lips together, but Yunho followed after him. Instead of connecting their lips, Yunho once again kissed along his chin to then leave more bites down the column of his neck, pausing to suck hickeys into the skin.

"Come on, Yuyu," Mingi encouraged. He whined when Yunho let go of his cock, the exact opposite of what he wanted. Yunho batted Mingi's hand off him to take both erections in his own hand instead.

Even with the water running over their bodies, Mingi could still feel the precum from Yunho's leaking cock mixing with his own. His finger circled around the head of Yunho's dick. He gathered the precum on his fingers before bringing them up to his mouth. Yunho's eyes watched as Mingi licked his fingers clean. Yunho made a sound just shy of a growl before grabbing Mingi by the back of his neck to kiss him again.

It took three more pumps of Yunho's hand until Mingi gasped sharply, back bowing as he came, shooting cum across Yunho's fingers and smearing across their stomachs. Yunho's hands and fingers kept working to extend Mingi's high until Mingi pushed at his hand and trembled in over-sensitivity. When his fingers slipped out, Yunho gently shushed Mingi's whimpers. His chest was still heaving and flushed as he tried to catch his breath.

Yunho quickly washed off his hands before grabbing the shower head again. He sprayed down their stomachs. He cupped Mingi's cheek softly. "Tilt your head back, Min."

Mingi hummed and did so. Yunho rinsed the conditioner out of Mingi's hair, gently scratching his scalp with his fingers. Once his hair was thoroughly rinsed out, Mingi grabbed the shower head out of his hand and hurried to hang it up.

"I lied," Mingi said as he shut off the water to avoid wasting it. "We're fucking. Sit down."

Yunho laughed loudly in surprise, head tilting back with the action that made Mingi feel so fond. His hand naturally came up to his mouth to try to hold in his laugh, though it didn't work. He nodded in agreement and turned around to go sit on the bench. Mingi admired Yunho's ass as he walked over.

Yunho sat on the shower bench, facing Mingi with a confident smile. Mingi's eyes roamed Yunho's body as the other leaned back against the shower wall and loosely wrapped his hand around himself. He smirked at Mingi. The pose showed off his long legs and the confidence radiating from him meant he knew it. "Are you just going to stare, Princess? Or are you going to come sit on your throne?"

Mingi laughed at the comment and grabbed the lube again as he hurried over. Yunho sat up to meet Mingi as he straddled Yunho's legs. Worried about Yunho's hand and wrist possibly hurting after already just fingering him for a while, he got ready to finger himself.

Yunho pouted when he noticed Mingi reaching behind himself. "You should let me-"

"Keep touching yourself," Mingi interrupted.

Yunho raised an eyebrow but did as instructed. As Yunho's grip tightened, Mingi eased three fingers in, pausing just after the first knuckle to adjust. He worked his fingers in and out to get used to the stretch, watching Yunho's expressions as he pleased himself. Yunho's eyebrows were slightly furrowed, flush on his face and ears, and running down his neck. The confidence radiating from Yunho was mesmerizing, and Mingi couldn't look away.

"You talked about how pretty I am, but you should see yourself right now."

"Thank you, baby," Yunho said, fingers threading through Mingi's hair to guide their foreheads together. He cupped his cheek to kiss him again. He still had the same passion as before, kissing Mingi until breathless while his hand softly caressed his face in contrast.

When his fingers brushed his prostate, Mingi keened into Yunho's mouth. The ladder pulled back with a groan, hand gripping the base of his cock. Mingi glanced down at him and tried not to laugh. It never failed to inflate his ego at just how much Yunho was into the sounds he made. Mingi debated adding a fourth finger, but he was already hard again, and Yunho was close. He pulled his fingers free and placed his hands on Yunho's shoulders.

Yunho's eyes lit up. "You ready, Min?"

Mingi nodded and rose up onto his knees. Yunho's hands gripped Mingi's thin waist to help guide him. Grabbing Yunho's cock and lining, Mingi slowly sank onto him. It took longer than usual since Mingi didn't use four fingers, and they were conscious of the fact that they had more concerts to perform this week. He slowly rocked on Yunho, sinking further each time, using Yunho's soft praise as motivation.

"God," Yunho hissed when Mingi finally sat flush against him, "you feel so good."

Mingi pressed his lips to Yunho's neck, not so much kissing him but rather just panting against him. "You too, you too." He rolled his hips experimentally, both gasping at the feel. " Fuck ."

Yunho's hands flexed on his waist but didn't try to move him, just to ground himself. Mingi once again rose up until just the tip remained inside before fluidly sinking back down. Mingi tossed his head back with a moan at how perfectly Yunho brushed against his prostate at this angle.

With that, Mingi started a hurried pace to chase that pleasure that shot up his spine and down his limbs. His arms wrapped tightly around Yunho's back, nails digging into Yunho's shoulders. The sound of their moans mixed with skin hitting skin, the smell of sex drowning out the coconut smell of the body wash.

" Nngh , Yunho," Mingi whined as Yunho's hand wrapped around Mingi's cock.

He thumbed at the slit, digging his thumbnail into it and watching as Mingi's rhythm faltered. Yunho kicked his hips up to help. "Come on, Princess. You've got such nice thighs. Can't you put them to work?"

Mingi glared at him, but it looked like a pout more than anything else. Still, he doubled his efforts. Yunho cooed at him and brushed his hair out of his eyes to kiss his forehead.

"There you go, baby."

Yunho decided to help by somewhat guiding Mingi and finally bucking his hips up to meet him each time he sank down. Any words Mingi had were caught in his throat, instead coming out now as little sobs. Yunho groaned as he listened to him. "Good boy, so good for me."

While Mingi may not have been able to form coherent sounds, Yunho was starting to babble, praise spilling from his mouth almost uncontrollably. Mingi tried to reciprocate the praise by leaving his own marks on Yunho's neck.

As he sucked a particularly harsh mark into the junction of Yunho's neck and shoulder, Yunho let out a deep groan, his hips stilling as he filled Mingi with his cum. Mingi tried his best to keep riding him to prolong it for Yunho, but he was losing steam and focus. Yunho reached a hand up to pinch his nipple just as he twisted the hand pumping his cock just so. Mingi keened high in his throat as he once again made a mess of their torsos with his cum.

They took a moment to catch their breath, foreheads pressed together again. The panting was the only sound in the room—until Yunho laughed and kissed the tip of Mingi's nose. "I think we have to shower again."

"You never showered." Mingi pointed out.

"How would you know? Your eyes were closed the whole time."

"Both of your hands were on me the whole time!"

Yunho kept laughing as Mingi stood up. Mingi winced as Yunho's cock slipped out, and his cum started to trail down his legs. Yunho's hands grabbed Mingi's hips again to ensure he had his balance, and they stayed there even after Yunho rose to his feet.

Mingi turned the water on again, flinching when the water was slightly cold at first before it started to heat back up. This time he grabbed the shower head to get most of the cum off their bodies before he snatched the loofah from Yunho. "My turn to take care of you."

Yunho didn't protest. A soft smile graced his face as Mingi ran the soapy loofah over his skin, mirroring what he had done for the other earlier. Neither spoke, enjoying the domesticity of it all. The repetitive motions and the sound of the water were soothing to both of them.

"I did mean it all, Mingi," Yunho said softly into the lull of silence. "You have improved a lot and you're an incredible performer."

Mingi blushed as he worked the conditioner through Yunho's hair. "Thank you," he said just as softly.

As the conditioner soaked into his hair, Yunho grabbed the loofah back and gave it a quick pass over Mingi's body to wipe off the sweat and cum.

Once they were both rinsed off, Mingi shut off the water and grabbed their towels. They had a silent argument about drying each other off, so they settled on drying each other one after the other. They laughed at the absurdity of it all while putting on their pajamas. The hair dryer was then fought over before Yunho won and dried their hair. They brushed their teeth in the mirror, the soft energy of it all wrapping around them like a comforting blanket.

Crawling into bed, Mingi pulled Yunho close to his chest. One thing they always agreed on was swapping back and forth on who the little spoon was, and this time, it was Yunho's turn.

Mingi kissed Yunho's forehead. His eyes fell on Yunho's neck. "The stylists are going to kill us."

Yunho winced, turning his face to hide in Mingi's chest. "God, don't talk about it."

Mingi laughed and nuzzled his face in the other's hair. "Goodnight, Yunho."

"Goodnight, Princess."

#kinktober 2024 #persie posts #ateez fic #ateez smut #jeong yunho fic #jeong yunho smut #song mingi fic #song mingi smut #yungi #yungi fic #yungi smut

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average-pirate-enjoyer · 27 days ago

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#im so normal about this

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average-pirate-enjoyer · 2 months ago

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whichever way [woosan x reader] pt13

pairing: woosan x f reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut, fluff-ish, neighbours au, FWB to QPR

ch. summary: San goes on a little journey of self-discovery with you.

wc: 14k

ch. warnings: sub San, switch / dom reader & Wooyoung, like 5 sec of manhandling & dryhumping, shibari / bondage, praise kink, body worship, cock-warming, orgasm denial, finger sucking, oral, dacryphilia, DVP (fingers & cock), creampie, cum play, Wooyoung fucks San’s tiddies, cum shot (on those same tiddies), multiple orgasms, condomless sex w/ an IUD, San is called ‘good boy’, reader is called ‘baby’ & ‘good girl’, one encounter of amatonormativity from a well-intentioned neighbour, potential second-hand embarrassment

a/n: features a soft-bodied, aromantic reader who uses she/her pronouns.

masterlist. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

“Pick me, I’m tasty!” the little raccoon dog mascot on the instant noodles package says to you, in an adorably pitchy sing-song voice. San pokes his face out from behind the package, his open-mouthed smile so wide and bright he almost looks like a cartoon character himself.

