crooked love
minatozaki sana x fem!reader
summary: you and sana are friends with benefits but end up being more than that.
tags: little plot w/ hints of background soccer!au ; friends with benefits ; fluff ; angst ; smut ; some unrequited love for damo ; some 2yeon ; light dom/sub ; hair-pulling ; love confessions ; biting ; some praising ; not proofread!!!
author’s note: :)
like all good things, it comes in pairs. right and left cleats, metal cherubic bookends, your mother’s pearl earrings, and kim dahyun and a friday night party.
of course, given the propensity for parental derelict and the general lack of privacy at the kim residence, these events always seem to happen at your house. not that you mind; the company is nice. big houses tend to haunt, and each empty room is its own ghost.
you all clinched the home game against passaic and dahyun used her allowance to get a cheap keg from her older cousin who works at the liquor store on market street. with a passing—and brief—discussion about the merits of asking forgiveness instead of permission, you found out just minutes before the game that dahyun had invited nearly the entire school to your house in the event of a win. which you all did. as you all usually do.
now, you stand in your kitchen, the one filled to the brim with rowdy teenagers, nursing a half-empty solo cup and eyeing the pods of people that disperse throughout your living room.
there are people here you’ve never seen. you’re not entirely sure they know you either, though it doesn’t really matter, you suppose. dahyun and tzuyu are loitering near the couch, desperate to call dibs on the open space left by any unlucky soul who decides to get up and get a refill. jeongyeon and nayeon, seemingly the paradox of one another tied together with a red string, linger by the fireplace mantle and eye the people around them, their touches growing more and more courageous as their presence seems to slip into the background. mina sits on the stairs with a can of coke in her hand, the aluminum crinkling under her heavy grasp of feral skittishness and insatiable longing. momo is running late. you haven’t seen sana yet.
you digest them all in small doses, keeping an eye on everyone while maintaining the charade of having fun, your lips itching for a smoke. you top off your cup with splashing beer from a too-fast spigot and head to the patio through the sliding glass door.
the waft of cool air that breathes into the living room bites at your thighs, left exposed by your pink miniskirt, and you quickly shut the door behind you once you’re steady on the deck. you toe off your heels with a sigh and kick them to the side.
the wood grain is rough against the backs of your upper thighs when you sit on the top step that leads down into the sprawling backyard. the green is frosted and faded with the night, only the flickering porch light illuminating the space. your cup is abandoned beside you, teetering against the slightly uneven wood warped by new jersey’s notorious winters. you reach into the nearly useless pocket of your miniskirt and fish out your lighter and the dwindling pack of american spirits, inching one out of the flimsy carton and lighting it swiftly.
your t-shirt isn’t enough to keep you warm, and it certainly yields to the goosebumps prickling along your arms, but it doesn’t matter. the smoke in your lungs distracts you from the chill. the heat in your stomach and the mess in your head keep you low.
momo arrives, using the back gate to enter. the fence door opens and shuts with a metallic clank that echoes across the yard and you watch her from the porch.
you watch momo the way you might a zoo animal. you watch momo, skittish and silent when unaccompanied by her closest confidante, traipsing across the wet lawn in search of her missing half. a hand severed from a body will always try to crawl its way back.
you know that momo is more than dahyun, though. you might be the only one that knows this. you know that momo is independent, fiercely individual, though her loyalty is often disguised as servitude. her honest, artery-tearing love is shrouded in a cloak of capitulation. perhaps the most violent thing you can do to hirai momo is think that she is nothing without kim dahyun.
only you know that look, the one that momo carries with her as she approaches the porch; only you can distinguish subjugation from devotion. only you understand that momo is hopelessly in love with a girl who doesn’t love her back. you only know this because the two of you are one in the same, born from the same litter, the same black spot of doubt on your chests, placed a little to the left.
you are in love with sana.
sana, who often finds herself waking up naked in your bed but sets up camp across the locker room to change. sana, who drags you into empty janitor’s closets with a cheshire cat grin but who won’t go on a date. sana, who fell asleep in your lap during a saturday night movie at your place, only to clear her throat upon waking up while putting as much distance between the two of you as she could.
that sana. that same sana that won’t call it love. that same sana that chokes on sentimentality. you’re stuck with half-chewed feelings and a voice that doesn’t work. you’re stuck whispering i love you in your head while sana is on top of you, kissing you, marking you, instead of speaking it aloud.
you self-flagellate in the backyard with a cigarette in your hand and angry splotches of introductory frostbite on your shins. momo ascends the stairs with her hand on the rail.
“hey, y/n,” she breathes as she crests the top. you lean your body sideways to account for the feet beside you. “dahyun inside?”
“mhm,” you respond around the filter in your mouth, your dizzying inhale bringing the ash at the end to life. you exhale through your nose and shudder at the dry burn it creates. you feel like a dragon when you do it. “she’s with tzuyu in the living room.”
you catch momo’s grimace, however brief. she smiles, something that hopefully conveys sympathy, something akin to similitude. momo smiles back, hesitantly, minutely, before continuing on and entering the house through the slider door.
god help her, you think. at least you don’t have anyone to compete with. at least sana seems to only have eyes for you, regardless of her self-proclaimed—and nullified—relationship status. little victories.
you wait until your cigarette melts to nothing in your hand. you think about lighting another, spending the evening shivering and inhaling, but shake it from your mind. instead, you rub the butt against the dewy wood and flick the ashy orange remnants into the backyard, buried in the grass with perfect aim.
whatever you do, you refuse to think about sana. you refuse to think about the girl you still haven’t seen yet, who might be ditching altogether. you don’t think about what the absence means, how it translates into the steady thrum of disinterest. how it strikes a match and sets fire to your hopes of deluding yourself with each sideways glance you catch from across the room.
instead, you finish your drink and feel the burn in your throat. instead, you bring your empty cup inside and throw it away. instead, you change the music on the stereo system above the mantle, verify that your feet are still attached to your body, and dance in the center of the room.
the lights are dim and orange, a nice pairing to the sudden heat in the house. bodies on bodies, toes on toes, and everyone’s squeezed onto the makeshift dance floor in the middle of your first-floor colonial. you’re burning alive in the center, dizzy and delirious, aggravating and overstimulating every nerve receptor in your brain in order to keep your thoughts away from sana.
you’re hot and panting by the time the music dies down, by the time everyone disperses into their own clouds of exhaustion and drunken incoherencies. you’re lingering in corners and drifting through the kitchen as people begin to leave for the night, the second hand on the proudly displayed grandfather clock wavering beside the 5, well past midnight.
it isn’t until the capacity is halved that you lay eyes on a familiar face.
sana has arrived, shifting hesitantly by the entryway, making room for those exiting and tipping her shoulders inwards to avoid being knocked into. her arms are folded across her chest, though it isn’t in defiance. it isn’t in anger or frustration, but rather thoughtfulness. it’s as if she’s tonguing an idea that she can’t quite bear to spit through her teeth.
you don’t move. it’s one of your more interesting traits when it comes to sana. how similar you are to a deer, a spotted fawn, still learning about the world and ignorant to the sudden change from grass to asphalt. how similar you are to a tiny thing in the middle of the road being blinded by lights it doesn’t understand. in the mornings, after their brief tristes and one-sided devotions, how similar you become to the creature left bleeding in the street with no one around to hold it.
