Summary: Your incredibly sweet boyfriend has no issue waiting until you're ready, and that time comes sooner than expected.
Pairing: Jiung x virgin!reader (established relationship)
Genre: Smut
Warnings: devastatingly sweet soft dom!Jiung, passionate deep emotional sex (😵💫😵💫), a lot of dry humping/ grinding (basically the whole thing lmao), semi penetration (just the tip), kinda loss of virginity, kinda creampie, a lot of dirty talk and praise, talk of being scared of sex
Word count: 3.6k
Part 2
Authors notes: THIS IS FOR ALL THE VIRGINS WHO ARE SCARED OF SEX‼️‼️ (me). Wow guys this might be top 3 things I've ever written like I struggle writing rougher smut (even though im into that...) but writing sensual, passionate smut... oh I cooked (im a lovergirl at heart) also this will be my last smut for a while so I hope you devour.
—
This was your favorite place in the world.
You, Jiung, your bed, and the love that existed between you.
It's where you felt safest in the world; your own personal little sanctuary.
You were straddling his lap, your knees sinking into the plush mattress on either side of his hips. His hands, large and warm, rested at the dips of your waist, his thumbs making absent, soothing circles against the thin fabric of your sleep shirt.
You’d been kissing for what felt like hours, slow, deep, exploring kisses that tasted of the sugary candy you had been eating together earlier.
Your shirt clad chest pressed against his bare one, his lips soft but insistent, tongue a gentle promise against yours. This was your routine. The making out that would leave you both breathless and flushed, that would stir an ache low in your belly, but would always, always stop before it became too much.
Jiung never pushed. He’d kiss you until your lips were swollen, hold you until your limbs were liquid in his hands, and then, with a soft, pained groan into your neck, he’d untangle himself, adjust himself discreetly, and leave you with a chaste kiss on the forehead, his own need a secondary concern to your comfort.
You had a fear of sex. Not of him, never of him, but of the act itself. The vulnerability, the potential for pain, the loss of control. He knew. He’d held you through quiet tears when you first confessed to him, scared that he'd leave you as so many others had. He listened without judgment as you fumbled through explanations of your nerves. His patience was a fortress around your fragile feelings.
But tonight… tonight was different. A restless, needy want surged through you. The usual slow burn of your make-out sessions felt like it was igniting something more in your body. You broke the kiss, panting softly, and instead of settling against his chest, you began to move. A timid, tentative roll of your hips, grinding the soft cotton of your pajama shorts against his stomach and lower.
Jiung’s breath hitched. His hands tightened on your waist. “Baby?” he murmured, his voice breathy against your lips.
You didn’t answer with words. You just kissed him again, more desperately this time, your tongue sliding over his as you ground down harder. A tiny, helpless noise escaped your throat, a high-pitched whimper you barely recognized as your own.
It was like flipping a switch in him. A low groan escaped his throat which only encouraged you more. “Fuck,” he whispered against your mouth. “Those little sounds… you’re going to kill me.”
Emboldened, you held onto his broad shoulders, your fingers digging into the muscle there. You rocked against him, seeking friction, seeking more.
The thin layers of fabric between you were a maddening barrier. You could feel the hard length of him, trapped in his sweatpants, pressing insistently against you with every movement. You rubbed yourself against him, your movements growing less hesitant and more purposeful. The tension in your lower belly was tightening, a sweet, urgent pull.
“Jiung,” you gasped, breaking the kiss to bury your face in the crook of his neck. God he smelled so good. “I… I need…”
“What do you need, sweetheart?” His voice was strained, thick with desire, but his hands were still gentle, one coming up to cradle the back of your head. “Tell me. Anything you want.”
You lifted your head, meeting his dark, caring eyes. They were full of so much heat, but also an unwavering patience. “Can I have... a little more. Please?”
He searched your face for a long moment in awe, his gaze tracing your flushed cheeks, your kiss-swollen lips, the desperate plea in your eyes. He nodded slowly, a solemn agreement. “You can have whatever you want my love. Can I take these off?” he asked, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your pajama shorts.
You nodded, a shiver of anticipation and nervousness racing down your spine. “Yes.”
His movements were careful. He guided you off his lap as he helped you lift your hips, sliding the soft shorts down your legs and tossing them aside. The cool air of the room kissed your heat, making you aware of how exposed you were in just your shirt and panties. He then hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his own sweatpants, pushing them down before kicking them off the bed.
The sight of him, lying back against the pillows in just his black boxers, stole your breath. He was all lean muscle and smooth skin, his pretty tattoos on full display. The soft lines of his abdomen led down to where an unmistakable erection strained against the cotton, the tip already dark with moisture and visibly outlined. You swallowed hard.
“Come here,” he whispered with a pat to his lap. He was lying back fully, guiding you to settle back on top of him, your soaked pussy now aligned directly with the ridge of his cock through the fabric. The new position was more intimate, more intense. You could almost feel every inch of him.
Hesitantly, you began to move again, grinding against him slowly. The sensation was immediately different. The thin material of your panties and his boxers were a pathetic curtain between your heated flesh. A jolt of pure pleasure shot through you, and a soft “oh” fell from your lips.
“That’s it,” Jiung encouraged, his hands settling on your hips. “Just like that. Feel good?”
“Mmm-hmm,” you managed, already losing yourself to the rhythm. You started moving harder, chasing that addicting feeling, your thighs gripping his sides. The wetness gathering between your legs was making the glide so much smoother. You could hear the soft, wet sound of fabric moving against fabric.
“God, look at you,” he groaned, his eyes raking over your body. Your shirt had ridden up, exposing the soft skin of your stomach. “Can I touch you? Here?” His hands hovered over your torso.
“Yes,” you breathed. “Please.”
His touch was fire. One large hand slid up under your shirt, his palm scorching as it cupped your breast and he was delighted to find no bra there, just your bare skin. Your heart hammered in your chest at the contact, this being the first time he'd ever touched you there.
He squeezed gently, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it pebbled into a hard peak between his fingers. The other hand splayed across your stomach, possessive and warm, before sliding around to grip your waist, holding you steady as you moved against him.
Lost in the sensation, your own hands reached behind you, bracing on his strong thighs for support as you rocked your hips in a desperate circle. The friction was exquisite, building a pressure that you had never experienced before.
Jiung’s gaze was locked between your bodies. His breathing was harsh. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he choked out. “Look at that. You’re soaking through your panties. I can see it.” A dark, wet patch had indeed bloomed on the light-colored fabric, clear evidence of your arousal.
He bit his lower lip, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Can we… can we take these off? Just these. I promise, I won’t do anything else. I just… I need to feel all of you against me. No barriers. Please.”
His plea was raw and honest. You were scared, a flutter of panic in your chest at the thought of being so bare before him. But this was Jiung. Your Jiung. Who had never broken a promise to you and who you've never ever felt uncomfortable with.
You gave a shy, almost imperceptible nod.
The devotion in his movements made your throat tighten.
Once again, he gently moved you off his lap and hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties and drew them down your legs with agonizing slowness, his eyes drinking in the newly revealed flesh. When they were completely off, he didn’t immediately move. He was transfixed. His breath left him in a shaky, awed rush.
“Wow,” he whispered, his voice full of wonder. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Every part of you. Absolutely stunning.” His gaze was hot, worshipful, drinking in the glistening folds, thankful that you trusted him enough to reveal yourself to him. The intimacy of it was overwhelming, but the pure admiration in his eyes chased some of the fear away.
He quickly discarded his own underwear, freeing his painful erection. It sprang up, long and veined, the head flushed a deep pretty red and beading with pre-cum. It was intimidating, the sheer reality of it, its size, its obvious need. You whimpered, your body tensing ever so slightly.
“Shhh,” he soothed instantly, catching your reaction. He leaned forward to kiss you softly. “It’s just me. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. We can stop right now.” His sincerity was endearing.
“No,” you whispered back, kissing him. “I want… I want to feel you.”
Blushing furiously, he helped guide you back onto his lap. The moment your bare skin met his, the hot, silken head of his cock pressing against your dripping folds, you both gasped. It was a shock of sensation, so much more intense than through fabric. His hands returned to your hips, gripping firmly as he helped you grind down on him.
“That’s my girl,” he praised, his voice rough.“Ride me just like that. Use me to make yourself feel good. God, your pussy is so soft, so wet for me. You feel that? How perfect we fit together even like this?”
You could only choke out a whimper in response, your head falling back as you moved. The hard head of his cock dragged through your slickness, rubbing against your sensitive clit with every pass, setting your nerves alight. The sounds were so obscene, wet, slick, squelches that filled the room. You leaned in to kiss him, needing the balance of the sweet innocent touch in contrast to the not so innocent touch below you.
And you were dizzy with it, with the feel of him, the smell of sex and sweat, the sight of his blissful face watching you come apart.
“Jiung,” you panted, tearing your mouth from his to press your forehead against his shoulder. Your movements became less coordinated, more sporadic. “I need mngh- I....ah!” You didn't even know what you were saying, babbling uselessly on his cock.
“I know, sweet girl, I know,” he soothed, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other spread on the small of your back. “You’re doing so good. Just feel it. Listen to your body.” His own body was flexing hard against you, every muscle tensed with the effort to control himself. He kissed along your jaw, down your throat, his tongue tasting the salty sweat on your skin.
“You’re making such a pretty mess for me, all over my stomach. My good girl.”
Overwhelmed, you captured his lips again, wet and sloppy, matching the pace perfectly. As the intensity built in your belly, you began to clench around nothing, your clit pulsating against him and the aching emptiness inside you was becoming unbearable. You pulled back, your eyes swimming with desperate tears of frustration and longing.
Before you even realized what he was doing, he gripped your waist and rolled you both over, laying you down on your back amidst the crumpled sheets. You whined in protest, a sound so sweetly frustrated, your hips arching off the bed, seeking the lost friction. “Why’d you do that? I want… I want to make you feel good.”
God how could someone be so unbelievably sexy and cute at the same time Jiung thought. You had really thought you were in control. You thought just because you were on top, because he let you set that sweet little pace, that he wasn't holding every ounce of control. The way he guided your hips when they faltered, the way he kept your thrusts shallow so he wouldn't scare you away, the way he had to hold himself back to keep from flipping you over an hour ago and driving into you until you both forgot your names.
He looked down at you, your brows still furrowed in adorable frustration.
He could only imagine the future. The future where he would finally show you what control really feels like. When he would pin those pretty wrists above your head and watch your eyes go wide when you realize how much stronger he is, how easily he could tear you apart. How he would turn that sweet, needy grinding into deep, possessive thrusts that leave you sobbing his name.
A tremor of raw anticipation ran through him at the thought. Oh my love, you have no idea.
He leaned down, kissing away the crease between your brows, then lower to capture your lips in a slow deep kiss meant to silence your protests and swallow your little whimpers.
"Shhh my sweet girl," he murmured, one hand coming up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheekbone.
"I don't want you getting tired from grinding on me." The truth, but not all of it.
He kissed you again softly before continuing, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.
"Let me take care of you princess," he whispered. "That's how you make me feel good."
He settled between your thighs, spreading you open wider. The position was more exposing, more vulnerable. You watched the intense focus on his face as he looked down at your dripping cunt with stars in his eyes, still clenching uselessly around nothing. "God look at you."
Then he reached down and took himself in hand. You watched, mesmerized, as he stroked himself a few times, pleasuring himself with just the sight of your pussy, then finally guiding the broad head of his cock through your soaked folds. He rubbed it against you, coating himself in your arousal, the swollen tip catching on your entrance slightly, sending your heart racing, before sliding up to circle your clit.
“Oh god!” you cried out, your back arching off the bed. The direct stimulation was unbelievable. Each pass sent jolts of white-hot pleasure straight to your core. He set a slow, torturous pace, watching your face intently.
“You like that?” he murmured, his own control slipping. “You like my cock rubbing against your pretty little pussy? Look at how wet you are for me. You’re dripping all over me. Such a good girl, taking it so well.”
You cried out, between his voice and cock, the sensations were so intense you could barely breathe, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge without letting you fall.
“That’s it, let me hear you. Your moans are the best sound I’ve ever heard. You have no idea what you do to me. I could spend hours just like this, feeling you get wetter and wetter."
He was true to his word as he glided through your sensitive flesh with increasing pressure and speed. The pressure inside you was wound impossibly tight, a screaming tension that demanded release. You were thrashing beneath him, clutching at the sheets, a continuous stream of pleas and cries falling from your lips.
“Can’t… I can’t…” you sobbed.
“Can’t what, sweetheart?” he teased, wanting nothing more than to drive you mad. “Can’t take it? You can. You’re taking it so beautifully.” He leaned down to kiss you on the nose. “Tell me what you want. Use those pretty words.”
Gathering every ounce of courage, you reached between your bodies, your fingers brushing against his where he held himself. You looked up into his burning eyes and whispered, so quietly he had to strain to hear, “Can you… put the tip in? Just… just the tip?”
He stilled for a fraction of a second, surprise flashing across his features. “Just the tip?” he repeated, his voice hushed.
You nodded frantically, your face burning with a mix of shame and desperate need. “Yeah. Please. Just the tip.”
A groan ripped from his chest, a sound of pure agony and ecstasy, he could have cum right then and there. “Fuck. Okay. Okay, baby. Just the tip. I promise. For my brave girl."
He shifted his position slightly, aligning himself perfectly with you. Holding your eyes, he applied a gentle pressure. The blunt head of his cock began to press against your tight entrance. "Relax for me my love, let me in."
There was a moment of resistance, a stretching burn that made you gasp, and then suddenly he was inside. Just an inch, maybe even less.
The feeling was immense. A fullness, a stretching heat you’d never known. You cried out, a sharp sound that melted into a long, low mewl.
A wave of emotion crashed over you. The vulnerability, the trust, the sheer physical intensity of it was too much, and a choked sob escaped your throat. Hot tears welled in your eyes and spilled over, tracking down your cheeks rapidly.
Jiung froze instantly. “Hey, hey,” he whispered, his voice heavy with concern. He brushed your tears away with his thumbs, his own body trembling to keep still inside you. “Does it hurt? We can stop right now.”
You shook your head frantically, your inner muscles fluttering around that incredible, invasive inch of him. “N-no… it’s… it’s just… a lot.” You managed a watery smile. “Good. It’s so good.”
He searched your eyes, finding only truth, and his expression transformed into one of awe. He dropped a kiss on your tear streaked cheek, then your lips. “I know, baby, I know,” he murmured. “It’s overwhelming. You’re so perfect. So fucking tight. So hot inside. Taking me so well, my perfect girl. Just breathe for me.”
You did, drawing in a ragged breath. The initial sting was already fading, replaced by a deep, throbbing ache of pleasure. He was inside you. A part of him was connected to a part of you.
“Okay?” he whispered.
“Okay,” you breathed. “Move… please move.”
He withdrew slowly until he was completely out of you, cock pressed to your fluttering entrance, then pushed back in that same shallow, careful inch.
The drag was exquisite. Each time he slid back in, a fresh sob hitched in your chest, tears of overwhelming pleasure now mixing with the earlier emotional release. He vehemently kept his promise, never sinking deeper, but with each thrust, he picked up speed.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, his own breath coming in painful ragged pants. “Cry for me, princess. Let me see how good it feels. You’re such a pretty mess for me. My messy, perfect dirty girl.” His words were a lifeline as you clung to every single one. “Fuck, you’re tight. Just squeezing the tip so sweetly. You wanna milk me dry just like this? Hmm? Gonna make me come from just this little bit of your tight pussy?”
His words sent a series of spasms through you. You were unraveling completely, sobbing openly now with each thrust. You've never been this close to release before, your fingers never being enough.
With a groan that was pure lust, he pulled all the way out, his slick cock leaving your fluttering entrance just to drag the swollen head back through your soaked folds, painting your clit with a thick stripe of your combined wetness.
“Yes! God, yes!” You cried out at the new rhythm.
He slid his cock head back to your entrance and pushed, filling that aching space once more. You cried out, the relief instantaneous and profound. He gave you three, four, five of those perfect, small thrusts, until he pulled out again to rub against you.
He used his cock like that, sliding the length of it through your drenched slit, from your clit all the way back to your entrance, coating himself and spreading your arousal everywhere.
He watched with fascination. "So messy. Making such a mess on my cock huh?"
In. Out and up. In. Out and up. It was a cycle of tension and relief that built upon itself with every pass.
You couldn't take it any more. The pressure was too much to take.
"I can't!" You choked out. "It's too much!"
“You can, my love, you can do it. Come on, cum all over my cock. This sweet, perfect cunt. I love you so much. You can do it.”
The pressure broke without warning. Your orgasm crashed over you, violent and all-consuming. Your inner muscles clamped down viscously around the invading tip of him as a silent scream tore through you, your body convulsing under his.
The feeling of your clamping heat was his undoing. With a raw moan of pure pleasure, he followed you over. You felt the hot, intimate pulse of his cum inside you mixing with your own.
He collapsed onto his forearms above you, too weak to hold out any longer, burying his face in your neck as you both shuddered through the aftershocks. His body was heavy and warm as it relaxed against yours.
After a moment, he lifted his head. He was still inside you, that tender connection maintained. He looked down at your pretty face, at your tear-streaks, your swollen lips, your fucked-out expression, and his eyes shone with a love so fierce it stole the last of your breath.
He leaned down and kissed you so deep you felt it in your soul. When he pulled back, he whispered against your lips, a vow for the future, thick with promise and commitment.
synopsis: the one where your bestie proves you wrong.
pairing: haechan x fem!reader
genre: smut. fluff. crack. slice of life. besties to lovers? haechan's profession not specified. you can picture him as an idol or not. up to you :)
word count: 8.2k+
warnings: both horny af. haechan is my dream man in this im sorry. he's tryna stay cool but fails miserably. oc wants him but doesn't know it. they're both acting nonchalant but couldn't be more CHALANT. oral (fem!receiving). big phat dick!hae (what's new). smooching. pnv. they fuck on his sofa. unprotected sex (pooja what is this behaviour!). spit. light choking. creampie. cum eating. he literally feeds her his cum hahah im ok. dirty talk. slight degradation. use of the word 'slut' (i love him). oc smokes a cig bc she's had a rough night. mentions of fake orgasms. confusion. this is mostly FILTH.
cookie's note: hi there. not entirely sure what this is, but it's been sitting in my drafts since last year, so here you go! maybe i'll write for these two again in the future, i haven't decided yet. in the meantime, i do hope that this soothes even just a tiny bit of the sadness that's been flowing around ncity the past few days. for all my sad but always horny neo queens!
alabyuuu,
cookie ♡
masterlist | ko-fi
People say ‘don’t shit where you eat' for a reason.
You knew going to a work do where free alcohol was served with your ex-situationship lurking was not a smart idea. You knew it. But you also refused to back down and disrupt your plans because of a narcissist who is known for not being able to handle his alcohol.
It was all fun and games at the start of the night, but the more drinks he kept having, the more his petty comments kept coming your way.
“Remember when you used to be fun?”
“Why so uptight? Did someone hurt you?”
And so, you caved. You called the only person you knew could save you no matter what.
“Hey, what you up to?” You hold the phone between your shoulder and ear while rummaging through your bag for a lighter. The situation definitely demands a smoke. If you could find the stupid pink lighter you once stole off Haechan.
The cars are loud on the main road outside the venue your company had booked for the evening, but you can still hear the faint clicking of his keyboard through the speaker. He is definitely in the middle of a gaming session.
“Already gave up?” He says with a little amused laugh. You can almost picture the smug smirk on your friend’s face.
“It's either that or I get violent.” You snarl in the cold of the night, the lighter still nowhere to be found. "It's been what, an hour? And the man's already five drinks in."
“Yikes. You made him turn to alcohol. Poor fella.” He pretends pity, but you know he’s always hated the guy.
“Not my fault he can’t take the truth.”
“Eh, yeah, he’s a dick, but you also did tell him you faked all your orgasms.” He snorts. “Surprised he hasn't already killed himself.”
“Aha!” You shout a little too excitedly for having just found a lighter.
“You good?” He asks curiously, keyboard clicking coming to a halt.
“Yeah, sorry, just found my lighter.”
“You mean my lighter.” He deadpans. “I knew it was you.”
You stifle a giggle at his whining. “Who else could it have been?”
He scoffs. “I have other friends.”
“Mm,” You hum as you light the cigarette and take the first nerve-calming drag. You exhale in relief before continuing, “You only chat to them on Overwatch nowadays.”
“Be thankful I'm actually spending time with you on my days off,” He grumbles.
“You're so right. I am an ungrateful piece of shit. Will you ever forgive me.” You respond in the most indifferent tone you can muster.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever - when’s your bus?” He asks, totally unfazed by your sassy comeback.
“Like five minutes?” You glance at the schedule board. The bus to Haechan’s place shows 5’, while the one that takes you home shows 7’. “I could always go home. Don’t wanna keep you up.”
“It’s 8 p.m. on a Friday night.” He brushes off your hesitation, clearly having already decided for you. “I’ve got food covered, just bring some soju.”
You're glad he can't see the satisfied grin that takes over your face.
He somehow always manages to say endearing things with a tone that could make him come across as cold to someone who isn't familiar with his mannerisms. It's easy for you to notice the always present but underlying softness, though.
You absentmindedly keep flicking the cigarette even though there's no ash left at the tip. “Alright, say less.”
“And none of that peach-flavoured shit you like,” He adds. “It's too sweet.”
“You'll drink what I pay for.”
You end up getting two peach and two original-flavoured bottles anyway.
⟡
“The fuck is he so bitter for?” Haechan slumps down next to you on his spacious sofa after getting rid of the empty take out boxes, making you bounce a little. “I swear it wasn’t that serious?”
“It wasn’t!” You exclaim in annoyance, kicking your feet from where you’re lying across the sofa, head heavy against the armrest. Your eyes feel a little droopy from the lovely meal you've just had and the amount of alcohol you’ve consumed tonight — not enough to get you drunk, just enough to give your body a pleasant buzz.
“Maybe he really liked you.” Haechan points out and you can’t help but raise your head a little to throw him a ‘be serious’ look. He snorts. “What?”
The cotton of his sweatpants feels soft against your toes, and you subconsciously wiggle them between his thigh and the sofa as you relax against the soft cushions. “That man hated me. He just liked my pu—“
“Yah,” He cuts you off, still chuckling in disbelief at your non-existent filter. “How can you be so unhinged when you drink?”
Your eyes are shut but you giggle along, always enjoying making him a little uncomfortable. It’s a rare occurrence.
“Speaking of…” He trails, clearly in thought about something.
“Of what? My genitals?” Your attempt to mock him earns you a sharp pinch on the fleshy bit of your calf. "Ah! Okay okay okay, I'm sorry." You squeal in pain until he retrieves his fingers.
“Weirdo.” He mumbles disapprovingly, making you let out a not-so-charming snort that may or may not resemble a laugh. You can picture the offended expression on his face. The pout his heart-shaped lips always form when he's annoyed is too adorable to forget.
“You were saying...?” You prod with a gentle voice this time, wiggling your toes again, your hands folded on your tummy as you keep your eyes closed.
“Did you actually fake it every single time?” He shuffles a little further down the sofa, his sweats dragging against your toes as he gets more comfy and now you’re pretty sure your right foot is now stuck under his ass.
“Every. Single. Timeeeee.” You drag the word with a dramatic groan.
“Jeez. Poor guy.” Haechan exhales in wonderment. “Was his peepee like, really small or...?”
“Pfff.” You blow out a snicker. “It wasn’t that much of a size issue. It was more…I dunno, just lack of technique, I guess?”
“Hm.” Haechan hums in thought. “What about when he’d go down on you?”
You’re no stranger to having these types of conversations with Haechan. You’ve been friends long enough to feel comfortable discussing your sex lives to an extent. You’re both sexually active adults, it's no secret, but for some reason, in this specific moment, it feels a little too intimate. Maybe it’s the quiet of his apartment, with the tv being muted and all. Or maybe it’s the alcohol in your system.
“That’s never really worked for me, you know.” You admit quickly, without really elaborating.
There’s a small pause from his side, which makes you move your bent knees to the side a little so you can check your friend’s expression. He seems confused.
“Like ever?” His eyebrows furrow a little before smoothing down again. “With anyone?”
You shake your head with a little pout, containing your laugh. It’s kind of funny how concerned he looks, even though it has nothing to do with him.
“Well, if it means anything, on behalf of the entire male population, I do apologise.” He puts his hands together and closes his eyes, as though begging for your forgiveness.
You stifle a laugh and lightly kick his thigh. “Pretty sure there’s much more pressing matters the male population should feel sorry for.”
“Touché.” He smiles awkwardly at your observation.
“Also, I hate to break it to you, but…” You move your feet from underneath his leg and place them on his lap. His hand casually squeezes one ankle, the touch comforting over your trousers. “Surely, you know most of your partners have faked it at least once.”
He scoffs playfully. “Yeah, probably in uni, when I was constantly fucking around, but definitely not in the last couple years.”
“Delusion at its finest.”
His eyes roll sarcastically. “I’m very aware of my oral skills, don’t you worry about me.”
You breathe out an amused laugh at his frown. “Right right right, my bad.”
“I could always prove it.”
Your laughter is louder this time. “What? You gonna invite a girl over and make me watch?”
“I mean…sure, if you’re into that,” He smirks, hand around your ankle tightening slightly. “Not really what I meant though.”
Now, that sparks some interest in you.
“You offering me head or something?” You maintain the playfulness in your tone, but you’re very aware of the heat creeping up on your face at what he's insinuating.
He just shrugs, like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. “You get an orgasm; I get to prove you wrong.”
“You must really love proving me wrong.” You’re positive of your blush showing now, his amused grin enough proof as he inspects your face.
He shrugs again. He’s too calm for this situation. “Won’t be a chore, I’m sure.”
“Ey, quit pulling my leg.” You warn in disbelief. There's no way this isn't one of his tricks.
He scoffs with a lopsided grin, tongue poking against his cheek. “I'm not pulling anything.”
“You'd seriously go down on me just to prove a point?” Your eyeballs feel like they're about to pop out of your head.
“Last chance. Take it or leave it.” He says monotonously, like it's some kind of auction.
This whole situation is absurd. But what's even more absurd is that you panic at the thought of missing the chance of your friend eating you out. You must be experiencing a simulation. That's the only credible explanation.
You purse your lips in thought. Why can't you bring yourself to say no? “What if you actually fail?”
“I won’t.”
“You might.” You press again.
He exhales an exasperated laugh. “Then, I dunno. You get something to use against me.”
You certainly like the sound of that. “I could always fake it. I’m good at that.”
“I’ll know if you do.” He raises an eyebrow in warning, expression more serious than you’re used to. “So, best not.”
You swallow a little too audibly, too aware of his touch on your leg now. It’s when your gaze drops to his lips that you really do come to a decision.
“Alright.” You agree, as nonchalantly as possible. “No weird shit, though.”
He snorts a laugh as he sits up a little and you scoot back to rest on your elbows. “What exactly classifies as weird shit?”
“I don’t know...” You look around as though you’ll find an answer in his living room. You know it's just a way to avoid his eyes. “Just don’t make it weird.”
“I won’t.” He raises his hands in defence.
“Good.”
He stares at you for a few moments, and it’s already fucking weird. “Wanna stay here or go to the bedroom?”
Oh god. This is actually happening.
“Here.” You decide quickly. “Bedroom’s a bit too serious.”
He nods in approval. “Fair.”
You nod back, but really knowing what else to do.
“Alright, let’s see your granny panties then.”
“See, that’s fucking weird! I knew you'd—“
“Okay okay,” He cackles loudly at your expense, catching the cushion you attempt to smack into his face. “I’m sorry, I’ll behave.”
You glare at him, not really believing a word that comes out of his stupidly pretty mouth. You know him too well.
“Would you kindly take your trousers off or shall I do it?” He asks carefully this time, sounding too genuine, eyelashes batting dramatically. You know it's all an act.
You don’t choose words this time. Instead, you lie back down and unbutton your trousers, but before you can start removing them, Haechan stops you with his hands on yours.
“Wait.” His slightly worried expression makes your heart drop. Did he just trick you into agreeing so he could take it back? What sick, twisted motherf— “You actually wanna do this, right?”
You barely register your smile. Him making sure to get your repeated consent shouldn’t feel so endearing. “I’ve already said yes, Hyuck.”
“No, you said ‘alright’.” He mimics your voice playfully, making your smile widen. “Not the same.”
“My bad.” You get comfortable again, your hands resuming their actions as you start pushing your pants down, hips raising a little, and when the piece of clothing hits the floor, you speak again, smile still intact. “Yes, I want to.”
His eyes don’t even flicker down to your bottom half. They stay on your face. Even when your legs spread to accommodate him as he shuffles closer, he doesn’t allow himself to look below your waist.
He doesn’t come across as embarrassed, or awkward. He’s just… calm. His breathing stable compared to yours, his hands steady on your knees, no tremble detected, his blinking slow, eyes moving unhurriedly over your squirming body. He’s too fucking normal about this.
And you’re already turned on. And embarrassed. And so not calm.
“Cute.” His endearing remark breaks the silence when he finally eyes your underwear, his thumb delicately tracing the baby blue bow in the centre of the waistline. You’re glad you chose black lace instead of anything else that could betray your wetness.
You can feel it leaking. It’s uncomfortable and very unsettling. A reminder of the absurdity you've found yourself in on this random Friday evening.
He's one of your favourite people. Your best guy friend. And he’s got your pussy dripping and your heart skipping more beats than it should.
And he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.
His hands settle on your inner thighs, spreading your legs as far as they’ll go, and when he brings his face closer to where you need him, you have to close your eyes for a few moments. Just to anchor yourself a little.
“Are you uncomfortable?” He asks softly, his warm breath hitting your tummy.
You look down to find that his concerned eyes are already inspecting your face. “No. It’s just weird. It’s you.”
“Exactly.” He reaffirms with a cheeky grin. “It's just me.”
You take a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “I’m good. I promise.”
“Good.” He presses a tiny peck just above the bow of your panties, where your blouse has ridden up and left the skin uncovered. His nose tickles you slightly. “Just sit there and look pretty.”
You accidentally let out a giggle at his gentle demeanour, not really familiar with this side of him. He’s always playful with you, sure, just not this soft. As touchy as Haechan can be, it’s always clumsy and chaotic. He’ll hug you here and there or put an arm around your shoulders to offer needed comfort, he'll pat you on the back, ruffle your hair just to annoy you, but he's never lingered. Never crossed any lines. Never done or said anything to make you question your friendship.
Until now.
He rearranges his position a little, until he’s leaning comfortably on his elbows, face directly above your heat, arms loosely wrapped around your thighs, hands stroking up and down the skin. He's being gentle. Attentive.
It's annoying how you can't look away. How could you? When he looks so good between your legs. So, you just watch.
He starts with a kiss on your left inner thigh, then another one on your right one, where he keeps descending, each smooch wetter than the previous one until he’s reached the edge of your soaked underwear.
He makes brief eye contact when his tongue dips out to lick the crease that connects your thigh and mound, making your breath hitch. He does the same on the other side, and then resumes the kisses, covering your skin in dewy patches.
It’s his heavy breaths that affect you the most. Simply because they betray that he's not as unaffected as he seems.
You don’t rush him. Don’t beg him. Don’t let yourself make too many sounds other than some shaky breaths here and there when his teeth nip at your skin. You hold back as best as you can. Even when the pulse of your clit becomes almost unbearable. Even when the slick that drips out of you is too difficult to ignore. Even when you’re dying to grab onto his hair and shove his face into your pussy. You just force your hands to grab onto the cushions that support your head.
Your composure eventually breaks when he lands a lingering kiss just above your covered clit. A barely audible whimper fills the quiet of his apartment. You know he’s heard it when his hold on your thighs tightens, pretty hands flexing, fingers digging in the flesh, the cool sensation of his rings soothing you. You can’t help but smile to yourself at the acknowledging gesture. At the way he tries to ground you.
His lips part wider this time, tongue poking out, gently massaging your clit over the ruined lace, the moist warmth seeping through the fabric, teasing you like you’ve never been teased before.
“Hyuck.” The nickname comes out whiny, almost broken.
He hums in response, the vibration going straight through your sensitive bud, pulling an accidental moan out of you. His tongue slips down to your entrance and that’s when he makes a sound for the first time tonight. It’s very obvious he’s felt the arousal that’s probably spilling from the sides of your sticky panties.
“You taste good.” He whispers, more to himself it seems, his eyes glued to the mess between your legs as he bites down on his lower lip. “Can I take these off?”
You blink down at him, his pleading tone causing your pussy to flutter around nothing, and his wide, boba eyes - full of hope - cause your stomach to do a flip. You can’t do anything other than nod dumbly.
He moves swiftly; his fingers already slipping into the sides of your panties as he sits up to make more room, your hips lift in response and in no time the garment is somewhere on his floor. Haechan doesn’t give you much time to feel exposed. He gets to work quickly. Eager hands grab onto your hips and effortlessly drag you closer to his face, prying your legs wide open, nails digging into the backs of your thighs as his eyes drink in the filthy sight of your slicked up centre.
Your brain malfunctions when you hear a not-so-subtle inhale.
Did he just...smell you?
You hands move on their own, clinging onto his hair, pushing him down, while your hips lift just a tiny bit, and before he can protest, his nose bumps into your swollen bud.
He doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve practically shoved his face into your folds. His tongue makes contact immediately, licking from your entrance to your clit, lightly at first, the tip of it barely making contact, almost tickling you. Then he repeats the action, a little bolder each time, edging you.
A wide swipe of the pink muscle against the whole expanse of your throbbing pussy sends a shock through your system. And when his tongue swirls around your swollen bud, you let your head fall back and your eyes close in bliss. “Holy shit, you are good at this.”
You’re awfully aware of the sigh that slips out of you, but at this point you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Decorum is the least of your worries when your best friend of three years has his face buried in your most private parts.
Awareness flies out of the window too when Haechan’s full lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently before his tongue joins with languid strokes. You can’t tell how loud you’re being, all you can focus on is the pleasure and the wet slurping sounds he’s making.
“Told you.” He mumbles mid lap and before you can think of a smart comeback, his tongue briefly sneaks down to your entrance, collecting more of your arousal before travelling back up to flick gently. Your hips unintentionally buck into his face, searching for more friction.
He’s clearly teasing you. Toying with you. Trying to make a point. Greedy asshole.
“Fuck!” You exclaim in surprise when his thumbs spread your pussy lips, isolating your clit and lifting the hood so that his mouth can suck harder than before. Your back arches, the direct contact with the nerve endings making your legs shake involuntarily. Your fingers curl in his strands in despair and your eyes roll back when he doesn’t let up. His harsh flicks come in up and down motions, before turning into long, persistent swirls and then repeat. “Hah—wait—fuck, I’m—”
“Shut up and cum.” He rasps harshly, his voice alone making you clench around emptiness.
You feel his spit combined with your juices trickling down to your ass, possibly staining his sofa too. You’re so close you can taste it. Your pussy throbs from the sensitivity, thighs shake uncontrollably, the backs of your knees where your legs are bent drip in sweat, your lungs are struggling to keep up, the coil in your tummy so close to bursting.
It's nothing close to what you had in mind. He's making you look like a fool for ever doubting his skills. You find yourself feeling irrationally jealous of all the women that have experienced this when you'd been having to act and scream out fake moans.
He suddenly pulls back a little, and your head instantly shoots up at the loss. Your eyes meet his hooded ones, the lower half of his face covered in you, and as if the sight wasn’t already scandalous, the thick string of saliva that dribbles out of his mouth and directly onto your clit, completes the piece of art of whatever the fuck this is.
“Jesus.” You huff when you let your head loll back down, and then his tongue is on you again, flicking faster and harsher than before, hitting a spot on one side of your clit that makes stars appear behind your eyelids. “Fuck, right there.”
You hold his head exactly where you need him, and he obliges without a word. The assault of his mouth combined with his hand blindly reaching up to give your boob a light squeeze, make your whole body lock up for a moment before shakes of intense pleasure take over you. The broken whine that escapes your throat, barely registers as you cum hard on his tongue. You don’t even realise that your trembling hand engulfs the one he's got on your breast, interlocking your fingers with his while trying not to drown in the abyss of the high.
It’s impossible. Not when he keeps licking and sucking, completely unbothered, moaning like he’s experiencing this as intensely as you are, gripping onto your thigh and fingers like he’ll lose his mind if he doesn’t offer every bit of pleasure he can.
He lets you ride it out quite literally on his face. Doesn’t stop you from grinding on his nose and tongue. He happily stays there as you use him until you’ve had enough. And even when you can't take more, he still doesn’t stop. He slowly drags his tongue between your folds before he lets it dip into your leaking hole. As far as it can go. Tasting your release from the source. And when his arm curls around your thigh, fingers coming to touch you from above, rubbing harsh circles on your clit, you have to get away. Before you lose your fucking mind.
Simply asking him to stop does cross your mind for half a second, but for some reason you go with what should feel forbidden. You grab onto the collar of his top, your other hand already curling around the back of his neck, pulling him up until his face is directly above yours, and before he can question your actions, you’re claiming his mouth with yours.
No testing the waters, no permission asked. Just parted lips against parted lips, your tongue shoving past them, tasting your own arousal. You feel him go rigid for a few seconds, and you’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t stutter with worry at the thought of scaring him away. At the thought of crossing a boundary. But then you feel his body melt into yours and his soft lips start responding, matching your eagerness, jaw slackening to let your tongue tangle with his.
It’s kind of gross. Saliva mixed with your essence drips from the corner of your mouth. It’s messy. Lazy. But it feels nice. And oddly sweet. And warm. And you hate that fresh heat blooms in your belly just from a kiss.