You giggle at San’s antics, though you ignore the packet in his hands and reach for a different flavour from the store’s shelves. “Cute! But no; Wooyoung asked for this one,” you say, holding up the extra spicy variant.

“That’s what Wooyoung asked for, yes,” San pouts, reverting back to his normal voice, “but he always steals mine and leaves the hot ones for me. He can buy them himself if he wants them, I’m not doing this anymore! My mouth has burned enough.”

“Fine fine, this is a lovers’ quarrel I’m not getting involved in,” you laugh at San’s impassioned speech. “If he complains, I’m telling him it’s your fault!”

And so only the mildest of instant noodles end up in your cart before you go through the rest of the store. The separation between your groceries and those of San and Wooyoung grows blurrier with every trip; Wooyoung didn’t even ask if you were joining them for dinner, only how you felt about beef bibimbap for tonight.

It’s busy at the store today, meaning there’s a bit of a line for the cash registry. Bored by the wait, San toys with the strings of his hoodie. He fiddles with them for a while, then pulls the strings taut until the hoodie hides all but a glimpse of his face, his nose peeking out along with a tiny feline grin on his lips.

At first you just fondly watched him — but now you can’t resist temptation. You steal the strings away from San to tie them into a tight knot, trapping him in his hoodie.

“Ack!” San yelps, startled and pawing at your hands to get back control of the strings.

Giggling, you take mercy on him and undo the knot again. “Sorry, guess I’m in the mood to practice a little more ropework today,” you joke, taking off San’s hood and fixing a few upright tufts of his hair.

“Oh, are you now?” he says, his indignant sulk only tempting you to do it again. “Starting to regret I taught you anything at all. You have way too much power now.”

“The power of tying a simple knot?!” you laugh. “Don’t take too much credit, mister, I didn’t need you to teach me that one!”

But San has been teaching you. Eagerly, even.

From the moment you expressed an interest, San happily jumped on the chance to pass on his knowledge of bondage. He does teach for a living, after all; and though ropework is obviously a far cry from taekwondo, he instructed you with the same enthusiasm that he has for his students.

Meanwhile, Wooyoung happily volunteered himself as a practice subject. Sometimes he’d nag at you, so used to San’s skilful fingers that yours set off his impatience — but for the most part, Wooyoung proved unexpectedly useful, his candid feedback making it easier to get a feel for judging rope tension.

And although you’d first meant it as a joke to tease San, now you do actually feel an itch in your fingers.“So… could we? Practise some more today?” you ask, lowering your voice, keeping your words vague on purpose, although none of the staff or other customers are paying you any mind.

“Today?” San says, lines crinkling between his brows. “Ah, I don’t know, Wooyoung will be out to the movies with Yeosang later…”

“He’s going without you?” you ask, distracted by the new piece of information. “What, have you been hoarding Sangie too much to yourself again?”

San’s bottom lip juts into a pout. “I don’t hoard him, I’m just not into the movie!” he protests, so earnestly that you wonder if he really believes it, or if he’s forgotten about the time you saw him clinging onto Wooyoung’s childhood friend for an entire game night, stubborn in his attempts to lay a smooch on Yeosang’s cheek.

(Yeosang’s dramatic aversion to his friends’ kisses always gets a giggle out of you. He can’t fool you; you know from experience that San and Wooyoung would cut it out if he really minded it that much.)

“Though I guess we don’t need Woo,” San muses, smoothly turning the subject away from the Yeosang-hoarding allegations. “You could try some stuff on yourself, feel first-hand what you’re doing.”

“…Or I could practice on you…?” you suggest, half playful, half probing.

San blinks in surprise, like the thought had not occurred to him — but the conversation is put on a temporary halt when it’s your turn to check out your groceries. He frowns while packing everything up, thoughtful but also tentative, like it’s the first time he’s ever even considered to let someone tie him up.

San’s frown has faded by the time you step out of the store, but he still has a quiet, contemplative look on his face.

“No pressure, obviously,” you say, nudging his arm with your elbow. “About the practice thing. It was just a thought.”

“No no! It’s…” San shakes his head and gives you a small grin. “You know what? Let’s try it. Put your knowledge to the test!”

“Right,” you grin back at him, a little spring in your step as you walk back home together. There’s a gleam in San’s eyes too, growing brighter as he gets more and more used to the idea of trying something new with you.

It’s just a short walk back to the apartment building, where you come across your downstairs neighbour at the elevator; Mrs Yoon, a tiny old lady carrying a package that looks far too big and heavy for her.

San, ever the gentleman, immediately passes one of his grocery bags over to you and takes the box from Mrs Yoon.

“Always such a nice, helpful boy,” she coos over San, tip-toeing to reach and pinch his cheek. Mrs Yoon somewhat resembles a shrivelled apple, small and round and wrinkled — but any conversation proves that she’s still got plenty of juice left in her.

“Does he take such good care of you too?” she asks you, a playful glint in her eyes. “I’m sure he does, I can tell he’s great… ‘Boyfriend material’, that’s the word you young folk use nowadays, isn’t it?”

You flinch briefly, but recover fast. It’s not like this is the first time people have made assumptions about you and San, or you and Wooyoung. Hell, you and Hongjoong used to deal with this too. Through necessity you have cultivated a certain degree of resigned patience for these situations.

Still, it was long enough that San beats you to the punch, shaking his head at Mrs Yoon with a friendly smile. “No, Mrs Yoon, I’m—” he starts, but hesitates when a clear alternative fails to present itself.

It doesn’t matter anyway; she easily breezes past San’s protest. “And the other handsome young man, of course! I had not forgotten, don’t worry,” she says with a cheeky grin of joyful wrinkles, her giggle like a reedy cackle. “I heard the three of you spending your time together well.”

San’s cheeks go completely beet red, for a split-second you’re confused by his embarrassment — but then it sinks in what Mrs Yoon meant by having ‘heard’ you.

She heard you, just like you used to hear San and Wooyoung.

You stammer an apology, but she waves it off. “Oh hush,” she says firmly. “I was young once too, I know what it’s like. Good on you kids, you need to enjoy it while you can! It’s alright to have a little extra fun.”

The elevator dings as it reaches Mrs Yoon’s floor, and San almost trips over his feet as he walks her to her apartment to take the heavy package inside. You awkwardly wait for him to get back, embarrassment still flowing hotly in your veins. San does not look much better off when he shuffles back into the elevator, wordlessly taking back the grocery bag he passed over to you earlier so he could help your old, lively neighbour.

He clears his throat, trying for an easygoing grin. “For the record, I have been informed that Mrs Yoon very much enjoys the silence when she turns her hearing aid off, and doesn’t mind doing so at all.”

“Oh god,” you groan, wanting nothing more than to hide your face in your hands — except maybe sink through the elevator floor, letting yourself plummet straight to the bottom and down into the very core of the earth.

“At least she’s cool about non-monogamy?” San tries for a crooked smile, though redness still blooms across his cheeks. “Though I guess she only has half the right idea of us.”

“Yeah, I guess…” you say, still mulling on San’s earlier moment of speechlessness.

San frowns, concern gleaming in his eyes at your timid response. “You okay?” he asks; San is not unbothered by assumptions about the three of you either, but he knows they hit a little differently for you.

“Oh, yeah, yes I’m okay,” you say, though you can tell he’s not exactly convinced. “It just kinda hit me that I don’t know what the ‘right’ idea about us is. Or how to put it into words, at least. We never really bothered to define much, did we?”

“No, we didn’t,” he says, opening the door to his apartment. “…I thought you preferred it that way? Not trying too hard to fit ourselves into a label?”

“True, true,” you admit, stepping inside. (You faintly hear Wooyoung’s voice from the living area.) “And I still don’t want to force anything. It’s just… inconvenient sometimes, you know.”

How would you describe San and Wooyoung? Your friends? Well, yes, but you don’t feel like that covers the full scope of things in this context. Partners? Too… formal. Definitely not your boyfriends. No matter what word pops up in your head, it chafes; nothing fits as smoothly as a simple ‘your San’ and ‘your Wooyoung’.

San glances over his shoulder as he hauls the grocery bags into the living area, raising an eyebrow at you. “Inconvenient for us, or inconvenient for other people?” he asks pointedly. “If we’re happy with how we do things, or what we call them, it’s not our problem if others get confused.”

You blink at San. “…Damn. Good point.”

“I make those sometimes!”

“Of course, some people try their damn best to turn it into our problem.”

“Shush. Don’t take this away from me,” San chides, but he quiets when he realises Wooyoung is talking to someone on video call. Wooyoung gives you a distracted wave, but stays focused on his conversation. Something about his most recent crafts project, customising an old jacket.

“Yeah, I saw the pictures, it looks good, I like how you placed the lettering,” the voice from Wooyoung’s phone says — and you break out into a smile when you recognise that voice, all else forgotten.

“Joong!” you say, wrapping a loose arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders as you slide up behind him, stoked to see your oldest friend on the screen. He’s currently rocking cranberry red hair, matched with a grungy blazer, and grins when he sees you.

You embrace this chance for a brief but lively surprise meeting, always missing Hongjoong; even if he did come over for a visit just a few weeks ago.

During that time, he and Wooyoung rapidly developed the type of friendship where you’re not always sure if Hongjoong adores Wooyoung to absolute bits, or if he wants to stick him behind the wallpaper. (Though today clearly is an adoration day.) San is still a little quiet around Hongjoong, anxious for approval from your best friend, so he shyly hangs around in the back while you and Wooyoung chat/bicker with Hongjoong.

It’s not too long before the call ends, some work schedule thing forcing Hongjoong to leave. Work has kept him real busy lately, and you quietly resolve to send him a little care package this week.

Once Hongjoong disappears from his phone’s screen, Wooyoung turns to you.

“What was that talk earlier when you guys came back? Sounded kinda serious. Were you overthinking again?”

“I wasn’t overthi—! …Okay, yeah fine maybe I was,” you admit.

“About what?”