“hi,” you finally murmur, and your voice carries far in the newly emptied space. you’re surrounded by rubble, by evidence, and your pinky toe grazes against a forgotten cup. you left your shoes outside.
“hi,” sana responds with equally measured hesitancy, your eyes flitting around the room.
“i didn’t see you at the party, did you just get here?”
“yeah.” sana scratches at the back of her neck. you have never seen her look so… nervous? “i rode my bike. took longer than i thought.”
you nod, taking in the lack of forehead shine, the level chest, the upper thighs un-twitching beneath black jeans. she walked here. that’s why it took so long. you say nothing.
you sigh and run a hand through your hair, a tangled mane of dusk, fingers catching at the knots just past your shoulders. though you just caught your breath, you feel winded again, like you’ve been submerged underwater. or waterboarded. either way.
you can’t bring yourself to look at sana any longer. Instead, you drink in the damage left by the night, the mess that sprawls itself across the floor of your living room. you put your hands on your hips, feeling the swell of bone beneath your fingertips.
“well, party’s over but you’re welcome to stay.”
“is that okay?”
you furrow your eyebrows, feeling them sew together with swiftness. “of course, why wouldn’t it be?”
sana avoids the question. “do you need some help cleaning up?”
“you don’t have to do that,” you say passively, moving into the kitchen to grab the box of garbage bags and setting it on the counter. sana follows her like she’s lost.
“i know i don’t,” she says, her eyes wet and blue. you swallow. The kitchen is too hot. “i just want to, okay?”
you nod, afraid that your voice will break or beg; you don’t know which one is worse. you push the box of garbage bags closer to sana, watching as the brunette extracts two and turns on her heel without another word. you feel like you’re suffocating.
the two of you haven’t been on the same page in some time now. it’s been a few months of giggling rendezvous and fun excursions into empty restrooms and even emptier houses, but you’ve known that your feelings are entirely one sided since the beginning. voicing this to sana had been a mistake. giving words to your want was an error you couldn’t fix, steps you couldn’t retrace.
two weeks ago, when you were keeling over in the janitor’s closet with three fingers buried deep inside your cunt, your legs weak and your head fuzzy like mold, you told sana that you loved her. you’ve never been dunked in ice water before, but you think that those two moments are probably pretty similar. sana hasn’t talked to you since. not until tonight.
the awful truth is that you love sana. you love sana like something. something with nearly prescribed personification. something like a gut punch, four swift knuckles burying into your flesh, knocking the air from your lungs and making your insides ache and turn. something like the moon, a thing that twists and rotates around another body, entirely at the whim and mercy of their orbit. something like a dog lying at the toes of waiting feet.
the awful truth is that you love sana and sana doesn’t love you back. it’s a burden you have to live with, the whole cliche high school experience wrapped in a peroxide bow, the statistic that makes mixtapes and earns you a sad pat on your shoulder. it’s pitiful, the way you’ve been moping—over a girl, no less—for two weeks. it’s even more pitiful just how your stomach turns when you see sana again, standing in your house as if she never left, her jaw clenched and unspeaking, cleaning up the mess left in the living room. you distract yourself in your own corner of the room, the open maw of a trash bag clenched in your right hand.
despite the coldness that envelops the exterior of the house, you are sweltering. a weird display of silence is capable of turning up the heat.
sana finishes half of her bag before she straightens her spine and looks around awkwardly. her other hand, the one not white knuckling the trash bag, slips behind the nape of her neck. you stop and stand up slowly.
“do you need something?” you ask, a bit more blunt than you meant to be. you swallow your grief and hope that the iron in your mouth blooms into something sweeter. this night will feel endless if the two of you can’t get along.
“i just… i just wanted to say something. if that’s okay.”
you feel your chest crack and cave. you feel like the icebergs in antarctica, the ones that shelve and collapse into the bitter sea. they crumble and fall like they aren’t heavy. you ignore the chill of splashing water that freezes inside of you and stare at sana, dropping your bag at your feet and crossing your arms.
“sure,” you say, knowing what it’s about.
knowing it’s about two weeks ago, about the words you shouldn’t have said and the tongue you shouldn’t have let out of its cage. you know it’s about not feeling the same, about it’s not you it’s me, and you steel yourself for the sudden cauterization.
sana sighs and drops her own bag. the plastic cups inside clank hollowly together.
“it’s about… what you said. y’know, a few weeks ago.”
you nibble on the tip of your tongue. it’s brutal how sana’s awkward absence and sentence stumbling can reduce you to nothing but a scaly ouroboros. the blood in your mouth will not lead to rebirth.
sana takes the silence as a means to continue, and she does so with a shaky inhale. “i just… i just wanted to say i’m sorry. for how i reacted.”
you can’t hold back the scoff that leaves your throat. you sigh and drop your arms limply at your sides as if their circuitry has been completely demolished.
“you mean when you pushed me away and left me in the janitor’s closet? or when you wouldn’t talk to me for two weeks and then show up at my house?”
“well, it was a party—”
“oh my god, sana,” you sigh, puff, your eyes rolling at the semantics of it all. there’s still a mess in your living room and your softer-than-clouds bed is waiting for you with open arms. you don’t need this right now; no matter how much your skin aches to be held. no matter how much you crave familiarity. you are but a creature of habit, and your habit kisses like a god.
sana holds up her hands in feigned innocence and steps a bit closer, tentative. “okay, okay, i’m sorry. i’m sorry for all of it. everything. i shouldn’t have acted like that and i really am sorry, y/nnie.”
the nickname burns in your ears. you feel like you’re getting the bends. your eyes flicker down to sana’s lips as the girl ruefully apologizes, her front teeth jagged and gnawing on her lower lip the way she does when she’s nervous. you’re her own saboteur.
“it’s okay,” you acquiesce, shifting your weight onto your left leg and then your right, your toes digging into the unflattering shag carpet.
“it’s not, though,” sana sighs almost mournfully, running a jagged hand through her chopped locks, wavering a bit closer to you with her eyes downcast. “it’s not because… i get it. i— i mean, i feel the same. about you, and everything.”
you feel the air sucked from your lungs like a vacuum or a black hole. you find yourself stretched and contorted, your vision unreliable as you stare dumbfounded at the shorter girl in front of you.