His hand coming to cup your chin possessively does something to you. His fingers lightly squish your cheeks before they trail up, palm engulfing your jaw, tilting your head a little so he can deepen the kiss with a satisfied hum. Such a simple gesture, but it sends tingles down your spine, makes your breath hitch and your hips stutter with newfound want. His thumb tracing your cheek reminds you that he’s still in control of the situation.
That he really did prove you wrong.
But you're not annoyed. If anything, it turns you on even more. As twisted as it may sound. The thought of your best friend sticking the very same tongue he made you cum with down your throat, should make your skin crawl. Instead, it makes you want more.
“Fuck.” He exhales in your mouth, pulling back just enough to take a look at you with slightly widened eyes, pupils blown out. A thin string of saliva connects you for a second before you lick your lips, breaking the bond.
All you keep thinking is 'has he always been this pretty?'. Rosy cheeks, swollen pink lips, nose and chin still glistening with your slick, making more of it gush from your sensitive heat.
“I need to cum or I might go fucking nuts.” He complains with a frown, head dropping forward so he can peep between your bodies, and you can’t help but do the same.
You see it. The dark stain at the front of his grey sweats, the very prominent bulge of his erection brushing your stomach, barely touching you.
“Okay.” You mutter weakly, but then panic when he moves to get off you. You instinctively grab onto his t-shirt, pulling him back down, his erection now trapped between your lower halves. “Where are you going?”
His blinks quickly, surprise evident at your resistance. “Bathroom?”
“Why?”
He lets out a confused laugh. “I don’t know. I thought—
You shake your head at him, hips bucking slightly to meet his, a gentle grind, enough to help him get the message. “You don’t have to go.”
His lips part at the friction, eyebrows furrowing adorably, eyes fluttering closed as he allows his weight to sink back on you.
“Fuck.” He whispers, his forehead coming to rest on your shoulder when you grind a little harder this time. “You wanna watch me or something?”
“Whatever you want.” You mumble in his ear, hand burying in his hair to comfort him with gentle strokes. You hope he catches on the hidden meaning behind your words.
“That’s a little misleading.” He lifts his head to meet your eyes again. “I could want things you might not.”
“I doubt that.” You say, a restrained smile tugging at your lips. “Unless you wanna put it in my ass.”
His light chuckle evokes relief in your tense muscles. “Ass is where you draw the line?”
“Sorry.” You smirk teasingly, letting your free hand slip under the hem of his top, fingertips caressing along his spine. You bite back a smile at the little shiver that visibly runs through him.
His amused smile and wondering eyes make you feel flustered. Your cheeks burn and you pulse quickens, but you try to remain calm.
“S’okay, not what I want right now anyway.” He lets his hips press flush against yours, completely unashamed of showing off how turned on he is.
“You’re good then.” You sneak a hand around his nape to pull him down for another kiss, but he resists this time.
He giggles at your confused expression. “Cute.”
You pout angrily in response, earning another playful laugh from him.
“So, like, just so we're crystal clear,” He leans closer, nose nuzzling yours as he cages your head with his arms. “What you're implying is that if I said I wanted to have sex with you...you'd want that too.”
You daringly stare into his eyes when you reach between your bodies and give him a teasing squeeze through his layers.
The stuttering gasp he lets out is hard to miss. “That's not an answer.”
“Then learn to take a hint.” You press harder, reveling in the cute whine that slips out of him.
He finally gives up and closes the small gap, kissing you again, with more urgency this time, his tongue sneaking in your mouth while you slowly stroke him through his sweats.
He’s bigger than you expected. Not too long, but thick enough for the stretch to sting at first. You can almost feel it in your walls as they pulse around nothing, desperately needing to be filled.
It feels like torture.
You’re about to complain when you feel him shift his weight a little, your arms quickly coming to wrap around his neck, preventing him from interrupting the kiss.
You realise his bottoms are out of the way when his heavy cock slaps against your stomach. In any other occasion you’d feel embarrassed at the way your hips wiggle, seeking for relief and the whimper your let out against his lips.
He doesn’t try to shame you or tease you, like the Haechan you know would. He simply responds with a shaky exhale and a slow roll of his hips before kissing you harder, deeper, messier. He keeps devouring your lips even when the velvety head of his cock prods at your entrance, separating your folds with a little squelch. His tongue slides against yours smoothly as he breaches past your tight opening, just the tip going in, testing the waters. He moans when you let your legs spread wider for him, silently inviting him in your soaked heat.
Your mouth hangs open, eyes squeezing shut when he’s suddenly pushed halfway in, the burn intense but still somehow laced with pleasure, making your body tremble a little and your fingers curl into his shoulder blades, nails catching onto the soft cotton of his shirt.
“Does it hurt?” He checks in a whisper, hips halting when he meets resistance, your pussy tightening when it all becomes too much. He's too big for you to just take in one go.
“Stings a little.” You nod, eyes still closed even when you feel him staring at you.
“I'll go slow,” He lands a wet smooch on your cheek, earning a giddy smile from you. “Just relax for me.”
“M’trying.” You whine pathetically. “Why’s your dick so fat? What the fuck?”
He breathes out a chuckle into your neck. “Why’s your pussy so tight? You a virgin or something?”
You can’t find it in you to play along anymore, especially when he pulls back out to the tip before sliding back in the same amount as before. He starts building a slow rhythm, thrusts shallow, only going halfway in. Until your walls start to gradually relax around him, allowing him to sink in a little deeper each time.
You both sigh in unison when his hips finally meet yours.
“Shit, that's too deep.” You gasp into his shoulder, arms hugging him closer as your trembling body seeks more of his warmth, trying to somehow subdue the mix of pain and pleasure.
He grinds upwards, rolling his hips in an angle that makes his cock graze a perfect spot along your snug walls. Your muscles still try to adjust to the thickness, but you welcome it nevertheless. He stays there for a little while, not moving while he scatters lazy kisses along your neck, clearly trying to help you loosen up. His fingers hook into the neckline of your blouse, dragging that side down the slope of your shoulder along with your bra strap, revealing more skin to cover in kisses.
“Can we take our clothes off?” He asks while he slowly drags his plush lips and eager tongue along your collarbone.
“Yes, please.” You nod a little too eagerly, jittery hands already sneaking under the sides of his t-shirt, helping him get rid of the annoying layer.
He sits up a little, length still sheathed in your leaking pussy as he quickly removes his top, revealing ravishing golden skin and lean muscle. His chest is a little more buff than you remember from your summer holidays, his biceps a tiny bit more prominent.
You could eat him up.
“Stop staring.” He gives you bashful smile, hands engulfing your hips, lifting your ass off the sofa just a little so he can spread his knees more and rest your thighs over his.
Your lips part in a quiet moan when you feel his cock move inside you, tickling that spot again. “Sorry, it’s all just a little...”
“Strange?” He completes your sentence for you.
You nod with a little airy laugh, earning another grin from him.
“Take this off for me?” He drags the hem of your top just below your ribs, and you quickly take action, fumbling with shaky hands to pull the thin office blouse over your head. “Bra too.”
Again, your hands move of their own accord, just following his instructions. You reach behind you, fingers pinching the clasp of the bra, unhooking it with a snap, allowing the lacy garment to loosen on your skin. You watch his expression as you peel the straps down your arms slowly, before flinging the lace somewhere across the floor.
You’re both completely naked now. The subtle throb of his stiff length inside you is a reminder of the situation you're in.
Your eyes remain on his face, while his drink in your nudity, roaming shamelessly, like you’re an intricate painting that needs studying. From your lips to your collarbones, to your tits - where they linger - over your stomach, then down to where you’re still connected.
“Pretty.” He mutters quietly, and it feels like the word isn’t even aimed at you, but at your pussy.
“Stop staring.” You throw his own words back at him, but his intense gaze sends a fresh flood of arousal out of your clenching heat anyway, drenching his cock in it too. You can't help but secretly love how he's ogling, eyes glazed with what could only be pure lust.
He blatantly ignores you. Just takes hold of your waist with one hand and plants the other one flat by your shoulder to support his weight. And then his hips start moving. Finally.
You grip onto the soft skin of his thighs as he drags his length out to the tip before slowly sinking back in. The wet sounds are humiliating and arousing at the same time, and you can’t help but involuntarily squeeze him in.
It seems that brings him out of the trance he's in, making him lose whatever was left of his patience. Without warning he pushes your legs up, squishing your knees against your tits. Giving you no time to react, he starts ramming into your dripping cunt, no care in the world. Completely opposite to his previously careful actions. No easing you in, no letting you adjust. Just vigorous, hard snaps of his hips, his balls slapping against your ass, creating obscene sounds combined with the slurps of your cunt around him.
You’re still somewhat in shock, trying to comprehend what he’s putting your body through, but when he slightly adjusts his angle and starts jamming directly into your g-spot, you let out a whiny shriek.
“Yeah? You like that?” He rasps, dark eyes finding yours, consuming your pleasure.
“Uhuh,” You moan out, your nails dig into his thigh muscles. “Please, keep going.”
“So needy.” He mocks, leaning over you and folding you in half, testing your flexibility as your legs hook over his shoulders. The penetration is too deep, too intense. Makes your legs shake so much you have to wrap your own arms around the backs of your thighs to minimise the tremble.
“Fuck you.” You scoff, the words laced arousal even though frustration boils in your chest.
He laughs. So mean but so sexy. “Always wondered what you'd sound like.”
“Shut up, you’re so gross.” You whine, your pussy squelching as it tightens again. He’s taunting you and getting a kick out of it. A sick sick man. A sick man who's got you dripping on his sofa. Because he's too fucking hot right now.
“And you’re kind of a slut.” He points out with a hard thrust, bulbous head hitting against your cervix, making your eyes roll back into their sockets,. “Begging me to fuck you like this.”
“Nggh f-fuck, Hyuck, don’t call me that.” You try your best to sound grossed out, but it only comes out as a weak plea.
“Awh, why? Like it a little too much?” More like loved it, but you know better that to ever admit that. “Yeah, you do. Look at you, fucking creaming.” He’s greedily staring between your legs, at how his cock is abusing your needy cunt. “Who knew you’d be so thirsty for dick, baby.” He blabbers aimlessly, sounding a little too far gone to care. “My cute little bestie is such a slut, hm?”
You have to bite your lip to prevent yourself from screaming. Your face and neck feel like they’re on fire, but your sensitive walls keep inviting him in regardless.
“Knew you’d be a fucking yapper.” You grit, hoping to piss him off.
“Mm.” He offers you a lazy smile instead. Like a dumb fucking idiot. “You know me so well.”
Your pussy flutters at that, and strangely, so does your heart.
He keeps fucking into you at the same pace. Not too fast, but hard enough for your ass to ache from the slaps of his hips. You want him closer.
“My leg’s cramping.” You lie mindlessly.
You’re not sure if he sees right through you, but he slips your legs off his shoulders anyway, letting them loosely settle around his hips, and you seize the opportunity to pull him closer, a hand grabbing onto the back of his neck.
He groans lowly at the forced proximity. “Shit.”
“Faster.” You demand, hands tugging at his hair as he buries his face in your neck. He doesn’t say a word, just does as told. Fucks you faster and a little harder than before, cock barely pulling out before jamming back in, creating a delicious vibration against your clit and front wall. “Oh, my god, yes.”
“So good, baby.” He whispers raggedly in your ear, the pet name causing goosebumps to raise on your sweaty skin and turbulence in your chest. “So warm and slippery.”
A particularly sharp thrust makes you cry out, your legs closing in on his hips, preventing him from moving for a second, before he shoves them open again.
“Just take it.” He grunts, hips resuming their assault as his teeth graze your jaw before trapping your earlobe between them. “You asked for this, didn't you?”
“Fuck, please.” You whimper out pitifully, not entirely sure what you’re begging for at this point. Your focus is interchanging between the way his chest rubs against yours, stimulating your aching nipples, and his fat cock stretching your cunt like it's carving out its shape in you, as though he's trying to ruin you for anyone else.
A hand buries in your hair, pulling hard enough to make you gasp, your head lolling back, giving him enough space to lap the sweat off your neck, lustful, angry kisses littering the sensitive skin.
It's too much. Too dizzying. And so fucking good.
You’re so close. Right on the edge. You just need something to push you over. Something you’re too shy to ask for.
You let your fingers wrap around his wrist instead, guiding his hand to your neck. It lies there limply for a second, just at the base of your throat, and then he lifts his head a little, forehead resting against your temple, nose nuzzling your cheek. Once again, your wish is his command. His palm engulfs your throat, fingers applying the perfect pressure on your pulse points. So perfect that your eyes roll back and your hips stutter, while his don't falter even a little, maintaining their intense rhythm.
“Hyuckie,” You whisper the loving nickname weakly, too lost in the daze, not able to care about how vulnerable you sound. You need him to know how fucked up he's got you. “Can I cum? Please?”
“Fuck, you're so cute.” Haechan whines, the tenderness in his voice contrasting his demanding thrusts. “It’s okay, baby, Huyckie's got you.”
His sweet, reassuring words combined with every single of your nerve endings being stimulated to the max, send you into an all-consuming climax. Just a couple more thrusts and your pussy squeezes him so tight, kneads his shaft in rhythmic pulses, to the point you’re worried you might actually push him out, but you’re so thankful he doesn’t let up.
His hips smack into yours harder, faster, prolonging your orgasm for as long as he can. Your muscles spasm from the aftershocks, hands grabbing onto his back, legs quivering around his waist. And just when you’re floating in bliss - body and mind feeling light and fuzzy - you utter something that would have shocked you, weren't you in this delirious state.
“Hyuck?” Your voice comes out shaky and breathless. “You’re still my best friend, right?”
He stills for a moment, slamming deep inside you, pulling a yelp out of you.
“What the fuck.” He growls out, sounding enraged as well as surprised. His cock kisses your cervix, before it drags against your incredibly sensitive walls, the pleasure bordering pain when he starts fucking you like he wants to punish you, your body torn between needing a way out and begging for everything he’s giving you. Especially when he sounds so wrecked. “You can’t say that unless you want me to nut inside you.”
“Yeah, please.” You put on the whiniest voice you can, hoping he cracks. “Want it.”
You've already lost the battle. You might as well act reckless now.
“Jesus fuck.” He pants in awe. “Are you insane or did I actually fuck you stupid?”
The blissed-out laugh that rolls out of you, makes you sound completely dumb and out of breath. Maybe he did fuck you stupid.
An arm slings around your shoulders securely, holding you close as he grabs onto your thigh with his free hand, hooking your leg higher on his waist. His thrusts are messy now, cock stuffing you in uncoordinated short plunges, slipping out a few times due to the wetness, but quickly finding its way back in your quivering hole.
“I’m such a good bestie, right?” You prod, loving his little whines and how responsive he's suddenly become.
“Yes, baby, you're so so good to me.” His blunt nails dig into the flesh of your thigh, harsh breaths hitting your collarbone in hot puffs. He’s slightly trembling and your heart aches a little at how pliant with need his is, how soft his skin feels on yours, so you thread your fingers through his messy hair, caressing gently to offer some relief as he nears his peak. “Oh fuck... oh god—I’m gonna—”
“That's it.” You praise in a whisper, struggling to keep your legs spread wide open for him, toes curling from the overstimulation, breaths stuttering against his neck. "Please please, cum in me, wanna feel you."
“Shit, ffffuck—I’m cumming... I’m cumming.” He moans, all strained from the building pressure, and then he’s visibly shaking, his whole length burying deep inside, to the hilt, as his hot cum paints your walls in quick spurts, filling up your spent pussy, just like you begged him to. He's so vocal; mewls and broken whines rolling out of him as he delivers a few more messy pumps that turn into languid grinds.
You can’t help but moan with him, clenching on purpose to milk everything out of him, loving the claim he’s laying upon your body. And when he lifts his weight a little, just to look down, you find the most sinful sight. He grinds one last time before pulling out slowly, the head of his softening cock bumping into your clit, making you flinch while smearing both your releases all over your puffy folds.
“Shit.” He exhales in wonderment, damp chest moving up and down, covered in pink blotches, giving his already pretty skin a breathtaking glow.
Your hand moves on its own, in need to feel the mess you've both created. Your let your fingers dip between your wet folds, shamelessly stroking up and down your slit, his intense gaze spurring you on as you gather some of his cum that’s already started to spill out. You revel in the fascination his eyes hold as they follow your every move carefully.
Your lips wrap around your index and middle fingers while holding his gaze. His tongue dips out to lick at his bottom lip as he takes in the sinful act with furrowed brows, like he's angry.
Before you can put on more of a show, his hand is on your jaw, your fingers ripped out of your mouth as his tongue replaces them, shoving into your mouth like he just needs a taste, prying your lips open without hovering for permission.
And then he abruptly breaks the kiss with a wet smack. Wild eyes find yours again when he mutters quietly, “Do you want all of it?”
You know what he's implying. You know you should refuse. You really should.
But you nod instead.
He doesn’t waste time. Just shuffles down, head buried between your thighs in record time, tongue eagerly licking all over your folds. You flinch when his nose nudges against your clit, mouth greedily sucking at your entrance to gather as much of his cum as he can. It feels soothing in a way, as opposed to the tingling sensation his cock left behind after the repeated stretch. You know you’ll feel sore tomorrow, but you focus on his soft lips, sighing out in relief at the lazy laps.
It ends before the pleasure can start building back up, and he’s hovering above you again, shielding your naked body from the cool air of the room. His mouth is just above yours, sealed tight as he awaits.
You cup his face in your hands to pull him closer before parting your lips for him, tongue sticking out flat. You let a moan slip when he lets your combined juices mixed with his spit dribble onto your awaiting mouth. You can only close your eyes when you briefly taste and then swallow the thick and slightly salty substance.
And then he's slotting his lips with yours again, kissing you slowly this time, tongue gliding savouringly against yours until you're out of breath and your lips feel numb.
He hesitantly pulls away with a little nip on your bottom lip, before he licks at the corner of his mouth, where some of his - or your - saliva has smeared.
“Well, that fucking escalated.” He says with a tired, amused sigh.
You don't even try to tone down your staring as you take in his flushed face, slightly baffled expression making you smile.
“In a good way?” You test, letting out an exhale of your own when he drops his weight on you carefully. He rests his head on your chest, cheek squishing just above the swell of your left boob, exactly where your heart threatens to jump out of. The softness in his actions helps your limbs relax a little.
He hums contentedly when you run a hand through his hair, combing through the fluffy strands absentmindedly.
“A little too good, unfortunately.” He teases, tone playful as always.
“Mm, sorry, I guess.” You play along, eyes closing briefly when his warm palm engulfs the breast he’s not using as a headrest. He kneads the supple flesh gently. Then just holds.
“Maybe it’s a sign.” He says quietly, sounding like he’s in deep contemplation.
“That we’re both equally deranged?” You joke with a soft chuckle.
“That too. But also, that you've been fucking the wrong people.” He states, like it’s the only explanation.
“And fucking my best friend is so right.” Your tone is sarcastic, but it holds truth. How is this right?
He chuckles lightly, warm breath hitting your skin. “Didn't feel wrong, I'll tell you that for free.”
“Aren't you sweet.” You tug a little harder on his hair — a silent warning.
“No, seriously, though.” He traces the underside of your breast with his thumb, slightly tickling you. “There's obviously tension.”
You don't confirm or deny. “Okay, and? What's your point?”
“Maybe we should just fuck it all out.” He suggests a little too casually.
“Isn’t that what we just did?” You keep playing with his hair, needing a distraction from the slightly confusing conversation.
He tilts his head up to look at you, bottom lip trapped between his teeth, brown eyes glimmering with mischief in the soft lighting of his living room, like he's unlocked something that maybe should've stayed hidden.
“I dunno,” Haechan mutters, voice sounding honey-like. “Do you feel like you’re done with me?”
The quickening of your heartbeat and the strange, tingly feeling that still lingers in your tummy are enough of an answer.
SUMMARY: You confessed to Na Jaemin in your junior year of high school. The confession was disastrous in your eyes, and probably even worse in everyone else’s. After graduating, you choose a university close to home, but the sustainable, fun college life you’d hoped for didn’t become your reality. So to fix your somewhat boring life, you transfer to NCU. You’ll have your childhood best friends and new opportunities awaiting—but much to your not-so surprise, Jaemin also happens to go there. What will come of you reuniting after 4 years?
CHAPTER 4.5 -- GCS
no bitches🙅🏽♀️𓂃⋆.˚
ooou miss yn is being forced to face her situation with jaemin :o
a/n: hi everyone!!! i missed being active and publishing things, I'm still drowning in work (this season's so busy for me ahhh) but I could not simply ignore this Min Yoongi idea that popped into my head one day, I hope you enjoy!! ♡
pairing: bf yoongi x fem!reader
themes: fluff, smut, public hookup, auralism >.< (Yoongi and his keen ear are really into your sounds), f rec. oral, missionary on a chair, lots of moaning and dirty talk/praise from both of you
wc: ~3.7k, 14 min
summary: Yoongi liked inviting you to join him in the studio for a few hours in the late evening whenever the rest of the team had left. The hourglass was draining of your time together before work took him out of the country again, and he wanted to make sure he had everything he'd want of yours to remember you by before flying out. Like recording a little private audio of the two of you for his safekeeping.
A familiar sigh from the desk caught your attention as you lay on the couch along the back wall.
“Tsk,” Yoongi kissed his teeth, the excessive clicking of his mouse accompanying the dampened hum of the computer.
You glanced up from your book, peeking over the pages at your boyfriend’s back. He was sitting at the desk, headphones nestled over his dark hair, and the quiet, faint sound of his instrumental played through the open back of his over-ear headphones. This was your favourite part of visiting Yoongi at the studio. After about 7 or 8, everyone else had gone home for the day, and you’d arrive with takeout and a book and get to appreciate his silent company while he puttered away with his tracks.
“Everything okay?” you asked, eyes curious, closing your book and heading over to stand behind him.
“The EQ is just messing me up,” Yoongi replied, adjusting his headphones and shaking out his hair.
He turned to look up at you with a soft smile and patted the chair next to him, welcoming you to join him at the mixer. You dropped into the rolling office chair, gazing at the collection of tracks and audio waves stretching across the monitor.
“Are you all packed yet?”
Yoongi frowned a little.
“No. And I don’t want to think about leaving right now.”
He clicked around the screen a few more times as you watched before he opened a new project window, the blank white glow of the screen illuminating both your faces in the dim room. Yoongi froze for a moment, just staring at the empty timeline, before turning his head to gaze at you.
You blinked at him, eyes curious.
"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Y/N. You know I love you."
You giggled.
"Yeah, Yoongi, I know you love me."
"And leaving you is torture."
"Mhm."
"Let me take a souvenir with me. Something to remember you by."
"Mm? Like what?" You cocked your head to the side, still staring at the open mixing program. Yoongi's eyes drifted to the rest of your body, scanning you up and down for a moment before landing back on your eyes with a smirk.
"Will you get in the booth for me, please?"
You let out a surprised laugh.
"And do what?"
"Just do it for me."
Yoongi turned his head back to the monitor, adjusting his headphones back onto his ears. You furrowed your brows in confusion, but stepped into the sound-dampened little room anyway. You sat down on the stool, right in front of the microphone and slid the headphones onto your ears. You gave Yoongi a little wave through the window, and he peered at you over the computer monitor with an amused, flirty grin.
He leaned forward and pressed a button on the board before you heard a little crackle in your ear.
"Alright, can you hear me okay?" His voice came through into your headphones.
You nodded and gave him a thumbs up.
"Let me hear you mic check for me."
You laughed before leaning into the microphone in front of you.
"Hiiii baby," you cooed into the mic. Your eyes were glued to your boyfriend sitting outside, watching his lazy smile grow at the sound of your voice in his ears. "You look cute sitting over there, your hair looks so pretty today."
Yoongi looked up from the computer monitor and gave you an amused, gummy smile, shaking his head. You grinned at his reaction: it didn't matter how long you two had been together, he always struggled a little to accept such sweet compliments from you.
His voice came through your headphones again.
"I'm going to adjust a few things, keep talking."
You leaned back into the mic, eyes never leaving him through the glass.
"Check check check, I'm sitting in a recording booth because you told me to," you giggled. He continued staring at the computer screen, pushing and adjusting the sliders on the master as you rambled to yourself.
"I'm going to miss you, Yoongi. It's what I get for dating a superstar, you're too loved by everyone. What am I going to do with myself while you're gone? Maybe take myself to all the restaurants I've always wanted to go to, without you..."
Yoongi snapped his head up, visibly mildly offended. You laughed into the mic before continuing.
"Okay, or I cook and order takeout from the same few spots until you come home. Does that make you feel better, handsome?"
Yoongi laughed to himself before taking his headphones off and standing up out of his chair. He opened the booth door, enveloping himself in the small room with you with a soft click of the door.
"Hi, you," you hummed with a smile as he stood next to you, hands in his hoodie pockets.
"You feel comfy in here?" he murmured, reaching out to adjust the mic stand so it lined up a little better with your mouth. You nodded, headphone cable still dangling from your ears. He gently lifted your headphones off of your ears and hung them back over the mic stand.
"I'm going to miss you," he whispered, taking a step closer towards you. You smiled at him as he closed the distance, tilting your chin up a little so that he could press a sweet kiss to your lips. You unintentionally let out a happy sigh into his mouth, and you felt him tighten his lips into the kiss.
"You know I love hearing all the pretty little sounds you make," he whispered into your mouth. "Even when I kiss you, you're so vocal for me."
You felt your cheeks warm up at his verbal observation: you knew that you were a little more chatty than your boyfriend was, but he always let you know how much he loved it when you filled the silence with your voice, and especially your sounds. It was like his ears perked up at the sound of you at any given moment.
His hands were wrapped gently around your face and neck, holding you against him firmly as he continued kissing you, just passionate enough to make you feel a little weak in the knees.
"Yoongi—" you sighed into his mouth again. Your lips parted a little more, and he took the opportunity to tilt his head further, pressing his jaw further against yours, nearly interlocking your mouths together. The deepening of the kiss sent a twitch directly in between your legs. His tongue swiped across yours in your mouth, the faint taste of mint on his tongue.
You whimpered into his mouth at the passion of his kiss, and he gave you a quiet groan back, his hands sliding down your neck and grazing down your sides until they landed on your waist.
"You're my everything," he murmured into your mouth, before his hands drifted even further south, gripping your hips and tugging you closer to him, the weight of you almost slipping off the wooden stool with how tightly he was pulling you towards him. Your legs were parted enough to let him stand between them, and you felt your boyfriend grind his hard-on into your clothed crotch, eliciting a stammered whine from you.
"Oh," you whined, your moan interrupted by another few wet smacks of your makeout. “What was that?”
Yoongi pulled away for a moment and looked at you with a smug smile.
“What was what?”
He continued kissing you, the pressure gentle enough to let you know that he was still calm and in control, but firm enough to make you feel dizzy. Every hand placement, every movement of his jaw against yours, was intentional, as if he were adamant about making the most of his limited time with you.
"You know you're the most beautiful thing in the world to me," he hummed as he slid his mouth down your jaw and planted wet kisses along your neck, his hands still roaming around your waist. Without hesitation, his right hand disappeared under your waistband, two fingers gliding possessively over your already damp underwear, just enough to make you jolt in your seat.
"Baby," you whined, your legs instinctively wrapping themselves around your boyfriend's waist as he gently rubbed circles around your clit through your underwear. He hummed into your neck as he continued teasing you, his other arm wrapped firmly around your waist to hold you against him in the small room.
It wasn't long before he couldn't get enough of you, removing his lips from your collarbone with a wet smack and dropping to his knees in front of you. He started gently removing your sneakers from your feet for you, the sweetness of him taking such good care of you intensifying the burning sensation in your lower core.
He looked back up to you, still on his knees in front of you, before looping his fingers in your waistband again.
"Lift your hips up for me."
Your eyes widened at the realization of what he wanted to do to you in this rented studio.
"Yoongi, there are still staff out—"
"Who fucking cares," he muttered as he tugged your sweatpants and underwear down, sliding them down your legs until they were discarded in a neat pile by his knees on the ground. "I have you dripping in front of me like this, the last thing I'm thinking about is who else is still working."
Without another wasted moment, he leaned forward, establishing his home between your parted legs, and planted a soft, sweet kiss right over your clit, his eyes still glued to yours.
You let out a hesitant whine, your breath already hitched and shaky at the sight of your boyfriend so eager to eat you out.
"Let me taste how sweet you are for me while I'm still at work," he murmured, his eyes peering up at you from in between your legs. "Nobody else can hear us in here, I promise."
You gave a hesitant nod, still propped against him, and he gave you an appreciative, cocky smile.
He reached upwards towards the mic stand and adjusted the microphone so it was lined up a little closer to your mouth. He gave you a smug grin.
"I'm still recording, so make sure you sing a little extra well tonight, yeah, honey?"
Your mouth fell open at how forward he was, and you saw an extra little twinkle in his eyes at how shy you were getting.
"Baby, I—"
A visceral, high-pitched moan escaped your lips as Yoongi pressed his tongue firmly against your heat, licking a commanding stripe from bottom to top, parting your wet folds with his mouth.
"Fuck," you hissed, your eyes immediately fluttering shut as you held yourself up with your arms behind you, propping yourself up on the stool to give him easier access. "Oh, my god."
He chuckled into your heat at your reaction and began to lick quicker patterns against your trembling pussy, each flick of his tongue making you cry out directly into the microphone.
"Yoongi, fuck, that feels so good," you whined, bucking your hips against his face. He moaned in reciprocation, letting you grind your hips gently against his face.
"Mm, that's it."
He picked up the pace just slightly, dragging his tongue intentionally hard against your hole, letting just the tip of his tongue dip into your warm heat. You wrapped your legs around the side of his head, your body desperately encouraging him to continue. With a grumbly moan, he focused his attention on your clit, licking and suckling gently as he held you against him with his hands on your hips.
"Fuck, baby, you do that so well," you hissed, head fallen forward as you watched your boyfriend nudge his pretty face against your pussy, the lower half of his face entirely buried in you.
"Yeah, huh," he moaned back, the taste and reactions of you alone making his cock strain in his sweatpants. "You're always so easy to please, jagiya."
Yoongi looped his arms behind your knees and wrapped them around your thighs, locking his fingers together. You cried out as he held you down against his face like a seatbelt, pinning your thighs against either side of his head as he buried his face deeper into your wet heat.
"God, fuck," you cried, unable to move with the way he held you. His tongue worked your clit expertly, every massage of his wet muscle against you coaxing a whiny, pornographic moan from your lips.
"You sound so pretty for me, make such pretty noises," your boyfriend groaned into your cunt, the sounds of encouragement making him eat you out even more feverishly. "I could listen to you cry for me for hours."
Your legs were pinned down against him, unable to move or escape from the addictive sensation of your boyfriend eating you out so hungrily. You felt the familiar build-up in your lower stomach, and your pussy clenched desperately around nothing as you neared your climax.
“Yoongi I'm going to cum, fuck, Yoongi please—“
“That’s right,” he murmured against your skin. “Let me hear my name when I listen back to this.”
His one hand released you from his hold before he inserted two long fingers into your cunt, curling and beckoning against your inner wall, as if he was trying to make his tongue and fingers meet through the warm flesh of your pussy.
"Baby, oh my god, just like that," you cried, and you felt your boyfriend nod against your cunt, his tongue still connected to your clit unendingly.
Your climax overtook your body soon after; your back arched beautifully, head thrown back as you chased your ecstasy against Yoongi's mouth, his hands and arms still holding you hostage against his tongue.
The small room was filled only with the starving groans and sounds of Yoongi feasting as if you were the ripest fruit, paired with your desperate whines and cries as you rode out your high on his face. Each twitch and jolt of your body was reciprocated by another hungry, affectionate flick of his tongue against you, like he was limit testing how much of you he could consume before you were straight up crying.
“Fuck, you’re so delicious,” he groaned against your clit, his head nodding between your thighs as he drank you up. His nose was pressed firmly against your skin, desperate to feel every twitch and pulse of your orgasm against his face as you slowly dropped down from your high. His two fingers gently curled and massaged inside of you, helping you milk every last drop of pleasure out of your peak before gently slipping out of you.
Yoongi stood up, chin glistening under the single pot light in the insulated booth. Without another word, he repositioned the mic stand, angling the mic lower, about halfway between your mouth and your hips.
“Baby, what are you—“
“Gonna miss hearing the sound of you,” he murmured as he tugged down his sweatpants, freeing himself from his boxers with a yank of his elastic waistband. “Especially going to miss the sound of you taking my dick.”
Yoongi stepped closer to you and wrapped his one arm around your thigh, holding you up and open for him while his other hand guided himself into your already half-ruined entrance.
"Don't hold back," he whispered. "Wanna hear every little sound from you."
He pushed himself into your still sensitive pussy, the stretch of his cock feeling double as intense through the aftershocks of your orgasm. He let out a breathy groan at your warmth, testing your waters with a swift roll of his hips.
"Oh-oh," you whined, gripping your boyfriend's bicep, your nails desperately anchoring themselves to his muscle.
"Fuck, baby, you're wetter than ever," he moaned, his hands coming to hold your waist, giving him more leverage to pull you back onto his cock as he thrusted into you. "No keepsake can ever make me not miss this body."
You whimpered and nodded at him, unable to respond to how intensely the tip of his dick was knocking into your cervix. The angle at which you were sitting on the stool with your boyfriend standing between your legs was extra intense: the soft curve of his cock slotted perfectly inside of you this way, like the two of you were made for each other in every way.
"You make me so crazy," he muttered, rocking his hips into yours at a torturous, assertive pace. "Can't get enough of you."
The wet crude sounds of his pelvis smacking up against your drenched pussy filled the soundproof chamber. Yoongi watched you with half-lidded eyes as he fucked you in an upright missionary, your back leaned against the cushioned booth wall, your legs bent and spread wide for him as he made love to you.
"You hear that?" he groaned. "The sound of you taking me so fucking well? I can hear how wet your fucking pussy is for me, Y/N."
You nodded, your lower lip almost being pierced by how hard you were biting down. Another particularly sharp thrust of his hips made you cry out, your nails almost digging into the skin of his arms now.
"Yoo-yoongi-" you were panting now, your cheeks flushed beautifully. "Gonna-cum again, you fuck me so well, god-"
"Yeah?" Yoongi hissed, a small cocky laugh escaping his open mouth. "I know, babe."
Your walls were squeezed around him so tightly now, with how close you were to another orgasm. Yoongi dropped his head forward, cursing under his breath as he held out on his own climax, determined to finish after you had.
“You make such sweet sounds,” he murmured. “Love the way your body cries for me.”
Yoongi’s hand lifted your chin, tilting it up towards him. His mouth was half open, his pants acting as the perfect instrumental to your symphony of desperate whines. He could tell you were close, with your wide eyes and furrowed brows, lips parted in a perfect 'O', the most beautiful erotic image of his girlfriend he's ever seen.
"Close, huh," he tutted, cocky smile on his face. You nodded, eyes fluttering shut as you focused on the growing fire in your stomach.
He gave you an open-mouthed, breathy, wet kiss before lowering the mic stand closer towards your mouth.
“Into the mic, baby,” he instructed. “Wanna hear you loud and clear.”
You let out a strangled cry as your second orgasm of the night shook through your bones. Yoongi maintained his pace inside of you as you threw your head back, then forward, tossing in your chair desperately with how good every nerve ending was shocking you.
"Fu-fuck," you sobbed. "You feel-so-so good."
He raised his finger to your chin, tilting you up to look at him so he could plant another long, wet kiss on your lips.
"Fuck, Y/N," he moaned into your mouth before you felt the grip on your waist tighten, his fingers pressing so hard into your body that you felt like it could bruise. His thrusts became staggered and sloppy as he released inside of you, his warm climax flooding your insides in desperate, erotic spurts.
The wet, sticky sounds of skin-to-skin echoed throughout the room, accompanied by the whines and pants that escaped both of your lips as you came down from your highs together.
"Baby," you whimpered as Yoongi finally slowed and then halted. "Oh my god."
Your foreheads were pressed together, sweaty, warm, and both equally as spent. Yoongi's eyes were still glued to yours, a tired, panting smile plastered all over his face.
"You okay?" He grinned at you.
"Yeah," you panted, half-smile on your face, your chest heaving.
Yoongi pressed a peck to your lips.
"Good."
He slowly pulled himself out of you, the wet, sticky mess threatening to drip out of you. Yoongi picked up your underwear and sweatpants from the floor and helped you back into them. As soon as you stood up from the stool, your knees buckled and you collapsed slightly towards the floor.
"Woah," Yoongi muttered with a furrowed brow. "Are you sure you're okay?"
You let out a breathless laugh.
"Just a little wobbly, that's all."
All the concern in his expression dissipated into a cocky, smug little grin as he realized that your weak legs were a result of his performance.
"Mmkay," he tutted, tongue-in-cheek, as he wrapped his arms around your waist, helping you stand up fully. "Give me a second."
Yoongi pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before disappearing out the booth door, reappearing through the glass at the computer. The sight of him, sweaty hair, flushed cheeks, his afterglow always made your heart race. He looked so worn out, so yours.
You took a moment to yourself to readjust yourself, making sure you looked decent enough to walk past the staff out in the lobby again.
"I love you," his voice crackled through the headphones again, left abandoned, hanging on the mic stand. You heard his little voice come through the speaker and looked back up at where he was standing. He was grinning at you, leaning over the desk. "Say it back."
You leaned back into the microphone in the booth one last time, eyes still locked with his:
"I love you too, Yoongi."
He smiled widely and turned his focus back to the computer screen, finally stopping the recording.
"Cut." He said with a laugh.
"You're going to have to apologize to the staff for staying here so late," you mumbled with a laugh, finally stepping back into the studio and collecting your bag from the couch. "Let's go home."