“Labels,” San pipes up from the kitchenette. “Hey, you gonna help me out here?”

“Sorry, yeah!” You join San to properly finish up the chore of grocery shopping together, and smile when you find one packet of spicy noodles between the milder ones as you put them away.

Wooyoung’s face wrinkles up. “You were overthinking labels? I thought you were on my side about those.”

(Like you, Wooyoung also does not feel a strong need to confine your relationship within strict definitions. San is the most traditional-minded out of your trio when it comes to these things; but he values happiness over conformity a million times over, content to let the issue rest for your and Wooyoung’s comfort.)

“I am, I am!” you say. “Mrs Yoon just punted me into a five-second long spiral when she pretty much called San my boyfriend and we didn’t know how to correct her. I’ve unspiralled already, I swear! Crisis over before it even started.”

“No, fair enough,” Wooyoung allows. “‘My non-romantic life partner who I fuck on the regular’ just doesn’t roll off the tongue, does it?”

“Nope. But…” You trail off, recognising an opportunity to smoothly slide into a topic that crossed your mind recently. “‘My neighbour’ is also technically correct, I suppose,” you say cheekily, smiling when San instantly grouses at the distant, casual term, “but who’s to say we’ll be neighbours forever? I mean, it’d be cool to at least upgrade to ‘roommates’ someday, right?”

For a split moment, the guys are struck silent by the suggestion. Not that long ago, it would’ve been enough to punt you into another five-second spiral, fretting whether you massively misjudged the situation — but it’s not enough anymore. You’re steadier than that by now, secure in your place within this barely-defined relationship.

And surely a gradual smile breaks out on Wooyoung’s face like in slow-motion, his eyes shining in delight. You let out an ‘umph’ when two strong arms suddenly wrap around you from behind, San’s reassuring weight settling against you.

“Yeah. That’d be cool,” San murmurs as he pulls you firmly into him, pressing his cheek against the side of your head.

“Hadn’t expected you to be the one to bring that up,” Wooyoung says, his teasing grin undermined by the softness drawn into his face.

You lean back into San with a little scoff, rolling your eyes half-playfully, half-serious. “Hey c’mon, stop acting like I’ll bolt at the tiniest whiff of commitment! I’ve proven enough by now that you guys are stuck with me, right?”

“Okay okay,” San says with a laugh, “we’ll try to stop treating you like a flight risk! It’s just— Me and Woo talked about this like, a few days ago.”

“Pff, ‘talked’?” Wooyoung huffs, coming over to put an arm around San, who still has his arms around you. “What San means is he picked a fight with me about it.”

“A fight?!” You turn your head to look back at them, blinking in confusion.

“A real stupid one too!”

“Hey, don’t say it like that, she’s gonna get the wrong idea!” San protests. “It was just a misunderstanding is all!”

“Guys…”

“All I said was that the apartment is feeling a bit small these days, that next time we should look for something bigger, a better fit for us!” Wooyoung sighs. “There I was, trying to throw you a hint, but you just started sulking and grumbling at me like I’d already packed my bags to move out and abandon her the next day!”

“Really?” you ask, a smile breaking out on your face at San’s abashed disgruntlement.

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “He got so cross at the idea of not being neighbours that he didn’t even bother to actually listen to what I was saying. Why do you think the apartment felt too damn small, you idiot?”

“Just didn’t sit right with me,” San mumbles. “The idea of not living next to each other. Or with each other. Not being close.”

“Which is why I brought it up,” Wooyoung says, poking at San’s cheek. “I thought we should talk about it before becomes a thing.” His eyes flicker to you, seriousness smoothing over his face. “So yeah, you beat us to the punch. It’s not like I’m in a rush or got it all planned out or anything, I mean I just moved here, but… I don’t know, did we get lazy? About us, about figuring stuff out?”

Warmth spreads through your chest as you listen to them, but Wooyoung’s question brings you a little closer back down to earth.

“Maybe? Yeah, maybe we did get complacent,” you admit. Nothing wrong with not labelling things but… “We never really bothered to sit down and talk things through after the whole ‘hey, let’s stick together for a long time’ talk, yeah. Never talked about what that actually looks like.”

“We were too busy enjoying the moment to think ahead, yeah,” San says with a breathy chuckle, clutching a little tighter onto you.

“To be fair,” Wooyoung says, a grin returning to his lips, “the moments have been pretty damn great. So… does that settle it? Next place we move into, we move in together? Something nice and a little bigger, with an extra bedroom so you got your own space?”

“For someone who doesn’t have it all planned out, you sure put a lot of thought into it,” you giggle, reaching a hand to find Wooyoung’s. “Yeah. That settles it.”

“So. You got upset at the thought of not living next to me, huh?” You give San a cheeky grin, unable to resist teasing him about earlier. “That’s cute.”

You’re both kneeling on his bed, some soft music playing in the background. Dressed for comfort, San is wearing his grey sweatpants and a fitted t-shirt — and you just finished tying a rope around his wrists, after he took you through a refresher of some basics. San was in the middle of diligently inspecting your work, but your teasing has knocked him straight out of teacher mode, into pouty mode.

“Shut up, Wooyoung wasn’t as obvious about his ‘hints’ as he made it sound,” he sulks. He looks back down on the rope, then gives you a heavy side-eye. “…Did you wait on purpose to make fun of me until I was tied up?”

“No way, I’d never make fun of you for being cute,” you say matter-of-factly.

San squints suspiciously at your tone, trying to figure out if you are, in fact, making fun of him again.

“Okay but seriously, does this feel alright?” you ask, squeezing his bound hands. San had stayed mostly quiet when you tied him up; you don’t need much instruction anymore for basic knots — but you did catch a few steadying breaths from him, the bondage clearly having some effect on San.

“It’s… different,” he says hesitantly.

“Need me to take them off?” you ask at once, ready to pry the knot loose, but San shakes his head.

“No, no, they can stay on. It just—” San frowns, struggling for words. “It’s just not my usual thing,” he eventually settles on. “Letting go of control… It’s not exactly my strong point.”

“Ah, so this is not just practice for me, but for you too!” you tease, but you rub a reassuring thumb over his knuckles as you do so. Curiosity nags at you, and you finally ask the question that’s been on your mind ever since you first suggested using him as your guinea pig. “…Is this your first time getting tied up?”

“I used to practice on myself, way back, but other than that? Yeah, first time.” San chuckles at your contemplative expression. “What’s with that face? It can’t be a surprise that a dom doesn’t get tied up on the regular, can it?”

You shrug. “I mean, you’re usually in charge, yeah; being submissive is clearly not your go-to. But never? I don’t know, the few times we mixed things up… you enjoyed it, right? Like the morning after I stayed over? You can’t tell me you weren’t into getting spoiled like that!”

San gives a little head-tilt, as if to say ‘fair enough’. “I was,” he allows with a tiny smile, bursting with memories. “It… it’s nice when I really need it, I guess.”

His answer churns inside you for a moment, and you mislike the way it settles in your stomach. It’s true; San rarely is submissive unless stress or exhaustion has gotten to him.

“Um, San? Listen, I won’t push anything on you,” you say, carefully, feeling especially cognisant of the fact you have him tied up with nowhere to go. “But… you know you don’t have to need it, right? I’m more than happy to switch things up when you want to. Same for Wooyoung, I’m sure!”

San goes quiet, looking down at his bound wrists like he’s searching for some epiphany in the place where rope presses against his skin.

You smile faintly, and raise a soft hand to cup his cheek. “Just think about it, alright? No wrong answers.”

San’s eyes flutter shut as he nuzzles into your palm. He sighs, something releasing inside him. Letting go of just a tiny scrap of control, maybe.

“Want to take it off now?” you ask, and untie the knot when San nods quietly.

“…I did like the feel of the rope,” San admits after you finish, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips. “I… I liked how it felt to have someone else put it on me.”

A sweet, gentle bloom swells up inside you. “I’m glad,” you smile back at San. “I liked practising on you.”

“Maybe,” he starts slowly, giving you a bashful look like he’s embarrassed by what he is about to say next, “maybe we don’t need to be done practising? Do you want to try something else?”

Now there’s an offer you can hardly refuse.

San’s suggestion is a little more complex than a simple restriction of the wrists, so you go and grab him some water while he pulls up a few visual references on his phone to show you what the end-goal looks like. When you step back into the bedroom, San has pulled off his t-shirt, waiting for you with a dimpled smile and his bare upper body at your disposal.

There is always something magnetic about San’s impressive physique; but now the musculature draws you in more than ever, knowing you’ll be working so closely to it, demanding your full attention.

“Show-off,” you mumble, rolling your eyes like you aren’t fighting off heat rising to your cheeks.

“What, want me to put my shirt back on?” San asks, his smile curving into a cocky grin.

“…No.”

With the matter of San’s shirt settled, you sink back into the ropework together.

You get why San likes it. The shared intimacy, drawing closer to one another with every hitch or knot. The focused methodology behind it, how the world seems to disappear into nothing but the rope in your hands and the person you use it on, allowing all else to fade from your mind. You’ve always felt there is something meditative about the act of being tied up, but now you realise the reversal is also true.

After all your previous practising, you start to fall into a trained rhythm; you used to get frustrated with your own clumsiness, but now your fingers mostly remember what they are supposed to do.

Still, this new endeavour is a little trickier than a simple cuff around the wrists and so San speaks up more often, guiding you through the steps;

“Careful with placement, we don’t want to pinch anything here. Yes, yes that’s good, Pull the pressure down, we’re always going down the arm. That’s it, you got it. Little tighter. Yep, little more. Don’t be scared the cinch is too much, I’ll tell you if there’s a problem.”

A few simple lines of rope are laid around the width of San’s upper torso, hugging his pecs and providing a basis for you to work a ladder tie down the length of his arm. As you relax into the looping pattern, so does San. He falls quiet again, drawing deep, slow breaths as he intently follows the movement of your hands, his eyes gleaming with cat-like curiosity.