“you… what?”
“i feel the same. it just… i don’t know, y/n, it scared me, is all. but i feel like shit for leaving like i did, okay?”
you don’t think; you move.
you take a tentative step forward, gathering your bearings amidst the information that threatens to demolish you, and you find yourself standing in front of sana with your toes nearly touching.
“say it,” you breathe, achingly close to sana, so close that you can smell the cedar wood, the cologne, the coconut shampoo she always steals from your bathroom. “if you feel the same way, then say it.”
there isn’t much that could fit between you both now. you’re entirely certain that it’s the closest the two of you have been in weeks and you can barely keep your knees locked and upright.
sana swallows. all defiance has evaporated out of her in an unusual phenomenon. she’s never this compliant, never this open. she’s flayed and raw in the middle of your living room and she’s looking up at you with a set gaze and a watery expression of honesty that begs to stay hidden inside. you watch as sana fights with herself, forces her mouth to move, her tongue to release whatever her brain delivers.
“i love you,” she finally says.
it’s low, nearly inaudible, but it’s efficient in knocking the breath from your lungs. you’re doused in water, in fire, in everything in between. you’re of this earth and beyond, cosmic and teenage girl. you’re wanted, you are loved, and your brain short circuits. thinking comes at the cost of wasted seconds and they’re seconds you don’t have.
you close the gap between you both and press your fronts together with an unbalanced collision that could reasonably falter them both. however, the two of you are far too used to this calamity of limbs by now, this roaring libido and unspoken language, so you both remain steadfast and upright with ease.
you swallow sana’s lips, and, in turn, your surprised moan. it feels holy, coming back to this. you kiss sana like you’re kissing fire, letting it burn you and light you ablaze. you thread eager fingers into dark hair, you press your knee between leather, you make any semblance of air feel unwelcome.
sana meets you with knowledgeable grace, pushing when you’re pulled, keeping the two of you standing. she nips at your lower lip and begs for entrance with a well-placed tongue. you welcome the intrusion with a pleading whimper, your mind swirling.
“upstairs,” sana murmurs, pulling back briefly to stand on her toes and kiss down the length of your neck, sucking harshly at your pulse point and making you whine.
the two of you make it upstairs without having to call an ambulance, though there were a few close calls when your heel slipped on a stair and when sana’s legs tumbled upwards and her nose collided into your collarbone. through your insatiable giggles and heady panting, the two of you make it to your bedroom in one piece.
the two of you have been here before. it’s an intricate dance you both perform; swans on water, wings outstretched. sana can maneuver through your bedroom in pitch black darkness and you know every corner of your lover’s body, the jagged edges and the rough lines.
your height difference means nothing in these moments; sana’s confidence, dominance, it’s taller than the world. you seek out familiar lips in whimpering desperation, reduced to nothing but a mess, bowing your neck to find your girl. sana meets you halfway and captures your bottom lip, nipping at the sensitive flesh with jagged teeth, ripping a whine from your throat.
you gasp into sana’s mouth as you’re pulled, pushed, moved around with precision. there are deft hands in your hair, pulling and scratching at your scalp, strong enough to provide pressure but slack enough to be nothing more than a comforting embrace. you stumble backward and you’re caught by the edge of your bed, snagging the backs of your knees and faltering your movements. you sink onto the mattress, suddenly thankful that you’re no longer responsible for keeping yourself upright.
you barely have time to scooch backwards before sana is in your lap, firm thighs on either side of your hips, squeezing and rocking rhythmically. it creates a tempo that makes your head spin like a top. your chest aches and burns with the lack of air between you both.
“baby,” sana murmurs distractedly, disconnecting from your lips and reattaching at the sensitive spot just beneath your ear.
sharp canines meet tender skin, and you moan, choking on your desire, suffocating in your love. you tilt your head backwards in silent encouragement and feel teeth smile against your skin. the girl in your lap is rocking, shifting, moving, and it’s becoming an insatiable distraction. you can’t help but rest her hands just behind the swell of sana’s full hips, fingertips brushing beneath the simple band tee and finding the two dimples in the bottom of your lover’s spine. this earns you another bite.
“hands off,” sana whispers, teasing, sucking a dark mark into your jugular. the two of you are pressed so close together that, when there’s a moan in response, you can’t tell from which throat it exits from.
“please,” you huff while following directions. you’ve always been good. you’ve even better for sana.
“just for now, okay?” sana pleads, though her voice is laced with grinning mirth. she isn’t demanding, she’s asking. “just… let me touch for now.”
your heart thumps and bleeds in your chest, cut open and raw. it pools in your chest, and you nod. you’ve never heard sana so soft, so warm. it fills your stomach and breaks you apart.
with grace, with appreciation, sana becomes briefly gentler with her kisses, trailing them down the length of your exposed neck down to your jutting collarbones, half-covered by the thin pink top you’re still wearing.
it doesn’t take long for the fire to return, however, for the gunpowder to light and ricochet through you. although you’re struck and dizzy by the intimate tenderness of before, the embers in your chest take flight when sana reverts again. they catch the forest beneath your skin, burning every inch of you when sana becomes firm, becomes prepotent, comes alive in your lap.
in a timed rock backwards, just before you can beg for more, something, anything, sana separates herself and stands up, placing both of her feet on solid ground and stepping back with a teasing grin. it glints against the warm, dim lights of the bedroom and you swallow.
“lay back,” sana says, though it’s not a demand. she would never demand, but the playful sternness of it is enough to make your stomach flip and a drumbeat to accumulate between your thighs, heavy and aching. you do as you’re asked.
you scramble backwards, shifting and turning until you’re lying properly on the bed, your head against the pillow—the same one sana sleeps on when she visits. you’ve been meaning to wash it, burn it, anything to get rid of the smell that you’ve missed so much. you would bleed out before you had time to regret it.
now, the pillow surrounds you and makes you lightheaded. you barely have time to catch your breath before sana is mounting you, settling against your abdomen and looking down with a sideways smirk.
asking fingers tug at the hem of the shirt. you nod eagerly, willingly, tensing your stomach and holding yourself upright to let sana tug the intruding fabric down your body. sana’s surprised to be met with bare skin, prickling and chilled with the exposure. you had omitted a bra for the evening and you’re immensely thankful you did, watching sana’s mouth be consumed in a drought.
the shock doesn’t last long, not when your bottom half is still covered and modest. sana doesn’t let it stay that way for long. she inches backwards to give herself space before her fingers dip beneath the waistband of your skirt. you lift your hips, ever the assistant, and sana tears off your skirt and underwear in one long drag down your legs. your clothes are thrown haphazardly across the room, and you’re left bare beneath sana’s devouring gaze.
you have no time to consider embarrassment, no time for your cheeks to pinken and bloom. instead, sana leans down and connects your lips again, the kisses deeper and slower but no less climactic.
a straying hand lingers down to your right breast, pert and wanting, fingertips following the subtle curve before thumbing at your nipple. sana swallows the cry you let out at the lightning striking in your chest.
without thinking, you reach both hands up and tangle your fingers in sana’s hair, a silent plea for more, for closer, for harder. you’re punished immediately and the hand leaves your breast. not even the ghost of sana’s hand lingers and you whine pitifully.
sana clicks her tongue and dismounts, maneuvering farther down the bed, kneeling between your legs and forcing them to stay open. two hands rest atop your swollen thighs, and you can’t bear to look down, to see the vision lingering at your feet. you grip the sheets with gritted teeth.