"One second," he murmured, double-clicking the track title and landing his fingers on his keyboard. You watched as he typed out a new name for the file.
hidden track: Her
He grinned to himself before turning off the computer screen.
"Okay. Ready to head home?"
"Mhm. I'm sleepy now."
Yoongi chuckled as he stood up and grabbed his bag and headphones from the sofa, giving you a quick kiss as his hand guided you on your lower back.
title: angel (m)
pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)
series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken pt. 1 | broken pt. 2 | fugue pt. 1 | fugue pt. 2 | fugue pt. 3 | fugue pt. 4
rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au
summary: right before he leaves, your brother’s conversation makes your heart stop. and it forces you to make a decision that you need to stick to, no matter what the future holds.
note: it’s been.. two years since the last main storyline update. many things have happened since then, i’ve learned more about myself, and touched more grass than ever. but we’re finally back to our scheduled tangerine programming, and it feels so surreal. incredibly grateful to everyone that has stayed, and welcome to all of you that are new to the 3tan universe!
note 2: also, happy birthday to @somebodydoesluv, @al3ejandra, and anyone else who is celebrating around this time! may you all celebrate a prosperous and healthy year around the sun.
warnings: how it starts LOL, language, explicit scenes, angst, tension, overthinkers overthinking, sibling fights, abandonment mentions, yoongi in those gd glasses again, jimin…?, obligatory kissing warning, everyone being a ride or die i’m weeping, we give the yoongi the business oops, ermm did i say angst, crying, hand holding since it’s a warning now, weapon mentions, wound mentions, yoongi on the phone :), blanket kicks incoming, feelings at an all time peak, fluff??, bro best bro, yoongi in tanks….., vmin best vmin, reader is so strong, but both siblings just need hugs man😩, studio………. time……?, things get so nasty i was blushing y’all ngl
explicit warnings: under the cut and dear god help me lmao
mood: off my face - justin bieber ; ojitos lindos - bad bunny
drop date: july 14th, 2026, 7:17pm est
word count: 25.2k…….. :’)))
explicit warnings: cursing, thigh riding, cowgirl, oral (m rec), naughty studio time(??), couch sex, rough sex, giving yoongi the business, bold as fuck reader, choking, spanking, penetrative sex, kissing deserves to be here too lol, alexa play no hands by waka flocka, deep throating, hair/head tugging, nipple play, yoongi in that gd tank, yoongi in those gd glasses, teasing, titty fucking hello!!!!, stripping while he watches…. yeah, missionary, sub!3tanyoongi?????, scratching, multiple orgasms, protected sex, emotional sex, good god they’re so hot i’m blushing
—
—
It’s morning when Jimin gets a call.
Shifting in sheets that aren’t his, he sleepily blinks once before eyeing the blue light with a squint, wondering who dares wake him up before his natural rise. What time even is it anyway? It’s gotta be an ungodly hour if his circadian rhythm is disturbed.
Still, he grabs his cell from the nightstand, flinching at the movement behind him and inwardly slinging out curses.
Because waking him up is one thing.
But if anyone disturbs Taehyung he’s gonna give them hell—
Min Yoongi: Incoming Call
Shit.
Jimin yanks the covers off, rushing out of bed and snapping Tae awake anyway. For what? Don’t fucking know, but they’re ready. Wherever. Whatever. They already stayed up clutching their phones until they physically couldn’t keep their eyes open.
Because as much as Yoongi assured him nothing would happen, Jimin still couldn’t let go of his car keys.
Answering slow, he feels his chest winding and winding, eyes locked with Taehyung while they both wait on edge, “…Yoongi?”
“Yeah.”
Thank the fucking stars.
Yoongi’s okay. He’s on the line. He made it to morning or whatever fucking time it is, and he’s doing exactly what he said he would.
And it’s enough, enough, enough.
Burns zing up the corners of Jimin’s eyes, and he swipes hard as Taehyung moves, likely to hear what’s happening and even more likely to just be by his side.
Jimin is grateful for either one. But he tries to keep composure as he croaks, “You better have woken me up for a reason.”
The slight hum on the line induces a wobbly smile. “You slept?”
“Fuck you,” Jimin shakily laughs, wiping liquid relief from an eye before Taehyung’s thumb brushes tenderly over the other. His gaze is thankful while continuing, “We did but not much.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Sniffling, Jimin walks to Tae’s door, letting him into the hallway first and finally drinking in the sight of his ass in those sweats. Because he can finally function like a normal, smitten loser again. “We’ll come over so we can—”
“No need.”
“What?” Nope. Back to panic mode. And judging from his boyfriend’s posture, Taehyung has backpedaled into that, too. “What do you mean no need?”
There’s a slight pause on the line, and small noises make their way through the speaker. It sounds like bedsheets, but it also sounds like…
“She’s still sleeping.”
Oh.
Oh, shit.
A tidal wave of relief crashes into Jimin’s ducts as he hangs his head, palming his face caught in a heavy tide of emotion. When he turns, Taehyung fairs no better, his eyes red and fingers wiping at a perfect, perfect cheek. One of them sniffles, but Jimin can’t tell if it’s him or not, because his vision is blurry and his heart is beating, beating, beating again.
Whether you know it or not, whatever you did last night may have just changed Yoongi’s entire life.
Because Jimin knows this man through and through. Years of picking up his habits and tells didn’t amount to nothing. It’s how he was able to sense exactly when to intervene, and how he knew exactly what that hauntingly hollow tone in Yoongi’s voice meant when he busted in that day.
The tone he hears now? The man that just spoke on the line?
That is a Min Yoongi so in love he can’t even hide it over the phone.
Fuck.
Gathering himself, Jimin squeaks out, “I… I’m glad you…” What the fuck does he say? Every thought jams in his throat so hard he has to hand the phone off.
Thankfully, Taehyung perfectly continues his thoughts, voice scratching rocks under a waking river, “We’re glad you’re both safe.”
“Mm.”
“So when’s the wedding?”
Jimin huffs through a fresh batch of tears, clearing his face before grinning at Tae very seriously awaiting an answer. Honestly, at this point? It’s not far-fetched. Jimin’s seeing your future clearer than his present, and maybe he will be a fun uncle sooner than he thinks.
If only Yoongi would just get the fucking talk with your brother over with.
But Jimin understands the hesitation. If he were in that same position, there’s no telling when he would be courageous enough to stand up to the guy. There’s a reason he’s quick to command a room, and his lifelong mission to protect his younger sister made him grow up a lot faster than everyone else.
Still… Yoongi just deserves to be happy. And you’re the very obvious answer to helping with that.
As much as he may have wanted some chances of his own, Jimin is grateful you found your way into his best friend’s heart. Not just anyone is invited inside, and even less people can truly be allowed to stay.
And you’re probably the only one that has permanent residence.
“You guys should get some sleep.”
Taehyung pouts right on cue, and Jimin can’t fight those sleepy, droopy eyes. “You didn’t answer me.”
Cute as fuck! He must be stopped. Taking the phone, Jimin speaks into the line fully recovered, shooting his cheeky partner a teasing glare, “We will if you get some, too.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Got some things to do at the studio—”
“No!” They reject together, both equally as appalled because what the fuck kinda answer is that?
“After what happened last night? Are you crazy?”
“What happened to spending time with her? Men!”
“He’s going on a business trip, I can’t lose to him.”
“So what?” Tae asks before they both share an even further confused look. Yoongi may be a lovesick fool but that doesn’t give him an excuse to be a dumbass! “You’re just gonna leave her alone?”
There’s a sigh on the line before Jimin plants a hand on his hip. “Not just that. You gotta rest, too, bro. If she doesn’t tell you to take it easy or at least get checked—which she will—we’re going over there to annoy you.”
“You serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious.” Jimin cocks his head and leans closer to the phone. “At least rest easy for the next couple days. Especially if you have all this time to see each other.”
The timing couldn’t be more perfect. Your brother is leaving for his trip and Yoongi caught some unfortunate hits to his ribs. The dude basically has a free pass to spend the whole week with you, and he’s not even taking full advantage of it? Oh, the things Jimin has to say about the thin line of work ethic and relationship effort.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Think about it for a long time,” Taehyung cuts in before Jimin can pop off, walking away into the living room.
It’s fine. Let him figure out that you aren’t a woman he can just leave. Frankly? That would tickle Jimin to no end to see Yoongi folding his plans so fast just to be with you.
But he spares him the tirade only because you’re fast asleep right next to him. “Thank you for calling, man.”
“Said I would.”
“I know.”
Because above all else, Jimin is happy to hear that voice. Even if it’s obvious he’s a little banged up from last night, it’s still Yoongi. In one piece. That’s all Jimin wanted, and he can’t thank you enough,
“Don’t overwork yourself, and stay with her as long as you can.”
There’s a small laugh on the other end. “I plan on it, Chim.”
And Jimin catches on to why. “I’m holding you to that then.”
—
—
Dawn breaks through open blinds, stretching its orange tint across a clean, spotless table.
You don’t know what got you up so early. But when you peer into the kitchen, you tell yourself you woke up right on time.
Because seeing Yoongi when you’re wide awake is better than any dream you’ll ever have.
Not because of his appearance, even though the sight of him sends a pang through your chest. No. It’s the way he’s quietly prepping a morning meal, using the arm on his better side that’s not sporting a nasty hit to the ribs, without you even asking.
Bits of sunlight dance right out of your eyes.
The effort. The consideration. This man shouldn’t be lifting a finger, yet here he is cooking before you even left his bed. Isn’t this the same man that got caught up in a fight hours ago? Isn’t this the same man you almost walked out on with a frozen heart?
Yes. But he’s also the same man that loves you. And you still can’t grasp that concept in any of the fingers playing with his tee you borrowed.
“Hi,” you whisper, telling him a thousand things.
To which he regards before smiling soft, voice travelling over linoleum and circling around your heart, “Morning, doll.”
Damn. You hear it. Yoongi’s sore as hell.
But instead of getting into that right away, you silently take residence by his side. Because this moment feels too delicate, and you admire his willingness to take care of you unprompted. You didn’t even know you’d eat before going back home.
With a hand warming his back, you wait until Yoongi’s done tossing food on the stove to peck his morning-chilled cheek. “Thank you for cooking,” you murmur, admiring those beautiful brown eyes. “Sleep okay?”
“Cus of you,” your lover softly responds, eyeing your lips before gliding back up to your gaze. “You?”
Ugh. He’s gotta know those glasses are so unfair. They’ve gotten you repeatedly before, and they’re certainly getting you now.
But you can’t help but deflate at the cuts behind those rims, while knowing there are even more bruises hiding underneath his oversized tee. How is Yoongi cooking right now? How is he even awake? “Same.”
“Good.”
These instant, deep shivers at his deeper morning voice will never, ever go away. But anything you wanna do about them isn’t important right now. Right now, you need to make sure Yoongi is either okay, or finds a way to get better.
Sliding your hands down the slopes of his chest, you delicately rest one on his ribs. “Does it still hurt?”
Yikes. That wince is enough. But Yoongi doesn’t shy away from your touch, and you appreciate the way he stays honest. “It’s sore. But I should be good.”
“You gonna get it checked?”
There’s a slight upward tilt of his lips. “Not right now.” At least the honesty persists, as much as you don’t want him following the typical manly response to hospital visits. “But I will if you want me to.”
“Please go,” you gently urge, lest you disturb the soft morning dew before it melts with the sunrise. “For me?”
Only sizzles from the stove fill the space until Yoongi nods, and his voice is just as low and tender, “I’ll go after work.”
Oh. “You’re working today?”
Just like breakfast, you didn’t expect this, either. Frankly, you figured neither of you were gonna even think about work, much less go. Sure, he’s due a hospital visit and you owe some friends immediate explanations for your absence. But other than that, shouldn’t Yoongi be resting?
Does his craft truly mean that much?
Well, shit. You gotta respect his work ethic, that’s for damn sure. Because you would sequester yourself to your bedroom and have endless dates with your television if you were sporting a good jab or two. This music thing must mean more to Yoongi than you previously thought. And who are you to step on that dream?
Suddenly, all thoughts and concerns flee from the kiss on your cheek.
“I’ll stay if you stay,” he says, turning to move the pan and scrunching his face with a grunt. Fuck.
“I…” Shit, you were gonna go back to the house anyway. And from Yoongi’s smartass smirk, you can tell he already knew that. “Just need to check on him, too. And he doesn’t have a car right now, so. I should at least give him a ride.”
“Figured.” In a move so domestic your head spins, Yoongi turns your body and gently pats your butt. “Now go sit. Let’s eat and figure this out.”
—
—
As you devour a flawless meal and clean your dishes, you plan out the day. You’ll head home and check on your brother while Yoongi heads to the studio, and then you’ll rendezvous with your friends to hang out until he’s done with work. They’re already lighting up your phone like no one’s business—especially Yuri.
Yoongi flicks the sink off before you both head to his bedroom, and you melt at the way he slowly wraps his arms around your front halfway there, all four of your legs slowing to close the rest of the distance.
What’s he doing? This is joyfully new, but you have a pretty tight deadline. Warming his forearm and your own cheeks, you chuckle out, “We have to hustle, old man.”
“You hustle me all the time,” he accuses into your shoulder blade, kissing its ridge and making you reconsider walking out the door entirely. “Lemme have this.”
Your second laugh is more subdued, and you’re right between his bed and desk when you lift both hands to hold him close. “You have everything I got,” you wisp into his skin, planting your lips once, twice before you feel his arms press further in. “So this is nothing.”
Seconds and silence slide by, the delicate veil of early morning still hovering around the room. When Yoongi doesn’t say anything, you make to turn and face him.
But you’re stopped before your heart skips.
“I could stay like this all day,” he admits, voice so low it rumbles through your bones. “And it’d be perfect.”
“What, you don’t wanna see my face?” You joke with a giggle. “Rude, but that’s fine.”
Yoongi only buries his nose further, his glasses sliding against your skin peeking from his shirt. “I’m much braver right here, doll.”
Oh.
The leap your heart does is more of a dive, plummeting into the seafoam swirling around your feet. All the words you want to respond with jump off right after, leaving you with nothing but the clouds in your eyes.
You don’t quite know what he means by that. But it feels like those six words hold the weight of a thousand, so you simply let another kiss on his smooth forearm linger. “Do you want me to go with you?”
A puff of laughter warms you right through and, despite his earlier admission, Yoongi does slowly spin you around.
And when you follow, you realize you’re much braver when you aren’t facing him, too.
“It’s not that, babe,” he says through a dashing curve. “But the offer was cute.”
“I take it back then.”
“Damn!”
Both of your laughs whoosh out and collide, sweeping as Yoongi pinches your side and you flinch towards the bed. “You fucker—!”
Before you know it, your back hits a comforter before a weight presses your stomach, emotions clashing as you’re elated and shy and immediately concerned for your boyfriend’s side. “Baby, be careful—”
Lips capture yours, sucking up your warning before a hand slides under your head. Sighing, you arch into his chest, feeling the weight of his chains slip across your breasts.
Euphoria isn’t an adequate enough word to describe how you feel. Where there used to be flutters in your ribcage now reside strong, powerful wing beats, gusts of want and desire lifting you off the ground and launching you into clear skies. Starlight of every color exists within each kiss you share, and your fingers feebly grab his tee to keep you from falling back down to earth.
“If we don’t go now,” Yoongi rasps before sliding his mouth against yours, “We’re never going anywhere again.”
“I know,” you whisper, willingly letting him kiss you once more, “Is that a promise?”
“Fuck, I wish.”
You do, too. But you know you’re running out of time for what you need to do. And weren’t you just saying you had to respect his aspirations? Shit, you really do need to snap out of it. “Come on,” you order with a pat to his chest. “We have all week to do this. We got time.”
Turns out, you’re still amongst the heavens. The way Yoongi’s looking at you? This is the closest you’ll ever get to being held by an angel.
Did he get more handsome overnight? Or is it the light in his eyes sustained since his confession in the kitchen? You don’t quite know, and you may never pinpoint why, but the tug he has on your heart spans space and time.
And you’ll run through both forever to keep meeting him again and again.
Burns prick your eyes, but he mercifully stands before he can catch any evidence of your yearning.
Just like that, the two of you bounce back to getting ready, with him sliding notebooks and headphones in a backpack while you change into your own clothes. As you sling your bag over a shoulder, he reaches for the closest hoodie, and you wordlessly make your way to the front door.
You really do hope he gets looked at today. But just like the calm after a storm, you want to encourage him gently rather than shove him out. At least he seems receptive to your gentle suggestions.
But after you ask one more time and he simply nods, you lower your eyes to his kicks. “Sorry if I’m nagging. I’d just worry less if you went right away, that’s all.”
“You aren’t nagging, babe.” Your freshly bloomed lover reaches out to hold your wrist, smoothing a rough thumb over your skin. Fucking hell, you can’t help but frown at the gashes and cuts marring his knuckles. “I’ll go as soon as I can.”
Not just his hands, but his face. His ribs. And maybe other places you haven’t even seen yet.
You don’t wanna leave his side.
But you have to head out before your brother leaves. Things need to get patched up before he flies out into more stress, and you owe him an apology for walking out when he was still aching. Based on Yoongi’s physical state? Your brother could be hiding some big wounds and you didn’t even wanna talk to him.
However. Was last night necessary? Absolutely. You cannot entertain the possible outcomes had you not tried hard enough to get through Yoongi’s door. His eyes were so dulled, his hands felt so cold. What would have happened if you didn’t force yourself inside?
Why was that guitar smashed to pieces?
This is also why you refuse to leave. So many questions, so many things you still don’t know. Like what all happened when you were separated? And how in the hell is this man in love with you?
“I don’t wanna go,” you confess, instantly encased in his arms and warmth. “I’d much rather keep kissing you.”
“True,” he says with a resigned huff, shifting his glasses with an adorable nose scrunch. If only he didn’t have so many little red lines of conflict on his face. “But we both have stuff to take care of, so let’s get all that done first.”
“Ugh, fine.” Your groan is more teasing than serious, and Yoongi’s laugh is nothing but understanding.
Damn. You still feel it. You really don’t wanna go. Be it the rawness of last night still on your skin, or the confessions still on your tongues, you just wanna stay by his side. “Sorry,” you breathe out, lacing your fingers to pepper love along his strong, reddened ridges. “I’m serious. I don’t wanna leave you right now.”
Walking out of Yoongi’s door just doesn’t feel right. Even if he’s right there and will be following you out. Is this feeling normal? Are you supposed to feel this tightly woven to someone? Because the stitching between your hearts has only gotten stronger in the tempest of last night, as if you bonded together just to hold on for dear life.
Maybe that’s exactly what happened. And it’s exactly why you can barely take one step out of his place.
“Then don’t.”
Not one second passes before your chin is held, and lips slide so tenderly across yours that they may as well melt into your touch. Your reaction is quickly swooped into his mouth, and everything falls away as you let him seize your every thought. Lightning from last night zips out of your limbs, your toes, your fingers clasping his loose tee.
You might just cry where you stand.
How have his kisses gotten even better? How have you never felt this way even though you’ve done this far more times than you were ever supposed to? It should be impossible, and yet, this man finds even more ways to astound you.
Yoongi slips a hand over your cheek, giving one more beautiful push of his lips as he confesses, “I don’t wanna leave you, either.”
And your breath stutters onto his features. “You, too?”
Slow, he kisses your cheek, the clear rim of his specs skimming your nose. When he draws back, you look right into his eyes, wondering why he’s watching your mouth instead.
“Me, too.” Yoongi kisses your other side with a quiet peck. “Fuck, me, too.”
You fucking hate what you have to do, but you don’t have a choice.
With one last lingering kiss, you both gather enough courage to set out and do what you must.
—
—
Your house is already a flurry of activity as you enter to see your brother in the kitchen, packing his leather duffle that’s a constant companion on his trips.
Of course. The memory of him purchasing the lavish accessory pops into your head every time you watch him scurry around, dimples ever present on his proud cheeks. It’s almost enough to make you smile yet again.
But you can’t when the same face is currently scratched to hell. Just like Yoongi’s, if not worse.
Fuck, is he really gonna travel looking like that?
“Hey,” he rasps out, still fighting off slumber. “You’re back earlier than I thought.”
“Wanted to check on you before we left.” Fuck, your voice sounds like it’s being forced through a clogged pipe. Loosen the hell up! “And dude. Put some bandaids on, yeah?”
“Yeah, just give me a sec. Making sure I have everything before my ride gets here.”
“Huh?” He got a ride? You’re here now so you can take him to the airport. “You sure you don’t need me to drive you?”
“Yeah, it’s all good. I didn’t know you were coming back.”
Shit. His body seems just as angular as it did last night. Which, quite frankly, could still be from what went down in the lot.
Because even though you see both men banged up, you suddenly realize you don’t actually know what all transpired.
After all, there wasn’t much talk of it after you walked into the tempest of Yoongi’s living room.
Of course, you aren’t gonna bring it up just this second. There are other things to ask about and make sure of first. “Wallet? Phone? Passport?”
“Yup, yup, uhh.. Yup.”
Zippers sling in the quiet morning air as you continue, “And you’re coming back on Friday, right?”
“Oh.. Nah.” When you start crossing the kitchen, your brother hauls his leather bag over his better shoulder. Honestly, no one would be able to tell the other one’s bruised with his suit on. That thing damn well covers everything except the cuts on his face and hands. “Saturday.”
You pause in your journey to the medicine cabinet. “Wait.. Saturday? The release party’s on Friday.”
“Yeah.. I know.”
What the fuck? That’s bullshit they’re keeping him longer than they have to. Struggling to understand how corporate can keep your brother on a leash and get away with it, you urge, “Tell them to at least let you go home a day early. Don’t you wanna support your friends?”
“You mean Yoongi?”
A zing of terror zips through your eyes, freezing every vein in an instant.
The fuck was that question? Never mind. Stay calm stay calm stay fucking calm. “Uhh, yeah, he’s one of them? But the other guys, too, right? I know you care about them and this is huge.”
Mercifully, your sibling just shakes his head and waves you off. “Don’t you think I already tried? I don’t wanna miss it but I don’t have a choice. Conference schedule is pretty tight and I’m heading the panel on Friday.”
“Is it in the morning? You can fly out after—”
“Why are you fighting so hard?”
“Why aren’t you fighting harder!”
Okay, what in the hell is happening right now? Screw optics and how this must look for you, your brother needs to be there. Him and Yoongi are the tightest of friends, the most ride or die duo you’ve ever seen. You can’t picture a timeline where he misses this monumental moment, and it’s starting to really upset you that he’s barely trying.
“You think I’m not fighting for it?”
“I certainly don’t think you’re trying enough—”
“Alright, you know what?” Hard steps surge forward as you stand rigid, a duffle hastily dumped onto tile. “You don’t know what I’ve tried. You don’t even know if I even told him yet.”
Fucking shit. You hold his stare before turning away, tossing out the idea of bandages entirely and searing footsteps into the hallway—
“Or do you.”
Before icing over with the unforgiving frost of zero gravity space.
Slow, you turn, not quite facing him but not backing down, either. “…Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You talkin’? What else has he been doing to you?”
Oh. Fuck that.
Doing to you?
Fuck all of this. This is too much to handle right now and you know you’re gonna snap if he keeps pushing because you are not having this conversation right before he leaves. You’ve already thought about this before, right? You cannot fuck with his head right before business trips because he needs to be on and locked in.
But now he’s fucking with your temper and those are some choice fucking words pulled out of his ass.
You don’t think you’ve ever legitimately threatened this man to his face and meant it before, and it tears a sharp corner of your heart, “You better be very careful. With whatever you wanna say next.”
The air proves too thick to slice. While your body stands aflame, your brother is iced over, brimming with an energy that damn near takes physical form. “All I’m saying is? I find out some fucking bullshit is going on—”
No no no, not now.
Reacting fast is your only instinct, brain haywire and fizzling fizzling boiling. Harsh, you spin on your heel and shout the first thing you can think of, “Oh, come on—”
“You better hope to god you’re ready for what’s coming—”
“Stop!” Fuck fuck fuck, this is so frustrating because your head is exploding and your body is screaming to just tell him already. Fuck the consequences at this point this is ludicrous.
Doing to you? Yoongi? How dare he speak about his best friend like that how dare he accuse him without outright saying the words all you have to do is tell your brother how wrong he’s got it.
But you can’t be the one. Yoongi said he would, and he probably took months to get to that point of strength—and healing, from what you can tell.
This is between them. Them. You have to honor that, as much as you wanna just confess everything now and deal with it yourself.
But goddamn your brother is pulsing with anger and it’s leaking into your own charged air.
What does he think is happening? Does he think Yoongi’s just, what, playing you? He’s wrong. He’s so wrong. Yoongi’s been nothing but the best thing that’s ever happened to you and shit your heart hurts because…
Your brother is valid in thinking that.
How foolish. Didn’t you guard your heart from Yoongi for the longest? Didn’t everything start because you figured you knew who he was because of his reputation? You got him all wrong, too. So how can you be mad at your brother for doing the same?
Fuck, think. Just think before someone gets hurt.
Because if you aren’t careful, someone—or multiple someones—will get hurt in seconds. You have to bear the pain alone right now. To protect them both, you have to keep your trembling mouth shut.
And? You have to admit that something isn’t fair here. Not to you, not to Yoongi, but to him. Last night was rough as fuck but, while you both got to have raw, beautiful closure, the one standing in front of you had to go to sleep in an empty house.
So chill the fuck out.
Breathing to cool down, you tense and loosen, tense and loosen. “I get it. You’re angry, and you have a lot going on. But,” you bite down on your lip to keep going. “We’re talking about something else. We’re talking about you, and I’m still pissed you even let those guys goad you into a fight. What are we, twelve?”
Seething, your sibling takes the switch of pace. But it is not what you want to hear. “Are you seri—? What the hell was I supposed to do? That son of a bitch grabbed you—”
“I know,” you recoil. “Don’t tell me like you were there, because you weren’t.”
Finally—finally—those angry lines in his face vanish.
But they make way for something much worse than anger. Because your older brother, someone that’s been there for you your whole life..
Looks absolutely stricken over the one time he wasn’t.
Damn it.
Regretful, you drop your shoulders in exhaustion and quiet compromise. When you continue, your voice is much softer, “But I told you: they were. Your friends, they were there because they knew you wanted that. Jimin got me away, Yoongi took me home and stayed.”
You really have got to stop saying his name like you love him. It could start becoming too obvious.
Shuddering, you shift your weight, folding your arms and shrinking into yourself.
That night, despite Yoongi’s best and most gentle efforts, still clings to where that loser touched you at Dalo. You hate that you haven’t gotten over it, and you loathe the way you still rub over the same spot. Over, and over. “What did you want him to do? Leave me here?”
“No.”
“Exactly. And he didn’t.” You adjust your stance again, making an impromptu gamble as you decide to let some truth leak out. Because your brother is owed at least this much. “And fine, you wanna know something? We do talk more because of it.”
Your brother’s head snaps up, and you brace. Because if you show any shred of weakness or hesitation, he’ll see right through your weak attempt to hide most of the truth,
“But don’t ever accuse him of doing anything to me. That was fucked up to say and you know it.”
“Fuck.” In agreement, he rubs his hair back. “It was. I’m sorry.”
“Trust me,” you swallow, hating that this is how things have to be for now. “You have nothing to worry about. He’s never.. Never done anything to me, anyway.”
It’s not a lie. Everything he’s done has been with you. For you. Because of you.
But your heart’s in anguish as it sinks. Because that expression on your older sibling’s face can only be one thing.
Pure. Utter. Relief.
Fire singes your eyes before you can quell the flame. It’s the hardest technical truth to swallow.
Sure, he doesn’t have anything to worry about as far as you being safe. And on top of that, he doesn’t have to worry about any fake shit because Yoongi confessed to you last night.
But as far as his best friend sleeping with and now dating his sister behind his back? That is still very much sitting right in the center of the table.
And now you’re starting to see just how fucked all three of you are as soon as you sit down to eat the truth.
But Yoongi said he’d be the one to tell, so he will.
This feeling is so fucking miserable, though.
In the end, your brother is effectively convinced, raking a hand across his head and sighing. “Jimin told me what all went down at Dalo, I just… Last night was… Fucked up.”
“Well, yeah.”
“No. See, this is just like what you said to me. You can’t say it like you were there.”
It’s your stomach’s turn to twist. “So? You were scratched and bruised to hell, and Y…” Shut up, shut up. You’re not supposed to know about the state of anyone else. “And you were… quieter.”
“Because of what happened, dude.”
You blink. “What… What happened?”
Your brother looks at you—really looks at you.
And suddenly, your gut flares in terror, storming in an instant across your abdomen.
“That bitch pulled something on us.”
Your heart.
It’s in freefall.
“Wait… What?” You can’t even form more than one syllable at a time, your legs turning gelatinous and knees starting to give out. “No… What are you…?”
What the fuck did he just say? That bitch pulled a what?
Your sibling slowly walks toward you once again, watching like he’s just waiting for you to say anything. Do anything.
But you’re a complete statue because all you can think about is the horror of something happening and the relief that nothing happened all at once.
Was Yoongi too scared to mention that part? Is this why he was holding back and shaking every time he reached out to touch you? Even this morning, he was so…
You’ve never seen him like that. Is this why?
Your mind is swirling and crashing, overlapping each passing thought and scream running through your head. “I’m so sorry,” you hitch out, “I didn’t know. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Didn’t wanna scare you,” he sighs out. Putting both hands on his hips, your brother stops feet away, visibly still shook as he pierces wooden planks with his stare. “But he pulled it right before Yoongi… and if it weren’t…Fuck.”
Burns flare and slice through your eyes when he has to pause. What is he trying to say? Pulled what?
Before Yoongi what?
Your brother continues, and your throat tightens. “If it weren’t for some random ass sirens, I… Things could’ve been so different.”
What the fuck is happening. What the hell are you hearing?
“It was probably dumb as fuck. But I was so fucking angry,” he grits out, watery eyes crushed looking your way. “So fucking mad at how he was talking about you, I.. Walked right up to him and told him to fuck off.”
You can’t even breathe.
“I still feel it,” he quietly adds, fingers pressed against his side. “Right here.”
“Fuck,” you finally choke out, eyes on fucking fire.
“But all I knew was to keep you all safe,” he says, with hardened resolve and a wobbly chin. “And that’s exactly what I did. I did that shit, even if that meant—”
Tears fling out of your eyes, flowing hot down your cheeks because you wouldn’t want any of them to go out that way. Nothing happened nothing happened nothing happened and yet your body is acting as if something did and it hurts.
Your brother is there as soon as you crumple forward, letting you bury your head in his chest and sob your heart out. For him, for his friends, and for all the time you had with the man you love so, so dearly.
If anything happened to your brother before you came clean… If anything happened before you and Yoongi could even…
Suddenly, you feel equal weights of guilt. For running out on your brother. And for almost walking out on Yoongi.
You decide an apology is in order for both of them, and all the understanding in the world for Yoongi’s frosted demeanor as soon as you get him alone again.
And you are one hundred percent going to tell your brother everything once he’s back.
The tears cannot stop, and you’re sure you are crying unimpeded in a pressed and primmed suit. “I’m so sorry,” you keep repenting like a prayer. “This is all my fault.”
“No—”
“You almost—”
“Hey, stop.” He yanks you back, both of your faces soaked with saltwater. “What did I say before? I threw the first swing. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But it led to all this, I just.. I just feel so fucking stupid.”
“Don’t. Hey, look at me.” Firm but gentle, he holds you at arm’s length, forcing you to face him. “Maybe we’re both stupid, but you weren’t the idiot. I was.”
You feel so many conflicting things in your soul.
What would you have done if Yoongi was in critical condition? What would you have done differently if your brother was instead? Are they the same? Are the two situations really so different anymore?
No they aren’t they aren’t they aren’t.
“Please don’t do that again,” you shake out. “Even if it was for me, if I ever lost you, I...”
“You know I can’t promise anything.” He furrows his brows when you eye him with anger and sadness. “But nothing like that is happening again. Especially with the same dudes.”
“Okay.”
A vicious tornado of emotions sends your whole body into agonizing pain. This isn’t what you expected at all, and it’s causing your limbs to lock at the bends. Too many scenarios are jangling about yet you can’t ask for specifics because that will just make it even more real.
A nightmare is somehow better once you know it ends with you waking up. “I’m… gonna need some time to process everything.”
“I know. And I wasn’t planning on saying anything, but… You deserve to know the things I get into.”
Ah.
The irony is not lost on you.
“At least, if they involve you. We learned our lesson. You were right to tell us off.”
God. You feel numb.
“Thanks,” you murmur, suddenly immensely tired. “I think I need more sleep.”
A blaring honk sounds outside the house, and you both flinch at the noise.
And your throat burns at the way your brother instinctively swept you behind his back.
When you realize what it is, you know what has to come next.
And he’s the first to react as he turns to face you again, “Alright. I’m heading out, just remember to go get my baby when she’s fixed, yeah?”
“Do you have to go?”
Wait.
The question seems to startle him as much as it does you.
How did you blurt it right out before even registering the words? Why does your heart clench at the sight of those eyes looking so pained?
Why does everything feel so shaky within these walls that were always your home?
“I do,” he says, voice tight. “I’m sorry.”
And why the fuck do you feel sad he’s leaving?
“No, no, it’s.. Of course you have to.” You can’t help the lump in your throat from bobbing, the regret in your limbs as they barely move at your side. “I dunno why I asked, I guess I just..”
There’s no response to your sniffle.
“Sorry for yelling,” you squeak out. “I just feel really queasy.”
For a lot more reasons than one.
“We all made it out,” your brother whispers. “That’s what matters.”
“Will you… Will you at least try to be back for the party?”
The man swallows with his brows knit tight, then attempts to crack the tiniest smile. “You know I will. That’s my guy.”
“Okay.” You nod, sniffling again. After what he just told you? You know he’ll do anything for the ones he loves. “See you there.”
Your brother rubs a comforting palm over your head before turning, heading for the door and grabbing his leather duffle.
When he stops to glance at you one more time, you give a little wave of your hand before watching the door click shut.
Chest caving as you collapse to the ground in tears.
—
—
The need to call Yoongi burns so harshly your fingers damn near set your top aflame.
But he’s at work, and you can’t fuck things up right when you’re approaching the finish line. You almost did with your brother, and that gave you twelve heart attacks in the span of minutes.
Still. Your chest aches so much that a thirteenth could very well be approaching. You don’t even realize you’re bracing the hallway wall for support until you try to stand, back sore and aching from bending so far for so long.
What did your brother mean to say about Yoongi? What did that coward pull on them? Do you even want to know what happened?
Fighting back tears, you reach down for your phone, shakily typing out a message only to erase it. Then again. And again.
And again.
Giving up, you forcefully swallow all your worries, cringing at the bitterness of the unknown and the burnt molasses of hidden truths.
It’s going to be okay. No matter what you think or imagine in your head, they made it out, they made it out, they are all alive.
That’s the only reason you can move forward, each step getting you from your room. To your bathroom.
And back again.
—
—
After showering, you feel lighter and refreshed, though the soreness between your legs has yet to leave.
But you wouldn’t want it any other way, as it’s another reminder of Yoongi’s apparent brush with survival. His broken living room spurned the creation of your bond, your devotion to him as he confessed before you gave him your utmost trust in his sheets.
The end is so close. As soon as this week is over, you’ll rip the last bit of peel from your pair of tangerines, baring all truths to your brother and facing the consequences.
Finally ready, you head to your car, opening your text threads with a plan: start slow.
Start with something that can be interpreted neutrally if anyone saw it on his phone screen, especially if your headstrong ex is in the room.
You [12:31pm]: how are you feeling?
Yoongi [12:34pm]: 1 Attachment
You close your door with brows furrowed.
Yoongi’s at the hospital?
That’s not what you expected at all.
Your chest swells with relief knowing he’s there, but you also wanna make sure he’s feeling okay. Especially his mental state after whatever the fuck your brother just dropped on you before leaving.
Goddamn, that’s going to gnaw at your brain until you find the right time and right amount of courage to ask about it. Because it’s very possible Yoongi won’t tell you.
Because it’s probably something he knows you won’t like.
Fuck.
You [12:34pm]: Loved an Attachment
You [12:34pm]: thank you for listening🤍 still sore?
Yoongi [12:35pm]: Yeah, but not bad. Just there.
Wait. He’s not at the studio. That means you can—
Yoongi: Outgoing Call
“Hey.”
“Hey,” you slowly say as you pull out into the street. “I’m driving now so this is easier.”
“Course. You going to Tae’s?”
“Maybe. I’m going to Yuri’s first.” You swallow, realizing that you didn’t tell him about what you let slip before driving over. “I.. Told her. About you.”
There’s a little bit of silence on the line, just some adjustments and muffled speaker sounds. “Sorry, just writing this down. What’s wrong with that?”
You huff through your nose. Gotta be those patient forms that always take forever to fill out. “Oh. Just more and more people knowing, is all.”
“Everyone’s gonna know eventually.”
You hold back a small smile. Because he’s right. “Yeah. I’m just tired of this feeling.”
“Like you’re hiding something.”
It’s your turn for silence. He doesn’t know how accurately that was played out today. The only answer you can provide is a curt, “Exactly.”
“Same.”
Wings beat around your heart again.
He wants this. Yoongi really, really wants this. And years ago, that outcome wouldn’t have even crossed your mind as an option.
“Thank you for going, baby.”
“The guys made me.”
You hum. “Which ones.”
After a pause, you hear a puff of amusement. “All of them at some point today, actually.”
All of them? Does that include your brother? Did they talk about the trip already?
Your laugh is bittersweet. “Well. Glad to know you can be forced by everyone else except me.”