When you finish the first of San’s arms, tying the last hitch above his wrist and locking off the rope, you draw back a little to fully take in the result.

It’s interesting; bondage often has a way of making Wooyoung look smaller than he is, like all his boundless energy is snugly contained within the corded restraints. But for San, it’s the polar opposite.

The shibari accentuates the broadness of his chest and shoulders; his muscles bulge under the looping pattern whenever he moves, like he is bursting at the seams. Heated pressure builds in your abdomen at the sight of him, then your eyes wander down to San’s wrist.

There’s a fair bit of tail end to the rope, dangling down his wrist as leftover after that last hitch — and you’d worried it would take away from the aesthetics of the shibari, but instead the length of rope lures you in, whispering for you to grab the end and pull, tugging San closer to you. To test the power he emits; whether he would submit regardless of physical strength.

“Still got another arm to go,” San reminds you, a teasing glint in his eyes at how distracted you are by his appearance. But his voice is low and husky, your distracted state also causing a sharp heat to coil tightly inside him.

Though you still make sure to be safe and precise, the brush of your fingers over San’s other arm is not as relaxed this time around.

The heat radiating from his skin somehow feels warmer than before, his gaze burning into your hands as you work. San’s breaths grow heavier with every corded loop around his arm, and he is visibly antsy by the time you finish up at his wrist — and now you don’t resist your earlier urges. With a playful grin, you take both ends of the rope in your hands and give them a soft tug, just to tease.

San grunts as you pull him in closer, fiery intensity crackling around him, and the grin is wiped right off your face when he bites his lip, hooded eyes piercing straight through you.

“Fuck,” you breathe, shifting your thighs and all too aware of the wetness gathering between them, “Wooyoung’d go crazy if he saw you right now.”

(You distantly wonder what time it is; how much longer until Wooyoung steps back out that cinema. There’s decent odds he’ll head straight home, knowing you and San are practising without him.)

San’s lips curve sharply. “Yeah? I look hot like this?” he baits.

“Ugh, you are so needy,” you say, but the flustered laugh in your voice belies the reprimand. “Yes, you look good. Wooyoung would fold within the blink of an eye.” (You would fold even faster.) “He better get home soon, he’s gonna be so fucking upset if he misses out on this.”

“Serves him right for being such a damn brat lately,” San huffs, though there is an eager twinkle in his eyes.

“Don’t be like that!” You shake your head with another laugh, then move off the bed and beckon San onto his feet. “Come, see for yourself how hot you look.”

Still holding onto the rope-ends at San’s wrists, you lead him towards the mirror, and San follows with a slow smile. He barely even spares his own reflection a glance, too distracted by your hands, the subtle control emitted by your loose grip on the rope.

His fingers twitch, and then San catches you by surprise by yanking his own hands back, throwing you off balance. You release the rope with a squeak and stumble forward — but before you can bump into San, his hands find your hips and you let out a soft ‘umph’ as he pins you against the wall, the mirror now completely ignored.

“Don’t need to see,” San breathes, his chest pressing up against yours. “Can tell plain as day from your reaction.” Even through your clothes you can feel the press of rope and warmth radiating off of him. It’s like you’re caged in by a wall of heat, his fingers solidly pressing into your waist. San leans in, the tip of his nose brushing against yours as his gaze flutters down to your lips, his head tilting ever so slightly. The intent to kiss is more than obvious, but San waits, leaving that final step to you.

Your head is in a daze, still a little stunned from the sudden switch-up. Then again, it’s not like you didn’t notice how worked up San got from this little experiment — hell, the dampness already soaking through your panties is proof you’ve gotten plenty worked up yourself.

“Yes,” you gasp in answer to his silent question. You can’t remember raising your hand, but suddenly your fingers are tangled into San’s hair and you pull him forward, bridging that tiny gap between your mouths.

He groans lowly, his tongue instantly probing to tease your lips apart into a messy, urgent kiss. You hang onto San for dear life as he kisses you senseless against the wall, every ounce of pent up energy released all at once. He whines into your mouth when you grab onto his ass, at which he roughly grinds into you, guiding you to hook a leg around his waist. The growing hardness of his cock sends sparks through your clothed cunt, and you rut back into him in equal measure, encouraging more whines past his lips.

San’s hands slip underneath your shirt, only breaking the kiss to quickly discard it, and then he is back on you. He is everywhere it feels like, his touch roaming over your heated body, the cords across his arms and torso grazing over your bra and bare skin. You palm at his chest, at the swell of his tits emphasised by the rope you laid there yourself, thumbing at his dark nipples and delighting in the small, desperate noises San makes against your mouth.

“Can you—?” he groans, plying your neck with wet kisses. “Fuck, please— I— I want—”

“S-slow down, Sannie,” you gasp, putting your hands on his waist to steady the roll of his hips. “What is it? Tell me, tell me what you want.”

He whines into your neck, teeth catching against skin, but the desirous fog lifts slightly from San when you cup his cheek and lift him to meet your gaze. He smiles faintly at the eye-contact, fondness melting into his features. His cheeks are flushed — and you are startled to realise it’s not just from arousal. San is self-conscious.

“Want you to tie me up,” he mutters, his eyes breaking away from yours as he presses a tiny kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Wanna try it again.”

You blink in surprise, backing away from his lips. “Wait, like tied up tied up? San, are you sure?”

San slowly catches his breath, forcing himself to look you in the eye again. “So fucking sure,” he says, his thumbs drawing slow circles into your waist. “Let’s try it, I trust you. …Besides, it’ll keep us busy until Wooyoung gets back, right?”

“God, you are such a softie,” you laugh breathlessly, amused at how quickly he changed his tune about Wooyoung. “What happened to ‘serves him right’? No conviction whatsoever.”

“Yeah,” he grins, giving a slow roll of his hips. “What are you gonna do about it? Teach me some?”

Fuck. Inviting San to take on a more submissive role had not been entirely selfless on your part — you can’t deny your own excitement over this turn of events — but you had offered it with zero pressure; and definitely no expectation that San might take you up on it the very same evening.

“Hang on, Sannie,” you slow him down again, tempering the heat of the moment. You don’t want him barging face-first into something like this without thinking it through. “You really are sure?”

San’s grin fades into something more serious, giving you the distinct impression he started thinking this through ever since you suggested practising on him back at the grocery store. “Yeah. I’m sure if you’re sure,” he says, looking over you for signs of hesitation on your side.

“Oh, I’m sure!” (In your case, you know for a fact you’ve thought this through ever since that conversation.)

“Good,” he says, cheeks dimpling. “I want this. I want to try this with you.”

The persuasive power of San’s dimples is the final nudge that seals the deal. San brightens with delight when you grab his hand and pull him back to the bed, ushering him to lay down. You have a brief talk about the exact whats and hows; but it’s immediately obvious that you’re on the same wavelength.

(But first you send Wooyoung a vague text, implying it’d be better he doesn’t bring Yeosang over to the apartment for drinks after the movie showing, just in case. He replies quickly, leading you to suspect the movie has already finished, and you answer his 👀 with a short but simple “*it’s a secret *🤭”. It’s a lot more civilised than the way you and Wooyoung had clued San in a while back, which San points out with a huff, but you gently shush him and set to work.)

San’s breath shallows as you push him flat down on his back, then spread his arms to tie him to the bedposts. His voice slightly hoarse, San talks you through adjusting the ladder-ties over the length of his arms, making sure they’re still comfortable in the changed position, while he follows your every move with soulful eyes, trying not to fidget.

“Relax,” you murmur after you’re finished, stroking San’s cheek to smooth away his jittery energy. “I got you. Gonna take care of you.”

There is a strange hush in the room as San nods quietly in response, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows in anticipation. “I know. I’m not nervous,” he says, sighing when you softly kiss his forehead. “I’m just a bit… nervous. But not like that, you know? Like—”

“You know what you are? Rambling,” you laugh fondly, and leave another soft kiss on his lips.

He chuckles back at you, his eyes crinkling. “Sorry.”

“Hm-hm,” you hum, shaking your head. “Don’t be. You’re just really cute today.”

The rosy flush across San’s cheeks intensifies, proving your point.

“And also,” you say, straddling San so you can drape yourself over his prone, helpless body, “hot as fuck.”

He groans when you press your lips against his, tongues intertwining messily as you deepen the kiss. You’re both still partially clothed, but you will rectify that later. Just want to take your time easing San into it first.

Shudders run through him at even the lightest touch, your fingers teasing along the lengths of rope across his torso, delighting in how he arches up to chase you. Soon any remnants of San’s tension have melted away, pleasure rippling through him wherever your hands go.

San whines when your mouth breaks away from his, kiss-swollen lips pouting up at you, but the sound turns into ragged gasps when you suck a wet path down the freckles on his neck. You briefly nip at the mole on his collarbone, then trail further downward.

He hisses a quiet curse as your tongue flicks over a pebbled nipple, your hands grazing so lightly over his stomach that he twitches underneath. The distinct definition of his abs has faded, ever since he switched up his gym routine a while back.

Honestly, you like it this way. You like feeling the softness of him underneath your palms, and what it signifies.

San might be one of those rare types who genuinely enjoys a rigorous workout — but he has complained his fair share about the strife of maintaining a sixpack. Now it’s like he has relaxed a little, prioritising his own preferences over any attempts to impress you or Wooyoung. Trusting that he impresses just by being himself, following his own way.

Small sighs and moans are steadily escaping past San’s lips, his hands clenching and releasing uselessly as he itches to reach out and touch you back. Clearly his nervous-not-nerves have settled… which means you can start teasing him.

“Let’s get these off, shall we,” you demand, tugging at the waistband of his sweats.