“what did i say?” sana chides, so far away now that it leaves you in a state of mourning. “since you can’t keep your hands to yourself, maybe i should flip you over, hm? you’d look so pretty from behind, baby.”
sana is talking to you. sana is talking to you, and you can’t find your words, can’t feel your tongue. it’s heavy in your mouth and you can barely manage to inhale, exhale, regulate.
comforting fingers dance and drag down your bare hips, your stomach, the outside of your thighs. in a great act of kindness, perhaps one of pity, sana simplifies it enough that your spinning head can wrap around an adequate response.
“traffic lights,” she says with a soft smile, a hum of satisfaction, proud to reduce you to a shaking mess before really beginning anything at all.
“green, green sana, please—”
you gasp an aching inhale as you lift your hips up, arching your back like a cat, the notches in your spine cracking and shifting like tectonic plates to conform to the movement. a firm palm collides with the soft spot of your lower abdomen and pushes you down. it tethers you back to the bed like a caught balloon and you whine.
“so needy,” sana teases, rebukes, and clicks her tongue again. “what are we going to do with you?”
with a daggered index finger, sana drags the tip down the center of your stomach, starting in the center of your butterflied rib cage and sinking down to the slight hillock between your legs. it flays you open and stitches you closed all the same and you whine pitifully at the simple touch.
your skin is becoming damp, partially from the growing heat of the room and partially from your thumping heartbeat pushing blood through your veins, splotching your chest with magnificent pink. your cloud-like bangs are flattened and sticky. the tips of them tickle your eyelids.
sana chuckles lowly, smokily, under her breath, before curling inwards on herself between your open legs. she collapses like a snail shell until her mouth is level with the supple flesh of your bare thigh. teeth find it easily, bared canines nipping and sinking into your skin, and you yelp. you always did think sana’s teeth were beautiful.
you’re dizzy, far too light headed to think or speak or open your eyes, tipping your head back against the pillow and rocking your hips upwards again until sana takes the hint.
a soothing kiss is placed against the shadow of the bruising bite between your legs. it sends a chill through your body, like touching a light socket or standing beneath a telephone pole. the fine hairs on your forearms raise and prickle as sana’s nose nuzzles into your skin, so close to where you need to be touched.
you’re too good to move, too polite to break the rules, so you don’t fling your arms downwards and pull sana to your cunt like you want. instead, you imagine it in your head as you writhe against the bedsheets, the scent of sana on the pillow beneath your head surrounding you and flooding your senses in a monsoon of cedarwood. you imagine sana’s fingers, knowing and firm, plunging into your core, two at once with little warning. you imagine sana’s tongue against your clit, lapping at it eagerly, and you feel the bedsheets dampen beneath you.
“so wet for me,” sana smirks, dipping a finger into the honey between your legs, making you gasp and jolt upward. you buck your legs and fist the sheets in a white-knuckled stance. sana chuckles, her voice crackly like tv static, fuzzy around the edges. it’s the first real touch of the evening and it courses through you like a wildfire.
“please,” you manage to gasp through your vertigo, even the blackness behind your closed eyelids spinning. you claw at your sheets. “please, baby, please.”
“please what, y/n?”
your tongue is cotton. your throat is quicksand. your words sink and sink and plummet into your stomach and barely scrape the backs of your teeth. you can’t spit it out. tears prick at your eyes at your sudden stretch of incapability, no doubt spurred on by the last dregs of the night still exiting your lungs, your veins, the confines of your skull. you feel like a kaleidoscope.
“you want my fingers?”
you nod desperately, so hard your teeth clink together like fine china. they echo in your mouth. you fist the sheets so hard you’re worried they’ll tear beneath your nails.
“all you have to do is ask,” sana purrs from between your legs, kissing and biting the unblemished skin she finds until she’s making purple-red constellations in the shape of her mouth. you want to cry.
“please, sana, please fuck me. please fuck me, please.”
sana smirks, a leonine thing that grabs at the corners of her mouth, twisting into something sexy and sinister. you see double, triple, can barely see at all. the sight of sana sitting between your legs is too much.
“turn over,” sana says with a gentle pat against the outer part of your upper thigh before getting off the bed completely in order to give you space.
you do as you’re told, albeit a bit more unbalanced than you would like. your legs feel like open water, rocking and buoyant, gravitational pull abandoning you. you practically shake with want as you roll onto your stomach, pressing your right cheek into the mattress and resting your hands by your head, fingers dancing across the sheets.
as you pant, desperate and submissive, the thin strands of hair drifting into your eyeline are blown away. you can’t imagine what you look like, tousled and red, bare and aching. the sheets are soft against the fine skin of your abdomen, and you resist the urge to grind downwards, gnawing on the side of your tongue like a rawhide given to a feral dog. you are reduced to teeth and longing and satin sheets. you burn at the criminal lack of touch.
before you have time to beg, to open your mouth and croak out garbled sentences of pieced together wantonness, sana is inching closer, but the mattress doesn’t dip with the nearness. thin, knowing fingers trail up the exposed backs of your thighs and the positional blindness makes you shudder.
instead of joining you on the bed, settling into the warm place between your half-spread thighs, sana places both of her hands on either side of your bare hips. fingers easily find the divots, the valleys that create perfect handles, and you’re pulled downwards with force.
you yelp at the surprising show of strength but press your face deeper into the sheets when the balls of your feet hit the carpet, your body folded perfectly along the bottom edge of the mattress. your upper body is about halfway down the bed and your position leaves you unbearably exposed, your ass bent and tilted slightly upwards. you whimper.
“i was right,” sana murmurs, fitting herself behind you. “you do look pretty like this.”
you feel skin against your own, the heat of sana’s skin, and you know that sana is standing behind you in nothing but her underwear, most likely stripping down while waiting for you to fumble onto your stomach. you don’t dare alter your position to sneak a look. instead, you arch your lower back in an attempt to shuffle closer to sana, your naked closeness becoming more palpable.
hands trail up your sides, fingernails grazing sensitive skin, lips finding the divots in your twitching spine. dark hair tickles your bareness, and you shiver. you feel sana smile against your ribcage, pointed teeth pressing into the taut flesh before pulling away entirely. fingers tangle into your hair, bitten keratin scratching at your scalp.