“Hey, I was already gonna go because of you!” Yoongi quietly retorts, and you giggle at the pout in his words. “Just wanted to get a headstart on work first.”
You were right. He really does wanna go all out for his musical endeavors.
It’s extremely admirable, and wildly attractive, but it does come to a point. “As much as I love your passion, old man, I wanna keep you upright.”
He laughs soft into the line, and you think you can listen to that specific sound on an infinite loop. “That’s fair.”
“How long is it gonna take, you think?”
“Dunno. But I’ll keep myself busy until I’m out.”
Of course he will. You don’t doubt he won’t waste any time. Didn’t he bring journals in his backpack? You wouldn’t be surprised if he wrote ten thousand songs before being called in. “Just call me if you need anything, please?”
“Of course, babe.”
“Thank you,” you say with utmost sincerity. “If only my brother would be less stubborn and get checked, too.”
“He’ll probably do it once he gets there.”
“Did you convince him?”
“Nah. But once he knows I did, he’ll do it.”
“Figures.” You scoff. “Okay, I’m almost there. Let me know how it goes.”
“K. Bye, doll.”
You didn’t ask him what went down. But it’s not the time nor place, and you have plenty of chances this week to figure out when that would be—if at all.
“Talk soon.”
—
—
For a normally bustling household, Yuri’s house is quiet.
So it’s not shocking when you walk into the kitchen and see all your friends glance your way, slowly vacating their chairs with eyes never leaving your face. Even Reia is on high alert.
Did Yuri tell her? Did Yuri tell anyone else?
No. She’s a talker and loves spilling, but she promised. And when she promises something, you know you can trust her to keep it.
It’s what pours emotion in your voice as you meekly greet, “Hey, guys—”
A crushing hug closes your throat. Yuri’s the one that gets to you first, with Reia and Dominique waiting their turns to offer you healing, relieved embraces.
“What happened?”
“Scared us half to death.”
Dom puts you at arm’s length to give a once over, noting your face rubbed raw and eyes still a little bloodshot. Thankfully, her pupils hold more concern than disappointment. “You good?”
Your eyes wobble alongside your smile, and you think it’s enough proof. “More than that,” you still decide to whisper, and your heart beats again at her reaction.
“Thank god. I was ready to kick your ass if you weren’t.”
Heading up to Yuri’s room, you all wait until the door is swung back before mounting her canopy bed, sitting in a tight circle as you divulge everything.
Well. Almost everything.
You tell them that Yoongi is the one you’ve been seeing, how you went to check on him last night in a panic, and the terrifying reason why. When you mention the fight after the basketball game, all three of your friends erupt in questions, and you have to assure them everything turned out okay. Honestly, you also do this to assure yourself, too.
“So… Your brother’s just fine with all of this?” Reia asks, not noticing the tick of Dom’s jaw.
“Well,” you start with a higher pitch, earning a pair of groans. “He doesn’t exactly know yet—”
“Yup. He’s gonna murder him.”
“Yeah, should we say our condolences now or..”
“How long has this been going on?” Reia fires off another question that digs into your chest. “Was he the one you were seeing the whole time?”
“Yes,” you admit with a sigh. “I should’ve told you guys from the beginning, but. The whole thing just felt so delicate. But! We just started making things official recently, so..”
Dom turns your way. “Official how?”
Well. Here goes everything.
With a shaky breath, and lingering feelings from the time it happened, you reveal with watery eyes, “Yoongi… Told me he loves me.”
Both Yuri and Reia react in yelps, Dom’s gaze lowering as the girls reach to grab your hands.
Wait. What’s going on with her? She’s the one that knows the most, she’s the one that covered for you all those months ago. She has to be the one that is the least surprised at all this.
Blinking, you note to confront her about it later. Right now, you’re too focused on trying not to cry as your friends tumble out questions and support,
“He said it? Did you say it first or did he?”
“How did it happen! Oh, I’m so happy for you, babe—”
“Thank—thank you, Yuri,” you squeeze out as she hugs you close. “I couldn’t believe it, but he just.. Said it. We weren’t even doing anything, I was just.. Looking up what injuries he could have..”
And he confessed in the most Yoongi fashion he could have.
Looking back, it shouldn’t shock you at all. He’s always found ways to sweep you off your proverbial feet, so why would a confession plucked from the heavens be any different?
She lets you go before wiping her eyes, Reia and even Dom now sporting watery pupils, too.
“As much as I’m upset at you for not telling us, I’ve never been so happy for you.” When Yuri’s features crease in another sob, you sniffle along with the rest. “It’s been so long since you… And you really.. Fuck.”
You know what she’s trying to say, and the realization has your throat constricting so tight.
It’s been forever since you’ve had something like this, someone like this. When you and Jungkook were together, you told him that you loved him before he broke it off.
Sure, you bought the rings together, but he never uttered those words until years after when it didn’t even matter. And all your relationships after his were complete and utter bullshit, so you don’t think you ever even heard those three words and knew them to be true.
Yoongi was the first to ever say them so sincerely.
And that fact makes your ducts burn and burn.
And when Yuri finally speaks, it breaks the dam holding your real deluge back,
“I can’t think of anyone else that deserves to be loved more than you.”
All at once, everything streams out as you hunch forward. The pain of everything you’ve endured, the hopelessness of knowing you’d most likely end up alone, the excruciating prospect of a future that you never deemed bright, or peaceful, or comforting.
And to think that even this man could’ve been snatched away from you in a snap? Even more tears overlap with the ones you’re shedding, and you can’t even reach out to hug all three beautiful, angelic souls surrounding you with tight arms and sobs because your limbs lock at all bends.
It’s the exact release you need. All your friends supporting you, all the pent up anxiety of last night and today, the truth setting itself free in some capacity—all in the comfort of a plushie-laden bed you only doubted yourself in last time.
Everything’s gonna be alright. It has to be. You’re gonna fight for the ones you love, even if a war between them is inevitable.
It takes a few minutes of heavy silence for you all to separate, swiping and rubbing tears while letting out happy sniffles.
When you thank them for being understanding, they assure you it’s okay. And when you say you’re going to tell your brother soon, a force from the doorway has all of you leaping from lilac sheets,
“Tell him what?”
Jia stands firm with a laundry basket at her hip, and Yuri scoffs at her older sister for barging in. “A knock would’ve been nice!”
Fuck!
You can’t tell Jia of all people. If you spill anything about Yoongi, she’s one hundred percent going to tell your brother. They’re the same age, and run in pretty tight circles, so of course you are not going to risk it.
But you can tell her something else you’re going to tell your older sibling, so you fire out a half-truth,
“Tell him not to pick any other fights that could get him killed.”
Jia’s eyes zoom to your wrecked face, and she drops the laundry with haste before asking, “What happened? When? Tell me now.”
Huh. Maybe your brother has a type, if he’s still into Jia like he said before.
You feel a little spark in your chest as you let her know they all got in a scuffle after the basketball game, and another pang as she immediately abandons the room and clothes with a fierce declaration,
“I’m gonna kill them myself!”
“Don’t worry, I already hounded my brother!” You call out after her, sighing as Yuri shakes her head with a smile. “She gets like that when she’s really worried, huh.”
“Yeah..” Your friend leans to look around you, noticing the basket left alone on the ground. “And if she’s super fired up, she drops everything and doesn’t stop until it’s handled. Clearly.”
Maybe both older siblings really are similar.
The firestorm of an interruption seemed to break the tension in the room, with all of you finally relaxing and catching up. When they ask you questions, you answer what you can.
And when you divulge information that has your ears burning, their squeals and yells give you whole new reasons to live.
—
—
After a very comforting lunch Yuri’s mom cooked, you head to the bathroom when your phone suddenly vibrates through your palm.
Huh? That’s weird. You expect the name on your screen to be Taehyung, not Yoongi.
Not that it’s a bad thing. You’ve been waiting to hear from him, so this is a pleasant surprise.
Closing the door to the guest bathroom, you gaze at the calming sage decor with a smile. “Hi, how did it—”
“You’re coming over later, right?”
Oh, shit. Is he okay?
“Yes, baby,” you respond with a soothing lilt, ears perked and body on high alert.
Does he think you aren’t anymore? You both decided on the plans earlier. Surely he knows you’d never just flake on him. “I’m coming back once you’re done with work, remember?”
There’s an uncomfortable pause on the line, which makes your boyfriend’s next question jab you so far in the lungs you can’t breathe,
“…Can it be now?”
Shit.
Just like Jia earlier, you drop every plan you have to the wayside. You’re sure that Taehyung will understand, and you already got through the biggest conversation you needed to with your friends.
“Of course,” you whoosh out. “Lemme just say bye and I’ll go.”
“Take your time.” A small shuffling interrupts. “It’ll take me a bit to get back.”
“Okay. See you there.”
The strained urgency in his voice makes your hair stand on end, so you vacate the bathroom to inform the girls that you gotta go—but not without a quick head tilt towards Dom, who follows you outside and into the afternoon sun.
—
—
You wait until you’re next to your car on the street, turning with a concerned expression and jittery nerves, “What’s up with you? Did I do something wrong?”
Turns out, you read Dominique correctly. Her jaw locks before loosening, and it reminds you of the time she confronted you about Yoongi before. God, how much has changed since then. That feels like ages and ages ago.
“It’s not about you,” your best friend clears the air and the tightness in your shoulders. “I’m just.. Glad he came around.”
“Yoongi?” When Dom nods, you blink. “Wait, what?”
“At your house that night.. After he left your room, we had—I dunno, a heart-to-heart.” She sighs, flicking braids over her shoulder. You note to compliment the beads she chose this time, because they remind you of summer and simpler times. “I might’ve pressured him a bit, and.. I think he wanted to tell me that he loved you. All the way back then.”
Something in your heart stutters, and you can only repeat your last question, “What?”
“Yeah. Something about needing to do something first,” she continues, holding your gaze with perfect brows furrowed in sunlight. “But I could tell he was damn serious about whatever it was. And if he was willing to do it for you? I let it go.”
Your mind whirls.
Yoongi was already in love with you back then? Is that why he needed to let you go? To deal with whatever he had to do?
One side of you breaks thinking he had to go through all that alone; the other side is screaming at his past self for not even giving you a choice. What did he go through? What did he have to do?
Now you really have to see him. Immediately.
“Thank you, Dom,” you rush out while opening your door. “I’m just happy it’s over.”
“The hell it’s not.” Shooting you a glare that heats the oncoming breeze, she reminds, “It’s not over until your brother knows. And based on everything that’s happened? That conversation is not gonna go over well.”
A dark, simmering boil starts in your stomach, and you’re already feeling queasy again. Tightening your door handle, you gulp hard. “I know.”
“Trust me, I’m happy for you both. I am.” Both hands find her hips as she levels a gaze that you really, really don’t enjoy. “But I’m gonna be honest, I think this is gonna ruin their friendship for good.”
Both of your lungs clamp shut.
“Please don’t say that,” you beg, “I’m gonna fight for all of us. I will.”
“I don’t doubt that, babe. Hey, uh uh, come here.” Reaching out, she gives you a tight hug just when you feel fragile again.
“Listen to me. I don’t doubt that,” she says into your shoulder. “I’m just here to be realistic. Just don’t be shocked if that’s how it goes. We’ll be here for you no matter what, too.”
“Okay,” you say with a scrunched face into her scent. God, she always smells so good, and it’s almost enough to calm you down. Almost almost almost. “Thank you. But I’m not giving up.”
“That’s my girl.” She squeezes you one more time. “I love you.”
With eyes searing over, you choke and grip her tighter. “I love you, too.”
—
—
Yoongi’s door warms your back as you wait for him to show.
But there’s a good chance it can just be your volcanic anxiety.
Ever since your arrival, you’ve paced, you’ve gnawed on your lips, you’ve had to shake the nerves out of your hands.
And over and over, you’ve strained your neck to look for your favorite cat, because you could sincerely use even a glimpse of her right now.
While she doesn’t end up showing, Yoongi rounds the nearest corner minutes after your last desperate scan.
Fuck, he’s so handsome.
Even now, as he simply walks toward you with a backpack slung over his shoulder, you watch with undying yearning to feel those flowing bangs over his forehead. You’d even settle for a single touch of his cheeks, one of them currently sporting a thin bandage.
But the closer Yoongi gets, the quicker your admiration morphs into concern. There’s a deep bend in his brows that you can’t decipher, and his fist is balled pretty tight.
Seriously, what happened? He looks so troubled that you slowly push off the doorway to ask,
“Baby, what’s—”
A bag hits the ground before you’re swooped into a kiss so electric your lips spark.
Him. Him, him, and more him. For the love of everything you don’t understand what’s happening but you kiss Yoongi back with everything you have, arms slinging around his strong shoulders and tugging him closer because he clearly needed this.
And fuck if you didn’t need it just as much. Screw it if anyone sees you. This is all you want and you’ll stay right here until he pulls away.
When he finally does, both of you swallow to catch your breaths, and your soul glimmers when his forehead meets yours.
“Hi, baby,” you whisper to his exhales. “Missed you, too.”
Silent, your lover kisses your forehead before hugging you close, and you’re more sure of your prediction than ever. Something is bothering him.
He doesn’t look worse, at least. But there’s clearly something off and he’s not hiding it. His lack of words is loud enough.
“Let’s go inside,” you quietly suggest. “I would’ve gone in already but I don’t have a key.”
He nods, fishing out his keyring to let you both inside.
When you set your bags down and slip off your shoes, it’s only seconds before you’re softly pulled into a hug again, surprising yet so, so welcoming.
Even only after a few hours, you’ve missed the fuck out of him. Which makes all of this an outright dream.
“Sorry,” Yoongi finally murmurs against your shoulder. “I just…”
“Nothing to be sorry for.” You stroke a hand along his hair, massaging his scalp and loving how soft it feels. The windswept strands fall back into place as you keep running your fingers through. “Did you at least get your appointment?”
“Yeah, I did.” He buries his face further. “Nothing bad. Just can’t lift anything heavy for a couple days.”
“Good. That’s easy to manage,” you whisper back into his tee, feeling the chill of lingering air conditioning and body warmth all at once. “Is something else bothering you?”
“Not exactly.” Whatever that means. “I’ll tell you about it later. Just wanted this, and you.”
Oh. That’s…
“I’m here now, love,” you assure with a melting heart, wondering what happened to cause this behavior.
Is it because of last night? Or something that happened today? You’re anxious all over again, but from the way Yoongi’s acting, your worries are second to his. “Have you eaten yet?”
He shakes his head, only pulling you closer with not a word from his lips.
And from this point on, you make a silent vow to yourself. Whatever Yoongi needs, you’re going to take care of him.
No matter what, these next few days are all about him—a minuscule sacrifice in comparison to everything he’s done for you, whether you knew about it or not.
“I’ll make you something then. Come on.”
When you walk, you slip your hand down his arm to hold his hand, and your lead into his kitchen is short.
“Any requests?” You cheerfully ask as you spare a smile over your shoulder. “We can do… Something light…”
Only to see him staring back with nothing but a lingering sense of longing.
Okay.
You need to get to the bottom of this now.
Stopping right over linoleum, you leave no room for arguments, “Yoongi. Tell me what’s wrong.”
He blinks before his gaze meets the floor. So you’re confused when he simply, quietly..
Laughs?
“It’s not that something’s wrong,” he slowly starts, a shy smile carving his features. “For the first time in my life, nothing’s wrong.”
Your heart beats extra loud.
“But it’s too much to explain right now.” His eyes rise to meet yours. “Just know that I’m so in love with you.”
Oh.
“And I want you to know that every day I live.”
Fuck.
Your body responds before you can say anything, lips connecting to remove any need for speech. The knowledge of them all staring death in the face last night makes this confession sear your insides, and you can’t help but kiss him like you’ll never get to again.
Yanking him back, you spin on your heel until he flings into the kitchen, clutching your wrists before gripping your jaw with both hands.
His mouth heats on yours, his glasses the only barrier between your skin. Everything sizzles from your head to your toes, and you both bang into a countertop before—
“Fuck, ouch.”
“Shit, you okay?”
Yoongi rubs his side with one eye pinched shut, a corner of his teeth present. “Yeah. Worth it, though.”
“Be serious,” you reprimand. Looks like he’s gonna have to take it easy, which means no going at it like animals until he’s on the mend. “No more until you feel better, yeah?”
“Says who?”
“Babe.”
His deadly pout almost breaks your resolve. “Fine.”
But you can wait. You’re sure it won’t take long, and for this man? You’ll wait however long you need to.
Besides, there’s plenty of things you can do in the meantime that don’t require running into hard objects.
“Good. Now let’s…” You turn away to get started before you’re held, and pulled back into yet another embrace.
What the hell is happening today? Your lungs and your melting pile of a brain can only take so much. It’s beautifully overwhelming how Yoongi can’t seem to let you go, because you’re the one that always loses control.
This whole time, it’s been you that can’t hold yourself back.
So now? Being on the other side? You don’t think you ever want him to restrain himself again.
This time, he moves slow. Sensuously slow, and it would occur to you that he’s finding a very cheeky loophole to your plan if you weren’t so hazy-eyed.
Whatever Yoongi’s doing, you won’t stop him.
Your back touches a counter before Yoongi cages you in, and your lips mold together as perfectly as his body does with yours. Your unhurried strokes match his, and your minds communicate without a single word.
There’s yearning still ever present. But there’s comfort in abundance, and a whole new level of need.
After he pulls away, you can visibly see him drink you in from head to toe.
“You know.. I’m good holding off on all the other shit.” Pulling you in, his lips curve as he confidently declares, “But I’m never gonna stop kissing you.”
His hands, his lips, his words. They all have healing powers, you’re so sure of it. If Yoongi hasn’t yet realized his unending pain has blossomed into a safe haven, you need to let him know no matter what,
“Good.”
There’s still a pining in his eyes, but he lets you free, hand skirting your hip before he walks to his room. “Gonna change then I’ll help.”
“You don’t have to, baby,” you say as you struggle to catch your breath. “I got it.”
Three minutes later, he’s chopping an onion anyway.
But you’re loving how serene everything feels with the two of you prepping and dicing, thumps of knives on wood intertwining in sound before you laugh at his crying over the pesky vegetable. Maybe if he wore contacts instead of specs, he’d be better off.
Not that his choice of eyewear is what you’re complaining about. But those glasses paired with the cream tees he’s been wearing? There will be hell to pay as soon as you get a chance at revenge.
Your pot is set to boil for a bit, so you finally rest against the counter and start a timer on his microwave. “Go ahead,” you gesture to your very handsome cooking partner. “You can sit now.”
“Huh? We’re not done yet.”
“Oh.” Blinking, you tilt your head in confusion because you could’ve sworn you heard him yawn a couple times. “You aren’t tired?”
“I am,” he says before squeezing his eyes, rapid blinks to follow. “But I’m fine here.”
You toss and turn the food around, sprinkling a little more seasoning and hearing the bubbles and fizzes. When you stir a little more, a sudden thought occurs, halting your movements and spinning you around,
“Are you staying there to watch my ass.”
Yoongi’s slow smile gives everything away, but he also makes up for the blatant staring.
“Can’t deny that’s one of the things.” Pushing off the sink, he stands right next to you, slotting a hand behind your neck and angling you for a kiss. “But I meant it earlier. I just…”
You’re completely silent as you watch him slide his eyes from your face to the sizzling food. Whatever he’s thinking about, you’re gonna give him all the room to talk.
“Just like being where you are.”
How you went from almost running out of his door to here, you aren’t quite sure. But you’re grateful for that split second of him deciding to fight for the two of you instead of against, because you really were going to leave.
And you may have taken much, much longer to even try going back.
Your voice is barely heard over the aromatic smell and fizzle, “Good thing I like having you around.” When he smiles again, you let out a breath of a giggle, going back to shuffling the pan around and tilting your head to the fridge. “I put some fruit in there if you wanna eat that, too.”
“I’m down.”
“K.”
Your food is ready soon enough, and the two of you eat while talking about easy topics. Like work and your workplace dynamics, what Yoongi’s team has been working on at the studio.
At one point, your curiosity about the album release party grows from something he says. “Speaking of. The party’s on Friday, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, I thought so,” you deflate, setting your bowl down on the table. “Sorry he can’t go.”
“Huh?”
Your body stills. “Wait. Did he not say anything? About his trip being extended?”
So much for nothing in his life being wrong. From the lost look on his face, you may have given him another reason to fold back in on himself. “No.. No, he didn’t.”
Both of you sit in silence.
This could be nothing. Right? That means your brother is confident he can make it so there’s no point in telling Yoongi he’s gonna miss it. Or maybe he’s not trying hard enough and then not being able to say it to his face?
“I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I thought he told you.”
“It’s okay.” Clearly it’s not. “Not much to do about it now.”
“Yoongi… What if he knows?” At your own question, you stiffen, curling into a proverbial ball. Fear and the sick backfire of fibbing has your mouth going drier than desert air. “What if he actually knows?”
Setting down his chopsticks, Yoongi looks your way, eyes unreadable behind his specs. “If he did, do you think he’d leave us alone?”
He’s got a point. “Guess not.”
“Mm.” Flicking his eyes to the window, he adjusts uncomfortably in his chair. “And I dunno if I mentioned this, but.. He thinks I got back with my ex.”
“Fuck, really?”
“That’s the real reason why he hasn’t been talking to me. Maybe he thinks she’s gonna be there on Friday.”
“Oh.” Your shoulders sag, and sag. Not owning up to your relationship is one thing; Yoongi having to dwell in his previous relationship is another. “Is that… worse?”
“Kinda.” Yoongi’s eyes fall. “Much worse.”
“Shit.” Reaching across wood, you close your hand around his fingers for support. It’s the only thing you can think to do. At least, it’s what you would want if you were in his shoes. “I think you should tell him she won’t be.”
A million seconds later, Yoongi thankfully agrees. “Yeah, I will.”
You feel better. Somewhat. At least a little less nauseous about the possibility of your brother knowing.
But it still sucks knowing that he’s actively avoiding Yoongi because of an ex he used to have.
How bad was it back then if this is the case? What exactly happened? Is this why Yoongi went radio silent on you for weeks?
It seems like he doesn’t even wanna talk about her. So you won’t pry just yet, as much as you wanna know every single thing she’s done wrong so you can hound her through every timeline in existence.
Instead, you talk about a much better subject,
“We should feed my cat now.”
And you quickly laugh at the saucy glint in Yoongi’s eyes.
—
—
Everything is set where it needs to be. Sugar’s food and water fill their respective bowls, your shoulder leans into Yoongi’s good side, and his arm rests around your back as he’s propped up by his banged up doorway.
You remember the first time you saw him lean against the wood like this. Only that time, you were a shell of a girl, waiting with shaky breaths and shaken confidence to hear his response to your inappropriate request.
Who would’ve thought that you’d be on the same side as him all these months later? In his arms, resting a head on his warm chest?
When you let out a short chuckle, Yoongi turns to your smile. “Hmm?”
“Nothing,” you wisp out. “Just thinking about us.”
His fingers press into your side a fraction more, and you can feel him lift his head again. “Me, too.”
Umm.
You can say things like that. He isn’t allowed!
You’re about to set some one-sided rules before your gift pops out of the bushes a few feet away.
“My baby!” you quietly call, leaving Yoongi’s side to crouch down. “Come here, love. You hungry?”
She cautiously makes her way over, sniffing your hand when you leave it outstretched. After careful consideration, the little one nudges your palm, letting you glide fingers down her back as she approaches her bowls.
“You’re so tiny,” you observe with slight pity. “We’ll get you well fed in no time—”
“Hey, Sugar! Oh, is this her? She’s gorgeous, no wonder!”
Huh? Sugar?
Who else knows the cat’s name already?
Your neck almost strains when you look up to see who’s talking. When you notice an older lady donning a really comfy, fluffy robe, you feel like it looks super familiar before you stand.
“Hi,” you greet before introducing yourself, extending your hand and shaking the woman’s soft, delicate fingers. “Sorry if we were too loud.”
“Call me Miss Dion. And you weren’t too loud this time, sweetie,” she says with a wink, glancing down at the kitty eating what you laid out. “Was just comin’ out to water my plants so it’s good to see you’re here, too. Looks like he finally got some sense back in that head of his.”
“I’m standing right here, you know.”
“Oh, I know!”
Back? How long has she known about you? Do her and Yoongi actually converse regularly? Their banter is… Really adorable.
It’s making you fall even more in love with the man biting his cheek in amusement.
Wait.
Is Yoongi Sugar?
That is so fucking cute you could cry.
“I’m back to take care of this guy,” you explain with a head tilt. “And the little one, of course.”
It’s when you say this that Miss Dion notices the bandages on Yoongi’s face, concern pushing down her brows. “What happened to you, young man?”
“Nothing to worry about.”
“You sure? I got some ointment in my kitchen somewhere—”
“It’s all good—”
“We’ll take it,” you cut him off, not looking but feeling his stare on your face. “How much do we owe you?”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that.” With a snuff at Yoongi and a smile your way, Miss Dion heads inside to fetch a bottle.
In the meantime, you give your lover a quiet stare before bending down to run your hands over soft fur.
“Papa Sugar is gonna need that so he can’t argue,” you coo to your cat, cheekily ignoring Yoongi’s sputtering puff of air above your head.
“Papa Sugar? Really?”
You glance up to his smile with a mischievous one of your own. “What, you wanna be Sugar Daddy instead?”
The swirl in your belly is instant. Because Yoongi can only look out into the distance, biting his lip and failing to hide his grin.
Sigh. If only he didn’t have those injuries across his face. You’d push him back into the door and slam it shut if it was any other day.
Patience, patience, patience.
Those hits aren’t gonna heal with just one round of gauze.
When you have to replace the cotton patches, at least you’ll have something to help.
—
—
It’s not until you’re about to tuck in for the night that Yoongi approaches your side of the bed. Judging by the headphones slung around his neck, he’s about to work, so you assume he’s just coming to give you a kiss goodnight.
But after he does exactly that, he asks you a question that warms your chest,
“Where’s your keys.”
“In there,” you motion to the nearest wall, bag propped right under his windowsill. “Inside pocket, I think.”
Yoongi bends with a prolonged grunt, slowly rummaging until he finds your jangling keyring with its charms. When he grabs it, he silently sits on the edge up against your stomach, body heat permeating your tee while he fiddles with the clasps.
God, you’re so in trouble. You know exactly what he’s doing.
Unlike the last time he offered you complete access to his place, this time he didn’t even hesitate. And the way he secures a key amongst the loop, it’s his silent way of cementing permanence.
That’s not another key for you to borrow.
Because that key is yours.
—
—
continued in angel, pt. 2
pitstop inbox before pt2!! | join the server!
a/n: holy crap we're doing it we are actually back in the main storyline?! how do we feel right now because i am over the damn moon diving into this story again. here's a slight pitstop before you make your way over to part two (THE CONTINUATION IS IN A REBLOG!) so take a breather before heading into the resttttttt
++ feedback box:
⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated!
⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think!
⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like!
⇥ here!
++ more links:
⇥ masterlist
⇥ three tangerines masterlist
a/n 2: we did this for 3tanfugue and the energy was great! just like last time, some of you guys suggested that we have post goals to encourage interaction. no one voted against it yet, so we'll keep it goin!
note goal: since we're back in main storyline, upping the goal! 1,000 notes is the goal, so when we hit that, 3tan14 will be dropped as soon as it's done! thank you all for reading and would love to hear any thoughts: what did you like about the chapter? how did a certain scene make you feel? what are you excited to see next? any shares, comments, tags, and reblogs with commentary count, and i appreciate anything you guys have to say.
title: angel (continuation) (m)
pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)
series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken pt. 1 | broken pt. 2 | fugue pt. 1 | fugue pt. 2 | fugue pt. 3 | fugue pt. 4 | angel
explicit warnings: cursing, thigh riding, cowgirl, oral (m rec), naughty studio time(??), couch sex, rough sex, giving yoongi the business, bold as fuck reader, choking, spanking, penetrative sex, kissing deserves to be here too lol, alexa play no hands by waka flocka, deep throating, hair/head tugging, nipple play, yoongi in that gd tank, yoongi in those gd glasses, teasing, titty fucking hello!!!!, stripping while he watches…. yeah, missionary, sub!3tanyoongi?????, scratching, multiple orgasms, protected sex, emotional sex, the glasses stay on??, good god they’re so hot i’m blushing
—
—
For the next few days, you’re at Yoongi’s every moment you’re free. Other than work that you have diligently not taken off, the two of you have alone time most of the week.
And it’s more than perfect.
You cook meals, talk about anything that doesn’t involve recent incidents, and Yoongi even lets you watch as he creates stunning instrumentals at his bedroom desk. There seems to be three projects that he’s cycling through, and one of them sounds achingly beautiful even though it’s just a series of hums.
As far as physical work, you do anything that requires heavy lifting—even hauling groceries inside.
Despite Yoongi’s many groans of protest, you tell him it’s no big deal at all. You want to help as much as you can, if merely to make up for all that time you could’ve helped him for three months.
It’s right after your solo grocery run that he follows you into his kitchen with his thousandth resigned sigh,
“Babe, you really don’t have to.”
“I know I don’t have to, baby,” you whisper, setting everything down. When you start unloading, Yoongi stops your arms, soothing the divots left by many grocery bags. “But I want to. So let me? Please?”
You get why he’s not exactly okay with the situation. If you had to depend on him for everything, it would make you upset, too.
But you want to show him you’re here for him no matter what. If that bothers him, he’ll just have to keep dealing with it.
Yoongi rests his forehead against yours. “You’re too good for me.”
“And you’re too handsome for me.” Flicking his chest, you pretend to be so very disappointed as you start taking out cans and produce. “Who said you could walk around here wearing that?”
That stupid tank hugs every bit of him just right. You’re half jealous of the way it fits on him, and half in constant need to rip it off every waking second.
Even the way you reacted when he first stepped out with it caused an immediate burst of cheek-raised laughter, and you proceeded to glare at his grin every time he got close.
Which is probably, frustratingly, exactly why he keeps wearing them.
“It’s just a tank!” Yoongi exclaims, laughing when you scoff into the fridge. “What’s with you and these?”
“Don’t even,” you huff. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”
One wink is enough to destroy you. So you keep putting groceries away to avoid more of them.
Fruits go here, veggies in the fridge, cat food in this cabinet, frozen treats in the freezer… Come to think of it, you could do some naughty teasing with those later—
A veiny hand cuts your thoughts, caging you against counters with an ask, “And what am I doing, doll?”
Rhetorical question once again.
This whole week, while neither of you have instigated anything related to sex, Yoongi has tested you multiple times. Whether it be devouring the sight of you in his tees, or kissing along your shoulders after you emerged freshly showered, he has been driving you to the edge every time.
This unashamed, barely restrained side of him is completely new to you, and you’d like to think you’re doing a damn good job of keeping yourself in check.
Because you’ve been wanting to tear him apart until he’s a blithering, writhing mess.
At first, you assumed it’s because of how he’s been looking lately. The shroud that’s been haunting his eyes is completely absent, giving a beautiful shine and a whole new level of attraction.
But as the week has gone by, you’ve realized that it’s something deeper.
It’s the fact that Yoongi’s gone beyond keeping you safe and protecting you, gone way further than just being there for you when you need him.
And he’s doing all this while not compromising his dreams. He’s working hard for what he wants, and encouraging you to do the same with a gentle push only he can provide.
Essentially, Yoongi’s everything you didn’t even know you needed.
And this simple fact is the sole reason you want to take care of him in every single way, including some that will perpetually make you shy when you remember them.
But until he fully tells you he’s ready—which he hasn’t yet—you aren’t giving in. This agonizing monster is being kept at bay with the thinnest string. The tiniest gate. The most miniscule knot.
However.
Your vow to hold yourself back physically doesn’t mean keeping your thoughts to yourself. So you set them free as your eyelids lower,
“Making it really, really hard to leave you alone.”
Chains swing against your chest, conspiring with this demon to make you fold when he annoyingly purrs,
“Good.”
Fuck. Yoongi’s already attractive when he’s not doing anything. So when he does shit like this? When he’s practically begging for you to give in? It takes all of your inner strength to not buckle at the knees.
“Not good,” you parry, breath short and heart rate spiking. “We said to wait until you were ready.”
Goddamn. Your fingers itch to grab at his waist, your core storms with incessant need to ride that beautiful chest.
Mercifully, Yoongi grants you reprieve with a simple hum, sliding his hand off and sauntering away. “Playing hard to break, huh? Not bad.”
Not bad? Your pulse is through the goddamn roof!
“Of course,” you scoff, “I’m not losing to you.”
Laughs pop from around the corner, his absence allowing you to catch your breath and straighten your wobbly legs. “We’ll see about that, baby girl.”
Safe. You didn’t crack and didn’t give much away.
Despite the heated moment ending too soon, your smile stretches incredibly wide.
Yoongi has no idea what he’ll unleash as soon as he’s healed and ready.
You’ll both see about that indeed.
—
—
On Tuesday, your brother’s car is ready, so you head to the dealership in Yoongi’s car and drive back separately to the house.
Once there, Yoongi heads into the house before you video call and show your brother every single detail.
Every. Single. Detail.
“Ugh, she practically looks brand new! Do you really need me to open the passenger door again?”
“Yes! We have to be thorough or I’m getting my money back.”
“God, you’re so cheap,” you huff, leaning into the vehicle and showing him every leather bound surface.
Seriously, they did a really good job. They even cleaned where your brother had all his tiny figures and polaroids and that was always a problem spot. Where did those even go, anyway? “Happy?”
“Maybe. But looks good so far, I’ll look over her again when I’m back.”
Of course. He’s gonna find literally any excuse to say they need to fix more. With his track record, he’ll probably even get a whole new engine from his smooth talk and persistence. “Which will be in two days, right? Friday? On time?”
To your absolute delight, he doesn’t hesitate, sounding even more sure when he responds, “Yeah, I think I can.” When you cheer, your camera shakes like hell as his eye roll stays completely still. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
Yoongi must have cleared the air surrounding his ex. With a joyful goodbye, you hang up and head right inside to tell him the news.
Turns out, you weren’t the only one holding massive amounts of tension because of this setback. There’s a noticeable change in Yoongi’s eyes, and your heart bleeds knowing his friend’s potential absence had been weighing on him.
He’s the bravest for choosing to have the final conversation with him alone.
There still seems like something is bothering him, though.
And you still don’t know how to ask.
—
—
At least with Taehyung, you can let loose and say whatever you want.
That fact is what allows you to breathe as soon as you pull up to Jimin’s house the next day, scanning the familiar cul-de-sac as you park in his driveway. Forever has passed since you were last here, and you can’t even remember paying a visit during the daytime.
But Tae told you to meet him here, so you’re here.
Food has been laid out across the living room coffee table, but none of it is touched. All you’ve been able to do is take residence on the leather couch, watching as Taehyung gnaws on a fingernail.
“Stop that.”
“Talk to me then.”
So you do.
There’s no hiding with him like you had to with your friends. Thorough, you give him the entire rundown of that stormy night without omission.
Throughout the entire time you talk, your best friend is laser focused. He doesn’t say a single word, and he doesn’t move one fucking muscle as you recount what happened, from the moment you fought with your brother to the excruciating minutes of screaming at Yoongi’s door.
But something you say makes you both flinch.
Because as soon as you mention the broken guitar pieces around his living room, a question zips through the open space,
“What did you just say?”
Your head whips around to see Jimin frozen in the hallway. “Yeah, he, umm. It’s completely gone now, so.. I’m gonna see if I can find him a new one.”
That second part is something you haven’t even told Yoongi yet. It just felt right to admit to the two of them, and you watch as Jimin slowly walks toward you with eyes wide.
Is he okay? Fuck, were you not supposed to say that after all? “Or I can get him something else—”
Toned arms embrace you tight, and you’re flung into confusion as your eyes stare at the ceiling.
“Thank you,” you hear against your head, so soft you may as well have thought it. It’s the kind of gratitude that’s borderline uncomfortable to receive, solely because you feel like you don’t deserve something so full of meaning.
You didn’t do anything except clean up the pieces.
The way Jimin’s thanking you? It’s like you saved Yoongi’s life.
And that’s too much to dwell on right now.
“It’s okay, really,” you respond, timidly reciprocating his hug because you’re still so very puzzled. “Is there something I should know?”
“It’s not my place to say. But everything’s gonna be fine.”
“Okay.” That answer is cryptic as hell. “I just feel bad for throwing it all out. Maybe we could’ve gotten it repaired—”
“No.” Jimin looks you dead in the eyes before putting hands on your head. Then, shocking you to the core, he kisses your forehead before resting there. “If he has you? He’ll be fine.”
“I guess.” Your mood turns melancholic as he slowly steps away. “He’s still pretty bruised from that night. And some of the cuts are deeper than I thought.”
In more ways than one now, you sadly think to yourself. There’s even more things to think about surrounding that guitar. Does it have anything to do with his—
“Yoongi faired better than some of us. Rohan had to get stitches and some of the other guys needed crutches.”
Damn. You don’t doubt that. There’s no way you can completely block out the memories you have of that night. Your brother telling Taehyung to get you out of there. The way they were severely outnumbered. Yoongi refusing to look back at you, and you painfully knowing exactly why.
“I heard about what he did,” you mournfully hitch out. “That guy.”
Jimin stills before Tae looks over at him, eyes wide and unblinking. “What did he do?”
Fuck. Does Taehyung not know about that chilling detail? Shit shit shit, you still don’t know everything yourself, so you can’t even really tell.
Is Jimin about to reveal what your brother and Yoongi left out?
Your wide eyes meet his before you stumble through an answer, “He, uhh.. Umm, he..”
“I’ll tell you later,” Jimin calmly breathes, to which Taehyung shifts his jaw out of quiet anger. “The bottom line is that we all made it out.”
Oh, fuck.