San eagerly lifts his hips to help you, exposing his his half-hard dick is exposed to your touch. Even after all this time, you bite your lip in appreciation at the sight of him, thick and slightly curved, warm but dry in your palm. You lean down, working your jaw for a thick globule of spit to fix that problem. San groans lowly when your fingers curl around the base of his cock and your tongue darts out, slathering him with slow, messy strokes until he is glistening and hard.

You relish San’s hitched breaths, the tilt of his hips as he arches into you. “Ahh fuck, feels good…” he gasps when you lap at his slit, shifting restlessly at your languid pace. He rocks up against your mouth lavishing his hardening cock, trying to convince you to take him inside — but you are in control today, and you have other plans.

San’s hips jerk when your mouth abandons his cock to press a kiss on his thigh, the moan escaping past his lips loud.

“Hm, n-no c’mon, baby—” he whines, hips bucking up as his eyes squeeze shut, a tear clinging to his lashes.

Your eyes widen at the intensity of his response, sending a searing pulse straight down your abdomen. You run a soothing hand over his leg, but the light touch only makes him antsier, body contorting in a desperate attempt to get you back where he needs you. “Fuck, just look at you…” you say in a quiet hush, your thumb rubbing circles over a trio of moles on his inner thigh. “Still doing okay, Sannie?”

The question sobers him up, but only a little, his eyes still dazed with need. “Y-yeah, sorry,” he mumbles, abashed, like he too is surprised by his own intensity.

“Fuck no, don’t be,” you assure him with a breathy chuckle, rubbing your thighs together restlessly in an attempt to relieve your own tension. “I like seeing you like this. Fucking gorgeous.”

The beautiful flush on his face has crept down his neck and chest, giving him a feverish glow. Muscles ripple underneath the rope harness as he squirms against his bound wrists; all his strength rendered useless, caged underneath you.

San groans at the praise, his head falling back against the pillow, eyes squeezing shut like he can’t withstand the force of your reverent gaze — but it doesn’t help him to escape your touch, gentle fingers also expressing their reverence of him as they wrap around his leaking cock again.

Hunger gnaws at you, craving to ravish San until he can’t take it anymore, until he has nothing left to give, every last ounce of pleasure wrested from his body. The glide of your palm over his thick length is easy now, but you keep a deliberate, unhurried pace to slowly drive San up the wall. His small moans and hiccuped breaths send sparks of heat through you. Arousal joined by awe and gratitude; that San lets you see him, have him, like this.

It’s when a lone tear finally escapes San’s lashes that you can’t stand it anymore, breaking away to haphazardly shuck off your clothes. San watches the uncovering of bare skin in a haze, eyes heavy-lidded and his tongue darting out to wet his lips when you smoothly unclip your bra and throw it aside. His hands flex instinctively as you take a moment to knead at your breasts, reminding him of what he can’t touch.

“Please…” San begs, and his eyes glimmer so sweetly that your resolve to tease him crumbles. There is no denying that soft expression.

San lets out a groan of excitement when you shift forward and lean down. Eagerly he latches onto your chest, suckling and nipping at the soft flesh with noisy enthusiasm, lips smacking wetly as he cranes his neck to smother himself between your breasts. You shudder at his fervour, shakily carding your fingers through his hair in encouragement.

“That’s it, there’s a good boy,” you moan. “Making me feel so good, fuck.” You kiss the top of his head, gasping when he mouths harshly at your nipple, growing rough in his sweet worship. It’s a limited window of opportunity you have given him and San uses it with purpose, devouring as much of you as he can.

You indulge him for a moment longer, indulge yourself, until it is time to remind San who is in charge. He whines when you pull away, trying to follow after the softness of your chest — but the ropes binding him to the bedposts pull taut. San groans in exasperation, like he had forgotten his current predicament entirely, too lost in the pleasure of pleasing you.

“N-no, wanna—” he starts, you put a silencing finger on his lips.

“Behave for me, hm? Can you do that?”

San whines, shifting restlessly underneath you, but he slowly quiets down. “I— I’ll behave,” he says, desperation glittering in his gaze as he looks up at you.

“Good,” you hum, pecking his nose before you rise up and settle back down on his thighs.

Already he looks half-way wrecked, his damp hair mussed up and a sheen of sweat gathered on his skin. His cock is flushed a deep, dark red, resting in a wet patch on his stomach where precum oozes from the tip. Just a light touch of your hand is enough to make San hiss sharply, and the tremors through his body are a clear warning sign of how close he is already. Slowly you push him further, pumping him with firm strokes.

San’s hips jerk up before he can catch himself, his resolve to behave immediately tested. He swears under his breath, pitiful moans spilling past his lips as he manages to regain himself — moans that turn absolutely wretched when he sees how your free hand dips down between your thighs.

You sigh blissfully as you push two fingers inside. They’re sucked in so very easily, your cunt sopping wet without a single touch; to play with San like this is already enough. His breath picks up fast, eyes rolling back at the squelching noises from your hands working in tandem. Every heave of his chest is laboured, his back arching up prettily for you as his moans grow in pitch.

“Fuck, baby, I can’t— M-more, need more,” he whines, futilely tugging at the ropes.

“So greedy,” you say, a slow grin on your lips. “Is my hand not enough for you? You need my cunt too?”

San groans, frustrated and desperate. He’s truly feeling that lack of control by now, unable to reach out and grab your waist. Any other day he would bounce you helplessly on his cock or to flip you over entirely, fucking you so deep and hard you feel him for days after.

But right now? San can’t do any of those things. Instead he’s reduced to a powerless sulk, his thighs twitching underneath you. “Unfair,” he mumbles weakly, his bottom lip sticking out petulantly at your refusal to just give him what he wants.

“Unfair? Are you saying I’m a mean dom?” You gasp in faux-affront, releasing his cock to raise your fingers to your lips, smearing them accidentally-on-purpose with the salty glisten of precum.

He whines at the loss of your hand, trying to buck his hips. “J-just wanna be inside you…”

“Ahh… Well, if that is what you want…” you hum, and languidly slide forward to reposition yourself. San chokes on a moan when you hold onto the base of his cock, find the right angle, and then sink down. You suck in a sharp breath at the sudden pressure on your walls, stretching you open; two of your fingers are not quite enough to properly loosen yourself up for the girth of San’s thick length — but you welcome the burn, savour how your body is forced to adjust itself to San, gradually accommodating to the shape of him inside your cunt.

“F-fuck, so tight, so fucking—” San rasps, his hands clenching into fists so tight the knuckles whiten. He twitches inside you, tension pulled so taut that for a moment you think he’s going to cum on the spot, but somehow San pulls himself back from the brink.

“Good boy,” you purr, bracing one hand on San’s flushed, heaving chest so you can use the other to wipe his sweat-matted hair out of his eyes. “Doing so well for me.”

Your fingers trail down the side of his face and to your surprise, San turns his head to suck them into his mouth. He noisily slurps around them with teary eyes, his pleading look shooting straight down to your stuffed cunt. You swallow hard as San’s tongue laves your fingers in wet heat, a messy trail of spittle trickling down his chin when you pull your hand away.

Glistening with San’s saliva, your fingers slide easily through your folds to find your clit. You sigh in bliss as you leisurely rub at the sensitive nub, drinking how San squirms and gasps with every clench around his throbbing cock. His watery eyes are transfixed by the slippery swirl of your fingerpads, unable to look away.

However, even in his hazy state, San quickly realises you’re not actually moving. “H-hey—”

“Uh-uh,” you hum in warning when his hips buck, lightly pinching his nipple. “No rushing things today, Sannie. Thought you wanted me to keep you busy until Wooyoung gets back.”

San groans as he tries to buck again, but unable to get proper leverage. “Baby, we don’t even know when he’s coming home to us,” he whines.

“True, true,” you admit, though your earlier text probably did plenty to sway Wooyoung towards a quick return. “But there’s an easy way to check that.”

You’re careful not to let San slip out of your wet cunt while you reach for your phone, inspired by your recent shenanigans with Wooyoung. But despite being the one who is in the room with you this time, somehow San plays the part of your victim yet again.

San seems to realise the same thing. “You are a mean dom,” he says, an admonishing look on his flushed face. “You better give Woo a hard time, you owe me that mu—”

“You better stay quiet,” you interrupt him with a grin. “What if Yeosang is still there, hm? Wouldn’t want him to overhear anything… untoward.”

He whines again, pulling against his bindings. “Why am I always the one getting bullied?” he protests, like he never bullies you (and especially Wooyoung) when he’s in charge. “You really enjoy tormenting me that much?”

“What I enjoy, is seeing you pout,” you tease him, truthfully, and unlock your phone to call Wooyoung.

San sighs in exasperation, biting his lip to try and rob you of that beloved pout; but he only manages for a split-second before it’s right back on his face. The endearing sight bubbles warmly in your chest, yet the futility of his protest sparks heat between your thighs. As much as you’re trying to draw this all out, you’re slowly losing the battle to sit still on his cock — and the excitement that crackles through you as you wait for Wooyoung to answer his phone doesn’t help.

Wooyoung picks up, and immediately gets down to business. “What’s the secret?” he demands impatiently.

You giggle at his eagerness, deliberately keeping the call off speaker so San only hears your side of the conversation. “Telling you would kinda defeat the point, wouldn’t it? Where are you?”

There’s barely any background noise, leaving you confused over his current location. Wooyoung wouldn’t have picked up this quick if he was still with Yeosang, but clearly he isn’t out on the streets or riding public transportation either.

Wooyoung chuckles. “Where am I? Hmm… it’s a secret.”

He says it with such an air of mystery that you blink and look over your shoulder, half-expecting to see him standing in the doorway — and immediately feel silly when no one’s there, obviously. You would’ve heard Wooyoung’s voice if he was already in the room with you.

“Funny. Is that a ‘I’m five minutes away’ secret or a ‘go to bed without me, we’ll see each other in the morning’ secret?” you ask, squeezing around San just to be a menace. He visibly strains to keep quiet, face contorted as he bites down a whine.