“lights, baby,” sana mutters, pressing a searing kiss to the arch of your shoulder blade. your inability to speak in full sentences is mercifully accommodated. you’re a broken, skipping record of repetitive pleading and high-pitched whines.
“green, so green, ple—”
you’re cut off by a rough grab, the fingers in your hair tightening and pulling backwards, ripping your face from the mattress. your neck curls on itself and the taut expanse of your throat barely manages to swallow, let alone release a choked moan. your eyes roll back at the combination of pleasure and pain, your skin burning. you feel bathed in gasoline, the matchstick wavering at the crown of your scalp.
to alleviate the pressure on your throat, you arch your chest rearward and go against the natural curve of your spine to accommodate the dominating movement. your breasts rise from the bedsheets and your elbows lock, palms pressed into the bed. you whimper, now able to breathe again, your head swimming.
“good girl,” sana hums, pulling again before slackening her grip and letting you ease back down, your chest heaving with desire. the little trick with your hair has accumulated heady slickness below your hips and you resist the urge to rub your legs together like a cricket. instead, you press your face back into the bed and cry out in grief when the hand of your lover leaves your tousled hair.
familiar digits drift up the inside of your thigh, starting from your inner knee and traveling upwards. they stop just before the swell of your cunt, dripping and needy, surely making a mess on the carpet beneath you. you wiggle your hips.
“so impatient,” sana chides playfully, using her free hand to grab roughly at your ass, squeezing the muscle and making your mouth drop open at the deep ache. your eyes are stuck in the back of your head, mice trapped in glue.
you don’t need to beg any further, all of your thoughts perceived by sana before they have time to travel to your drying tongue. a finger slips into your cunt, probing and deep, and you wail. you cling to the sheets, fists turning white with the pressure, and you’re fairly certain that there will be tears in the fabric when the two of you are done. there are always casualties when you both are together. there’s still glass from your broken vase swept somewhere beneath your drawer.
you wet your lips in preparation for a plea, a sob whimpered and muffled into your mattress, but sana is already inhabiting your mind, taking notes, performing every thought with ease. on a slow drag out, the tip of sana’s finger barely left inside, you’re suddenly re-entered with another, two fingers stretching you. they curl deliciously along your insides, and you resist the urge to thrust backwards, take more of your lover, devour and consume her.
“good girl, look so good around my fingers,” sana coos, praises, leaning forward and dropping a kiss to the center of your bare spine. the movement fills you deeper, taking sana down to the last knuckle, sticky wetness coating the insides of your thighs. you choke on your fullness and writhe against the lips on your skin.
with each thrust, your hips are pushed into the edge of the bed, the lip of the mattress digging into the soft part of your abdomen. you rock with the motions as if you’re an unmoored ship. your toes burn as they drag mercilessly against the carpet. you take whatever sana gives you.
“fuck, baby, so fucking good,” you sob, your whines barely intelligible, rolling your hips to meet sana’s fingers. it plummets them deeper into your core and your stomach turns and knots.
two fingers become three and you are aching, gasping, twitching, desperately beneath sana. you can hear how wet you are, the sound filling the otherwise silent room. you sink your own fingers into your hair and pull, girl turned animal, animal turned beast. all you can taste is your closeness, all you can feel is your cunt stretching around three perfect fingers, fucking into you from behind. you’ve never been to heaven, but you think it might be like this. it better be like this.
a comforting palm settles in the center of your back, thumb tilted downwards and brushing soothingly along the dimples on your tailbone. it pushes you down and tethers you to earth. your breasts ache and throb, welded to the sheets and dragging roughly with each thrust. you mewl into the mattress, your face hot and damp, kindle in your bones and a pretty flush blooming down your neck.
“touch yourself, y/n,” sana purrs, leaning down to kiss your bareness again, and you oblige with ease.
“thank you, thank you,” you preen, your eyes clenched shut, your right-hand snaking from her hair to the heat between your legs.
your middle finger slips over your clit and sparks shoot and flash behind your eyes. you feel like you’re standing in the street on the fourth of july, the neighborhood kids lighting firecrackers on the empty asphalt and waking the neighbors. you watch fragments of shattered light zip past you. you press your finger down harder.
“faster, please baby, harder,” you beg, huff, your extremities starting to tingle with something inbound. it’s like how the air gets all staticy when there’s lightning about to touchdown.
sana laughs but does as she’s asked; she often does. you feel when sana stiffens her bicep--its directly translated into a sudden uptick of quick, harsh thrusts into your pussy. you whimper and reach one arm upward, clawing for the pillow, something to hang on to, while the other flurries against your clit, slippery and throbbing.
“please, sana, so close baby, please make me come, please make me come.”
you’re babbling, lightheaded and unbearably close. you can taste the pleasure dancing on your tongue. your eyes water.
“i love you,” sana whispers, leaning forward once more and kissing the swell of your ass. teeth find the same spot and mark you with sharp indecency. you cry out, sob your closeness, rocking your hips with a sensational lack of rhythm.
“again,” you plead, “say it again.”
“i love you. i love you, y/n.”
it ricochets through you like shattered glass. it splinters and rolls against your limbs, muscles, deep into your marrow. you stiffen and cry, an unbearable euphoria cascading over you, submerging you underwater. the backs of your thighs twitch and spasm, made taut and performative by the long-held position. everything in you aches and bleeds and you’re dizzy with it.
you roll your hips as sana slows her thrusts, letting them become balanced and comforting. lips drag up the center of your back and you hum.
fingers leave you and you bite your tongue, your only sound is a pitiful whimper at the hollow emptiness. you hear sana chuckle at the nose.
suddenly empty, grief-stricken and panting, you take great pleasure in the little things that follow. sana is far softer than people give her credit for. there isn’t an inch of you left untouched, unkissed, unholy. you’re praised and lavished, your skin tingling wherever sana kisses you. clarity takes its time in returning.
“do you mean it?” she asks, her words still a bit breathless and weak. you won’t open your eyes, comforted by the firm hug of the sheets beneath you.
“of course, i do,” sana mutters, kissing the space between your shoulder blades, the curve of your wings. you hum.
sana settles beside you, urging you upward so that you fit comfortably on the bed instead of dangling off the side. you oblige with trembling legs, and you manage to crawl upwards, falling onto your stomach with your legs akimbo, your head turned to face sana with slow blinking eyes.
you smile when you finally see your lover’s face again, splotched with exertion and blushing with love. sana smiles back and reaches gentle hands towards you, brushing raven locks from your face.
“say it again,” you whisper, your eyes fluttering closed again. you try desperately to keep them open but it’s a war you can’t win. they’re just so heavy.