Even Jimin won’t say it?
What the hell went down that night?
No. Focus focus focus on the good. They all made it out, and there’s nothing to worry about anymore. Probably. Dalo guy can kick rocks and perish in the pits of hell for all you care, and Yoongi was able to find himself again. Only the worst is yet to come before the skies are completely clear.
“There’s one more thing.”
Both men turn your way, attentive immediately.
“This time, when my brother comes back…”
Jimin’s eyes fill right up to the brim like yours.
“Yoongi’s gonna tell him everything.”
—
—
But Yoongi still needs to tell you something, too.
Outside in the setting sunlight, you stare at the key in your fingers before determination tightens your grip.
You’re gonna ask about what happened tonight.
And you can’t give up without an answer.
Opening the door, you’re greeted with the faint sound of a song, quickly realizing which one it is and already feeling like an intruder.
“Babe?”
Hopefully he heard you. Just in case he wants to pause it, and just in case it’s a little too personal.
Because that’s the one he’s worked on the least since you’ve been listening in on his sessions. For some reason, it feels like something he’d rather keep close to that beautiful chest.
There’s no response to your yell, so you set your bag down and head to his room. “Last chance,” you joke into the door. “I’m coming in!”
All you see are faint pink and orange hues sprawling across the room. And one passed out head of hair lying across folded arms.
Déjà vu is one heck of a concept.
Things were so different the first time this happened, and you were much more cautious with your heart when it came to this man.
To think that you’d now take a bullet for him without a second thought isn’t even wild to consider. Because you have a strange yet unshakeable feeling that he would do the same for you.
Just the idea is enough to shrink your throat as you take measured steps toward his sleeping form, noticing with a smile that his outfit is quite different from the last time.
Very, very different. And much, much more revealing.
Intrigued, you lightly shake his bare shoulder oh what the hell he is cold. “Yoongi?”
Immediately, he snaps up, glasses nudged off-kilter and strands astray in all directions. It’s only when he recognizes who you are and where he is that he rasps out a rugged greeting—the same one as last time,
“Hey, doll.”
God. The sleepy version of those two words might just be your favorite.
Chuckling, you softly spin his chair, swooping down with a kiss that seems to breathe life and energy into his veins.
After you pull away, you adjust his specs, eyes beaming starlight into his when you announce through a smile,
“I’m home.”
Slowly, Yoongi nods with eyes shut. “Missed you.”
A weight to his words compresses your chest, because it means something is still bothering him. “Missed you, too, baby.”
When he doesn’t respond, you move to caress his slight stubble. Shit, was he rubbing his face too hard? He’s reopened a couple cuts.
“Wait here,” you softly command. “We need to patch you up a bit.”
To your surprise, Yoongi follows you through his room anyway, and he waits as you fetch things from the bathroom cabinet that you stocked. Wordlessly, you give him a shy smile before taking his hand in yours, leading him out to the living room.
Throughout the week, you’ve done pretty much everything you could do for him. But helping with his cuts and wounds? Every time, he’s done this part alone in his bathroom.
So this is new. For the both of you.
“Sit.”
Doesn’t matter. You want to do this for Yoongi, if at least to show him that you’re not shying away from this, too. He doesn’t have to face anything alone anymore, and that includes himself. This is simply your way of telling him that.
It’s gonna prove a bit hard to control yourself when he’s not wearing much, though.
But you can do it. You’re a headstrong, determined, confident person who will not succumb to the way their boyfriend looks in a tank and sweats.
Right.
You're already nervous in your thinly-strapped top that's even more revealing than his.
Breathing deep, you walk towards him, standing between his legs and watching him look up with intrigue and curiosity.
“I wanna do this for you, too,” you admit, straddling him when he gives you an encouraging, silent nod. “No funny business, though.”
Fuck, his eyes already dip straight to your cleavage before roving up again. Once again, this man proves that he can do anything and you’re already threatening collapse. “Who said?”
“M… Me,” you breath out, words hitching as Yoongi adjusts himself under your spread thighs.
Ignore the smirk. Ignore it, for heaven’s sake, or you’re breaking your own fucking deal.
“So hold still for me, sir.”
A devious chuckle coats your chin as his head hits the couch, mouth at a slant that should never be paired with those glasses.
Have mercy, you are already having trouble breathing. This is quite possibly the best worst mistake you’ve ever made, and that includes you asking him to fuck you back when you barely even spoke.
That version of you would have fled at the sight of him now.
But here you are, up close and more than personal, and you thank your past self for giving you every moment like this.
As you start busying yourself with the cream, you wonder how you even got here in the first place. Truthfully, you don’t remember much about that day other than it storming right when you were halfway. The rain felt like a punishment at the time, a punishment for going where you shouldn’t and a sign to turn the fuck around.
But now? You think of it as a blessing. Because if it wasn’t raining and you weren’t shivering like hell, you don’t think Yoongi would’ve even let you inside.
It’s because of the heavy clouds that fateful day that all this has transpired. And you will always go back to that summer afternoon when Yoongi put sunlight back in your eyes.
So this week has been your own chance to give some back.
Determined, you lean forward, lightly spreading ointment on his cuts and concentrating to get every spot covered. Your focus is so zeroed in that you almost don’t feel the soothing circles of his thumb on your thighs.
It doesn’t take long, but that’s due to your patient being the best boy. Yoongi only watches as you patch him up, breathing soft from his nose and blinking up at your face.
Pretty soon, you’re finished, turning to set everything down on the… Not coffee table. But the floor.
You can shop for a new one soon.
Well. Your first task is done. Now comes the difficult one, and you kinda just wing it because overthinking has gotten you absolutely nowhere.
“What’s wrong?”
Of course he catches onto your silence. Gulping down all your fears, you take the leap, grateful for the hands holding your hips in support,
“If I ask you anything.. will you be honest with me?”
“Yes.” Zero hesitation makes your heart jolt. “Just ask, love.”
Swallowing, you sieve through the questions and thoughts you want to make sense of, trying to figure out the best way to go about things without making it uncomfortable.
Ah, screw it. There is no best way. “Are you hiding something from me?”
Yoongi’s brows tick. “No.”
It’s more than obvious that he wants to say more. But the fact that he doesn’t? Is actually pretty relieving.
“What happened that night then,” you slowly ask, hating how his fingers tense on your thigh. “In the lot.”
A sigh is your first answer.
Then silence is your second.
The moment draws out so long you think Yoongi won’t fess up, but he finally responds to your stomach instead of your searching eyes,
“Which part.”
Fuck. He’s gonna make you say it. You really, really don’t want to, but he won’t answer unless you’re specific.
Here it goes then. “My brother said the guy from Dalo pulled something on you.”
Immediately, a tongue prods his cheek.
“And you did something, but that’s all I got,” you finish, folding your lips to keep anything else from spilling out like emotions or feelings or any leftover screams from when you were dragged away.
“So ask me.”
Fuck.
You glance up to see Yoongi staring, eyes trained on your face while the rest of his face remains unmoving.
“I…” Shit, you already feel queasy. But he’s gonna answer, so just cut the bullshit and ask. “What did you do?”
“He had a gun.”
What.
“And I just reacted.”
…What?
He braces for this next part, and your entire world suspends in his outstretched hands.
“Just thought it should be me instead of him.”
Oh. God.
Tears form before you can say a word, your fingers shaking and balling up cotton. “You… Oh, Yoongi—”
Your head falls into your palms, every fiber of your being struggling to grasp that the end result wasn’t as horrifying as it could’ve been. Because it still almost happened and you almost lost a home.
People have left before. Many, many times. But they all walked away for their own selfish reasons, and they didn’t come back. Yoongi’s reasons have always been selfless. Always always always, and would’ve been to the very end had he—
Warm hands slide up your arms, but you can’t stop your shakes, you can’t even fucking think straight you can’t even fucking talk.
“Baby…”
What’s that you said about taking a bullet for him? Chills skitter down your spine when you realize how accurate you were in thinking he would do it. Because Yoongi just did it for the only family you have.
Ride or die has never had a better example in physical form. His love for your brother runs deeper than tree roots, and you feel the bitter leaves of guilt nicking your body on all sides.
“Listen. I didn’t know what he was doing,” he tries to clarify, voice swimming low in your ringing ears. “But I just moved.”
Stop. You’ve got to pull it together because there’s more to ask but goddamn it already hurts.
How can you make room for all the love that’s still pouring in for this man? How can one heart ever be enough?
“Thank you,” you hitch out, letting tears ping onto his lap. “But I love you.”
His fingers grip a tad tighter.
“So please.” You finally leave the wet walls of your hands, noticing the deep, deep pools of emotion in his eyes. “Don’t ever get into that again.”
“I know. We all know.”
“Thank you for telling me.” You swipe at your cheeks. “And the guitar?”
Shit. Yoongi reacts even worse to that. Like he half expected it but half hoped you wouldn’t ask.
“It was a gift,” he starts, looking anywhere but at you. “From my ex.”
…What? And he kept it this whole time?
Dark, dark poison seeps into your side as your legs lose their grip. “Oh.”
From one wild emotion to the next. This rollercoaster knocks you around a bend, and you suddenly need it to find a way to stop it in its tracks.
Why did he keep it? Does he still think about her? Is this why he’s never mentioned her, because he didn’t want you knowing the real truth?
This is too much. Your brain is spinning and looping and it starts to lift you from his legs but Yoongi holds you tight and doesn’t let you leave—
“There’s a reason I never let anyone in.”
You let your eyes lift to his lidded expression, hating how some of the shadow has returned.
“And it’s because of her.”
Shit. His hands.
They’re trembling.
Immediately, the ride slows to a stop.
And your chest crumbles alongside your shoulders. You can deal with self-esteem issues or anything to do with his own self, but an ex that he can’t even speak of without anxiety? That’s a completely different story.
Now you feel terrible for forcing it on him. “I’m so sorry.”
“Should’ve told you from the start.”
“No.” Understanding flows through your assurance. “That’s not my business. We don’t have to talk about it.”
He gives you a soft look of gratitude as hands find your hips. “We can. It doesn’t bother me now.”
But his hands… “You sure?”
“Yeah.” Yoongi’s rueful smile sends a pang through your heart. “She treated me like shit, but. She can’t haunt me anymore.”
Your throat clenches. Because now you know exactly what the hell Yoongi’s talking about.
Those things you’ve been told, those lies you’ve been led to believe, those arguments you always seemed to lose even when you knew you were in the right. Even the way you’ve been told you won’t ever amount to much, and the way you’ve blatantly been told you’d never find anyone else. All of it reeks of pain and injustice. And oh, how you’ve been drug through the mud until you couldn’t even recognize your own fucking reflection.
Fucking hell, if this was what Yoongi has been going through, you do wish he told you. You’d draw swords against anyone for him, and that includes the ghosts of his past thinking they could keep holding him hostage in his own fucking head.
You’re so livid you can’t even see straight, and your words leave in smoke, “I know what you mean.”
“What?”
Your breath shakes. Because no matter how long it’s been, this is still hard. “When you go through that for so long, it’s what you’re used to, you know? So anything good that comes, it’s either hard to believe, or you feel like you don’t deserve it.”
Yoongi just stares like he’s seeing you for the first time.
“But you?” Shit. Get the words out because he needs to hear them loud and clear. “You’ve made me realize that I can believe the good things, that I do deserve them. And I should’ve been there for you all this time because I would’ve tried and fought until you got to that point, too.”
Your vision isn’t the clearest.
But you’re gonna remember this look on Yoongi’s face forever.
This stricken, bright-rimmed, pained yet relieved expression will burn and sear into memory, staying etched into your heart until its last beat fades out.
It’s love in ultimate sanctuary.
Because it’s what you feel every second you see him.
“I don’t know what she did to you, or what she ever said,” you conclude, cupping his cheek and wiping a stray tear. “But it’s all wrong and it doesn’t matter anymore. At all. Okay?”
Another drop needs sweeping as yours continue to freefall. Your chest is so close to his now, and you can feel the warmth of his palms as he holds you with arms so firm.
The house in your heart has grown a garden, flowers of all shades taking root and blooming bright. You reach out and skim along their soft petals, watering them with every tear you brush from your lover’s countenance. Once, twice, a little rain shower for two.
Out of all the people you know, Yoongi might be the strongest.
“Everything okay, baby?”
When he finally speaks, your heart beats at his praise. Because it’s so far from what you expect, and far from what you usually tell yourself. “So goddamn perfect..”
“You think so?” You smile with your eyes, noticing the cut on his lower cheek and noting to patch that one again. “Maybe I am.”
Finally, you didn’t hesitate. You didn’t reject it.
And Yoongi’s slow grin of pride is the best and most beautiful reward you could’ve received.
Fuck, the things you would do to see that every day. Is being in tune with yourself all you need to make him proud? Is that really all he wants for you?
Who’s really the perfect one here?
“You have been this whole time,” he whispers, kissing moonlight into your wrist. “Ever since you came over.”
…What?
This time, you do hesitate, moving away to confirm that you heard him correctly.
Are you both on the exact same wavelength? Because how in the world is he referencing the same date and time that you were just thinking about? “...Really?”
“I’m not just saying that, doll.” Yoongi’s brows touch. “What’s wrong?”
Nothing, just what used to be everything. Your mouth bends in a sad upward curve. “I just… No one’s told me that except you.”
“Look at me.”
You slowly peel your lids upward, mesmerized by how Yoongi’s somehow glowing in the last fading colors of dusk.
“If you’ve never been told you’re perfect, everyone’s a fucking idiot.”
Oh, how you love this man. “It’s true,” you shrug. “But like we were saying. Everyone else can eat shit anyway.”
Yoongi doesn’t laugh when you do, simply moving his hands to your waist. “I meant what I said,” he continues with conviction. “You don’t see it yet, but you will.”
God, your ears are searing right through. How is he still going? “Stop,” you pout, hand pressed against his solid chest. “No one can be that perfect.”
“I meant for me.”
Your thoughts grind to a halt. “What?”
All Yoongi does is tilt his chin higher. But it’s enough to drive you to the brink, catapulted further by his words and his look void of any teasing,
“No one will ever come close.”
You’re already building the floor plan for a second home next door.
Does Yoongi know he can’t just say things like that and get away with it? You can only handle so much praise before your mind explodes. Truly, any amount is already hard enough to accept. Shouldn’t he be the one that understands your predicament the most?
So unfair.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” you groan, cheeks simmering and warm. “You cannot just say that and expect me to be okay.”
A huff of amusement adds more heat to your skin. “Maybe it’s why I do.”
“Of course it is.”
Smiling, his touch slowly travels to your ass, and his squeeze makes you flinch against his lap.
“Babe?” You freeze. “What are you—”
“Angel,” he suddenly grits out in reverence, leaning forward to kiss the bare skin of your chest. “I can’t take it anymore.”
“Yoongi,” you gasp as his hands slip under your top. “We shouldn’t until you’re—”
“I’m good.” He breathes you in. “Promise. I just..”
Your breath catches in your throat, tugging your hands out to wrap around his hair and clutch soft strands. “Just what?”
Inhaling again, Yoongi kisses deeper between your breasts, sending shivers spiraling across your bones. “I need you so fuckin’ bad.”
“Oh.” You squirm not just in shyness, but something a lot more devious. “I need you, too, baby… But I don’t wanna hurt you.”
With a quick snap, Yoongi shoves you onto his pelvis, and you yelp at the friction against his hardened tent. “I don’t even give a shit if you do.” Tugging you forward again, he breaks at your whine. “But if I wait any longer I’ll lose my fucking mind.”
“Shit.” Bliss erupts as your legs squeeze his hips. Throwing the last scraps of your dignity, you snatch his face with both hands, core buzzing when his eyes lock with your lips, “Are you sure? I have to know because—”
“Yes, angel—”
“I’m—I’m serious, Yoongi, you don’t get it,” you say with barely held restraint, now knowing everything this man has been willing to do for you and the people you both love. There’s a dark, scary, obsidian part of you that is far from the nickname he’s giving. A little beast growling and crouching, ready to lunge. “I… I want…”
And you let it loose when you whisper exactly what you’ve been wanting to do this entire time, eyes innocent yet tongue fiendish on the shell of his ear,
“I want to ruin you.”
Fuck.
Never. Ever. Has Yoongi’s reaction sent shivers down your skin so fast. You already consider stopping because you’re outright quaking from the things you want to do to him. The waves are coming fast and your first instinct is to run.
But there’s an intensity in his eyes swirling so fiercely it tugs you from shore, and you barrel past all your own muddled excuses as soon as he claws into your soul,
“Do it.”
“Finally.”
Your mouths clash hard as you swallow his tongue from above, stretching his neck over the back of the couch and melting your front onto his. Breathy sounds come from you or him, you aren’t quite certain, but you give his mouth a final shove before attacking his cheek, his jaw, the soft column of his neck.
Shuddering at his moan when you suck a vein.
“My baby’s so sensitive,” you taunt, mocking his words from days and days past. “Gonna have fun with you.”
“Who’d you learn all that from,” he slowly rasps back, groaning when you rake nails along his bare shoulders. “Fuck.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You push onto your knees, grabbing his head and yanking him back by those luscious locks fuck he’s already heavy lidded and wanton. Seeing Yoongi so blissed out when you’ve barely started with him? Holy shit you’re so turned on your cunt squeezes around nothing. “Too bad.”
“What the fuck is happening.”
Humming, your descent is quick, pressing lips deep into the skin of his throat and licking, swirling, lapping at the sweat already forming from his body’s flinches and locks. Because Yoongi is gripping the cushions of his couch and fighting for his goddamned life.
When you feel his arms sling around your back, you sigh into his skin. And when he scratches all fingers down your shoulders, you realize exactly why he likes when you do the same.
That shit felt divine. It’s the ultimate encouragement to keep tugging on his hair, yanking his groan to the side to pepper kisses along his good shoulder. “Told you, baby,” you whisper to his silky tone. “You have no idea what’s coming.”
Yoongi’s only response is a breathy laugh as you slide your twisting core over his sweats. “You better be fuckin’ careful.”
“And why is that,” you ask, taunting him with another slow roll up his excruciatingly hard tent. Fuck, you wanted to take your time but you are seconds away from caving he’s already hitting your spot just right. “Why should I listen to you?”
It takes less than a second to remember how strong he is, both arms slamming you onto his dick as he launches his hips upward. Your mewl morphs into a wicked grin when he threatens so delightfully,
“Cus when it’s my turn, you’re fucked, doll.”
Giggles bubble from your stomach as hands slide down his neck. Pressing your forehead against his and feeling your perspiration, too, you goad with a feigned pout, “Promise?”
When he grins, there aren’t any words, his eyes locked on your heaving chest. Hot palms slide down to your ass, squeezing out a moan as he bites his lip. “Of course, baby girl.”
You can’t lose to him.
When you push your body against his neck, you revel in the way his face nestles in your bosom, glasses slightly fogged and face already flushed to hell. “It’s cute,” you purr downward, “How you think you’re even getting a turn.”
Fucking hell, Yoongi’s eyes are so blown out they swallow you whole.
And you welcome the abyss with open arms. “Let me.”
“Hmm?”
“You’ve always taken care of me.” Gently, you caress the hair on his nape. “Let me take care of you this time.”
You watch as light beams into his gaze, and you slowly descend for a kiss, molding into him and breathing in that musk you love so much. If his eyes are the abyss, yours are the void, the monster in your belly on its haunches and ready to roar again.
“Gonna ask one more time,” you whisper to his parted mouth. “You sure I won’t hurt you?”
The dark chuckle you get in response rumbles your ribcage. “You already have,” he says through a devilish slant. “And it feels so fucking good.”
Oh. You know exactly what he means.
And this is the moment you break.
Your deep kiss is a prelude to the ones you plant along his jaw, careful not to touch his wounds as you slide your way down his other side. The fingers you feel skating along your tee are twitching and vibrating with need, and the soft moans you hear launch arrows to your core.
God, he sounds so pretty. Is this what he thinks about when you’re unraveling under his touch?
It’s addicting. It’s vitalizing. You want more more more.
Growing bolder in lust, you kiss down Yoongi’s arm, saliva coating his smooth skin before your finger impishly shifts his tank to the side. As soon as his nipple is freed, your mouth cups it hot, tongue swirling—
“What the fuck?”
Your cunt pulses wild as Yoongi bucks forward, his head digging into the top of the couch and fingers digging divots in your hips. Arms wrap around your waist in a snap, and you keep sucking just to feel him hang on tighter and tighter and tighter.
Then you bite.
And Yoongi flings out a moan so loud you might come.
“Baby, hold on—”
Your fingers rake down his shoulder before squeezing around his other nub, back straining in the tight bend you’re in but it’s worth it all to hear him like this. Like he can’t even function and can’t say anything other than your name. God, it is a high it is a drug. You should’ve been taking the reins a lot more often than the one time you sucked him off so hard he—
Speaking of.
Your lips release his chest with a pop, and you feel drool slathered all over your face when your command dies on your lips, “Lemme…”
Holy fuck, Yoongi is gone.
Hair astray, jaw loose, brows pinched to hell and an angry flush of red flooding his chest. Just the mere sight of him this undone makes you whine, and your brain can’t even remember what you want to say.
Chests heaving, you both simply drink each other in. Because while he looks near collapse, you fear you aren’t faring much better. You already know a strap of your tee has left your shoulder, and your senses are so overblown you know your eyes look volcanic.
And you know for a fact you’re so fucking wet.
“Sit at the edge. For me,” you command through heavy breaths. “Now.”
Your neck is grabbed before you’re tugged into a kiss, and you match his manic energy before dropping to his rug. His pants are quickly stripped right after, cock springing free and already imprinting on the back of your throat.
Well. Yoongi did say he’s gonna lose his fucking mind. May as well make that a reality.
“Babe—”
Your mouth gulps him up before he can get the words out, cheeks hollowing and ears perking at his smattering of hisses. You don’t know what the fuck he was gonna say, and quite frankly, you don’t care. All you’re focused on is giving him your worst, swirling tongue around his tip and squeezing his base with a sure hand.
“Holy fuck.”
Sucks, licks, twirls are all practiced and measured, and you slide all the slick down his length before pumping him the way he likes. His heady scent enters your nose the more of him you swallow, and you feel the telltale strain in your pipe with each deep pass.
Fuck, he is unwinding. And Yoongi being so vocal is the reason for the slick coating your thighs, because you damn near lose it when a moan leaves that mouth at a higher pitch than normal what the fuck was that?
“Fuck, babe,” he grits through tight teeth. “So fucking—”
Curses tumble down your back in waves, slick palms hovering over your head and brushing the side of your face. Yoongi can’t decide where to keep his hands as your slobber coats and coats him, finally settling on your scalp and gripping it with need.
Popping off and fully rising on your knees, you let him tilt your head back as he leans forward, drinking in his handsome face and loving the fact he hasn’t taken those goddamn glasses off. Strings web from your chin to his throbbing cock, and you have the boldest audacity to ask,
“What, baby?”
He can only shake his head with a smirk. “I can’t even fucking say.”
Body heat passes over your wet chin as you rasp out another question, “Does it feel good?”
“The fuck?” He kisses your shiny forehead as cold jewelry taps your skin. “I can’t even think straight.”
“Good,” you hum, sliding your palm along his wet cock and basking in his shuddering moans. Not only does he sound beautiful, but his cologne sends you spiraling even further.
And you’re going somewhere you’ve never gone before. “There’s still this, too..”
You haven’t done this yet. At least, you don’t think you have. But the idea came to you this week when you’ve had plenty of time to hatch menacing plans, and your body is buzzing to fulfill something you think Yoongi wants. Because who the fuck wouldn’t want this?
Lowering both thin straps of your top, you let your breasts free, watching Yoongi shamelessly groan at the sight of them. “Just for you, baby,” you vow, squeezing both tits around his cock and feeling him twitch like mad.
“You’re fuckin’ lying,” Yoongi growls low, words scraped from the roof of his mouth as he flings his head back. “Fuck!”
Delighted to hell, you laugh at his slipping grip on sanity. Yes yes yes, this is where you love to see him. He deserves nothing but ecstasy after everything he’s given, and you’re here to provide. A goddess worshipping her forever love. An angel delivering sin.
“Look at me, Yoongi,” you whine, oozing desire as he leans forward covered in lust and sweat. Your hands continue to slide your tits along his velvety veins, your essence coating them in a shine the more spit they gather. “There you go.”
“Fucking hell, doll.”
“You like it?”
Yoongi reaches out to caress a nipple, and your flinch coaxes wickedness from his curve. “So fucking nasty for me.”
You can’t help but grin, reaching to grip his cock between your tits. “Only you.”
His lips catch yours before your breath finishes, and your eyes slip shut as you feel his palms around your jaw. His presence envelops you from all sides, and you want to exist nowhere else. The world can fall away and cease to turn on its axis, and you’d still be right here, orbiting this man in darkness in silence in triumph in joy.
Pure emotion is what lowers your head back onto his cock, taking so much of him your throat constricts in surprise alone. When he knocks the back of your walls, your brain jangles with his guttural moan, and you choke around him so hard your eyes prick with tears.
“Shit.”
You stay pressed against his pelvis a second more, gasping when you come up for air and immediately latching onto his sack. Over your head, you hear your name shoot out of Yoongi’s lips, and your eyes slide high enough to see him on his last thread of coherency.
“Doll, you gotta—you gotta stop—”
“I don’t wanna—”
Your entire head is yanked onto his thigh, breaths heavy and gulping in all the oxygen on the planet. Beads of sweat start to slide down your neck, and you look up to see Yoongi’s bangs clinging to his moist skin.
Again, you find yourself coughing out laughter. Because you’re doing exactly what you set out to do. “Surprised?”
“Not at all,” he huffs out, looking like a man completely satiated and spent. “This is all I’ve been waiting for.”
Oh? That’s news to you. Now you really do wish you started embracing this side of you sooner. “Hope it’s what you wanted.”
“Fucking… overachiever, fuck.”
Grin lopsided, you fully rest your head on toned muscle. “I almost came,” you admit with not one ounce of shyness. “Sucking you off.”
If you aren’t mistaken, Yoongi’s soul damn near leaves his body entirely. “You’re not allowed to say shit like that.”
“What,” you wheeze out, limbs gelatinous and cunt pulsing. “It’s true.”
“I don’t wanna hear it.” When you puff laughter onto his leg, he grins. “Had to stop you before I came, too.”
“Help me up, please,” you breathe out, loving how Yoongi assists without pause. Your body is slowly lifted from the floor as he helps you climb back on his lap, and you immediately find purchase in his chest. “That took more energy than I thought.”
Breathy laughs tickle your ear. “Lie down for me then, babe.”
“No,” you pout. “Wanna keep. Going.”
Ever the giving lover, Yoongi lets you take a breather as he rubs circles on your back. “Whatever you want.”
You turn to slowly kiss his slick neck, traveling further the more access he gives. With each tender plant on his skin, you find more and more strength, but it’s less of the manic kind and more of the outright desire to encase him in love.
His palms slide up your back, caught in your straps before rising higher to grip your shoulder blades. When he digs fingers into your skin, you moan into his throat, licking a spot that has him purring.
“Let me get a condom, love,” he whispers in your ear. And you oblige with a melting slide off of his thighs. “So cute.”
It isn’t long until Yoongi returns, but you practically fuse into the couch when you notice that he’s ditched the tank, leaving his chains and the fucking glasses still?
Oh. Cool. You’re a goner and now your shorts are drenched.
But you have to remove them anyway, so you slowly stand and make a spectacle out of your strip. Your chest beats loud as Yoongi watches from his seat, his eyes cast in heavy desire watching you slip your bottoms to the floor. You can only focus on the way he rolls protection on, because there’s no way you can hold eye contact with a demon for so long.
When your top hits the ground next, his gravelly hum makes you feel like a god. How ironic, when he commands your every heaven and hell.
“Come here.”
Silent, you slowly mount him once more, pouting to his fiendish smile and narrowing your eyes. “How’d you know to leave them on.”
Yoongi’s teeth shine as he spreads that stupid, cocky grin. And his lack of an answer has you gritting your annoyance out in pure ire,
“You asshole.”
Of course he only laughs.
Bright, white need booms through your center as you grip his shoulders, positioning yourself over his dick with no hands and sliding right on oh holy fuck this part will always leave you breathless from how big he is—
“That’s so hot,” he groans to the ceiling, “Goddamn.”
Wild, fluttering pulses erupt around his cock, and you have to breathe through the connection as you sink and sink and sink. Your thighs burn so deliciously as you adjust, and you start to wonder how long you’ll last without his help. Because your legs are fucking burning. “So big,” you hitch. “Feels too damn good.”
“So fucking tight.”
Both of you groan when you fully sheath, and your slow rocks are enough to send him in a cursing frenzy. Yoongi can’t stop praising you as you move against him, holding you close and breathing down your chest. There are words you’ve heard him say many times, but there’s one that snaps your attention in threes and makes your head twirl.
What did he just say?
“Kiss me.”
You do exactly that, keeping your achingly slow pace and molding your whole body with his. The hard rims of his specs hit your skin as you push deeper, and you grip his slippery neck to keep yourself from falling even harder for him.
It’s no use. You think you’ll be falling forever.
Because your love for him is endless.
Life is significant when you’re joined and moving as one. Sweat drips down your skin in rivulets, but you both don’t care. All you know is how deep he feels inside, how perfect you fit him, how in love you are with every determined stroke.
You tilt his head to kiss him deep, and you shudder at the way he moans and throbs beneath you,
“You’re so…”
“Hmm?”
Yoongi’s eyes struggle to find your face. “I don’t even.. know.”
“Try.” Damn, he really is fighting to stay in one piece. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this and it’s thrilling, and addicting, and everything you want. “What’s on your mind, my love.”
“You,” he gasps. “Just you, I can’t…”
You can’t believe what you’re witnessing. Yoongi is downright entranced.
Is this what you looked like that first day you came over? Is this how he saw you when you completely lost yourself around him? His fucked out face alone is filling you with a fierce need to fulfill every wish he’s too scared to ask for.
A hand moves to cut his airway, and the groan you feel under your fingers is almost as sinful as the smirk stretching across his face.
“That’s my girl,” he manages beyond your hold, chuckling at the way you squeeze around his cock because fuck even underneath you he has so much power. “Give it to me.”
Fuck. You tighten your hold, shoving his head up and over the couch. “You asked.”
Planting your feet on either side of him, you give yourself more power and leverage to your bounces, lifting with each thrust and slamming down the full length of him.
“Shit!”
Big, sweaty hands grip under your thighs, helping you in your quest to destroy him and reaching back to slap your ass. You buck forward with each pleasurable sting, whining into his mouth when you swallow his lips, both mouths parting in pleasure with each thump of your skin against his.
“Baby, this feels—” Your arms sling around to grip the back of the couch, and you fling a moan to the ceiling as Yoongi latches onto one of your tits, hot tongue swirling around a nipple and emitting sounds that should never be heard in public. “Fuck!”
“Taste so fucking good.”
“Yoongi!”
Goddamn, are you already about to come? The throbbing you feel in your cunt is so demanding you think he’s already at his wit’s end, too.
“Angel, lemme feel you,” Yoongi breathes up to your chin. “Come for me so I can paint these tits.”
Your groan tears the deepest part of your soul, and your whole body goes limp as your lover does the work for you, sliding you up and down his cock as his ridges hit just right. His hips thrust up to meet halfway, and you whine into his ear the harder and faster he starts to go.
“That’s it,” he coaxes, grunting out when you squeeze him hard. “Fuck, good girl.”
Your whine pierces straight through his couch.
Shit, even with his help, you feel an unbearable sting in your muscles. All of them in your lower body are screaming to stop, but you want to keep going going going for him. “My legs,” you wheeze out anyway. “I need to relax for a sec.”
With a kiss to your cheek, Yoongi offers with no hesitation, “Lie down, love.”
Oh. Is he sure? “You gonna be okay?”
Wordlessly, he presses you against him as your back sinks into his couch. It’s the most gentle he’s been tonight, and that turns you on so much you know he can feel you pulse around him.
But he says nothing, eyes roaming your face before he leans to capture your lips, breaths mingling and wisping around your cheeks while he completes a perfect roll of his hips.
“You’ve given me everything.” Sliding his glasses off, he sets them on the ground before cupping your ear. “Let me do the same.”
Soul glimmering, you nod in silence.
As much as you love being on top and watching him unravel beneath you, this is where you will always find home. In his arms, love between your lips as you find connection in more than just below, joining as one.
Your world spans from the room in his heart that you’ve been blessed to have, to the end of his shadow that you will always forgive. You can’t think of anything to say now, but it’s not because you’re shy.
It’s because you aren’t the same person you were when you first ended up here, and you think Yoongi has also changed for the better.
That is exactly why you will fight to make everything work.
Moonlight streams strong through the blinds, and you adore how it highlights every part of this man above your twinkling eyes. The silver lining pales in comparison to what you have in your hands, and the slight tint will never compare to his ethereal shade of blue. Every inch of him feels perfect in your folds, and his body slots into yours just right, roll after roll so heavenly you feel like crying.
“I love you,” Yoongi whispers to your soul, and you fling yourself off the edge just to get to him, tide crashing and swirling as you hold him so, so tight.
He groans hot against your slick cheek, no doubt feeling the desperate tug of your walls, and collapses the beautiful weight of his body on yours.
Yes. This is what you want. Him him him and his complete loss of control.
When you rake nails across his back, the outright whine you hear spurns you on, and you can’t help but come again, squeezing him tight and hearing him lose his mind twice. You crash into waves of your own creation, spiraling in your own whirlpool of need and want and love and desire and every fucking thing in between.
“I’m yours,” you whoosh out, mewling in his ear as he strokes into you harder. “Come for me, love.”
It seems he completely abandons his first plan. Because you think he’s gonna pull out to unload on your chest, but you get held down so hard you scream.
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit, Yoongi’s never come so hard for you, thrashing as he clutches you tight. Desperate, you moan from how powerful he twitches inside, spilling into you but not the way you want. Not the way he wants. But you will get there one day and you don’t fucking care if anything happens after that, as long as you’re with him.
Honestly? You’d be fine with… Something happening after that—
“Fuck..”
Your future thoughts are interrupted by harsh breaths, and you sling tired arms around the love of your life.
“I’m yours, too, doll.” He grits his teeth and tightens his hold around your spent form. “That’s it. This is it for me.”
“And I love you, too,” you heave to his deep set brows, swallowing oxygen and searching his eyes for something else. “How do you feel?”
“There’s… There’s no noise.”
No noise?
“I…” Yoongi clutches your head with a warm palm, eyes settling into soft crescents and sparkling like celestials. “The only thing I hear is you.”
This has to be big news for him. It has to be, given the outright relief showing on his face. So instead of questioning further, you only give your support and celebrate this win, “That’s all you need, to be fair.”
His laugh lights your soul aflame. “Thank you.” Eyes roaming along your face, he smiles. “For everything.”
Following his advice earlier, you ask him another question you need to know the answer to, “Will you tell me if things get bad again?”
Shit. There seems to be a war in his head, and you wait with bated breath. “Gonna be honest.. I don’t know if I’ll remember to.”
Well, that’s a little scary. You tap him to sit up, and he obliges. “Why?”
Instead of sitting, Yoongi stands from the cushions, holding your hand to lift you beside him. It’s intimate to be naked just like this in his living room, but you aren’t shying away. This is your place now, too, you’d like to believe, and this is Yoongi’s way of showing it.
When he leads, you know you’re heading to the bathroom. But you listen as he tries to explain, rolling off the condom and chucking it in the nearest bin,
“It’s.. I dunno. Like my mind just leaves and goes off the rails and I can’t stop it.” You both head into his room. “Everything I think about just comes in at once and I’m drowning again.”
“Oh, baby.. I didn’t know it was like that.” When you stop him near his desk, you give a kiss of support to his cheek. “What about talking to someone?”
For the upteenth time today, Yoongi is stunned. “Like a psychiatrist?"
“Hmm. Maybe, or a therapist? Depends on what you want, but I can’t remember right now. Have no think.”
Looking down, Yoongi reaches for his phone next to his keyboard, and both of you check up on the definitions while you hook an arm around his. Looks like he’d be better off with a therapist for what he’s looking for.
“It could help,” you murmur, hoping he’s fine with your suggestion. “Maybe.”
Staring and looking through more pages and sites, Yoongi comes to his own conclusion. “I think you’re right.”
“I’m always right.”
Phone thudding down on his desk, he rubs your shoulder, thumb brushing and feeling beautifully warm. “Most of the time.”
Your poke to his side sets off a flinch.
“For now, you just have to find something that calms you down.” You extricate yourself from his side and head to the bathroom, feeling the chill of night air on your bare skin. “Like something that will just.. I dunno, make you forget all the bad shit for a little while.”
“It’s you, doll.”
You turn to face him across the room, eyes searching for any doubt as he walks up to your planted feet.
“This whole time, it’s always been you.” Reaching for your hips, he softly connects your front to his. “My nights are for sleeping again.”
Oh. That’s more than you can bear to know. Touched, you caress his hair, eyes teary and full. “Good. It felt like something was bothering you this whole week, but. Maybe I was just reading into it too much.”
“You aren’t wrong.” He swallows, gaze looking towards his bed. “I… Wrote some songs. At the hospital.” When you don’t say anything, he stares at your lips. “And I really, really wanna work on them.”
Wait. That’s it? “Oh. That’s what you’ve been working on here? I won’t keep you if you need to work on them now.”
“Nah, I’ve just been doing the instrumentals here. If I wanna record vocals, I’d have to go to the studio.”
This is so confusing. Does he think he can’t go? Or does he think you wouldn’t wanna go with him? “...Okay?”
He finally regards your eyes, stunned that you’d readily let him go. “Okay?”