“Oh, we’ll see each other soon I think,” Wooyoung hums, and you faintly hear what sounds like his footsteps through the phone. “So, spill. What is it? Did you finally get a strap?”

“Fuck.” This time, the squeeze of your walls around San’s is entirely involuntary, and a tiny whimper finds its way past his lips.

“Gonna take that as a ‘no’. Also… speaking of where people are, how about Sannie?” Wooyoung asks. (You wonder if he heard the noise.) “Is this secret a solo endeavour or is he around somewhere?”

“He’s… busy,” you grin. You draw a teasing finger over San’s chest, parallel to the lines of his harness. Another whine spills over as he twitches under your touch, like the press of the rope against his skin has made him even more sensitive than usual.

“Even more secrets. Interesting,” Wooyoung muses to himself; but one particular secret is solved when you distantly hear the front door of the apartment open. He giggles when your breath catches, knowing he gave himself away. “See you soon, alright?” he says, and loudly slams the door shut on purpose.

San jerks at the sound, his eyes widening with realisation. He breaths hard underneath you, his cock giving a violent twitch.

“Over here!” you call out to Wooyoung, and San makes a strangled noise. His tearful eyes gleam with anticipation, excitement — and just a hint of those not-nerves again. “Hey,” you say gently and massage his shoulder in reassurance, drawing his attention back to you. “Wooyoung’s gonna lose his mind, seeing you like this. We’re gonna take such good care of you, of our Sannie.”

San nods, managing a few steadying breaths. “Yeah,” he says softly, his smile almost shy. “All yours.”

It’s then, as warmth glows inside your chest at San’s renewed submission, that Wooyoung opens the bedroom door, looking around in search of your ‘secret’. “Okay, so what’s all the fuss abou—” he starts, but then he lays eyes on San, silenced at once.

All words are stolen from Wooyoung’s tongue, unable to do anything but stare at San’s tied up figure. His mouth has gone slack, eyes unblinking as they take in every inch of rope laid across San’s flushed, sweaty skin, emphasising the wideness of his chest and shoulders, and how it tapers down to his narrow waist — down to where you’re settled in San’s lap, keeping his dick warm.

“See,” you grin at San, lightly rocking your hips into him, “told you he’d like it.”

Even the slight motion is enough to make San whimper and arch, biting at his swollen lips. The stretch around his thick cock is so easy and satisfying now, buried snugly inside your cunt like he was made for you, just to stuff you full. The fevered flush on San’s cheeks deepens as he stares right back at Wooyoung, helplessly waiting for his next move.

“I… I knew you guys talked about practising, I didn’t think… Fuck.”

Wooyoung curses lowly, hands shaky as he shrugs off his jacket and lets it drop onto the floor, leaving him in just a loose-fitting tanktop and trousers. He drinks in the sight of you and San as he shifts onto the bed, darkened eyes briefly lingering on the bite-marks San left on your breasts before Wooyoung’s attention flickers back to San himself.

He brushes his hand over the length of San’s arm, his fingertips catching against the ladder-tie fixed around tensed muscles. “Never seen you like this before,” Wooyoung murmurs in quiet wonderment, wetting his lips. “How is it, Sannie? Is she treating you real nice? Are you having fun?”

“She’s mean,” San pouts, but there is a fond gleam hidden in his eyes as he glances at you. “Wouldn’t let me cum until you got here.”

Wooyoung groans deeply at that, clenching his hand around San’s forearm as though to steady himself. He catches you off guard when he suddenly turns his head to capture you in a hard kiss.

You moan in surprise at Wooyoung’s roughness, his self-control already tattered and hanging on by a single frayed thread. It makes your hips roll against San on pure instinct, drawing a broken whine as he clumsily humps upward to meet your slow grind.

“Fuck, that is real nice of you,” Wooyoung grunts against your lips. “Waiting just for me? Don’t know I could’ve been that patient.”

“You definitely couldn’t have,” you giggle, and reluctantly push him away. “But you don’t have to be patient, not today. Go on, give Sannie a kiss too. Enjoy.”

“Oh I will,” Wooyoung says, his voice raspy with excitement.

San makes a noise, muscles tensing as he yanks uselessly at his bound wrists. He looks nothing short of depraved, hair matted with sweat and eyes glassy, chest heaving with laboured breaths. Delectable, served up to Wooyoung on a platter — and Wooyoung is starved.

Obediently he follows your instruction, descending on San’s mouth in a frenzy.

You sigh in satisfaction as San twitches inside your stuffed cunt, your hand returning to your clit. Even just a light graze of your fingers burns through your core while you revel in the sight in front of you, of San keening pitifully as Wooyoung ravishes him.

Both of them are just as needy and desperate as the other; Wooyoung lost in his aggressive greed, San whimpering as he surrenders himself to it. Your breath hitches at the liberal peeks of tongue as their jaws shift, a sloppy tangle that has San panting, drool spilling over onto his chin. Wooyoung laps it all up before sucking San’s tongue into his mouth, his hands starting to wander.

Wooyoung’s fixation on San’s chest is instantly obvious — and all too understandable. He appreciatively tracks his fingers over the lines of rope, then kneads at the firm pecs trapped between them. His trimmed nails dig into San’s skin ever so slightly, only spurred on when San’s gasps into his mouth, writhing against the dual sensations of his throbbing cock engulfed by your wet heat and Wooyoung’s unbridled attentions.

“What do you think, Wooyoungie? Beautiful like this, isn’t he?” you ask, voice a little shaky, but still allowing yourself a moment of pride in your work.

Wooyoung breaks away from San’s lips, a thin thread of spittle briefly connecting them before it snaps.

“Beautiful doesn’t begin to cover it,” he grunts hoarsely. He bends down to suck at San’s tits with the same frenetic fervour he used on San’s mouth; and now San’s unmuffled cries spill freely, every pitched moan searing through your abdomen. San looks on the brink — and honestly, you’re not sure how much longer you can hold off yourself either.

“Fuck, Sannie, I don’t— Fuck—” Wooyoung babbles between sucking marks on San’s chest, just as overwhelmed by the unexpected reversal. “Is— is this okay? W-what can I—?”

You run a soothing hand through Wooyoung’s hair to ground him, massaging the scruff of his neck. “It’s okay, Wooyoungie, just talk to me. What do you want?”

Wooyoung sighs and relaxes at you kneading his tense muscles, taking a few steadying breaths. He then plucks at the rope laid over San’s sternum with a longing glance, playing with how the cord fills the divot between San’s pecs.

“Looks so good like this. K-kinda wish it was me here…” he rasps, stroking his fingers almost in a thrusting motion along the length of rope, “…me fucking these pretty tits.”

You never even get the chance to check in with San, or to consider the logistics of removing this part of the harness without needing to dismantle the entire thing. No, San is way ahead of you on both counts.

“Cut it. Cut away the rope,” he blurts out immediately, jutting his chin at the safety shears lying on the nightstand.

Wooyoung giggles at San’s urgency, reaching for the scissors. “So generous. I’ll buy you some new rope then,” he coos, wiggling two fingers under the cord to lift it up. “Fuck, but aren’t you eager to get used today, all of a sudden. What brought this on, hm?”

The concern behind Wooyoung’s question is subtle, hidden under a thick fog of arousal, but neither you nor San miss it. San lets out a breathy, self-conscious laugh at Wooyoung’s valid assumption that San might be less than alright if he is willing to submit.

“Nothing,” he says, shuddering as the blunt side of the shears brushes over his skin. “Nothing happened. I… I just wanted this.”

His chest puffs up a little, like he’s proud of himself for the admission. (You definitely are.)

“We talked,” you add, toying with the wide strap of Wooyoung’s tanktop, half-distracted by a glimpse of his collarbone, “and San decided he wanted to try something new.”

The tension on the harness loosens as Wooyoung frees up the space for him to use, causing a slight slack to the ladder pattern on San’s arms; but they stay in place. “Hm, so I have you to thank for this little surprise? You talked Sannie into this?”

“Don’t give me too much credit,” you grin, patting San’s side. “Didn’t take much convincing.”

“N-no, you can take a little credit,” San mumbles, almost a little drunkenly as he strains to stay still, slowly looking back-and-forth between you and Wooyoung.

Something passes over Wooyoung’s face as the sharp heat in his gaze momentarily softens. He turns to you and brushes his knuckles over your cheek, then presses a deceptively chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Thank you,” he says quietly, before a teasing glint returns to his eyes. “I’ll make good use of it.”

“You better, yeah,” you tease, ignoring how Wooyoung’s sudden moment of softness threatens to throw you off balance. “Sannie was real excited for you to join us.”

Wooyoung hums in acknowledgement, discarding the remainder of his clothes. As he does so, he intently eyes the rise and fall of San’s chest at first, but then his eyes wander back between your thighs, where San’s dick disappears inside your sopping cunt.

“Can I?” Wooyoung asks, but doesn’t wait for answer before he runs two fingers through your drenched folds, holding the digits in a v-shape to press around the base of San’s cock. He grins at the way you and San both jerk at his touch, drinking in every moan as he leisurely swipes at your slick.

“F-fuck, Wooyoungie—” you whine, your hand clamping around his shoulder.

His eyes widen when he realises just how close you are, lips spreading into a filthy grin. “Yeah? Gonna give me a little more? Give me enough to lube up Sannie’s fat tits?” he rasps, stroking his fingers with more purpose. “C’mon baby, get it real nice and sloppy for me.”

You hiss another curse, your hips picking up speed when Wooyoung’s thumb finds your clit, right as he lazily mouths at your neck. You’re losing yourself in a clouded frenzy, wantonly gyrating against Wooyoung’s fingers and San’s cock; no longer satisfied with San just filling up your cunt, but finally using him to fuck yourself in earnest.