“i love you,” sana soothes, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “i really mean it, y/n.”
you fall asleep with lips in your hair and a blanket pulled around your shoulders. you fall asleep with the knowledge that your heart is intact, your love is reciprocated, and your lover is next to you. you fall asleep knowing that sana will be there in the morning, and every morning after that.
you fall asleep with the weight of atlas lifted from your shoulders. your entire world is beside you now.
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Momo x M Reader - "Crazy Stupid Love"
So this is one of my requests and probably the LONGEST one I had to grant because I just realized today that one of my readers made this request since November 2022, so I just want to say my huge apologies to you Dumbledore_1 for taking me too long to finally make this piece.
This one-shot is a sequel to my Set 4 Momo x M Reader work titled "Somebody That I Used To Know" so if yall haven't read that one, better do so because you might not understand a little on what this story is about to tell and to give you guys a background from what happened to Momo and the reader's past, although I tackled the main point of this story clearly though.
Lastly, I labeled this as only for male reader to feature because the first one also features only male reader, so it might be a weird for the female ones to read this. However, it's still up for my female readers there if you want to imagine yourself as a guy or for others to take place rather for this to aid your curiosities.
Here's my Ko-fi account where you can drop your donations or ask for a commission. You can check it out on my Tumblr profile too! Buy knightyoomyoui a Coffee. ko-fi.com/knightyoomyoui - Ko-fi ❤️ Where creators get support from fans through donations, memberships, shop sales and more! The original 'Buy Me a Coffee' Page.
Enjoy reading and have a happy Christmas season, everyone!
YN was shaken as the barrage of stomps and steps coming from the other passengers effectively woke him up. The bus had stopped moving, and he peeked from the window with squinted eyes. There he saw a very familiar view.
A smile crept up on his face, and he followed through the remaining people exiting the vehicle. Stepping out, he grabbed his bag and luggage before the bus left them there at the stop point.
YN started to walk while wandering his eyes around at the surroundings. It never changed, he thought. This is still one of the places where he could get use some time off away from every troubles he's having from the city.
And that being said, YN came here for one specific purpose. He wanted to stay in his province of Daegu for quite some time to help himself allow to recover from his heartbreak and improve his well-being for the better.
He has been disturbed day and night by what Momo revealed to him since their last talk, which was one month ago. It led him to the point where he needed to be delving deeply into reflection about the painful revelation she had brought to light.
The next important person in his life to whom he has been closest, Dahyun, became aware of her cousin YN's odd conduct. She made one quick suggestion that she knew would assist her cousin, who is in a mess, knowing that he had recently ended a difficult and unpleasant relationship with Momo.
She is a little upset at what her cousin did to her friend, but she still needs to show compassion and kindness for him because he is a loved one. She had always despised those who were internally disturbed by shattered hearts. She is thus making every effort to support Momo and YN during these challenging times.
Aside from the fact that he genuinely misses their province, YN paid attention to what Dahyun advised her to do. He packed his belongings and traveled for hours to go to Daegu.
His grandfather and other Dahyun's side relatives welcomed him when he got there. They greeted him with open arms upon his return, which undoubtedly helped YN feel at home.
Then, after spending months there, he bought a house for himself, which his family allowed him to live in alone. During the months he had to stay apart from everything, he had the opportunity to experience living alone in the heart of such a vibrant and serene environment. even though at first he found it tough because he knew that being left alone is one of his worst fears.
Even so, he still tried to endure all the pain as he knew that he needed this for the sake of taking a rest for himself after what he'd gone through. There's been a saying that you will never heal from the pain if you never consider to give yourself a break.
Those created the thoughts that were unable for him to dodge all the memories that ties him back to his ex-girlfriend Momo. Because of her, it finally had him to slowly reprocess and understood everything wrong that thay had gone through in their relationship.
He had it discover pieces by pieces and he got some help coming from one of his interactions with some of the locals around his place, as he turned himself to be a volunteer to their town as a way to give himself things to distract him and make his time more valuable and less boring.
He walked back and got one for himself to begin eating with the locals, joining the elders, after serving some food to some of the kids seated at the table.
A notification beeped into his phone, causing it to open. He saw it for a second and turned it off, right before one of the elders asked him something.
"Who is that girl?"
He paused on directing his spoonful of food on his mouth as he heard the elder's question. He looked at him who has this curious look presented on him.
You opened the phone again and showed the rest your wallpaper that got seen, your own picture of Momo on the screen.
"Was that your partner?" His grandpa asked, tempting him to a frown on his lips.
He hesitated to answer for a while as he stared at Momo through the phone. Gulping his throat, he cleared his voice before speaking out his answer.
"She was mine."
All of them became quiet and his grandpa felt the sullen mood of his grandson. "Son, the world hasn't been very kind to both of you, hasn't it?"
He shook his head, denying the assumption. "I'm starting to think that it's not like that. It was only her, and i'm her world who didn't treated her well."
One of ahjumma (female elder) furrowed her eyebrows at his claim. "Did you do something wrong on her?"
"I did, ahjumma." He nodded his head, tightlipped at how guilty he was. "I broke her heart. I didn't mean to but I had to. I haven't got to explain it further."
"Was it that huge of an effect on her?" the first harabeoji (male elder) who asked him about Momo took the turn. He sipped on the soup and kept your head lowered.
"She erased my existence on her life, like she never met me." He smiled bitterly. His heart starts to get heavy, emotions were slowly rising up in his chest. "I guess she brought back the favor because I tried to get rid of her, to push her aside, to make her feel unwanted."
He received a slap on the shoulder by his own grandpa, earning a yelp of pain from him. "And how could you do that?! That's a wonderful girl you just had and you wasted it."
"Believe me, YN you've done a terrible mistake of inflicting heartbreak on that poor woman. Take me and your grandma as example. Even if we had many faults and fights in our relationship until she passed away, I never forgot her and I know so as she wherever she is right now.
And how did we do that? By making up to each other. Acknowledge what wrongful acts you have done. And I'm telling you, son; if you really loved that woman you won't let her be like that to you. Be sorry for everything that you did, understand?"
He nodded at his mixture of scolding and advice. "B-but, I'm afraid I might lure her away."
"She may not forget, but she may forgive you if you convincingly say everything from your heart."
The elders gasped and awwed when they saw a teardrop flowed out from his eye, he was so invested at the rant spoke by his grandpa that he didn't even noticed that his guilt urged his emotions to break loose.
"What's her name, son?"
"Hirai Momo." He noticed the slight amazement in his face. "She's Japanese."
"She's pretty, you got a foreign lover who surely looked up at you all the time not until you showed her the opposite." He expressed his dismay. "But I still feel sorry for you, son. Like what you said earlier, it seems like you got lost on the consequences of the stakes that was put upon you on your relationship with her."
"Do you still love her?"