“Yes, silly. If it’s something you need to go do, then do it.” You feel bad if you were the reason he couldn’t do what he’s been wanting to do. Maybe you should be more vocal in your support instead of just your actions. “Just show me what you end up doing because I’m nosy.”
“Come with me.”
“Hmm?”
Yoongi pulls you close, leading both your hands around his side and your faces closer. And it’s criminal how dashing he looks in those specs with his hair falling around the rims. “To the studio. Come with me.”
Your breath catches in your throat as your pulse quickens. “You sure, baby?”
“No one’s gonna be there for a minute,” he assures. “We still got a bit of time before anyone comes in.”
“If you’re okay with it..” Suddenly shy, you stare at the silver on his chest.“I’ve always wanted to come see you at work, so.”
“No shit?” Yoongi’s face lights up so fast you’d think the moon dipped into the room. “Let’s go then.”
—
—
This is happening. This is actually happening.
A whole wave of excitement drenches you as you’re brought into the studio you’ve only heard about.
Shelves of equipment line one wall while a black sofa sits right near the door, hugging the backside of the room. On the far side, you see one huge workstation, littered with different buttons, sliders, computer monitors, and backed by a speaker system that stands in front of a long glass window.
Oh. Sick. There’s a recording booth attached right to their room, and even that space looks pretty decently sized.
“Holy shit,” you breathe out, eyes wide as you take in your surroundings. The air itself feels new and exciting, full of promise and dreams and… one Min Yoongi smiling at you from the doorway.
Laughing, you blurt, “What?”
His teeth shine as he looks down, shutting the door and making his way towards you. The way he walks makes you feel many things, but above all, it lets you know how at home he feels here. How comfortable and in his element. “Nothing, doll,” he says through a grin. “Just watching you.”
Your eyes cannot sparkle bright enough. But you let him pull you into his arms as you keep looking around. “It’s amazing,” you note with wonder. “No wonder you practically live here.”
There’s no malice or anything negative in your tone. So you’re confused when Yoongi’s shoulders drop. “Sorry,” he apologizes, eyes downcast. “I always try to make things quick.”
Your eyes snap to his. “What? No, don’t do that.” Sliding palms up his jaw, you look him head on. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, okay? I don’t care how much time you spend here, not if it’s what you wanna do.”
You meant it earlier. He has to know you’re gonna support his dreams and aspirations no matter what. In actions, and in words. If he doesn’t know that yet? Well. You aren’t trying hard enough to drive the point home.
Yoongi twists his face to kiss one of your hands. “Thanks, baby.”
Oh. Baby again. Not babe. Why does him saying that make you crumble a hundred times over? “Of course. And don’t mind me while we’re here, okay? I’ll be invisible unless you need my help.”
Looking towards the workstation, Yoongi contemplates before turning back with a small nod. “I do, actually.”
Wait, you even get some hands-on action? Yoongi’s gonna teach you shit? Tonight is the best night ever. “Perfect, put me to work. What are we doing, producer man?”
—
—
Yoongi bobs in the recording booth while you do the same and await his first masterpiece.
And as he spits line after line, you hype him up, grabbing your chair arm and yelling out as he completes another rhyme.
Fuck, he’s good and quick-witted, which is inherently a turn on for you and launching you into his magnetic stratosphere. You start getting up to bounce in place, and he raps to the rug as you keep encouraging him to continue. He can’t hear you, but he can see you, and you’re certain those flashing smiles are for your antics.
It’s amazing how Yoongi can just do this. He’s truly a genius, and you’re starting to wonder what other artistic prowess he has. You would be fine just sitting on the back couch and watching him work any day of the week. Why haven’t you been doing this sooner?
Well. There are two pretty damn obvious reasons.
The beat bumps and bumps after he finally finishes, and you wait the designated seconds before cutting the recording line. Something about letting it run a bit as to not cut off the backend off his recorded part.
Just like that, Yoongi’s done with two out of the three songs he wrote in that waiting room. You shout in vehement support as he grins at your bouncing, standing ovation. As he comes through the recording door, you buzz at his amused as hell question, “What are you even doing in here?”
“Uhh, hyping you up? That was so good!”
His laugh creases those beautiful, spectacled eyes. “It’s just one verse per song!”
“Just one—let me try,” you command, settling back into your rolling chair. “Run it again and watch me.”
“Oh, yeah?” A few hisses of laughter shoot out as he peers up at the overhead screen. “Let’s see it then.”
The beat starts and you try to find a good first line to rhyme with. And this is meant to demonstrate to Yoongi that he is miles above everyone in rapping, but you start to get into it, using the simplest sentences and shouts and making your lover laugh his ass off.
But he’s egging you on and bobbing his head so enthusiastically that you’re somehow finding all the right words to say, elated when he shouts and looks at you with hearts in his eyes.
Your chuckle is softer and softer as you stop. “What?”
“You’re so perfect.”
Your cheeks sizzle right underneath. “You just say that because you’re happy.”
“I am happy,” Yoongi says without hesitation, which makes your heart soar. “But you’re also perfect.”
You cannot deal with this level of affection right now. Not when you both came for him to work on something important. Plopping into the rolling chair again, your stomach flips as it leans back a bit. “And you need to focus,” you order, rolling close and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “You have one more to go, if my counts are correct.”
His eyes have a very intentional glint as he creases them at you, but he lets you steadily roll to the side as he looks at the console. “I have to move some tracks around, so this might take a sec. If you get bored, though, tell me and we can leave.”
“Not until you’re done.”
Yoongi looks at you again, and he watches your smile. “You sure?”
When you nod, you take hold of your phone and lean into the plush but firm back of the chair. Unlocking your screen, you hum, “I’ll keep myself busy somehow.”
“Come here.”
Although low, Yoongi’s voice is more than enough to get your attention. Head raising, you see him angling himself towards you before rising out of his seat.
Wait. What’s he doing? You know he’s supposed to be working. You both agreed this wouldn’t result in any funny business. But your throat remains closed and silent under those eyes. Fuck, they’re smoldering. Seriously, what is he doing?
Leaning down, Yoongi places firm hands on your armrests, caging you in and letting his chain swing free, “I said come here.”
Well. If he doesn’t give a shit? Fuck it then.
You giggle before willfully meeting his lips, neck craning to reach him and swooning at the way his cold silver hits your throat. You’re nowhere near a bed nor couch anymore, but that’s exactly where your mind wanders for the quickest of seconds.
Turns out, you aren’t the only one. Your mind has company. And it, along with your whole body, shivers at the next words pouring like liquid, spiced honey from that devilishly curved mouth,
“I know we said what we said.”
“Uh huh…”
“But following the rules.. hasn’t exactly been my style.”
Your breath hitches at those mischievous eyes. “Even if they’re yours?”
Yoongi lets out a breath of a laugh, like he knew you would ask that and he’s got his answer loaded in the chamber. “Doll, there’s only one set of rules I wouldn’t break.”
“And which ones are—”
Snatching your quick lips, he kisses butterflies into your belly before gripping your chin, holding your gaze and melting you with one syllable.
“Yours.”
Maybe you’re about to pass away in a studio. But at least you’d have an excuse to stay in here forever now, because you could listen to Yoongi perform and record every day of your life.
“The number of times…” He kisses you again, chaste and full. “I’ve thought about you in here…”
“Me…?” You breathe out before your eyes slip shut in another kiss. “Why?”
“One, I think about you everywhere.” He kisses your neck. “And two? Just cus I shouldn’t.”
You suddenly get an idea. About a home studio that you certainly can put to use. But this one would have to do—
“Alright, old man,” you stop his next advance with a stiff arm. “Get to work before I make you.”
“Ugh.” Yoongi rises with a deep chuckle. “You’re lucky I love that.”
“I know you do.”
“This is the last one anyway,” he notes, picking up his notebook and tapping it with a pen. “Just wanna make sure you’re fine hearing it.”
“Of course I am, baby.” You roll up to the workstation as Yoongi loads a file into the interface. Based on the ones you already heard, you know why he’s asking you about this third track. Now you’re even more nervous to be in the room. “I’m not the one paying for the studio time.”
His cheeks leap to the sky when he grins at the monitors, shifting things around the screen with the deftness of a professional. “Why do you seem so comfy here?”
Your heart follows through the roof. Because you have the same feeling, but you already know the reason. It’s working right in front of you. “Because this is your home,” you respond through a smile. “And I can finally see why.”
His hands pause as emotions race across his face. And while you think you can pick some of them out, a few of them border on melancholic. Regardless, you’re sticking to your answer, eyeing him when he faces you one more time.
Bending, he cups your chin so, so tender. “You’re my home,” he corrects with a whisper, and your heart glows with his soft kiss to your cheek. “Now stop distracting me, brat.”
Oh, he’s got to be joking! “What did I do!”
Yoongi simply laughs as he checks everything over. With a tap of his fingers, he seems satisfied, so he heads into the recording room. “Just remember to do the same thing.”
“Yeah, I got it.”
Exhaling from your mouth, you watch as he slips on headphones and adjusts the mic. When he gives you a thumbs up, you give him a nod, hitting record and letting music flood the studio.
And your entire body is surrounded by a desperate sense of longing, wildly different from the first two songs, and you slowly stand because you can’t do anything else.
You understand everything now.
Why Yoongi wouldn’t leave your side, why he was so eager to see you. You feel it now, too. This pull, this yearning, this overwhelming feeling in your chest that is tugging you closer and closer to him. There aren’t many words yet, but you understand what he’s trying to convey.
This man can have the universe and then some.
When Yoongi notices your tear-stained cheeks, he holds your gaze before slowly slipping his headphones down his hanging head.
It takes everything for you to stop the recording, shaking as you slowly walk to the recording room entrance. As you open the door, it feels more than symbolic, and a pang rings in your chest at the sight of Yoongi’s reddened eyes.
So you bolt, crushing him into a hug and letting all those moments of separation and confusion and anger fall from your eyes. It’s not just a song, it’s a plea. It’s a cry for help. And you’re gonna answer it every single time.
“I’m here, Yoongi,” you whisper. “I’ll always be here.”
He doesn’t look when you cup his chin.
“Baby, look at me.” He finally does, and your chest tightens so quick you choke. “It’s gonna be alright.”
“You think so.”
“Yes.” You smile, giving him a calming kiss that gets your point across. Then another to his cheek. And another to his forehead. Nothing heated. Nothing intense. Only the purest connection. “I’ll always lo—”
Every hair you have stands on end.
Because a booming intercom buzzes across the room with a crackle and a snap, and all your peace flees as you snap your head to the window.
Blanching at the person watching on the other side.
“Yoongi, what the fuck?”
—
—
tbc :)
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a/n: AND THE WHOLE PART IS UPPPPP woohoo! thank you all for bringing such joy and love to this series that means the world to me. i cannot have asked for a cooler community, and knowing you guys have been waiting for this all this time? i could cry. even after all this time, you're still here. or you're just finding this series and joining us on this journey. thank you all for being here, and here's to... well... The Big Events. #prayForMe #willBeCryingOnMyKeyboard
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Summary: You lived a quiet life running your bookstore cafe. You didn't expect your life to be flipped upside down by some strangers escaping noise …. one sandwich at a time.
Pairing: Music Producer Yoongi x F. Reader
Genre: Romance, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Small Town
Warnings: Unprotected Sex, Swearing
You have the counter covered in cardstock samples, ink stamps, and ribbon spools. Founders’ Day is the biggest event in town. It's a weekend of historical reenactments, craft fairs, and enough tourists to triple your revenue if you play your cards right.
You are currently debating between a vintage botanical print or a minimalist espresso bean design for your custom bookmarks when the bell chimes.
"If you're here to tell me arugula is out and microgreens are in, Jin, the kitchen is closed." You sigh.
"Actually, I was going to suggest sun-dried tomato pesto," Jin’s voice rings out as they all come walking through the door.
"What is all this?" Jimin asks, picking up a tassel. "Are we starting a scrapbooking club?"
"Founders’ Day," you explain, tapping your pen against a sketch of your booth. "It’s next weekend. I’m doing a pop-up at the town square. Coffee, limited edition bookmarks, and maybe those cinnamon rolls if I can keep up with the demand."
"A pop-up?" Hobi’s face lights up. "Like a festival? Music? Lights? People dancing in the streets?"
"Mostly people dressed like 1800s blacksmiths," you clarify.
"This layout is... efficient. However, it lacks flair." Jin says.
"It's a wooden stall and a plastic table, Jin," you sigh.
"We can make it better," Jin counters, already pulling a pen from his pocket. "You have to sell my sandwiches so we need something that screams 'History, but make it Gourmet'."
"I can handle the aesthetic," Jimin chimes in, his fingers dancing over the ribbon samples. "These colors won't work. We need gold. We need deep velvets."
"I can build the structure," Jungkook says suddenly, grabbing a piece of scrap paper and sketching a three-dimensional frame. "The standard stalls are flimsy. If we're running a coffee machine and a sandwich press, we need reinforced counters and better cable management. I can make it modular."
"We need a playlist. I’ll set up the speakers. I can even do some street promotion. Give me a stack of those bookmarks." Hobi smiles.
You look at the four of them, then back at your modest little plan. It’s being dismantled and rebuilt into something massive right before your eyes.
"You realize I have a budget of about fifty dollars and a dream, right?" You ask.
"You have us," Jin says.
You look over at Yoongi. He hasn't joined the huddle yet. He’s just watching the chaos with that familiar, small curve of his mouth.
"You're awfully quiet," you say to him. "No opinions on the 'Founders’ Day' aesthetic?"
"They’re already going to make it ten times bigger than it needs to be. You don't need my opinion." He shrugs.
You feel that familiar heat hit your face that you try to tame. You should stop them. You should tell them that Namjoon will lose his mind if he finds out they’re spent their week designing a modular coffee stall and debating tassel lengths.
But then you look at Jungkook, who is now arguing with Jin about the load-bearing capacity of a croissant display, and Jimin, who is draping ribbons over Hobi’s head to test the light…you couldn't.
"Fine," you say, throwing your hands up in mock defeat. “I'll be overruled anyway.”
“Correct,” Jin says immediately, not even looking up from your sketch.
“What are we going for?” Jimin hums, holding two ribbon samples up to the light like he’s making a life-altering decision.
“Coffee,” you deadpan. “We’re going for coffee and maybe some local history books.”
“Wrong,” Hobi grins, already grabbing a stack of bookmarks. “People need to feel something when they walk up.”
“They will,” you assure him. “Caffeine.”
Jungkook is no longer sketching. He’s measuring. With a tape measure you’re almost positive did not come from your shop.
“Where did you get that?” You ask.
“My bag,” he answers.
“You just… carry that around?” You ask.
“Yeah, just in case.” He nods.
“In case of what?” You question.
“In case something needs fixing.” He states like it’s obvious.
You stare at him for a second. Behind you, there’s a soft thud as Taehyung sets a small stack of children’s books on the counter.
“Is there… anything I can do?” He asks.
“Actually…” you say slowly, after thinking for a moment. “Mrs. Carter usually runs a temporary tattoo booth every year.”
Taehyung looks back at you a little hopeful.
“She teaches second grade,” you add. “And she always ends up overwhelmed by about the first hour. You’d basically be dealing with sticky hands and kids who can’t sit still.”
“I can do that,” he says quietly.
“I'll let her know she has a volunteer,” you tell him.
“That's perfect,’” Hobi smiles. “We can roll out a deal. Buy a tattoo, get a coffee…”
“No,” you cut him off.
“At least make sure the designs are on-brand.” Jin points his pen at Taehyung
“They’re dinosaurs and butterflies, Jin.” You deadpan.
“I bet I can build a better station.” Jungkook doesn't even look up.
“No one is building anything else,” you say firmly.
Too late.
It’s already happening.
“I’m not talking about the bookmark display.” You warn a couple of days later.
“Come on.” Jungkook slaps the counter.
“What?” You blink.
“You need to see something,” he says, like this is obvious.
“I’m working,” you reply, not moving.
“You can work later.” He argues.
“No, I can’t …hey,” He takes your wrist, cutting you off. “Jungkook, what are you doing?” You ask.
“Trust me,” he says.
“I don’t. This is how people get kidnapped.” You hiss.
“You’ll thank me.” He says, as he pulls you out the door.
Ten minutes later, he pulls up to the warehouse and you shake your head. Jungkook hops out of the car and you slowly get out but don't follow.
“No,” you say.
“What?” He turns.
“You brought me here?” You hiss, lowering your voice. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Namjoon's not here,” Jungkook says.
“If Namjoon even finds out I’m here…” You try to take a step back.
“He’s in a meeting,” Jungkook informs you. “Long one.”
“This is a terrible idea.” You press your fingers to your temple.
“Five minutes and I'll take you back,” he says.
“Five minutes,” you repeat.
The second you step inside you stop again. The space is massive. Cables run clean along the floor, equipment set up in sections that somehow feel both chaotic and organized at the same time. However, that’s not what throws you off.
In the corner was a fully built wooden booth. Jungkook steps around you, watching your reaction like he’s waiting for a verdict.
“Modular,” he says, pointing. “Breaks down into six sections for transport.”
“Jungkook.” You breathe out and walk over to it.
“The counter height is adjusted for your machines,” he continues. “And I added extra storage underneath because Jin said you’d run out of space in under an hour. Also, now there’s space for books.”
“You… built this?” You run your hand along the wood.
“We built it,” he corrects.
“For Founders’ Day?” You ask, quieter now.
“Yeah.” He shrugs.
“You weren’t joking.” You look at him. “This is insane.”
“It’s efficient.” He corrects.
“Told you she’d like it.” You turn to find Yoongi leaning against a doorway you didn’t notice before, hands in his pockets, watching you.
“You knew about this?” You ask.
“Helped design the layout.” He nods once.
“How did Namjoon not freak out about this?” You ask.
“Time management.” Jungkook looks pleased with himself. “He can't complain if we're getting work done.”
“Come on.” Yoongi pushes off the doorway, stepping closer.
“Where?” You ask.
“My studio.” He tilts his head slightly toward the hall behind him.
“Five minutes,” you say and Jungkook snorts behind you.
His studio is… smaller than you expected. There’s a desk, monitors everywhere, scattered notes and things with a bunch of buttons.
“This is where you work?” you ask.
“Yeah.” He nods.
“This is where all that… ‘nothing’ happens?” You glance back at him.
“Something like that.” He laughs.
Yoongi doesn’t sit back down at his desk. He stays in your space, his eyes tracking the way you’re looking around his sanctuary.
"It’s not as intimidating as the rest of the building," you whisper, finally turning to face him.
"It’s just a room," he says.
“I think a lot of people would argue with you about that,” you tell him.
The light from his monitors casts a soft, blue-toned glow over his features and the quiet intensity in his eyes. His hands come up to cup your face and his gaze drops down to your lips.
"You talk too much," he murmurs, his face tilting down, his breath warm against your skin.
Your eyes flutter shut, your hands finding the front of his hoodie, pulling him just a fraction closer.
THUD.
The heavy studio door doesn't just open. It bounces off the interior wall. You jump back so fast you nearly trip his chair. Yoongi clears his throat, spinning around to face the intruder with a glare. Taehyung stands in the doorway, completely oblivious to the romantic moment he just shattered. He’s holding a handful of fabric swatches and an interior design magazine.
"I have an idea!" Taehyung announces.
"Taehyung. We're in the middle of... work." Yoongi rubs a hand over his face, his shoulders slumping.
"This is work. Get out of the way!" Taehyung insists, marching past Yoongi and spreading the swatches across something that looks expensive. "I was thinking about the kids' corner back at Perk and Page. The current rug is... well, it’s a rug. However, it could be a meadow."
“A meadow?" You clear your throat.
"Yes! Look." He points to a deep forest-green velvet swatch. "New furniture. Small, rounded oak chairs…no sharp corners for the little ones. The rug... it needs to be thick, plush. Maybe with some embroidered wildflowers."
He looks at you, his eyes wide and sparking with genuine excitement.
"The children need a place that feels like a storybook, not just a waiting room while their parents get lattes," he explains.
"You want to renovate her entire shop now?" Yoongi sighs.
"Just the corner!" Taehyung corrects, then pauses, tapping his chin. "For now. I also saw a very interesting light fixture shaped like a cloud."
"Taehyung," you laugh. "I don't have the money to redo the kids corner right now."
Taehyung waves a hand dismissively, already pulling a measuring tape out of his pocket. Apparently, he and Jungkook share a hobby.
"Who says you have to pay for it,” he says.
"I'm going to lock the door next time." Yoongi just stares at the ceiling.
“Come on! We need to see if the cloud lamp won't hang too low!" Taehyung grins.
Before you can protest, Taehyung takes your hand, leading you back out toward the chaos of the warehouse where the others are likely already building a miniature oak table.
As you're pulled through the doorway, you glance back at Yoongi. He’s still standing by his desk, watching you go. He catches your eye and gives a tiny, barely-there nod. A silent promise that the five minutes aren't over.
Not yet.
The air smells like cinnamon, woodsmoke, and something fried you’re trying very hard not to think about.
It’s barely ten in the morning and the town square is already busy. Leaves crunching under boots, vendors calling out to early customers, the distant clang of a blacksmith’s hammer ringing out like a metronome for the entire weekend. Someone in full 1800s attire walks past your stall carrying a basket of apples like they were born to it.
“Don’t even think about handing that out,” Jin says sharply, sliding in beside you and plucking a plate from your hands before you can pass it over the counter.
“It’s a cinnamon roll, not a bomb.” You blink at him.
“It’s uneven,” he corrects, already turning it slightly on the plate like the angle matters. “Presentation is the first bite.”
“They’re eating it, not framing it.” You laugh.
“They’re doing both,” he shoots back, reaching for a dusting of powdered sugar like he’s blessing it.
“Two lattes, one caramel, one vanilla! And…yes…those are fresh, I promise, we don’t lie here!” Hobi’s voice cuts through the noise.
You glance over your shoulder just in time to see him hand off a drink with a bright grin. The customer laughs, already reaching for her wallet again like she’s been personally charmed into it.
“You’ve created a monster,” you mutter.
“I’ve created an experience,” Hobi corrects, not even looking back.
“Less talking, more pouring,” Jin says, nudging you toward the machine again. “Your shot is going to burn.”
You turn back just in time, catching it before it goes bitter. The machine hisses, steam curling up into the crisp fall air, and for a second it almost feels like a normal morning.
Then you look up.
And stop.
There’s a line.
Not just a couple people lingering. Not polite curiosity.
A line.
It stretches past your stall, weaving between a handmade candle booth and a woman selling knitted scarves, people clutching menus, pointing at your display, talking.
About you.
About this.
“Don’t freeze on me now,” Jin says under his breath, following your gaze. “We’re just getting started.”
“I…” you exhale a quiet laugh, shaking your head once like that’ll reset your brain. “I thought we’d have, like… a slow first hour.”
“We did. That was twenty minutes ago.” Hobi leans in just enough to murmur.
To your left, a burst of laughter pulls your attention. You see Jimin, seated at a small folding table surrounded by a group of older women. He found the bingo tent.
“Bingo!” One of them cheers, slapping the table.
“I told you to trust me!” Jimin grins, pointing dramatically at the card like he personally orchestrated the win. “It’s all about intuition.”
“You cheated,” another woman accuses, though she’s smiling too wide for it to stick.
“How can I cheat at bingo?’” He counters smoothly.
A blur passes behind you. You don’t even see where Jungkook comes from anymore. One second he’s not there, the next he’s setting down a crate of milk like it appeared out of thin air.
“You were down to two,” he says simply.
“I didn’t even…” you start.
“I know,” he nods, already moving again. “You’re good for another hour.”
And then he’s gone.
“Does he teleport?” You mutter.
“Focus,” Jin says, sliding another plate into position. “Next order.”
On the far edge of the square, a small crowd of children has gathered around a table covered in bright colors and paper sheets. Taehyung sits in the middle of it, sleeves pushed up, completely focused as he carefully presses a temporary tattoo onto a kid’s arm.
“Hold still,” he murmurs gently. “It has to set properly.”
“I want another one!” The kid immediately declares.
“You just got a dinosaur,” Taehyung points out.
“I want a butterfly too.” The kid smiles.
“Hey! We’re out of napkins!” Hobi calls.
“Under the counter!” You shout back automatically.
You reach for the next cup, sliding it under the machine, your hands finally catching up to the pace your brain’s been trying to process.
“Next!” Hobi calls.
“Next,” You echo, steadier now.
Jin adjusts another plate like it’s a masterpiece.
Jimin cheers again in the distance.
Hobi’s relentless festival voice falters for a split second, long enough for you to look up from a half-poured coffee. Namjoon is standing five feet from the counter, and he looks like he’s been dropped onto a different planet. He’s wearing a dark, expensive-looking overcoat that screams metropolitan boardroom, and his arms are crossed tightly over his chest.
"I told you," Yoongi says, his voice cutting through the hiss of the machine. "Your world didn't collapse because you stepped away from the monitors for two hours."
Namjoon doesn't look at him. He looks at the line of people, then at Jin, who is currently garnishing and finally at you.
"This is..." Namjoon starts, his voice deep, a mix of confusion and reluctant observation. "Logistically improbable to be this busy for such a small town."
"It's a festival, Namjoon," you say, wiping your hands on your apron and stepping toward the edge of the counter. "I'd offer you a seat, but Jimin stole the only extra chairs for his Bingo empire."
Namjoon’s gaze follows your gesture toward the Bingo tent. He watches Jimin high-five a woman who must be eighty-five years old, and he actually winces.
"Get him a coffee before he starts analyzing the foot traffic patterns,” Yoongi tells you.
"I don't need a coffee," Namjoon says stiffly, though his eyes wander to the chalkboard menu Jungkook hand-lettered. "I have work to finish. I merely came to see what was so important."
"You gave us permission to be here today," Jin chimes in.
Namjoon lets out a breath that’s almost a sigh. He looks out of place among the woodsmoke and the children’s laughter.
"I'll take a black coffee," Namjoon says, finally uncrossing his arms. "And... whatever Jin is making."
"That would be the Founders Special,'" you say, already reaching for a cup. "It’s Jin's pride and joy."
"Look at the display, Joon," Yoongi murmurs. "Top shelf. Left side."
Namjoon’s eyes drift to your curated book display. You had tucked a few local history titles among the bookmarks and cups.
Namjoon freezes. His hand reaches out, hovering over a weathered, leather-bound spine: The 1842 Annals of the Valley. "Is this the original print?" He asks, his voice losing that hard, defensive edge. "The town library only has the 1970s reprint. The maps in this edition are supposed to be..."
He stops himself, clearing his throat and trying to pull the mask back into place, but the book is already open. You just watch him for a second, sliding a black coffee across the counter.
“On the house,” you say. “Your sandwich will be up in a moment.”
“That’s unnecessary.” Namjoon doesn’t look up.
“Probably,” you agree easily.
“You’re running a business.” His eyes lift to yours, sharper now.
“And you’re at a festival,” you reply, resting your hands lightly on the counter. “It's not that serious.”
He studies you like you’re a variable he hasn’t accounted for yet. Then his gaze drops back to the book and you place the sandwich down in front of him.
“You’re losing at least fifty dollars,” he says.
“I’ll survive.” You shrug.
Namjoon’s thumb brushes the edge of the page. He doesn’t reach for his wallet. He just closes the book halfway and tucks it under his arm.
“This is…” he starts.
“You're overthinking it,” Yoongi says.
Namjoon’s mouth opens, his brain clearly firing on all cylinders. You can practically see the bullet points forming in his head.
"Logistically speaking," he begins, his tone shifting into that authoritative tone.
"Namjoon," you interrupt, not even looking up as you steam a fresh pitcher of milk. "I’m going to need you to do something very difficult for me," you say. "I need you to take that very expensive coat, that very old book, and those very loud opinions, and walk exactly fifty paces to the left."
"Why fifty paces?" Namjoon’s brow furrows.
"Because that’s where the funnel cake stand is," you say, pointing a stirring spoon at him. "Go buy a plate of fried dough to go with your sandwich and coffee. Then, find a bench under that oak tree and read your maps. Just eat the cake and read the book."
Namjoon looks at the book under his arm, then at the crowded square, then back at you. He looks like a man being asked to solve an equation with no numbers.
"Go away, Joon! You’re blocking the aesthetic!" Hobi shouts from the other end of the counter, popping a stray blueberry into his mouth.
Yoongi lets out a short, dry laugh. It's the kind that sounds like he’s been waiting all day for someone to talk to Namjoon like that. He reaches out, places a hand on Namjoon's shoulder, and physically begins to pivot him away from the stall.
"You heard the boss," Yoongi murmurs, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he catches your eye over Namjoon's shoulder. "Go be a civilian for an hour. It’s an order."
Namjoon stumbles a half-step, looking bewildered, but he doesn't fight it. He looks down at the 1842 Annals, his fingers tightening slightly on the leather spine. As Yoongi leads a grumbling, map-obsessed Namjoon into the crowd, you turn back to your line just as Jimin yells out Bingo.
"I've got the rest of this," Jin says, surprisingly gentle as he wipes down the espresso machine for you. "Go. Before Hobi tries to start a new business venture."
You don't need to be told twice. Your legs ache, and your head is spinning with the sheer volume of caffeine and conversation you had today. You slip out the back of the stall, catching Yoongi’s eye where he’s leaning against a nearby oak tree. He doesn't say a word, just pushes off the tree and starts walking toward you.
"You did it," he says.
"Thankfully I had help" you say.
“You gave them a reason to help,” he smirks at you and takes your hand in his.
The two of you walk out near an old stone bridge, looking out over the creek. The orange light of the sunset hits him sideways, making him look softer. It makes you look away quickly.
"It's never been this busy in the past," you laugh, leaning against the rail of the bridge. "Jin must do something special with those sandwiches."
Yoongi turns to you. The sharp intensity you saw in the studio is back, but there’s something heavier now. Something like regret. He reaches out, his hand sliding into your hair.
He doesn't give you a chance to say anything else. He leans in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss. You reach up in surprise, fisting your hands in his hoodie, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you. When he pulls back, he doesn't let go. He keeps his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes closed.
"Namjoon made the arrangements today," he says, the words barely a breath.
The warmth in your chest that you were feeling turns ice cold. You don't move. You don't breathe.
"We’re going back to the city," he continues. "In two weeks."
"Two weeks," you repeat.
"The others don't know yet," Yoongi says, finally opening his eyes. "Jungkook is planning on changing the shelving for your shop. Taehyung is looking at paint samples for your kids' corner. Hobi wants to plant a garden or … something," Yoongi’s grip on your neck tightens just slightly. "Don't tell them. Not yet. I shouldn't even be telling you, but..."
"But you didn't want to blindside me," you finish for him.
You look back toward the town square, where you can see the guys laughing as they pack up your stall. You knew this was coming. From the moment they crashed into your quiet life with their expensive clothes and their efficient ideas, you knew they were a beautiful, temporary storm.
"We knew this was going to happen, Yoongi," you say quietly, looking back at Yoongi.
“I know,” he says, jaw tightening a little bit.
"Two weeks," you whisper, reaching out to take his hand. "Then we better make them count."
"The Founders’ Day numbers proved my theory," Jin announces, pacing the length of the counter. "People don't just want coffee. We need a signature cake. Something with layers. A Perk and Page torte with gold leaf and a hint of espresso."
"Gold leaf is expensive, Jin," you say, leaning back against the espresso machine.
"We'll adjust the margin!" He counters, dismissively waving his hand. "I’ve already sourced a supplier for edible petals."
“We can do specials based on a book,” Jimin throws in.
In the corner, the quiet click of a measuring tape echoes. Jungkook is standing on a chair, eyeing the ceiling with intense focus. Beside him, a large, oddly shaped box sits open, revealing the soft, white curves of a lamp that looks exactly like a cumulus cloud.
"I can wire the cloud lamp into the main circuit tomorrow morning," Jungkook says, tapping the ceiling. "If I use a recessed mount, it’ll look like it’s floating."
"And the rug!" Taehyung chirps, sitting cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a catalog. "I found the meadow design. It’s coming from a boutique in the city. It should be here by Tuesday. Once the cloud lamp is up, the lighting will be perfect for reading groups."
"I'm thinking we should throw a launch party," Hobi adds, his eyes bright as he scribbles on a napkin. "We do a 'Midnight in the Meadow' event once the renovation is done. I'll handle the invites."
You look across the room, past the gold leaf talk and the cloud lamp, to where Yoongi is sitting on the edge of the far table.
He’s the only one not talking. He’s just watching them, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black hoodie. When he senses your gaze, his eyes shift to yours.
In his eyes, you see the same guilt on the bridge. The knowledge of the calendar and the city that’s already reaching out to pull them back. He watches Jungkook mark a spot on the ceiling with a pencil. He hears Jin talk about a spring menu that probably won't ever be launched. Yoongi gives you a tiny shake of his head.
"You're quiet," Jin says, pointing his spoon at you. "What do you think of the torte? Dark chocolate or white chocolate?"
You look at Jin’s proud, handsome face, then at Taehyung, who is petting the velvet swatch like it’s a tiny treasure.
"Dark chocolate," you say. "It goes better with the coffee."
"Perfect," Jin beams. "I’ll start the test batches on Monday."
Yoongi looks down at his boots, his jaw tightening. You turn away and start wiping down the steam wand, the metal hot against your palm, focusing on the sound of their laughter while you still can.
The bell above the door gives one final, cheerful chime as the last of them spills out onto the sidewalk. You can hear Jimin and Hobi’s laughter echoing down the street, Jungkook and
Taehyung arguing about the best way to hang the lamp, and Jin’s voice rising above it all to remind them that he expects a full tasting panel by noon.
You don’t look up. You grab a rag and start scrubbing a spot on the counter that’s already spotless. You scrub until your knuckles turn white, until the friction starts to burn.
"You're going to rub a hole in the wood." Yoongi’s voice is soft, coming from where he’s still perched.
You stop, but you don’t let go of the rag. You can’t. If you let go, your hands might start shaking.
"I hate this," you whisper. "I hate every second of this, Yoongi."
He stands up, the floorboards creaking under his weight as he walks toward you. He doesn't stop until he’s on the other side of the counter.
"I know," he says.
"Did you see them?" You finally look up. "Jungkook is so proud of the work he does here. Taehyung spent his own money to redo the kids' corner for a shop he’s leaving. They’re building a home here, Yoongi. They’re investing in a future that Namjoon has already erased."
"They're happy," Yoongi says, though his own voice sounds strained. "For now, they're just happy."
"It’s a lie." You throw the rag down. "Every time I smile back at them, I’m lying. When Jin talks about the spring menu and I don’t stop him, I’m lying. It feels like I’m mourning people who are still standing right in front of me."
Yoongi walks around the counter and cups the back of your neck. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you forward until your forehead rests against his shoulder.
"You think I don't feel it?" He murmurs into your hair. "I have to look at Namjoon every morning while he checks the countdown on his phone. I have to listen to Jungkook talk about wanting to replace your flooring."
“They deserve to know." You let out a shaky breath.
"And then what?" Yoongi’s voice is suddenly sharp. "The next ten days become a funeral. Jungkook stops building. Taehyung stops dreaming. Jin stops cooking. Right now, this shop is the only place where they aren't assets. They’re just guys hanging a lamp in a coffee shop. Do you really want to take that away from them early?"
"I just didn't think it would hurt this much," you admit, your voice breaking.
Yoongi pulls back just enough to look at you. His thumb brushes a stray tear from your cheek, his touch lingering. He looks exhausted, the weight of the secret is affecting him too.
"It hurts because it’s real," he says softly. "Even if the time is short, the way they feel about this place…about you…that isn't a lie."
He leans down, kissing your forehead, a slow, lingering press of his lips that feels like a goodbye and a promise all at once.
"Ten days," he whispers against your skin. "Don't count the minutes. Just let them hang the lamp."
Yoongi’s hand stays on your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw one last time before he slowly pulls away. He looks around the room. At the bookmarks, the sketches, the meadow rug sample and for a moment, he looks like he wants to say something more.
"I have to go," he says, walking back around the counter. "Before Namjoon sends a search party."
"I know." You nod.
“I'll see you tomorrow,” he says, as he pauses at the door before slipping out into the night.
Slowly, you reach over and click off the lights. The shop plunges into darkness, leaving you alone once again.
Ten days.
Ten days and you'll be back to your old normal. The routine you used to find comfort in and yet somehow…you weren't looking forward to it at all.
It had been raining for days. It seemed very fitting for your mood. Behind the counter, Jin is a whirlwind. Multitasking, making sandwiches and pausing to write down a new idea. Hobi is stationed at the end of the bar, his laughter ringing out over the hiss of the espresso machine as he chats with Jenna. Across the room, Jimin leans in close as Mrs. Higgins debates her next move, his expression one of mock-seriousness as he whispers strategic advice that has the entire table giggling like schoolgirls.
Nearby, Taehyung is perched on a small stool beneath the glowing, floating cloud lamp. He is surrounded by a cluster of children who are sitting perfectly still as he reads from a colorful picture book. In the midst of everything, Jungkook is tucked away near the back hallway, half-hidden behind a step ladder as he fine-tunes a shelving unit he’s reinforcing.
Further back, at a small table away from the main flow of traffic, Yoongi sits with his laptop and a pair of headphones pushed back off his ears. His eyes occasionally drift from his screen to track your movement behind the bar. There is a heavy, silent understanding in the way his gaze lingers on the others capturing a mental photograph of a home they are still building, even as the clock in his pocket ticks down the final hours.
Suddenly, the bell above the door clatters violently against the glass as the heavy door is thrown open. Mr. Im, little league coach, pta dad stands there, breathless and drenched despite the rain having slowed down to a light mist an hour ago.