You’ve held back for so long, but now pure desperation hits you all at once. You have to cum, to find a release to the pressure that’s been building all night from the very moment you and San started your innocuous ‘practice’ session, like neither of you had been fantasising about this very scenario. Your breathless moans mingle with San’s choked gasp as your reckless chase for relief inadvertently sends sends him down a delirious spiral.

San’s head falls back against the pillow as he cries out, struggling against the ropes and bucking clumsily up into your cunt, sliding against Wooyoung’s fingers. Tears mingle with sweat on San’s cheeks, his whines catching in his throat when you clench around him tighter than ever before.

You can’t help it, not when Wooyoung bites and sucks at your neck, every nerve ending in your body going haywire as his thumb never lets up on your clit no matter how you twist and squirm.

“P-please,” San gasps, trembling helplessly. “Please, I- I—”

“What is it, Sannie? Too much? Not enough?” Wooyoung grins when San whimpers at the latter question, bucking his hips again. “So greedy. How about you, baby?” he asks you, licking his lips. “Want more too?”

You groan when Wooyoung stops moving his fingers, instinctively burrowing a hand in his hair, tuggin impatiently at the long dark strands. “Fuck, don’t stop now, close, so close, Woo,” you babble mindlessly. “Yes yes want more, fuck—!”

Your throat closes up with a high-pitched keen when Wooyoung does exactly what you asked for; giving you more.

Just like that, his index finger slides into your cunt, snugly pressed between your walls and San’s cock. You mewl at the added stretch, a not completely unfamiliar burn but still overwhelming as you rush towards the precipice at break-neck speed. Your vision whites out as you convulse, struggling to stay upright as electrified pleasure surges through you in waves. It’s not until the first wave passes that you realise Wooyoung has worked a second finger in there, snapping his wrist and dragging San right down with you.

“Feels good, Sannie?” Wooyoung asks, grinning as your slick gushes over his fingers. “Is that what you wanted? Me next to you in that tight pussy, fucking our good girl together?”

San sobs brokenly, beautifully, powerless as he becomes undone underneath you, painting your fluttering walls with thick, heavy spurts of hot seed. His bottom lip is raw from his teeth, but still he bites down another whimper when your cunt clamps so tightly from an intense aftershock that you can’t help but push him out no matter how you try to keep him inside.

Wooyoung groans in delight at the view of San’s cum leaking out of your weeping hole, right on his fingers. He gathers as much as he can while you slump off on the side, trying and failing to catch your breath.

“Yeah, I think this will do just fine,” he chuckles darkly, and smears his slicked-up fingers between San’s pecs. He even works up some saliva to crudely spit onto San’s glistening skin, all shiny and slippery.

Antsy from waiting, Wooyoung straddles San and roughly grabs two handfuls of his tits to press together, creating a nice crevice for Wooyoung to fuck into. You kneel next to San, giving yourself a perfect view of what’s about to happen. One of your hands trails back between your legs, while the other rests on San’s thigh to ground him, your nails gently grazing over the sensitive muscle.

San whines, arching his back to meet Wooyoung’s flushed cock, its darkened tip leaking precum already. It only adds to the easy slide; an obscene mixture of fluids pooling in the shallow valley between San’s firm, pillowy pecs, causing a wet smacking sound with every snap of Wooyoung’s hips.

“Oh fuck, that feels good,” Wooyoung groans, his eyes fluttering shut. He sinks into the rhythm, soaking up the lewd squelches and San’s soft moans.

Your fingers slowly circle around your swollen, tender clit while you watch in a daze how Wooyoung’s dick slides between San’s cleavage with fluid strokes. Wooyoung draws deep, raspy breaths as he tries to stop himself from unravelling too fast, desperate to savour this moment. San’s chest heaves against the weight of Wooyoung’s cock, sweat dripping down his forehead and tongue lolling out of his mouth.

San whimpers when you reach behind Wooyoung to wrap a hand around his softening cock. The touch is gentle at first, almost absentminded while you watch them intently, but your hand gradually picks up speed as San’s moans get louder, needier. Pleasure buzzes through your worn-out body while San’s dick plumps back up in your palm.

San is totally gone at this point, using his last shreds of cognition to crane his neck, trying to catch his tongue against the tip of Wooyoung’s cock with every thrust. Wooyoung lets out a strained giggle of delight at San’s mindless instinct to please, and he pushes forward with deeper strokes to give San a taste of salty precum, mingled with the other bodily fluids gathered on San’s chest.

Wooyoung readjusts his grip so he can thumb at San’s nipples, grinning fiendishly when San whines loudly, fresh tears welling up in his eyes. “So you enjoy this sort of thing, huh?” Wooyoung teases, grunting between thrusts as his pace picks up. The air is filled with the heady, lewd squelch of his cock pushing air between San’s cleavage. “Didn’t expect to ever see you tied up like this. Do you like it, Sannie? Us having our way with you, and nothing you can do about it. Just have to lie there and take it.”

“Y-yeah,” San hiccups, struggling for words while your fist twists around his cockhead with every pass of your hand over his length. “F-fuck, I do, I like it Youngie…”

San’s meek submission flares through your aching cunt — and for Wooyoung, it proves too much to handle. His voice cracks as he doubles over with high-pitched gasps, hips stuttering as he spills on San’s chest, some splatters reaching up to his neck and face.

Wooyoung barely gives himself a chance to catch his breath before he’s bent over San, his tongue laving over the sticky mess on San’s defiled chest.

San lets out a weak moan at Wooyoung’s greedy, suckling mouth, his own tongue darting out to catch a drop of cum on the corner of his lips. It’s decadent, filthy, and you’re drawn closer into their orbit of debauchery with every wet smack of Wooyoung’s mouth, every moan wrested from San’s lips.

Finally you can’t stand it anymore, abandoning your clit to lay on your side. Half-draped over San, you suck at the splatters of cum covering his freckled neck, pumping his cock quicker. The motion catches Wooyoung’s attention and he glances up at your hand around San’s dick, his dark eyes clouded over, mouth and chin shiny with fluids.

“F-fuck, please I can’t—” San whines, trembling uncontrollably. “Baby, I-I’m gonna—”

“Give it to me,” Wooyoung cuts through San’s babbling, his voice hoarse. He rests his cheek on San’s saliva-glistening chest, tongue resting on his bottom lip in invitation.

San’s moans go up in pitch, fighting for breath as you twist and squeeze at his cock with confident familiarity, knowing exactly what he needs to fall apart. He does just so, whining, spilling his load messily over Wooyoung’s face; not as much as the first time, but enough to paint Wooyoung’s tongue white, even with the stray splatters that get on his face and in his hair.

Wooyoung closes his lips with a mischievous grin, but he does not swallow. Instead he turns to you with a dark look, half-crawling over San to grab at the soft meat of your thigh.

Impatiently he pushes you onto your back and spreads your legs, then latches onto you. You cry out, yanking at Wooyoung’s hair as he crudely tongue-fucks your cunt, pushing San’s cum inside you. His fingers dig into your hips, encouraging you to grind freely against his face.

Already close from earlier, it does not take much for the orgasm lurking in the shadows to coil around you with hot tendrils, tightly until finally the pressure snaps. You spasm and mewl, desperately grabbing onto San’s arm as you clamp around Wooyoung’s tongue with a throttled moan.

Wooyoung makes a pleased noise, nudging his nose against your clit while you ride it out; chasing every spark jolting through your core. Weakly you run a hand through Wooyoung’s hair, holding him close as he gently sucks at your folds, drawing out the aftermath until finally you slump down.

As your hold on him loosens, Wooyoung presses a final, tender kiss on your soft thigh. Slowly he withdraws, then sits up and to face San, who lays on the bed worn-out and wrecked in all the best ways.

“That was… different,” Wooyoung says with a faint grin, cupping San’s puffy cheeks to brush away a few lingering tears with his thumbs. “You okay, Sannie? Fuck, you did amazing.”

San answers with a soft hum, tiredly grinning back at Wooyoung. “Different, yeah. Good different. I’m good,” he sighs, glancing at you with a tender gleam in his eyes.

You fondly run a hand through his hair. “I’m glad,” you say in a quiet hush, feeling an odd relief at San’s words. Like a preemptive strike at any uncertainties that could have nagged at you later.

Carefully, you undo the knot around one of his wrists and Wooyoung takes your cue, reaching for San’s other arm. Together you release him from the bindings and the remainder of the cut harness. San is content to just let it happen, to let your care wash over him as you check him for abrasions and massage any stiffness out of his arms.

“How about you?” Wooyoung asks you, squeezing at your waist while San munches on an energy bar. “You okay?”

His concern seeps warmly through the exhaustion that’s settling in your bones. “Hm. Tired,” you mumble, though you manage a smile. It’s not bad, just more than you expected.

San immediately stretches his arms out to you. “Cuddle,” he pouts bossily; a mutually beneficial demand.

You give into his demand without second thought, happy to snuggle up against his chest (which is no longer stained with bodily fluids after Wooyoung cleaned him with some wet-wipes).

“Better?” San asks, rubbing his nose into your hair.

You giggle at the way San can’t help but take charge again, even if it’s just during the aftercare. “Yeah,” you sigh contently, and give Wooyoung a thankful look when he drapes a blanket over you before joining the cuddle himself.

You drift into a cosy bubble of entangled bodies and lazy chatter, a fuzzy warmth settling in, like you could doze off into sleep any moment. You're tempted to let it take you, to at least get a little nap in before you return to the comfort of your own bed — and really, you can find no reason not to.

Wrapped up in the safety of San and Wooyoung, you let your eyes flutter shut for a while, accompanied by their hushed voices and laughs.

Their voices are still there when you wake again later, along with two hands softly grazing over your arm and waist. You join their talk for a while, sleep-drunk from the nap, but then decide to go sleep for real before your brain wakes up too much. San gives you another pout as you untangle from his hold, while Wooyoung jokingly suggests they come with you, but both are placated when you promise to join them for breakfast tomorrow.