He kept everything of his grandfather's advice in mind during the days that went by, including the last question that was posed to him and for which he is still unsure of the answer. He decided to give it some time for clarity even if there were some residual sentiments.
He asked his cousin Dahyun, who is getting ready for their group schedule, a startling question during one of their video chats, even though Dahyun knew she would have it coming.
"Uhm... Dubu, is she there?"
"Who?"
"Momo."
"Yeah, but she went with Nayeon unnie on the cafeteria, why?"
"H- How is she doing, Dahyun-ah?" He questioned with a sorrowful tone.
Dahyun paused for a moment and just watched her cousin's misery displayed on the screen. She knew that until now he haven't gotten over her, but she didn't expected that he would spoke it out and make it known.
She knew YN to be very secretive of how he actually feels that's why she thought he would just rather do it through action, like what he did to Momo when he was loving her smoothly until the confusions took part.
But Dahyun isn't satisfied yet for that. She know that the two still haven't been getting along fine together and she hoped it'll come someday, and she believes that the only thing needed for that to happen is for her cousin to bravely show up and tell it all by himself to the woman he hurted the most.
"She's doing well, oppa. She's still laughing along with us... well we're trying to make her happy these days."
You nodded, relieved that Momo isn't suffering as much as you do today.
"But I don't know if it just because of us, because uhm... actually oppa- should I say it first to you?"
Dahyun's cautiousness grew an alarming tenseful feeling on him that is making him uncomfortable.
"Go ahead, i'll be fine." He said. Dahyun hoped the same.
"Okay. Don't tell me you didn't let me be." Dahyun warned him one more time. "There's a guy who's courting Momo-unnie currently and based from how unnie is receiving his efforts, I think it's winning."
He heard enough and he became silent for a while. He knew it would be painful but he just let it sink in. He's the one who caused all of this to happen. It was all just a pure karma in return for him.
"Is that so?" He reacted bland. "That's great. I-I'm happy for the both of them in case... yeah." He smiled forcefully.
Dahyun clicked her tongue and sighed. "Oppa, you're hurting."
"As I should be."
The next days, his phase was on recollecting their memories together, in which he reminisce whenever he encounters something that Momo used to love before; he used to be in that place to witness it with his very own eyes.
Everywhere he goes, there's always one reason for him to remember her.
The kids he always entertain and taking care of. Momo loved children.
"Someday, if we will be lucky enough to get married. I want us to build a family with two kids! I hope we can have both a son and a daughter..."
The pig feet which was one of their foods for dinner. That is Momo's absolute favorite food she would be willing to die for.
"You should cook more jokbal, YN! This is so delicious!"
Their pictures together on his gallery that is almost full of her beautiful face. He opened one of the videos there which contains one of the clips they recorded during their anniversary.
He smiled as Momo kissed him on the lips and nuzzled her head on her neck. The next thing was soft and low, but her voice was always catchy for him to be able to hear it clearly.
This has to be the most anticipating turned devastating words you will ever remember from what she said.
Not only because this was like an oath for the goal to the next path he wanted to reach with her, but also because this will now end up instead in his imagination to haunt him with his guilt and definitely hers to occur with her desires.
"To more anniversaries and hopefully, a wedding in the future with you, YN. I love you."
Lastly are the peaches in the farm where he helps some of the farmers there to harvest and the dogs from the neighborhood who randomly visits his house were the ones to sum up everything that ties him back to her.
And in his last days in the Daegu province, he has finally see and understand everything clearly.
Before he rode the bus, he looked back at his grandpa who guided him to the bus stop.
"Remember the question you asked me about, grandpa. If I still do... love her?"
"Have you found the answer?"
"I do." He smiled. "And I promise you that I will try to make her hear my apology to her once I return to Seoul."
"Great for you, then. I wish you good luck, son."
They hugged together before they parted ways, with YN focused on his way back to the destination where his objective lies ahead.
A month after his departure from the province, he is back at Seoul where he is now currently looking for a place to work with these days.
Dahyun notified him one day that they'll be celebrating Jihyo's successful solo debut and she wants to bring him there because the girls misses him.
Hesitant at first that he knew that out of nine of them, Momo is the only one who doesn't want to see her, but he instead accepted for the sake of seeing his friends and to celebrate her special day when Dahyun assured him that Momo isn't like that to him anymore.
YN and Dahyun arrived at the restaurant together. The girls saw them from the table and they all cheered, except for Momo who is sitting there in silent and avoiding his sight. He noticed it and felt a bit unease as he entertains the rest.
And there, the two ex-couple finally saw each other again after quite a long time. Awkward at first, they still managed to greet each other when YN tried to test his courage for his plan tonight. Thankfully, Momo greeted him back shyly.
They ordered, congratulated Jihyo again for her success, talked a lot about how they've been doing, and ate their respective delicious foods to savor the precious time they're having together as a group.
As they went to enjoy the night by doing some videoke and chugging beers, YN noticed that Momo went outside to freshen up.
"Dahyun." He called the woman sitting beside her, munching some pizza. "It's time. I'll be right back." He said as they gazed at Momo's back facing them through her stance at the railings of the balcony.
"Be careful, okay? Make it sentimental and don't force if she can't have it all too well."
"Got it."
Dahyun patted him on the back before he stood up and carefully opened the sliding doors. He silently stepped towards Momo's figure, breathing becoming heavy, heartbeat rising rapidly.
He let out one last sigh before he began to confront the woman he wanted to meet and talk after months of waiting, recovering, and changing.
"Momo?"
She heard that familiar voice, she remembered what she told him almost a year ago, prompting her to try not to slip off on her character.
"Now you're just somebody that I used to know, YN."
Turning her body around, she finally has come to face to face with the man she tries to completely forget in her heart and mind.
"Yes?" She responded. It was cold and plain, and YN understand what he's putting himself into. He just had to let it go and proceed with his main intention for her.
"I know you don't want having me near you, but c-can I please just... please have a short moment with you?" He said. "It won't last long, I promise but if you don't want me... then, it's fine but I really wanted to say something very quick to you."
Momo was startled when YN called for him. From the way he acted, Momo is quite intrigued that this version of YN infront of her is now more cautious, kind and soft to her. This is almost like... a different person from the one he used to know-and endure- before.
Momo would be deceiving herself and she knows how awful it is to feel regretful to herself if she lets that, if she doesn't admit to herself that it actually made her convince and push her wants to atleast see or know something of himself in personal.
"Don't waste any more time. Go on." She granted him his request. Crossing her arms, she leaned on the railings and watched this poor, broken, and lonely man she used to hate seeing being like this.