"The middle school!" He bellows, his voice cracking with panic. "The roof in the west wing just gave way. The rain was too much! The main pipes burst and the whole first floor is flooding. They’re trying to move the kids to the gym, but the water’s rising too fast and they can't get the drains clear!"
You don’t remember crossing the street.
Or the parking lot.
Or how your shoes are already soaked through by the time you hit the doors.
They’re propped open. Water spilling out over the threshold.
You step in anyway. It hits mid-calf immediately, jeans dragging, the current stronger than you expect as it pulls toward the far hallway. The lights flicker overhead, buzzing like they can’t decide whether to stay on.
Voices echo.
Shouting.
Directions.
Panic.
You push forward.
“The gym…get them to the gym!” Someone yells.
“Teachers, make sure your students are all accounted for!” Another yells.
Your hand slides along the wall as you move, instinct taking over. Left turn past the office. Science wing floods first. The dip in the floor near the lockers. A chair bumps into your leg, half-floating.
You shove it aside and keep going.
Then….
A splash behind you.
Fast.
Jungkook.
He passes you without a word, just a sharp look, already moving toward a man struggling with a jammed door.
“Got it,” he says, bracing his shoulder into it.
“Careful, there’s glass over here!” Another voice…Hobi…loud, cutting through everything.
“You’re okay…just hold onto me…slow, slow…good…” Jimin's voice is calm and soothing.
“I’ve got you. We’re going this way, okay? You’re okay.” Taehyung, softer. “Show me where the gym is.”
“Don’t force it…you’ll make it worse…wait..” Jin, sharp and controlled.
You stop for half a second.
They’re here.
They just came.
Your breath hitches, but there’s no time. You turn toward the west hallway and a hand grabs your arm.
“Hey.” Yoongi says, pulling you back a step. Water is dripping from his sleeves, eyes locked on yours. “Get out of here,” he says.
“I can help…” you start.
“It’s not safe,” he cuts in. “You don’t know…”
“I do,” you snap, as you pull your arm free, stepping back into the water.
“I went here,” you continue, breath sharp. “I know exactly where everything is. I know this place. So I’m not leaving.”
“Fine,” he mutters.
You lead the way toward the west wing, the water now swirling around your knees, cold and heavy. Behind you, you hear the steady, splashing rhythm of Yoongi’s boots.
"The music room," you shout over the roar of a burst pipe somewhere in the ceiling. "If the west wing roof gave way, the instruments are right under the leak."
You reach the heavy oak double doors. They’re swollen from the moisture, resisting you. You put your weight into it, shoulder bracing against the wood, and feel Yoongi’s hands slam against the door beside yours. Together, you heave. The doors groan and swing open.
It’s a disaster.
A massive section of the ceiling has collapsed, exposing jagged rafters and the grey sky. Water is cascading down in a relentless sheet from the exposed pipes, hitting the pooling water with a deafening rhythm. The room is a lake. Sheet music floats on the surface of the dark water, and the town’s pride. The baby grand piano is currently being poured on.
"The cellos," you gasp, pointing toward the far wall where the cases are half-submerged, tilting precariously as the water level rises.
“They will be ruined in minutes." He says, loudly over the water.
“What do we do?” You ask.
Yoongi doesn't hesitate. He’s already wading into the deepest part of the room, the water reaching his thighs.He reaches the first cello case, hoisting the bulky instrument onto his shoulder.
"Start with the smaller cases!" He yells over the sound of the rushing water. "Get anything you can out! I'll handle the heavy stuff!"
You scramble toward the instrument cabinets, your hands shaking as you grab the violin cases, two in each arm. You pass Yoongi as you head for the door, and for a split second, your eyes meet. He’s drenched, his black hair plastered to his forehead, looking less like a famous music producer and more like a man fighting for your home.
"Don't look at the piano!" He barks as he sees your gaze linger on the grand. "Instruments first! We’ll get to the rest!"
You nod, turning back to the hallway where the others are starting to form a human chain. Jin and Hobi take the cases from your hands, their faces set in the same determined lines. You plunge back into the room, back into the cold, because Yoongi is still in there, and because this room…this school…is part of the life they’re leaving behind, and you’ll be damned if you let it go down without a fight.
As you stumble out of the main entrance and the scene in the parking lot is a blur of flashing emergency lights and huddling groups of teachers and students wrapped in thin foil blankets.
You stop near a row of yellow school buses, your knees finally giving way. You sink onto a concrete curb, your head dropping into your hands.
"Hey." Yoongi says, coming up to you.
"You're shaking," he says, his voice gravelly.
"So are you," you whisper.
He doesn't deny it. He just sits down on the curb next to you, his shoulder bumping yours. In the middle of the parking lot, the others are starting to congregate.
Jin is leaning against a car and handing out dry towels to a group of crying middle schoolers. Hobi and Jimin are standing nearby, Jimin’s arm slung around Hobi’s neck as they both watch the emergency crews with a look of stunned exhaustion.
Jungkook is the last to emerge, his boots making a heavy squelch-thud sound on the pavement. He’s carrying a stack of rescued notebooks.
"Everything from the music wing is out," Jungkook says, his voice flat.
"Good," you breathe out, leaning your head back against the bus. "That’s good."
"We should go," a new voice says.
You look up. Namjoon is standing there. He’s the only one who isn't drenched, though his expensive coat is spotted with rain. He’s holding a phone in one hand, his thumb hovering over the screen. He looks at the school, then at the seven of you, and for the first time since you met him, he doesn't look like he has a plan.
"The road to the city is going to be a mess if the creek keeps rising," Namjoon says, his voice devoid of its usual authority. "The town is due for more rain.”
Jungkook freezes. Jimin’s head snaps up, his eyes wide and searching. Hobi’s hand drops from Jimin’s shoulder. The secret, the one you and Yoongi had been guarding, is finally out.
"What?" Jimin asks, his voice small as Namjoon looks at Yoongi, then back at the group.
"Yes." Namjoon nods. “You knew the project…”
"We discussed the project," Hobi says, stepping forward. "We didn't discuss... this." He gestures vaguely to the school, the town, and finally, to you.
"It's not personal, Hoseok," Namjoon says, though he’s starting to look uncomfortable.
You look at Yoongi. He hasn't looked up from his boots. He looks like he’s bracing for an impact that’s already happened.
"You knew," Jungkook says, looking directly at Yoongi. It’s not a question.
"I knew." Yoongi finally looks up. His eyes are red-rimmed and tired.
“Look around, Joon,” Jungkook says. “They need help.”
“Of course we will help them,” Namjoon knits his eyebrows. “We will donate money…”
“No,” Jungkook shakes his head. “They need manpower. They need people that care.”
“Kook…” Namjoon starts, Jungkook cuts him off again.
“I'm… I'm not going,” he says. “Since Y/N let me start fixing up Perk and Page. I found something that actually… matters. I’m not going back to sitting in a dark room fixing problems that don’t mean anything to me.”
Nobody says anything for a moment. They just look around at the mess, at each other, taking in what Jungkook just said.
“I'm not leaving either,” Hobi says. “I've made friends here. People that are… important.”
You watch as his eyes find Jenna helping a student find their parents. You don't know how you missed that.
“Well,” Jimin exhales, glancing off toward the street, “I have bridge club on Thursdays. Mrs. Higgins will absolutely destroy me if I don’t show up.”
“The kids expect me.” Taehyung’s still looking toward the school doors. “We're in the middle of a series. I’m not leaving before I finish that.”
“I can finally cook again,” Jin says, adjusting his sleeves before looking at Namjoon. “I’m not giving it up. My spring menu is already in the works.”
“So, you're all just going to quit to settle down here?” Namjoon asks. “Do you know how much you're losing?”
“We wouldn't be losing anything if you gave this place a chance,” Hobi tells him. “If we didn't feel like we had to sneak around maybe we could actually focus on everything. We can make it work.”
Namjoon doesn’t argue right away. He just… stands there, looking like his friends just betrayed him. It's then however,
his gaze shifts to Yoongi. The one person who understands the weight of timelines, contracts, and the consequences. If Yoongi agrees to leave.
This ends.
“Yoongi.” Namjoon says.
Yoongi isn’t even looking at Namjoon. His eyes are somewhere else entirely. They are looking back through the open school doors.
“Who’s the music teacher?” Yoongi asks you.
You blink, thrown for half a second before you turn, scanning the crowd until you spot Mrs. Woo. She is standing near the entrance trying to talk to someone from the district.
“Over there.” You point.
Yoongi nods once as he pushes himself off the ground and he starts walking. Mrs. Woo looks up as Yoongi approaches. She clearly was not expecting to be addressed by someone like him.
“I’ve seen this before.” He says
“What?” Mrs. Woo blinks at him.
“Programs like this,” he says. “They’re always the first to go when something breaks. Budgets get tight. Priorities shift.”
Yoongi looks around at the destruction. shoving his hands into his wet pockets. “Music is always the first to go. I’m not going to let that happen.”
“I… what?” Mrs. Woo just stares at him.
“We both know most of those instruments aren't salvageable,” he gestures to where the ruined instruments lay on the ground. “Donate the working ones and I will replace everything.”
“That’s… that’s thousands of thousands of dollars,” Mrs. Woo says softly. “I can't...”
Yoongi shakes his head once.
“The kids don't deserve to have their music taken away because of district politics. Make a list. A true list. You can drop it off to Y/N at Perk and Page when you're done,” he tells her.
Yoongi doesn’t wait for a response. He doesn’t wait for gratitude. He just gives Mrs. Woo one final nod and turns away, wet boots splashing across the pavement as he heads back toward the curb.
The parking lot has gone strangely quiet.
Even the emergency lights feel softer now, red and blue flickering across soaked asphalt and foil blankets. Mrs. Woo is still standing there, stunned, one hand lifted to her chest as if she’s forgotten what she was about to say.
Namjoon quickly catches up to his friend. His expression is no longer just shock.
It’s frustration.
Confusion.
Something dangerously close to hurt.
“Why?” Namjoon asks.
Yoongi stops.
Doesn’t turn around yet.
Rainwater drips from the ends of his hair onto the pavement.
“Why would you do that?” Namjoon takes a step closer. “You just tied yourself to this school. To this town. For what?”
Now Yoongi turns. His face is exhausted, soaked, jaw set hard enough to ache.
“For them.” He says it simply.
“For a school district that will probably replace the entire board in six months?” Namjoon lets out a short, disbelieving breath.
“For kids,” Yoongi corrects, sharper now.
The lot goes quiet. He gestures toward the school, toward the broken windows and the water still spilling out onto the pavement.
“The kids don’t care about budget reports and project timelines, Joon.” His voice stays low, steady. “They care that tomorrow they still have somewhere to play.”
“This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re making emotional decisions in the middle of a crisis.” Namjoon’s jaw tightens.
“Yeah,” he says. “I am. I’m doing it for the kids who don’t get a second chance when something like this gets cut.”
His eyes flick back toward the school and back to his friend standing in front of him.
“And for the ones who don’t even know yet that this is the thing that’s going to change everything.” He continues.
Namjoon doesn’t interrupt this time. In fact, he almost looks a little ashamed.
“To the thirteen-year-old versions of us,” he adds. “Who met in sixth grade band class and thought that was as big as the world was going to get. Those kids didn’t care about funding or contracts either,” Yoongi continues, quieter now. “They just wanted a place to play. They deserved that. So do these ones.”
You watch as they stare at each other. Years of shared history and hard, grueling work pass between them.
Namjoon looks away first. He looks at the school. Not as a liability or a series of structural failures, but as a building that looks remarkably like the one where they first learned how to breathe through a woodwind reed. The frustration in his body doesn’t vanish, but it morphs. Now he just looks exhausted. Like he just needed to be reminded of who he really was.
“You’re a fool, Min Yoongi,” Namjoon says, slapping a hand on Yoongi's wet shoulder.
“Probably.” Yoongi doesn’t flinch. He just looks at the hand on his shoulder, then back up at his oldest friend.
“You’re going to be exhausted. You’re going to be here every weekend.” Namjoon’s grip tightens, just once, before he lets go. “And I’m going to have to be the one to tell the contractors why we’re ignoring the Safety First signs in the music wing.”
Yoongi feels the corner of his mouth twitch. It's not a smile, but the ghost of one. It’s the first bit of warmth he’s felt since the pipes burst.
“I know someone that can make the coffee. You bring the blueprints.” Yoongi says.
Namjoon sighs, a long, shaky sound that disappears into the rhythm of the slightly harder falling rain. He turns to stand beside Yoongi, both of them facing the waterlogged building.
“Sixth grade band,” Namjoon mutters, shaking his head. “I hated that clarinet.”
“You were terrible at it,” Yoongi agrees softly.
“I was,” Namjoon admits. He clears his throat, straightens his posture, and looks at the flickering emergency lights one last time. “But I liked the room.”
Yoongi nods, a slow, final movement. He turns back toward the curb, his boots clicking more rhythmically now against the pavement. He doesn’t need a thank you, and he doesn’t need a contract. He just needs to know that when the sun comes up, the doors will still unlock.
As they walk toward the car, the sirens in the distance fade. The only sound is the steady, persistent pattering of the rain reclaiming the quiet town.
The rain hasn’t let up.
It taps steadily against your windows. The house smells faintly like your shampoo and clean laundry, a sharp contrast to the soaked wood, metal and panic that still clings to the edges of your mind.
You twist the towel once more through your damp hair, pacing the length of your living room in an oversized shirt and thin shorts. Everything is too quiet. No shouting. No rushing water. No voices calling directions.
Just you, the rain, and the crackling fireplace.
A knock breaks through it.
You freeze.
It comes again and much firmer this time. You weren’t expecting anyone. For a second, you just stand there before you move, crossing the small space and pull the door open.
Yoongi stands on your porch.
He’s soaked. Again. Hair dark and dripping, hoodie clinging to his shoulders like he didn’t bother with an umbrella or common sense. His eyes find yours immediately, but there’s something underneath it.
Something unsettled.
“Hi,” you manage, a little breathless.
“Hi.” He echoes.
“How did you...” You blink once, then lean against the doorframe slightly.
“Hobi’s… friend,” he says, like the explanation barely matters. Like he didn’t think far enough ahead to come up with a better one.
You stare at him for half a second.
“Yeah, Jenna didn't tell me about that,” you mutter.
A faint huff of something almost like a laugh leaves him, but it fades just as quickly. The rain fills the space behind him.
“You gonna keep me out here?” He asks, voice low.
“Right. Yeah…come in.” You step back immediately.
He slips past you, bringing the cold with him, water dotting your floor as he shrugs out of his hoodie. You close the door, the sound of the latch clicking a little too loud in the quiet.
For a moment, neither of you speaks.
He takes a few slow steps further inside, gaze moving around. Just… taking it in. Your space is small. Lived-in. Books stacked where they don’t quite fit. A blanket thrown over the back of the couch. Mugs that don’t match.
It’s nothing like the warehouse.
Nothing like him.
And then he stops.
The piano sits against the far wall, dark wood catching the dim light from the lamp beside it. It’s polished, cared for…even if it hasn’t been touched in a while.
Yoongi doesn’t move closer right away.
He just… looks at it.
“It was my grandmother’s,” you say, a little too quickly. “I don’t…” You let out a small breath, shrugging it off. “I don’t play. It’s basically just a very large decoration at this point.”
He finally steps closer, slower now, like the air around it is heavier. His fingers hover just above the edge of the keys, not quite touching.
“You don’t play,” he repeats, quieter.
“I tried lessons. It wasn't for me.” You shake your head, crossing your arms loosely. “Are you really staying?” you ask.
It comes out softer than you meant it to. Not casual. Not teasing.
He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze stays on the piano for a second longer before it drifts back to you.
“I was going to expand the warehouse,” he says, voice low, measured. “Build a proper studio.”
You don’t interrupt. He leans back slightly against the edge of the piano, arms loose at his sides, like he’s not entirely aware he’s doing it.
“Didn’t make sense before,” he adds as his eyes meet yours fully now. “It does now.”
“Yoongi…” you start, but it falters.
From the countdown that’s been ticking in the back of your mind like something you’re trying not to hear.
“You’re going to build a studio,” you say slowly, stepping closer without really deciding to. “In a town you were supposed to leave in days?”
“I wasn’t supposed to care either,” he says.
The space between you closes without either of you fully noticing it happen. You’re close enough now to see the way his hair is still dripping slightly at the ends. The way his jaw tightens like he’s holding something back. The way his eyes flicker over your face.
“You showed up,” you say, quieter now.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t deny it.
The rain fills the silence again as it hits your roof.
Louder this time.
Or maybe everything else just got quieter. Your hand lifts before you can think better of it, brushing lightly against the sleeve of his t-shirt.
“You’re freezing,” you murmur.
“I’m fine,” he says softly.
“You’re not.” You shake your head.
“I have towels. Dry clothes, probably something that’ll fit…” You move without waiting for permission, stepping around him toward the hallway. Your wrist is caught before you can take more than a step.
“Don’t,” he says.
Your breath stutters slightly, your gaze flicking from his hand on your wrist back up to his face.
“Yoongi…” you try again, softer this time.
His hand slides from your wrist to your waist. His fingers sink into your dry clothes and pulls you into his wet ones.
“I'm not going anywhere anymore,” he murmurs, voice low enough it almost disappears into the rain. “I’m done pretending I don’t want this.”
He kisses you like he’s been holding his breath for years. There’s nothing tentative about it. His hand slides into your hair, gripping, tilting your head back, and you open for him, a gasp swallowed by his tongue.
You stumble back, pulling him with you, your hands fisting in the wet material of his shirt . He’s dripping on your floor, leaving dark puddles on the wood, but you don’t give a shit. You can’t think past the press of his body, the heat of him beneath the cold, wet clothes. He breaks the kiss, just for a second, his forehead resting against yours. His breath is ragged, his eyes dark and hooded.
“I couldn’t leave,” he says, the words torn from him. “I fucking couldn’t.”
You don’t answer with words. You pull his mouth back to yours, harder this time, your teeth catching his lower lip, a small, sharp sting that makes him groan. His hands drop to your hips, gripping the thin fabric of your shorts, pulling you against him. You feel him, hard and pressing against your belly. You’re walking backward, guiding him.
You push his shirt up, your fingers finding the cool, damp skin of his stomach. He hisses, a sharp intake of breath, and his hands find the hem of your own shirt, tugging it up. You raise your arms, letting him pull it over your head, tossing it aside. You’re naked underneath and his eyes rake over you.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
He doesn’t give you time to feel exposed. His mouth is on your neck, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin, tongue soothing the sting. His hands cup your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples, and you arch into him, a moan escaping your lips. He’s still wet, the rain cold on your heated skin, a contrast that makes you shiver.
You push him back, just enough to work at the button of his jeans. He watches you, his chest heaving, his eyes never leaving your face. You get the button undone, the zipper down, and you push the denim over his hips, letting it pool at his feet. He kicks it aside, along with his shoes, and stands before you in nothing but his boxers, the fabric tented.
You reach out, tracing the line of his hip. He’s beautiful, all sharp angles and pale skin. He catches your wrist, his grip firm, and pulls you toward the couch.
You go willingly, falling back onto the cushions, pulling him down on top of you. He kisses you again, deep and slow, his hand sliding down your body, over your stomach, between your legs. He finds you wet, ready, and he groans against your mouth.
“Been thinking about this,” he murmurs, his fingers sliding through your slick folds, circling your clit with a precision that makes your hips buck. “Every night in that fucking shop. Watching you bend over to shelve books. The way you bite your lip when you’re concentrating.”
You can’t form a response. His fingers are inside you now, two of them, stretching you, curling against that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes. You grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, your head thrown back against the armrest.
“Yoongi,” you gasp.
He removes his fingers, and you whimper at the loss. However, he’s shifting, his mouth trailing down your body, over your breasts, your stomach, pausing to nip at the dip in your waist. He settles between your legs, his breath hot against your core, and you look down at him, your vision blurry.
He meets your eyes and then his tongue is on you, flat and warm, licking from your entrance to your clit in one long stroke. You cry out, your hand fisting in his wet hair. He groans against you, the vibration sending a jolt through your entire body.
His tongue works you with a rhythm that’s both relentless and teasing. He sucks your clit into his mouth, flicks it with the tip of his tongue, drives two fingers back inside you, curling and pumping. You’re climbing, the pressure building, your thighs tightening around his head. He doesn’t let up, his eyes locked on yours, watching you come apart.
The orgasm hits you like a wave, crashing through you, leaving you trembling and gasping. He works you through it, lapping at you gently as you come down.
He crawls up your body, his face slick with you, his lips swollen. He kisses you, and you taste yourself on his tongue, salty and sweet. He reaches down, shoving his boxers down, his cock springing free. He positions himself at your entrance. He doesn't push in.
“Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice strained. You think you can hear a small thread of vulnerability.
“I want this,” you say, pulling him closer. “I want you.”
He pushes in, slow, inch by inch, stretching you, filling you. You gasp, your eyes fluttering closed, your nails raking down his back. He’s perfect, and when he’s fully seated, he stills, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours.
“Fuck,” he breathes, the word shaky. “You feel…”
He doesn’t finish. He starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that has you clinging to him, your bodies sliding together, skin on skin. The fire crackles, the rain continues its pattering rhythm, but all you can hear is the sound of his breathing, the wet slap of your bodies, the low moans that escape your throat.
He picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, more urgent. He’s chasing something, and you’re right there with him, the pressure building again, coiling tight in your belly. He reaches between you, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles.
“Come for me,” he commands, his voice a growl.
It’s the push you need. You shatter, your body convulsing around him. He follows a moment later, a guttural groan torn from his chest, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you.
He collapses on top of you, his weight a comfort, his face buried in your neck. You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, his breath warm against your skin. The fire pops, the rain continues to fall, and you lie there, tangled and sweaty, the taste of him still on your lips.
After a long moment, he lifts his head, his eyes soft, a lazy smile playing on his lips.
“I’m not leaving,” he says, the words simple, final.
You don’t ask him to explain. You just pull him down for another kiss, slow and sweet, a promise of more to come.
Morning comes quietly.
The rain hasn’t stopped, but it’s softer now. It's more of a steady hush against the windows than the relentless downpour from the days before. The light filtering through your curtains is pale and gray. You don’t move at first. Not until something gently plays through your house. Your eyes stay closed as you listen.
Your piano.
You breathe in slowly, shifting just enough to feel the cool air where he isn’t beside you on the bed. That’s what finally pulls your eyes open. Sitting up, you pull up the blanket around you before getting off the bed and taking the blanket with you.
Heading downstairs, you see his back is slightly hunched, shoulders relaxed, head tilted just enough that his hair falls forward as his fingers move over the keys. He doesn’t notice you yet and for a second you just watch him.
It feels… intimate in a different way.
“You’re up.” His voice cuts gently through the music, low and rough with sleep, but his hands don’t stop moving.
“I didn’t know you were awake.” You blink, a little surprised.
“Been up a while,” he murmurs.
His fingers slow, pressing into a softer string of notes before he finally lets them fade out completely.
“I’ve got to go back to the city,” he says.
You draw the blanket a little tighter around yourself, studying the line of his shoulders.
“For how long?” You ask, voice still soft from sleep.
“A week,” he answers. “Maybe less. Just… loose ends. Things I can’t leave hanging.”
“Okay.” You nod.
That’s what finally makes him turn. His gaze finds you, searching like he expected something else.
Resistance.
Disappointment.
Anything.
But you’re just… there. Looking at him. It disarms him more than anything else could have. Your head tilts slightly, eyes drifting from his face to the piano.
“What were you playing?” You ask.
Something in his expression softens just a fraction. He looks back at the keys, fingers brushing lightly over them without pressing down.
“Something I’ve been working on,” he says.
You shift, the floor cool beneath your feet as you move closer. The blanket stays wrapped around you, trailing slightly as you stop a few steps behind him.
“It sounded… familiar,” you murmur.
“Yeah.” He huffs a quiet breath, almost amused. “I wrote it at the shop.”
“At Perk and Page?” You ask.
“Sat in the corner while you were arguing with Jin about cinnamon ratios.” He huffs a quiet breath, almost amused.
“What is it?” You ask.
He doesn’t look at you right away. His fingers finally press down again. Just a few notes this time.
“It’s yours.” He answers.
“You wrote me a song?” You ask softly.
“Don’t make it a big deal.” He shrugs, like it’s nothing.
“I’m not,” you say in disbelief. “I’m just… processing.”
That earns the smallest curve of his mouth. You step closer again, until you’re just beside him now, close enough to see the faint tension still sitting in his shoulders.
You lower yourself carefully onto the bench beside him, the blanket pooling around your legs. Your shoulder brushes his lightly, and neither of you moves away.
“Play it again,” you say quietly.
He doesn’t hesitate this time. The melody starts over, softer than before. You sit beside him, listening. Outside, the rain keeps falling and suddenly, you think whatever this is. It's going to last a lot longer than either of you were expecting.
The shop is quieter than it’s been in days.
Not empty…never empty.
Rain still taps lightly against the windows, a softer echo of the storm that tore through town earlier in the week. The air smells like espresso and cinnamon, something Jin insisted on perfecting until it felt seasonally appropriate.
You’re behind the counter, reorganizing a stack of bookmarks that don’t actually need reorganizing, when the bell chimes.
You glance up automatically and pause when Namjoon steps inside alone. Not in the sharp, intimidating way he usually does. No heavy overcoat, no storm-cloud presence that follows around him. Today, it’s just a sweater. Sleeves pushed slightly at the wrists. Hair still a little damp from the mist outside.
He looks… less like an authority figure.
More like he belongs.
“Well,” you say lightly, setting the bookmarks down. “If you’re here to audit my inventory, I should warn you. I’ve already hidden the evidence.”
“I’m not here to audit anything,” he says. trying to hide the twitch in his lips.
There’s something in his tone that makes you straighten a little anyway. He steps closer to the counter, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket and setting it down between you.
“Yoongi said you might have this,” he adds.
You glance down.
Mrs. Woo’s list.
It was the first draft. The one Yoongi said that she needed to redo. It’s longer now. More organized, detailed, a careful breakdown of everything the music room lost. Instruments, stands, sheet music, storage… even the piano, circled twice like she still can’t quite believe she wrote it down.
You nod, reaching under the counter and pulling out the updated version she dropped off earlier that morning.
“She added a few things,” you say, sliding it over to him. “I told her to be thorough if she didn't want Yoongi to deny it again.”
A kid probably high school age steps in, shaking rain off his hoodie. He hesitates just inside the door, glancing around like he’s not entirely sure he’s in the right place. You recognize the look immediately.
“Hey,” you call gently. “What can I help you find?”
“Uh…do you have anything about, like… early settlement stuff? For a project?” He shifts his weight, a little awkward.
“I might.” You start to move around the counter.
Namjoon’s voice cuts in, not loud, not overbearing. Just… present. The kid looks at him, a little startled.
“What kind of project?” Namjoon steps closer to the shelves, thoughtful already.
“Um…paper,” the kid says. “But like…not just dates and stuff. My teacher said we need… perspectives?”
Namjoon nods once, like that’s exactly what he expected.
“Primary sources will help with that,” he says. “Diaries. Letters. Anything written at the time.” He scans the shelf quickly, then reaches without hesitation, pulling out a worn hardcover from the middle row.
“This,” he says, handing it over. “It’s a compiled set of personal accounts from the town's first twenty years. Not just what happened. How people experienced it.”
The kid blinks, flipping it open.
“This is… actually really good,” he says, a little surprised.
“It should give you something better than a timeline.” Namjoon gives a small shrug.
“Yeah…thank you,” the kid says quickly, already heading for the register.
You ring him up, watching the way he leaves more confident than when he walked in. When the door closes behind him, you glance back at Namjoon. He’s already looking at the shelves again, like he didn’t just do something quietly perfect.
“You’re good at that,” you say.
“At what?” He asks, distracted.
“Knowing exactly what people need before they do.” You answer.
“It’s not difficult,” he says. “You just have to ask the right questions.”
You lean back against the counter slightly, studying him.
“There's a group that's been trying to start something like that here,” you say.
That gets his attention. It's just a flicker, but it's there.
“A historical society,” you continue. “Nothing huge. Just… preserving things. Organizing records. Giving people access to this kind of stuff.”
He doesn’t interrupt.
Just listens.
“People care,” you add with a small shrug. “They just don’t really know how to build it into something sustainable.”
You pause for a moment tapping your counter with your hands.
“They’re missing leadership.” You finish.
Namjoon’s gaze drifts slowly across the shop.
The shelves.
The community board near the door, cluttered with flyers and handwritten notes. The space that’s clearly more than just a little local shop.
“They'd need structure,” he says after a moment.
You don’t react. Just let him keep going.
“Archival standards. Cataloging systems. Funding proposals if they want it to last longer than a year.” His brow furrows slightly, already somewhere deeper in thought. “A governing framework, at minimum.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought about it.” You tilt your head slightly.
“Hypothetically,” he says. “I’ll need to contact a few suppliers,” he mutters. “Strings, brass…those won’t be local. Storage might be. The piano…” he exhales quietly. “I’ll have to look into restoration versus replacement.”
“Coffee?” You push off the counter and step toward the espresso machine.
“Black.” He doesn’t look up from the list.
* Six Months Later *
“No. Absolutely not.” Jin’s voice cuts across the shop before you even see him.
You glance up just in time to see him snatch a sandwich from the counter, holding it up like it personally offended him.
“This is uneven,” he declares, turning it slightly. “And where is the chicken salad? Did it run away?”
“It’s on the bread, Jin,” you say, not even looking up from the register.
“It’s barely acquainted with the bread,” he shoots back, already reaching for the container. “If you’re going to sell something cold, it still needs integrity.”
He adds another generous scoop with the precision of someone plating a five-star dish instead of fixing a lunch rush mistake.
“People trust us,” he continues, pressing the top bun down like he’s sealing a deal. “You can’t betray that trust with inadequate filling.”
“You’re being dramatic,” you mutter.
“I’m being correct,” he counters instantly.
A customer clears their throat, trying not to laugh.
Jin brightens immediately, sliding the now properly constructed sandwich across the counter.
“There you are,” he says smoothly. “Balanced, generous, and worth your money.” Then, under his breath as he turns back to you. “We’re increasing the portion size. I refuse to be associated with mediocrity.”
A bright stack of laminated cards lands on the counter in front of you.
“Okay…hear me out.” Hobi looks at you.
“Hobi…” You don’t even need to look up.
“No, no, just…just one second,” he insists, already flipping the top card around so you can see it.
To Kill a Macchiato
bold espresso, vanilla, a hint of cocoa
You pause and slowly look back up at him.
“Absolutely not.” You shake your head.
“Yes, absolutely yes,” he grins, undeterred. “I expanded on Jimin's idea. It’s a pairing system. Drinks and books. People order both. It’s immersive. It’s branding.”
“Let me see.” Jin appears at your shoulder like he’s been summoned by the word branding alone.
Hobi hands over the stack like he’s presenting a masterpiece.
Jin scans the first card.
“‘Pride and Peppermint,’” Jin reads aloud. “That’s not bad.”
“I know!” Hobi beams.
“‘The Great Gats-bean.’” Jin flips to another.
“Hoseok…” you try.
“It’s memorable!” Hobi argues. “People will talk about it!”
Jin hums, thoughtful now, tapping the edge of the card.
“The flavor balance works,” he admits. “I like it.”
“So we’re doing it?” Hobi looks between you both, victorious.
“We’re testing it.” You exhale slowly, already knowing you’ve lost this battle.
“Yes!” Hobi claps once, already reaching for a pen. “I can build events around this.”
At the corner table, Jimin is surrounded.
Thriving.
“You cannot bluff that aggressively and expect me not to notice,” he says, narrowing his eyes dramatically at Mrs. Higgins.
“I’ve been playing longer than you’ve been alive,” she shoots back.
“And yet,” Jimin grins, laying his cards down. “You walked right into it.”
The table erupts.
Across the room, under the soft glow of the cloud lamp, Taehyung sits cross-legged on the meadow rug. A small crowd of kids leans in, completely still as he turns the page of a book with quiet reverence.
“And then,” he murmurs, voice soft. “The butterfly realized it was never lost. It was just… early.”
One of the kids gasps like this is the most important revelation of their life.
Taehyung smiles like it might be.
There’s a quiet click and whirr overhead. You don’t even look up this time.
“Jungkook,” you call, already knowing.
“I’m almost done,” he replies.
You glance up anyway.
He’s halfway up a ladder near the front wall, tape measure hooked along the space above the counter, pencil tucked behind his ear like he’s been doing this his entire life.
“You said that twenty minutes ago.” You argue.
“I was wrong twenty minutes ago,” he says easily, adjusting the tape by a fraction of an inch. “This needs to be centered properly.”
“It is centered.” You point out.
“It’s visually centered,” he corrects. “Not structurally. Those are not the same thing.”
“They are to me.” You mutter.
He marks something quickly, then leans back just enough to study his work.
“New menu board’s going to fit perfectly,” he adds. “Bigger. Easier to read. Better spacing.”
“You already made one,” you say.
“Yeah,” he nods. “This one’s better.”
Namjoon steps inside, careful as always, but there’s something different now. Less… calculating. More … comfortable. He’s holding a flat, wrapped bundle under his arm.
“Do you have a minute?” He asks.
“For you? Always.” You gesture to the counter.
He approaches, setting the bundle down with surprising care. For a second, he doesn’t unwrap it. He just rests his hand on top of it like he’s deciding how to explain.
“We finalized the first archived piece,” he says.
“That was fast.” Your brows lift slightly.
“Efficient,” he corrects automatically. “It mattered.”
He unwraps the paper, revealing a preserved article. It’s yellowed, fragile, and mounted carefully behind glass.
“A fire?” You murmur, as you lean in.
“The original schoolhouse,” he says. “Early records were scattered after this. Most of what we have now exists because people rebuilt it from memory.”
Your gaze lingers on the date.
On the place.
Where the middle school stands now.
“Would it be alright if we display it here?” He asks.
“Yeah,” you say softly. “Of course you can.”
He nods once, already reaching into his pocket.
“I brought mounting hardware,” he adds as Jungkook snatches it out of his hand.
“Coffee first,” you say, with a smile.
“Black.” He smiles.
The spring evening sunsets were getting longer. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of roasted beans and the lingering warmth of a busy day. Pulling the last window shade down, you reach over the counter, clicking off the main lights, leaving the shop bathed in the soft, ethereal glow of the cloud lamp in the kids' corner. You’ve just turned the deadbolt when a familiar, rhythmic knock sounds against the glass.
You lean your forehead against the cool wood of the door for a second, a smile tugging at your lips, before you slowly pull it open just a crack. Yoongi stands there, hands shoved deep into the pockets of a black hoodie, his hair slightly windblown. He looks tired, but the second his eyes meet yours, that sharp intensity of his softens into something private.
"We’re closed," you say, your voice dripping with mock-seriousness as you block the doorway. "And if you're looking for a caffeine fix, I'm afraid we’re completely out of coffee."
"Out of coffee? In a coffee shop? That’s a bold lie, even for you." Yoongi huffs a short, dry laugh, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up.
"Supply chain issues," you deadpan, leaning against the frame. "Very tragic. You'll have to try the tea shop down the street."
"I don't want tea," he murmurs, stepping closer until he’s firmly in your space, the scent of the evening air clinging to him. "And I think we both know I’m not here for the espresso."
You let out a soft breath, your resolve crumbling as you step back to let him in. He slips past you, the door clicking shut and the lock sliding home with a finality that feels like a relief.
"Namjoon told me about the archival piece," he says, walking to stand by the mounted article. "The schoolhouse fire. It looks good on the wall."
"It feels right," you say, crossing the room to stand near him. "Like the shop is finally holding all the pieces of the town together."
Yoongi turns, leaning his lower back against the counter. He reaches out, taking your hand and pulling you between his knees.
"Six months," he says, his voice low, almost a marvel. "Jungkook’s already planning a patio out back. Jin wants to host a 'Gourmet Founders' gala. They’ve completely moved in."
"And you?" You ask, your fingers tracing the edge of his hoodie. "The studio is finished. The loose ends in the city are tied up. Do you still feel like you’re missing something?"
Yoongi reaches up, his hand cupping the back of your neck. He looks around the shop. His eyes roam to the meadow rug, the books, the life they all built and then he looks back at you.
"I'm not missing a thing," he says.
The weight of the secret you once shared, the fear of the countdown…it’s all gone. There is only the running of the refrigerator and the quiet peace of a home that was never supposed to happen, but did.
"I love you," you whisper, the words easy and honest in the dim light.
Yoongi’s expression shifts, a flicker of something raw and profound crossing his face. He pulls you closer, his forehead resting against yours.
"I love you," he breathes back.
He leans in then, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that isn't a goodbye or a promise for later. It’s a kiss that belongs to the here and now. It's a slow, deep realization of everything you’ve fought for. His hands slide down to your waist, holding, while the world outside stays quiet, leaving the two of you alone in the glow of the cloud.
Pairing: senior!heeseung x loser!fem!reader
Genre: slowburn, college!au, smut MDNI, comedy, fluff, socially challenged fem!reader, misunderstanding, he fell first he fell harder, angst? (idk about it but I think you guys will understand when reading)
Synopsis: The hopeless romantic you are decided to confess and give a heartfelt letter to your all time crush but fate decided otherwise and made you confess to the wrong person...the so-called womanizer of campus, Lee Heeseung. Maybe you should have just keep your feelings to yourself...or maybe it was a sign from the universe.
Warnings: unprotected!sex (don't risk it), swearing, oral (fem!rec), backshots, fingering, softdom!heeseung, first time, instructional (whatever that means)
WC: 26k
Note: I honestly didn't want to divide it in two more parts so I just posted it as it is...it's fuck ass long I knoooow but please it's worth it :,) Like I said from now on I will try to write more often on the longer format I hope you guys will like it!!!! There’s gonna be a spicy epilogue too so stay tuned!!!!