You stick by your promises, padding over to San and Wooyoung’s the next morning in slippers and a comfy bathrobe. It’s just one door away but you still can’t help thinking back on yesterday’s conversation; no longer having to shuffle through the apartment building’s hallway would definitely be an added benefit to a shared home.

Wooyoung is meandering in the kitchen by himself when you come in, no San in sight. You rub your eyes groggily as you look around for him, while joining Wooyoung by the stove. You give him a half back-hug, peeking over his shoulder to identify the origin of tasty smells drifting through their apartment. (Kimchi pancakes and egg dumplings, as it turns out.)

“Hmm, has San left already?” you mumble against Wooyoung’s shoulder. You’ had hoped to see San before work, just to ease that tiny twinge of protectiveness in your chest, to confirm he still felt good after yesterday. “Did he have a good sleep?”

Wooyoung opens his mouth — but before he can get a sound out, you hear the muted sound of the shower turning on from the bathroom.

“He’s here,” Wooyoung says with a sleepy grin, flipping over the pancake effortlessly. He’s wearing an apron, his hair is messily tied up into a half-bun, face slightly puffy from sleep. It’s utterly endearing. He looks away from the pan to glance at you, chuckling when he realises what your question was really about. “San’s doing great,” he assures you. “Way too chipper for this early in the morning, honestly.”

“Good, good,” you hum absentmindedly, nuzzling into Wooyoung’s shoulder. “And you? How are you doing? After last night?”

He blinks in surprise at the question. “Yeah? Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

You raise an eyebrow, unsatisfied with his vague answer. “…Yeah? We didn’t ambush you too much with the whole thing?”

“Oh, no no!” He quickly shakes his head, but then slows down and sinks into a pensive expression. “Well… No, not an ambush.”

“…But?” you ask, starting to feel uneasy.

Wooyoung chuckles, pinching your cheek. “Hey — don’t stress out, okay? Last night was fucking amazing. I only—”

He sighs and awkwardly rubs the back of his head, before seeming to come to a decision. He slides the crispy pancake onto a preheated plate before turning down the stove, taking a break from cooking. He turns around to lean back against the counter, giving you and the conversation his full attention. You lean next to him, gently bumping your shoulders together.

“In the heat of the moment? No problems. But afterwards, I… I started feeling a little jealous,” Wooyoung says, his face scrunching up as he painstakingly works the admission past his lips. “That you got to tie San up. That he let you tie him up. Not that I ever bothered to ask but…” Wooyoung shrugs, like he’s trying to minimise the emotions behind his words. “…But I never got the feeling San would’ve tried that with just me.

“And I mean, there’s a reason I never asked; it’s not like this is some big secret fantasy I’ve been dying to play out so the whole thing is just stupid to get jealous over, but… yeah. That.”

His ramble trails off awkwardly, but you listened intently to every word, despite struggling a little to take it all in. You did just wake up after all, still shaking off sleep’s lingering hold on your brain. “Wooyoung… It’s not stupid. Not at all,” you say, your hand finding his.

“Sorry,” Wooyoung says with a wry smile, “didn’t mean to dump all that on you before I even got some food in your stomach.”

“It’s fine. I’m glad you told me,” you reassure him, squeezing his hand. “Did you talk to San about this?”

“Oh yeah, Sannie got the late night edition,” Wooyoung chuckles faintly. “But— but the thing is; it was also… nice? Does that even make sense? Like, I loved seeing you two like that together.”

Your brow softens, a pop of warmth bursting in your chest. “You did?”

Wooyoung nods, struggling to meet your eyes. “Yeah. Loved it. I—”

He hesitates again, and you have a sudden suspicion of what sentence he’s hiding behind his lips.

“I love how you took care of him, I love that he let you. Even if it felt complicated. You and San are different than me and San, but… that’s okay, you know? You and me are different too, and I love how we are together,” Wooyoung says, his waterfall of words inching closer and closer to the exact phrasing he is trying to reach.

You swallow thickly, realising what is about to come… and hold tighter onto Wooyoung’s hand, quietly encouraging him.

He glances up tentatively, finally meeting your eyes again — and relaxes into a smile at what he finds there. “Listen,” he continues, a little more confident, “it’s not like I’m interested in what adjective goes before the word. Romantic, platonic, whatever. Who cares. But— but I do love you.”

Wooyoung takes a deep breath, exhaling with audible relief.

“And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says, searching your face for any signs of it, “but I also don’t want to lie about this stuff. So… is this okay? Is it okay if I say that? You don’t have to say anything back,” Wooyoung rushes to add. “I know you might not feel the same way. But I’m good with that. I’m good with you liking me in your own way.”

There’s a stubborn lump in your throat that refuses to go away.

You did think those words would make you uncomfortable. You were convinced they would, given your past experiences. You just thought that for Wooyoung, you could sit with that discomfort and let it pass through you. At least this once. But there is no discomfort itching under your skin, no distress pounding in your chest.

Only warmth.

Down to the very core of your being, you know there are no ultimatums hidden behind Wooyoung’s confession. No threat to end things if your response does not meet his expectations, if what you can give him in return isn’t enough. Whatever you’ll say, he has already decided that it is. That you are enough. Just as you are.

“Well… I did tell you to stop assuming I’ll bolt at the tiniest hint of commitment,” you tease, though your voice is a little thick. (Somewhere in the background, you vaguely register that the shower in the bathroom has turned off.)

“You did, yeah,” Wooyoung giggles, lightly elbowing you in the side. His shoulders look much lighter now. “No take backsies.”

You shake your head. “Wasn’t planning on it. Yeah,” you hum. “Yeah, it’s okay if you say that. More than okay. I… I’m happy.”

Wooyoung’s eyes scrunch up as his smile widens. The force of it is breathtaking.

“Is— is this something recent? You haven’t been stressing out about this talk, have you?” you ask, fidgeting a little. You hate the idea that he might’ve been sitting with this for who knows how long.

Wooyoung scoffs a laugh. “What? No way. You know me, right? Bottling up feelings is not my style. I leave that up to you and Sannie.”

You snort at the lighthearted dig, whapping Wooyoung on the arm. “Hey, that’s slander! Blatant character assassination! Who is the one who brought up moving in together?”

“Okay fine, fine, I’ll let you have that one,” he sighs dramatically. “But you gotta admit I’m the load-bearing pillar in this trio. It’s a fate I’ve accepted long ago.”

His dramatics make you laugh, but honestly? There is truth in it. Wooyoung has always been the most pro-active between the three of you, the most forthright about his wants and needs. Hell, Wooyoung might’ve been jealous, but without him, you and San probably wouldn’t have gotten to a place for him to be jealous of.

You’ve always liked San, ever since he moved in next to you, but it was Wooyoung who forcibly dragged you two closer into each others’ orbit. With no Wooyoung, you’d have lived complacently as neighbours, your friendship superficial, until one of you moved out again, never to see each other again. Never sticking your head out to explore what else there could be between you.

The morning hush settles back into the kitchen as you lean against Wooyoung, loosely wrapping your arms around his. “Thank you,” you murmur, rubbing your cheek against his shoulder. “I’ll try to carry my weight more often.”

Wooyoung blinks, a little surprised at your sincere reaction to his joke, but then he softens into a smile and leans back into you. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs back. “But don’t go carrying too much, alright? Can’t have me becoming redundant.”

“Pff, never. Idiot.”

That’s how San walks in to find you and Wooyoung, just living in a moment of quiet. His hair is still damp from the shower, a towel around his shoulders to catch the last few drops clinging to wet tendrils.

San’s eyes lightens up when he sees you’re here, quickly walking over joining you. He briefly raises an eyebrow when he notes the one singular pancake that’s getting cold, but decides to ignore it, leaning against the kitchen counter next to Wooyoung instead. He drapes an arm over Wooyoung’s shoulder, his warm hand coming to rest high between your shoulder-blades.

“So,” San says, a cute little smile tugging on his lips as he looks at Wooyoung. “You talked to her? Said what you wanted to say?”

Wooyoung grins back at him. “Yeah. We talked.”

“Good,” San says softly, his fingers trailing up to knead the nape of your neck. “That’s really good.”

Wooyoung lets out a loud sigh, shaking his head. “You know what isn’t good?” he says, looking from you to San. “That we’re all standing around here getting hungry. C’mon, get off me, let me get to it. Someone has to keep you two fed.”

He abruptly shakes himself loose and turns back to his pancake better, causing you and San to make noises of surprise — but then you grin mischievously at the sight of him diligently making breakfast for three. “See? That’s why you’ll never be redundant. Indispensable, that’s what you are.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Helpless without me, that’s what you are,” he shoots back, but the the corners of his mouth are fighting a losing battle against the wide, shy smile creeping up his lips.

You catch San’s eye while Wooyoung continues his cooking, suddenly feeling oddly shy. “You had a good sleep?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly, struck by the same shyness. “Really good.”

A faint heat creeps under your skin as you reminisce on last night’s events; the trust San showed in you, the sight of him tied up on the bed, helpless while you and Wooyoung ravished him, how noisy he’d gotten—

Oh. Noise.

A whole other sort of heat flushes through you when a different memory of yesterday floods through your system. “D-do you think we ought to send Mrs Yoon flowers or something?” you say, grimacing at San. “Fruit basket? Chocolates?”

San’s drowsy smile is knocked right off his face as he freezes, cheeks going crimson with embarrassment. “Oh god,” he groans, hiding his face behind his hand. “Y-yeah. Maybe we should.”

Wooyoung takes his attention off the pan, blinking at you and San in confusion. “Hm? Mrs Yoon? What about her?” he says, blissfully oblivious. “Is she sick? I can get her some flowers from work, sure. Do we need to write her a card too?”

#sub san owns my whole heart #fic rec #choi san #jung wooyoung #i still have to spam comments on ao3 but i did go and leave kudos with this update <3

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