"T-Thank you." He bowed a little and straightened his posture, breathing deeply before he proceed to let out everything he's been keeping to his chest. "I know I shouldn't be in here because I know you're still mad at me. I almost didn't attend but for the girls-"
"For the record, I'm not mad at you anymore." Momo seriously said. "I set it all aside, because like I said... I don't want nothing to do with you. You're a nobody to me now, but I'm just letting you for once as long as you prove what brought youself here with me and dare to come close with me after how we ended things together."
"I know about that, and that's why I'm just here to say one thing that I've never ever said to you.
I'm sorry."
Momo's eyes shut, biting her lip with her fist clenching after hearing that. "I'm sorry for everything. All I did was very wrong of me and I don't want you to force you to believe me but... I didn't intended to do that on you.
"I did love you from the first time I laid my eyes on you, to the time you gave back the same feelings as mine for you, and the beginning of our relationship together. I know I have been gotten cold to you as time passes but I want to clarify things that... it wasn't your fault at all, Momo. It was me."
Momo glared at him with a teary eyes. She hated it, but she had to recall all of the times she had to wonder every night why does this keep on happening and what did she do wrong that made him treat him with lack of affection. She wanted answers for a long time and gladly, the time has come for her to hear it straight away from the man responsible of putting her like that.
"I always wanted to be like you, on what you're doing for me and it's true. But I always look at myself lowly, thinking if what I'm doing rather wasn't enough for you." His voice began to crack, as his eyes became to get watery also from the immense emotions affecting him.
"And instead of improving or sharing my worries to you, I chose rather to set you free from me. I did that, thinking it was for mercy but instead it looked like I wanted you to suffer more and it was so... so wrong for me to do so. I became so lost for that."
"I still love you up to this day, Momo." With that, both synchronizably cried from that words that they used to say to each other as a vow but now, it turns out to be a forbidden phrase for them to exchange anymore. "It's not that I didn't trust you it's just that... I was scared."
"My plead for you not to leave was true, I truly can't bear letting you go. But now, I think I believe that probably I deserve to be alone and unworthy of somebody's love to hold onto because what I did, I am willing to sacrifice my feelings for you, Momo."
"It hurts me so bad but I have to let you go now." He escaped a rough exhale before continuing. "I'm not going to plead for you to come back and ruin the happiness your getting with somebody else now. Again, I'm truly sorry again for rushing in our relationship, acting immature on times you needed my comfort and making you bring all the burden you never deserved to have to."
YN began to drop on his knees and positioned himself to kneel in front of Momo who was shocked at his action.
"YN! W-what are you doing, get up from there!" She dashed through him and lifted his body and in YN's disbelief, he made Momo envelope him into a longing and comforting embrace that belongs to one of the lovely things he wasted from an gracious woman like her.
They both sobbed in their own heartache and sympathized with their own struggles.
"I hate you for what you did to me YN but why!" Momo cried out. "Why did you kept it to yourself, huh?! Why did you let yourself struggling on your own?"
"You promised me that you'll try to be honest, but you didn't, and that made me think that being done with your fake love, I rather be going. You could've shared it all to me directly, I'm your girlfriend for god's sake, I could've helped you because I loved you!"
"I'm sorry.. I'm s-so sorry..."
Momo whined and screamed in a mixture of frustration, agony and disappointment for what their relationship had become and the complete clear revelations of how she got ended up suffocating and unpleased in his company.
"Get up." She helped him stand back to his wobbling weak legs again. "Finally you were now able to reflect yourself and tell to me that one words I just wanted to hear from you. I just wanted you to be accountable and say sorry to me.", Momo said, clarifying the last words she told to him back then.
"But now that you did and I've heard and seen enough your sincerity..." She grasped him in the shoulders and stared at him with a broken smile. "I forgive you, YN."
He nodded and cried again, finally getting the remorse and acceptance that he's been yearning and searching for months after realizing what he's done. "Thank you. I'm sorry again, Momo."
"That'll be your last, it's fine now." Momo warned him as he fixed his messy hair and wiped away his tears.
"I just have one more question to ask."
"What is it?"
"Have I... been a nice girlfriend to you?"
He stared at Momo's awaiting, curious and softened face. A teardrop flowed for one final time, to drain out every bit of pain he consumed.
He grabbed the back of her neck and gently pulled her close to land a tender kiss on her forehead. "You did more than enough for me, Momo. You're a great woman that I wasted the unconditional love you've been giving by being ungrateful and selfish, and I will forever bring that regret with me."
Momo timidly smiled for him and stepped away from his contact. Wanting to end this emotional moment between each other to avoid ruining the fun night, she came up something to talk with. "I know you have quite shared this with the girls earlier but I just wanted to know myself, how have you been doing these days?"
"I'm good, I'm still on my road to improve myself. I couldn't stand to let others see and continue to be the same guy that you used to encounter." He finally flashed the first bright smile for Momo away from their problems. Momo was proud and touched for his efforts and dedication that she implemented on him. "And you?"
"I'm happy. Even happier now that we've settled things peacefully."
"I've heard from Dahyun that there's this guy who's been seeing you these days, huh. How is he doing for you?"
Momo was taken back that he had to learn about that and mention it. "H-He's fine, but I want to make it clear to him that I don't want to be in a relationship yet." she shyly said.
"How about you? Will you be okay? Are you... gonna look for somebody to have an interest with?" Momo wondered.
"No, I don't think I will." He stated. "I'm not scared, I just want to be careful. I think it's better for me not to engage in this romance thing anymore, you know? I have learnt from my mistakes now." She understood and didn't spoke any further despite still having this pint of pity for the fallen man.
"And... why should I look for other, when you're still the one I choose?"
Momo stared at him, she blushed and uncontrollably smiled in an embarassed way after hearing that glimpse of the charming YN that never disappeared from him.
She spreaded her arms wholesomely and looked at her with a smile.
"I know I've said that I wanted to disregard your existence but... I didn't want to be cruel now that I've heard your side and I'm sorry for that because I have to admit...
Although you broke my heart, I still couldn't deny the truth that you're one of the most important person I've met and the first man who helped me explore how love could led us into elsewhere.
You still made me happy, YN. I can't just have it easy to throw you out of my life so... should we be friends again?"
He listened to her patiently and it was overwhelming in the end. "I don't deserve this at all, but I'm highly grateful to take it, Momo. Let's start fresh again." He shook his head and smiled.
You accepted her hug one more time and both took time to indulge how great it must felt've again to their part that they don't have to try pretend, carry a hatred, and keep their unspoken troubles for theirselves.
They are now freed from their own personal chaos and has now created a clean slate of their closeness and connection to each other.
They returned back together where they are approached by the girls who've been watching their melancholic yet heartfelt moment they shared in which they paused their fun to express their happiness for their friends on burying the hatchet between each other.
Both learning that they are currently happy with their own lives and has finally washed away their conflict, they realized that somehow helped each other to realize that maybe having a crazy stupid love with somebody was never really required to be happy and contented in life.
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