"You're a disaster...but God help me if I don't want to be a disaster with you for the rest of my life"
🎧Mini playlist : Who knows by Daniel Caesar, Dream by Keshi, Lovers by Anna of the North, Wus Good/Curious by Partynextdoor, WGFT by Gunna
The campus café is a small, cozy establishment nestled between the student union and the art building. You have been here exactly twice before, both times with Yunjin, and both times you have spent more money on a single drink than you usually spend on an entire meal.
Today, the café is moderately busy. A few students hunch over laptops, a couple in the corner have what looks like a very intense conversation about something, and a barista with an impressive mustache wipes down the counter. The smell of espresso hangs in the air.
"Why don't you grab us a table?" Heeseung suggests, pulling out his wallet. "I'll order. What do you want?"
You blink at him. "You don't have to pay for me."
"I'm the one who invited you. It's the least I can do." He tilts his head, that curious expression settling over his features. "Consider it part of the starting slow thing. Coffee first, then maybe a meal, then eventually I'll work up to buying you a gift."
You don't know how to respond to that, so you just tell him your order: a vanilla latte, the most basic thing on the menu, and flee to a small table near the window before your face can betray you any further.
Okay, okay, okay. This is fine. This is manageable. You are just having coffee with Heeseung, the guy who thinks you confessed to him, the guy you have been actively trying to repel, the guy who starred in your extremely inappropriate dream three nights ago. This is fine. Everything is fine.
You watch him at the counter, chatting easily with the mustachioed barista like they are old friends. He laughs at something the barista says, and the sound carries across the café, warm and genuine. A group of girls at a nearby table glance over at him, then put their heads together and whisper. Heeseung doesn't seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn't react, doesn't do any of the things you would expect from someone with his reputation.
It's infuriating.
A few minutes later, he walks toward your table with two cups in his hands. "One vanilla latte for the lady," he says, setting yours down with a flourish, "and one Americano for me. I got you an extra shot of vanilla. You seem like you could use it."
"I could use a lot of things," you mutter, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. "Vanilla is a start."
Heeseung settles into the chair across from you, his long legs stretching out under the table. "So," he says, "do you want to tell me why you were hiding behind a bulletin board earlier? Or should I just keep guessing? My current theory is that you're secretly a spy for a rival university and you're gathering intel on our science department."
"Your theory is wrong."
"Then what's the real reason?"
I was hiding from you, you don't say. I was hiding from you because I dreamed about you eating me out and now I can't look at your face without spontaneously combusting.
"I'm just… very committed to checking bulletin boards," you say instead. "There's a lot of important information on them. Club announcements. Study group postings. Lost and found notices. Someone lost a cat last week. Did you see that poster? Very sad. I hope they found the cat."
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Rambling. You ramble when you're nervous." He takes a sip of his Americano, his eyes never leaving your face. "It's cute. But you don't have to be nervous around me, you know. I'm not going to bite."
The word "bite" should not make your stomach flip. It is a normal word. A mundane word. A word that people use in completely innocent contexts all the time. But your brain, still apparently haunted by the ghost of that dream, chooses to remind you of the part where Heeseung's lips trailed down to your collarbone, and suddenly you can't look at his mouth anymore.
"I'm not nervous," you lie. "I'm just… naturally like this. I'm a naturally weird person. This is my baseline."
"Your baseline is being weird?"
"Extremely weird. The weirdest. I once alphabetized my entire book collection by color instead of author name because I wanted to see what it would look like. It looked terrible. I kept it that way for three months."
"I also talk to my plants. All of them. Individually. I have a succulent named Jason and I tell him about my day."
"That's just being a good plant parent."
"I cannot snap my fingers. I've tried for nineteen years and I simply cannot do it. My fingers make no sound. It's like they're broken but specifically only for snapping purposes."
Heeseung smiles now, that same genuine smile that appeared in the cafeteria when you talked about League of Legends. "Okay, that one's a little weird. But in an endearing way."
Endearing. He called you endearing. This is not going according to plan.
"I should go get napkins," you say abruptly, pushing back your chair. "We need napkins. For the coffee. In case of spills. You can never be too prepared."
Heeseung glances at the napkin dispenser that is already sitting on the table between you. "We have napkins."
"These aren't… good napkins. I need the good ones. The thick ones. From the counter. I'll be right back."
You escape before he can protest, weaving through the tables toward the counter where the barista is busy steaming milk. You don't actually need napkins. You need a moment to breathe, to collect yourself, to remind your heart that it is supposed to be beating for Jungwon, not doing gymnastics every time Heeseung smiles at you.
The barista hands you a stack of napkins without you even having to ask. You clutch them to your chest like a shield and turn back toward your table.
Heeseung is watching you, his chin propped on his hand, his expression soft and curious and completely unguarded. The afternoon light from the window catches the angles of his face, the sweep of his hair, the slight quirk of his lips. He looks like a painting. He looks like something you would pin to a Pinterest board titled "dream boyfriend" and then immediately feel bad about because no real person should look that good while just sitting in a café.
You start walking back toward the table, your mind a whirlwind of panic and confusion and the desperate need to get through this interaction without making a bigger fool of yourself.
And then your foot catches on the leg of a chair.
It happens in slow motion. One moment you are walking, your napkins clutched to your chest, your eyes fixed on Heeseung. The next moment your toe hooks around a wrought-iron chair leg that is sticking out slightly from a nearby table, and your body pitches forward, and the napkins fly out of your hands, and the coffee, dear God, the coffee who's sitting on the table gets knocked off and sloshes out of your cup in a great wave.
Time speeds up again. You hit the floor with a thud that rattles your teeth, and the coffee hits you approximately 0.3 seconds later, soaking through your sweater and your jeans and possibly your very soul. The liquid is still warm, not scalding but definitely not pleasant, and it is everywhere, on your clothes, on your hands, dripping from the ends of your hair, pooling on the floor around you in a sad, beige puddle.
The café goes silent.
You sit there, on the floor, covered in your own vanilla latte, and stare at the puddle spreading beneath you. The napkins have scattered across the tiles like confetti, completely useless now. A drip of coffee rolls down your forehead and off the tip of your nose.
This is it. This is the moment you finally break. All the stress of the past week, the letter, the misunderstanding, the dream, the bulletin board incident has been building toward this, and now, sitting in a puddle of expensive café coffee with every eye in the establishment fixed on you, you feel the tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
You are going to cry. You are going to cry in front of Heeseung and the mustachioed barista and the couple in the corner and those girls who have been whispering about Heeseung earlier. You are going to cry, and there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop it.
But then you look down at your hands, and you realize something.
His coffee. The Americano. The cup who's been next to yours, you have managed, in the chaos of your fall, to keep it upright by holding it. Your arm lifted it above your head at the last second, some primal survival instinct kicking in to protect the beverage that isn't even yours, and the Americano is still sitting perfectly intact in its cup, not a single drop spilled.
You are covered in latte. Your sweater is ruined. Your dignity is in shambles. But his coffee is safe.
"I saved yours," you say, your voice coming out as a croak. You hold up the Americano like a trophy, your arm trembling slightly. "Look. I saved yours."
Heeseung is already out of his chair, already crouching beside you, his expression shifting from shock to concern to something else entirely, something soft and wondering and absolutely devastating.
"You saved my coffee," he repeats.
"It was a reflex. I don't know why. I don't even like you that much. I mean, I like you a normal amount. A regular amount. The amount you're supposed to like someone you accidentally-" You stop yourself before you can say more. "I saved your coffee."
Heeseung stares at you for a long moment. Then, very deliberately, he reaches out and takes the Americano from your hand. He looks at you, covered in vanilla latte, sitting in a puddle on the café floor, your glasses askew and your hair dripping.
And then he pours his own coffee over his head.
Just… tips the cup over and lets the dark liquid cascade down his hair, over his forehead, along the sharp bridge of his nose, soaking into the collar of his black hoodie and leaving trails of coffee across his skin.
You gape at him. The entire café gapes at him.
"What-" you start, but your voice has stopped working.
Heeseung sets the empty cup down with a quiet click and smiles at you, a warm, genuine, completely unhinged smile that makes your heart do a full backflip inside your chest.
"Now we match," he says.
You can't speak. You can't think. You can only stare at him, this absurd, beautiful, incomprehensible boy who has just poured coffee on himself in the middle of a crowded café for no other reason than to make you feel less alone in your humiliation.
"But… your hoodie," you manage. "Your hair. The floor. The-"
"I have other hoodies. My hair will dry. And the floor can be mopped." He reaches out and gently straightens your glasses, which have gone crooked during your fall. His fingers brush against your temple, feather-light. "You looked like you were about to cry. I couldn't let you cry alone."
"Alone?" Your voice cracks. "You couldn't let me cry alone?"
"I mean, ideally you wouldn't cry at all. But if you are going to cry, I figure I should give you company. Solidarity in humiliation, you know?" He's still smiling, still crouching in front of you, still covered in Americano like it is the most normal thing in the world. "We make a pretty good pair of disasters, don't you think?"
Your heart flips. It doesn't flutter. It doesn't skip a beat. It does a full, acrobatic, Olympic-level flip inside your chest, and you feel the sensation reverberate through your entire body.
Why is he like this?
Why is Lee Heeseung, reputed womanizer, notorious player, the guy everyone warns you about, sitting on the floor of a café covered in his own coffee just to make you feel better about spilling yours? Why is he looking at you like that, with those dark, gentle eyes, like you are something precious instead of the absolute disaster you clearly are?
You don't know. You don't understand. And the not understanding is starting to become a problem, because every time you think you have Heeseung figured out, he goes and does something like this, and your careful mental categories crumble a little more.
"We should probably…" You gesture vaguely at your coffee-soaked selves. "Clean up. Or something."
"Probably," Heeseung agrees. He stands up and offers you his hand, his coffee-stained, still-damp hand and you have no choice but to take it. His grip is warm and solid, and he pulls you to your feet with an ease that suggests you weigh nothing at all. "There's a student services office around the corner. They keep spare t-shirts for emergencies. We could both use a change of clothes."
You look down at your sweater, which is now more latte-colored than its original blue. "That's… probably a good idea."
Heeseung pulls out his wallet and drops several bills on the nearest table, far more than the cost of two coffees with a nod to the mustachioed barista. "For the mess," he says. "Sorry about the floor."
The barista nods slowly, his expression suggesting he has seen many things in his years at the café but has never quite witnessed anything like this.
And then Heeseung guides you out of the café, his hand hovering at the small of your back but not quite touching, and you walk through the student union in matching coffee-stained clothes like the world's most unfortunate pair of twins.
The student services office is a small, cluttered room tucked into a corner of the union building. It is staffed by a perpetually exhausted-looking graduate student who has clearly seen too much in his years of dealing with student emergencies. When you and Heeseung walk in, dripping coffee and smelling like a coffee explosion, he doesn't even blink.
"Coffee incident?" he asks flatly.
"Yes," Heeseung says.
"Both of you?"
"I'm told we match now."
The student stares at him for a long moment, then sighs with the weariness of someone who long ago stopped questioning the absurdities of university life. "We have spare t-shirts in the back. They're not fashionable. They have the university logo on them. You don't get to complain about the design."
"We wouldn't dream of it," Heeseung says.
The student disappears into a back room and emerges a moment later with two folded shirts. They are, as promised, aggressively unfashionable, a mustard yellow color with the university mascot printed on the front in peeling letters. Beneath the mascot are the words "Embrace the process!"
"These are incredible," Heeseung says, holding up his shirt with genuine delight. "I'm keeping this forever."
"The bathrooms are down the hall," the student says, already turning back to his computer. "Please don't track coffee into them. I just had the floors cleaned."
You and Heeseung change in separate bathrooms, and when you emerge, you are confronted with the sight of Heeseung wearing a mustard-yellow shirt that is slightly too small for him, the fabric stretching across his shoulders in a way that is definitely not doing things to your heart. The coffee has been wiped off his face, but his hair is still damp, curling slightly at the ends, and the combination of the terrible shirt and the wet hair and the ridiculously attractive face is so absurd that you actually laugh out loud.
"What?" Heeseung asks, grinning. "Do I look as good as I think I do?"
"You look like you traded shirts with a child."
"A very fashionable child. This slogan will hype me up for my next exam." He looks you over, his eyes crinkling. "You don't look half bad yourself. Yellow's a good color on you."
You are wearing the exact same shirt. You look like a banana. But Heeseung says it like he means it, and you feel that traitorous flutter in your chest again.
"We should go," you say, because standing in a hallway with Heeseung while wearing ridiculous matching shirts is doing something strange to your brain chemistry. "I have… I need to… there's a thing…"
"The mysterious thing," Heeseung says. "Your nemesis. Your arch-enemy. The eternal obstacle to us spending more time together."
"It's a very busy thing. It takes up a lot of my schedule."
"Right." He is still smiling, still looking at you with that soft, curious expression. "Well, before you run off to your very important thing, let me walk you to-"
"There you are, Heeseung! I've been looking everywhere for-"
The voice comes from the end of the hallway, and you know that voice. You know it the way you know your own heartbeat, the way you know the lyrics to every Ariana Grande song, the way you know that vanilla lattes are now your mortal enemy.
Jungwon walks toward you, his phone in his hand and a slight frown on his face, like he has been searching for Heeseung for a while. He looks so unfairly beautiful that your heart does the thing it always does when you see him, that painful, hopeful, aching thing that feels like a bruise that won't heal.
But then his eyes land on you, and he stops walking.
"Y/N?" His gaze travels from your face to your shirt to Heeseung's matching shirt to the general air of disaster that still clings to both of you. "What… happened to you guys?"
"Coffee incident," Heeseung says, with the casual air of someone explaining something completely normal. "She spilled hers, so I spilled mine too. Now we're twins."
Jungwon blinks. "You poured coffee on yourself?"
"Matching disasters. It's a new concept. We're pioneering it."
You want to say something, anything, to salvage this situation. Jungwon is looking between you and Heeseung with an expression you can't quite read, and your brain screams at you to explain, to clarify, to make sure he doesn't get the wrong idea about what he is seeing.
"It's not… we're not-" you start, but your voice comes out squeaky and strange. "The coffee was an accident. Well, my coffee was an accident. His coffee was on purpose. But not in a romantic way. In a… solidarity way. Against the humiliation. We are fighting humiliation together."
"Fighting humiliation," Jungwon repeats slowly.
"Enemies," you say, nodding too hard. "We're humiliation enemies. Humi-nemies. It's a whole thing."
Heeseung watches you with that amused expression again, and you can tell he is biting back a smile. "Humi-nemies," he echoes. "Right. That's what we are."
Jungwon is quiet for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles, but it isn't his usual warm smile. It is something smaller, something more careful, something that makes your stomach drop even as you can't identify why.
"You guys make a cute couple," he says.
The words hit you like a physical blow. Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No sound comes out.
"We're not-" you try, but Jungwon is already stepping back, already half-turning away.
"I've got to get to class," he says. "Heeseung, I'll catch up with you later. Y/N… nice shirt."
And then he walks away, and you stand in the hallway with your heart in your stomach and Heeseung's matching shirt still warm against your skin.
"We're not a couple," you say, but it comes out as barely a whisper.
"Not yet," Heeseung says cheerfully, apparently completely oblivious to the emotional devastation that just occurred. "But we're off to a good start, don't you think? Coffee disasters, matching outfits, running into my friends, this is basically a textbook meet-cute progression."
You turn to stare at him. He is grinning, still radiating that unshakeable, inexplicable joy that seems to follow him everywhere. He has no idea. He has absolutely no idea that the boy you actually like just saw you in matching shirts with someone else and assumed you were a couple.
"Are you okay?" Heeseung asks, his smile fading slightly. "You look a little pale. Was the coffee too hot? Do you need to sit down?"
"I'm fine," you manage. "I just… I need to go. The thing. The very important thing. It's calling me."
You don't wait for him to respond. You turn and walk away, not running, because running would be too obvious, but walking very quickly, your mind a tornado of panic and regret and the image of Jungwon's smile fading as he says the words that just shattered your entire world.
You guys make a cute couple.
He thinks you are a couple. Yang Jungwon, the boy you have been pining over for four months, the boy you wrote a three-page love letter to, the boy who poked your cheek in the library and called you cute, he thinks you are dating Lee Heeseung.
You are trapped. You are so, so trapped.
By the time you reach your dorm room, you are practically vibrating with suppressed emotion. You close the door, lean your back against it, and press your hands to your face.
You guys make a cute couple.
"We're not a couple," you whisper to your empty room. "We're not a couple. We're humi-nemies. That's a real thing that I definitely didn't just make up because I can't communicate like a normal human being."
Your room does not respond.
You slide down the door until you are sitting on the floor, your legs stretched out in front of you. You look ridiculous. You feel ridiculous. Your entire life has become a comedy of errors, and you are the punchline.
But even as you sit there, drowning in self-pity and the lingering scent of vanilla latte, you can't quite forget the look on Heeseung's face when he poured his coffee over his head. The way he smiled at you, open and unguarded. The way he said I couldn't let you cry alone like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Why is he like that? Why is he so… him?
You don't have an answer. And that, more than anything else, is starting to scare you.
The library has become your second home.
Not by choice, exactly. More by necessity. The library is neutral territory, a place where you can exist without fear of coffee-related disasters, unexpected bulletin board ambushes, or tall informatics students appearing out of thin air to pour beverages on themselves in acts of solidarity. The library has rules. The library has silence. The library has mercifully dim lighting that hides the dark circles under your eyes from three consecutive nights of restless sleep.
It has been four days since the coffee incident. Four days since Jungwon looked at you in your matching shirt and said those fateful words: You guys make a cute couple. Four days of replaying that moment over and over in your head, analyzing every micro-expression on his face, every nuance in his voice, trying to determine if there was something else there, something like disappointment, or regret, or maybe even jealousy.
You have come to no conclusions. Your analytical skills, apparently, are useless when applied to matters of the heart.
So you do what any reasonable, emotionally overwhelmed STEM student would do: you throw yourself into your studies with the intensity of someone trying to forget their entire life. You have read the same paragraph about cellular respiration seventeen times. You have highlighted so many sentences that your textbook looks like a rainbow has thrown up on it. You have consumed approximately four hundred milligrams of caffeine in the past three hours alone, and your hands shake slightly as you turn another page.
It is fine. Everything is fine. You are fine.
"You're going to burn a hole through that book if you keep staring at it like that."
The voice comes from directly above you, and you jolt so hard that your highlighter goes skidding across the table and rolls onto the floor. You look up, your heart already doing that familiar, traitorous leap, and there he is.
Jungwon.
He stands beside your table with a gentle smile on his face, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his hair slightly messy like he has been running his fingers through it.
"Sorry," he says, stooping to pick up your fallen highlighter. "I didn't mean to startle you. You just looked so intense. Like you were trying to intimidate the biology into making sense."
"The biology is winning," you admit, accepting the highlighter with a hand that trembles slightly. From the caffeine. Definitely from the caffeine. "I've been reading the same page for twenty minutes and I still have no idea what oxidative phosphorylation is."
"It sounds like a spell from Harry Potter."
"That's what I've been thinking! But apparently it's something about electrons and I just-" You gesture vaguely at the chaos of papers spread across your table. "I'm losing the war."
Jungwon laughs, that bright, sunny sound that never fails to make your heart flutter. "Mind if I join you? I've been looking for a quiet spot to study, and honestly, sitting next to someone who's fighting for their life against biology sounds way more entertaining than sitting alone."
Your heart, the same heart that belongs to this boy, that has belonged to him since the moment he slid gummy bears across a library table at 2 AM, screams YES with the force of a thousand suns. Your brain, the traitorous organ that got you into this mess in the first place, reminds you of all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
"You probably don't want to sit with me," you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. "I'm not very good company right now. I've been mainlining caffeine and I think I can hear colors."
"That sounds like excellent company." Jungwon pulls out the chair across from you and sits down without waiting for permission. "What colors can you hear?"
"Biology textbook beige, mostly. It sounds like despair."
He laughs again, and the sound settles into your chest like a warm blanket. This is fine. This is okay. You can study with Jungwon without making it weird. You have done it before, you have spent a whole hour in this very library, watching him take notes and push his glasses up his nose and poke your cheek with that devastating smile. You can do it again. You are a professional. You are a master of emotional compartmentalization.
For a while, you actually do study. Or at least, you both pretend to. Jungwon opens his philosophy book and starts reading, his brow furrowed in concentration, his pen tapping absently against his notebook. You stare at your biology textbook with renewed determination, willing the words to make sense.
But your eyes keep drifting up, against your will, over the top of your book, to the boy sitting across from you. The way the library light catches the highlights in his hair. The way he bites his lower lip when he is thinking. The way his fingers curl around his pen, elegant and deliberate.
"You're doing it again," Jungwon says, not looking up from his book.
Heat floods your cheeks. "I'm not doing anything. I'm reading about oxidative phosphorylation. It's very interesting. Lots of electrons."
"Y/N." He looks up then, and his expression is softer than you expected. Gentler. "It's okay. I told you before, right? I don't mind being looked at like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm something worth looking at." He sets down his pen and folds his hands on the table, giving you his full attention. "You have a very particular way of looking at people. Did you know that? It's like you're trying to memorize them. Every detail. Like you're cataloguing things that most people wouldn't notice."
Your heart pounds so hard you are certain he can hear it. You want to say I'm only looking at you like this because it's you. But the words won't come. "That's… that's my STEM brain. I'm very analytical. I notice things. It's a curse."
"I don't think it's a curse." Jungwon's voice is quiet, thoughtful. "I think it's actually really special. Most people don't pay attention like that. Most people look at you and see what they want to see, not what's actually there." He pauses, his eyes searching your face. "You're different, Y/N. You actually see people."
The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. This is it. This is the moment. The conversation has shifted into something deeper, something more intimate, and you can feel the confession building in your chest like a wave about to break.
You can tell him. Right now. You can tell him everything, the letter, the misunderstanding, the way your heart has been his since the very beginning. You can clear the air and finally, finally be free of the tangled web you have accidentally woven around yourself.
"Jungwon," you say, and your voice comes out steadier than you expect. "There's something I need to tell you. About Heeseung. About the confession. About everything. It's not what you think. It's never been what you think."
Jungwon's expression flickers, surprise, confusion, something else you can't quite name. "What do you mean?"
"I mean-" You take a deep breath, gathering your courage. "The letter. The one I gave to Heeseung. It wasn't-"
"Wait." Jungwon holds up a hand, stopping you mid-sentence. "Before you say anything else, can I say something first?"
You nod, your heart hammering.
Jungwon leans back in his chair, his eyes never leaving your face. "I've been watching you and Heeseung," he says slowly. "The past few weeks. Ever since he told me about the confession. And I've never seen him like this before."
Your stomach drops. "Like what?"
"Like… happy. Genuinely happy. Not the surface-level people-pleasing happiness he shows everyone else, but something real. Something that goes all the way down." Jungwon's voice is earnest, almost protective. "Heeseung is my friend. One of my best friends. And I know what people say about him, that he's a player, a womanizer, that he'll charm you and then move on. But that's not who he really is."
You don't know what to say. You don't know where this is going. But you can't seem to interrupt, can't seem to find the words to stop him.
"Heeseung is…" Jungwon pauses, searching for the right words. "He's the guy who will stay up all night helping you debug code even when he has his own assignments due. He's the guy who remembers everyone's birthday and always gets them a gift that shows he actually paid attention to what they like. He's the guy who can't say no to anyone, ever, because he's so terrified of disappointing people that he'd rather burn himself out than let someone down."
He smiles, but there is something sad in it. "Girls think he's flirting with them because he's nice to everyone. And he won't correct them because he doesn't want to hurt their feelings. So he just… lets them believe what they want to believe, and then he feels guilty when they get attached, and the whole thing becomes this cycle he can't break out of. It's not malice. It's the exact opposite of malice, it's too much kindness, too much caring, and not enough ability to set boundaries."
Your throat is dry. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I think you're different." Jungwon meets your eyes, and his gaze is steady and sincere. "I think you actually see him. Not the reputation, not the rumors, but the real him. And I think he's starting to see the real you too." He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer. Almost fragile. "So I need you to promise me something."
"What?"
"Take care of him. Please." Jungwon's smile is gentle, but there is something behind it, something that looks a lot like pain, carefully hidden, expertly concealed. "He's been alone for a long time, even when he's surrounded by people. I don't think he even realizes how lonely he is. But you… you could change that. I can see it."
The wave of emotion that crashes over you is so overwhelming that you can't speak. This isn't how this conversation is supposed to go. You are supposed to confess to Jungwon. You are supposed to clear up the misunderstanding. You are supposed to finally tell him the truth.
Who knows - Daniel Caesar playing now
But Jungwon isn't finished.
"There's something else I should tell you," he says, and his voice drops even lower, barely above a whisper. "Something I probably shouldn't say. But I think I need to, or I'll regret it forever."
"What is it?"
Jungwon looks down at his hands, folded on the table. When he speaks, his voice is steady, but you can hear the effort it takes to keep it that way.
"I like you."
The words don't make sense. They can't make sense. You hear them, understand them individually, but your brain refuses to assemble them into a coherent meaning.
"What?" you breathe.
"I like you," Jungwon repeats, and now he looks up at you, and his eyes are so full of something, regret, maybe, or longing, or both, that it makes your chest ache. "From the first day of philosophy class. You sat in the front row, near the window, and you had like eight different colored highlighters lined up on your desk, and you took notes so furiously that your pen ran out of ink halfway through the lecture. I remember you made this little frustrated noise and searched your bag for a spare, and you looked so genuinely distraught that I almost offered you mine."
The library. The philosophy lecture. The day you ran out of ink. You remember it, vaguely, distantly, a moment so mundane you never thought about it again. But Jungwon remembers. Jungwon has been watching you, just like you have been watching him.
"I noticed you after that," he continues, and his voice is achingly soft. "The way you always sat in the same spot. The way you organized your notes. The way you bit your lip when you were concentrating. I kept telling myself I'd talk to you, but I could never find the right moment. And then midterms happened, and we were both in the library at 2 AM, and I saw you looking exhausted and stressed, and I just…" He laughs, but it is a sad sound. "I gave you gummy bears because I couldn't think of anything else to do. It felt so stupid at the time. Who gives gummy bears to a stranger at 2 AM?"
"A stranger who hadn't slept in thirty-six hours and was about to cry over organic chemistry," you whisper. "It wasn't stupid. It was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me."
Jungwon's smile flickers. "I was working up the courage to actually talk to you. To ask you out properly. But then…" He trails off, and his expression shifts, something closing off behind his eyes. "Then Heeseung told me about the confession. And I saw the way he looked when he talked about you. And I knew… I knew I'd missed my chance."
No. No, no, no. This is wrong. This is all wrong. He hasn't missed his chance. The chance is right here, right now, sitting in front of him with a heart full of feelings that have always been meant for him.
"Jungwon," you say, and your voice cracks. "The letter… it wasn't-"
"I'm not telling you this to make things awkward," Jungwon interrupts gently. "I'm telling you because I want you to know. I like you. I really, really like you. And sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd been braver, if I'd said something sooner, if I hadn't waited until it was too late." He pauses, and his eyes meet yours, and the weight of what he says presses down on your chest like a physical force. "But I'm glad it's Heeseung. He deserves someone like you. And you deserve someone who sees you the way he does."
"You don't understand," you try, desperation creeping into your voice. "It wasn't supposed to be Heeseung. The letter was meant for-"
"Take care of him," Jungwon says again, and this time his voice is final. Resolute. Like he has already made his peace with something you haven't even realized he was struggling with. "That's all I ask."
He stands up, gathering his book and his notebook, and you watch him with a growing sense of panic. This can't be how it ends. You can't let him walk away without knowing the truth.
But then he pauses, looking down at you with that devastating smile, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your heart do somersaults, and he reaches out and gently pokes your cheek.
"Boop," he says softly.
The gesture that once made you giddy with joy now feels like a knife twisting in your chest.
"Liking you was never a waste of my time, Y/N," he says, and his voice is tender in a way that breaks your heart into a thousand pieces. "I don't regret it. Not even for a second."
And then he walks away, and you are left alone at your table with a biology textbook you haven't read and a heart that is shattering into so many fragments you don't know if you will ever be able to put it back together.
I like you.
I gave you gummy bears because I couldn't think of anything else to do.
Liking you was never a waste of my time.
He liked you. He liked you this whole time. All those months of pining, of yearning, of writing and rewriting that letter and he has been feeling the same thing. You have been two ships passing in the night, each carrying the same cargo of unspoken feelings, and you have missed each other by a margin so narrow it is almost laughable.
But it isn't laughable. It is devastating. It is the most devastating thing that has ever happened to you, and you are sitting in the middle of a silent library trying not to fall apart.
You don't remember packing up your things. You don't remember leaving the library. One moment you are staring at the spot where Jungwon was sitting, and the next you are walking across campus in the fading evening light, your backpack hanging heavy from your shoulders, your feet carrying you automatically toward your dorm.
And then the tears come.
They start slow, a burning sensation behind your eyes, a tightness in your throat. You try to swallow them down, try to hold them back, but they won't be contained. By the time you reach the pathway between the science building and the student union, you are crying openly, tears streaming down your cheeks in hot, relentless rivers.
This isn't a romantic cry. This isn't the kind of crying that happens in movies, where the heroine looks beautiful and tragic and a single perfect tear rolls down her cheek. This is an ugly cry. A messy, hiccuping, snotty cry that makes your nose run and your shoulders shake and your breath come in ragged gasps. You are crying because the boy you liked liked you back, and instead of ending up together like you were supposed to, everything has gone terribly, irreversibly wrong.
You stop walking. You can't keep going. Your legs won't carry you any further. You lean against the rough bark of a tree and press your hands to your face, trying to muffle the sounds that escape from your throat.
You cry for the letter you sent to the wrong person. You cry for the courage it took to write it, and the cowardice that has kept you from correcting your mistake. You cry for Jungwon, who liked you and gave up on you because he thought you wanted someone else. You cry for yourself, for the hopeless romantic who dreamed of grand gestures and perfect moments and has ended up with nothing but misunderstandings and a heavy heart that breaks into smaller and smaller pieces.
You cry until your throat is raw and your eyes are swollen and you don't think you have any tears left to shed.
And then a voice, gentle, concerned, painfully familiar, cuts through the fog of your grief.
"Y/N?"
You look up.
Lee Heeseung stands on the pathway a few feet away, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his expression shifting from casual curiosity to alarm as he takes in your tear-streaked face and trembling shoulders.
"Hey," he says, and his voice is softer than you have ever heard it. "Hey, what's wrong? What happened?"
You should make an excuse. You should say you are fine, that it's allergies, that you just got something in your eye. You should tell him to leave you alone, to give you space, to let you fall apart in private.
But the words won't come. All that comes out is another sob, and your knees buckle slightly, and then Heeseung is there, his hands on your shoulders, steadying you.
"It's okay," he says, even though he doesn't know what is wrong, even though you haven't explained anything. "It's okay. I've got you."
"No, you don't understand," you choke out. "Everything is messed up. Everything is so messed up and it's all my fault."
"Then we'll fix it." He says it with such simple certainty, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. "Whatever it is, we'll fix it."
"You can't fix this. No one can fix this."
"Maybe not." Heeseung's hands move from your shoulders to your upper arms, his grip gentle but grounding. "But I can be here. I can listen. And I can promise you that whatever it is, you don't have to deal with it alone."
Something in his voice, the steadiness, the sincerity, the complete lack of judgment, cracks through the last of your defenses. You stop trying to hold yourself together. You let the tears fall, let your shoulders shake, let yourself be exactly as broken as you feel.
And Heeseung doesn't flinch. He doesn't look uncomfortable or try to escape or offer meaningless platitudes. He just stands there, his hands warm on your arms, his presence solid and unwavering, letting you cry without asking for explanations or justifications.
After a while, you don't know how long, the tears begin to subside. Your breathing steadies. The storm inside you quiets to a dull, aching calm. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, suddenly aware of how awful you must look, how puffy and red and wrecked.
"I'm sorry," you whisper. "Your jacket is probably wet."
"My jacket has survived worse." Heeseung's voice is gentle. "Come on. Let's sit down somewhere."
He guides you to a bench nearby, a small wooden bench tucked under a cluster of trees, partially hidden from the main pathway. You sit down heavily, your legs still shaky, and Heeseung sits beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body but not so close that it feels invasive.
Dream - Keshi playing now
For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The evening settles around you, the sky shifting from pale blue to soft pink to deeper purple. A few stars start to appear, faint pinpricks of light against the darkening canvas overhead. The campus is quiet, most students already back in their dorms or the library, and the only sounds are the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Heeseung asks eventually.
"Not really."
"Okay." He doesn't push. He doesn't pry. He just sits there, his shoulder almost touching yours, his presence a quiet comfort in the gathering dark.
"You're not going to ask questions?"
"You'll tell me when you're ready. Or you won't. Either way, I'm not going anywhere."
The simplicity of it, the uncomplicated, undemanding kindness of it, makes your eyes sting with fresh tears. You blink them back, determined not to start crying again.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" you ask, your voice hoarse.
Heeseung turns his head to look at you, and his expression is unreadable. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because… because I'm a disaster. Because I've been weird and awkward and I ran away from you and hid behind bulletin boards and spilled coffee on myself and I can't seem to do anything right. Because you barely know me, and what you do know is mostly just me making a fool of myself."
Heeseung is quiet for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles. Not the smirk or the teasing grin, but something softer. Something realer.
"Can you guess the movie I've watched recently?"
The question is so random that you blink. "What?"
"A movie I've watched recently. Can you guess?"
"Am I supposed to?"
"No, because I've never told you." He leans back on the bench, tilting his face up toward the emerging stars. "I don't usually tell people. It's kind of embarrassing."
You sniffle, curiosity temporarily overriding your grief. "What is it?"
"To All the Boys I've Loved Before."
You stare at him. "The Netflix movie? The one with Lara Jean?"
"The very same." He doesn't look embarrassed at all. If anything, he looks almost proud. "I've watched it like eight times. Maybe nine. I lost count somewhere around the sixth viewing."
"But… that's a teen romance. That's a movie about fake dating and love letters and-" You stop. "Oh."
"Yeah." Heeseung's smile turns wry. "The parallels weren't lost on me. Girl writes love letters she never meant to send. Letters end up reaching the boys. Chaos ensues." He glances at you sideways. "Sound familiar?"
Your heart does something strange, something fluttery and uncertain. "Why did you watch it?"
"Because Lara Jean is a hopeless romantic who's terrified of actually living the romance she dreams about." Heeseung's voice is thoughtful, almost contemplative. "She's brave on paper but scared in real life. She has all these feelings and no idea what to do with them. And she's convinced that if she actually tries to be vulnerable, everything will fall apart."
He turns to look at you fully, his dark eyes catching the faint glow of the distant streetlamps. "Does any of that sound familiar to you?"
Your breath catches in your throat.
"You write beautiful letters," Heeseung continues, his voice dropping lower. "You pour your heart onto paper because it's safer than saying things out loud. You make graphs about video game balance because you're passionate and detail-oriented and you can't help but go all-in on the things you care about. You talk to your plants and name your succulents and hide behind bulletin boards because real life is scary and rejection is terrifying and it's easier to dream about love than to actually risk your heart for it."
You can't speak. You can barely breathe. He is describing you, not the surface-level you, not the "weird first-year STEM student" you, but the real you. The you that lives in daydreams and love letters and the safety of your own imagination.
"The letter you wrote wasn't just a confession," Heeseung says quietly. "It was a work of art. The calligraphy, the words, the way you talked about noticing small things and finding beauty in ordinary moments, that's not something you write to just anyone. That's something you write when you've been paying attention. When you really see someone."
He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is almost a whisper.
"You remind me of her. Lara Jean. The girl who was so busy dreaming about love that she almost missed it when it showed up in front of her. You are Lara Jean. My Lara Jean."
Your heart races. Your palms are sweaty. The evening has grown dark around you, the stars fully emerged now, and Heeseung's face is half in shadow, half illuminated by the distant campus lights.
"Why are you telling me this?" you whisper.
"Because I think you're scared," Heeseung says simply. "I think you've been scared since the moment you handed me that letter. I think you're scared of what it means, scared of being vulnerable, scared of letting someone actually see you. And I want you to know that I see you anyway. Even when you're trying to hide."
He reaches out, and his hand finds yours in the darkness. His fingers are warm, his grip gentle.
"You don't have to be scared with me," he says. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to hurt you. And I'm not going to stop being interested just because you're awkward or clumsy or you spill coffee on yourself or you ramble about League of Legends until you run out of breath." He squeezes your hand. "That's the stuff I like about you. That's the stuff that makes you real."
You stare at him, your eyes still swollen from crying, your nose still red, your heart still aching from the conversation with Jungwon. And yet, sitting here on this bench with Heeseung's hand in yours and his words echoing in your ears, something shifts. Something changes.
"I don't know what I'm doing," you admit, your voice barely audible. "I don't know what I want. I don't know what I'm supposed to feel."
"Then don't figure it out tonight." Heeseung stands up, still holding your hand, and gently pulls you to your feet. "Come on. Let's get you back to your dorm. You need rest and probably some water. Crying is dehydrating."
Despite everything, the heartbreak, the confusion, the complete emotional chaos of the past hour, you almost smile. "That's a very practical observation."
"I'm an engineering student. We're practical by nature." He falls into step beside you, your hands still joined, and begins walking you toward your dorm building. "Also, I may have done some research on crying. You know, for science."
"You researched crying for science?"
"It was for a psych elective. But also for life skills. You'd be surprised how many people don't know that emotional tears contain stress hormones that need to be flushed out of your system. Crying is literally good for you."
"You're very weird," you say, but there's no bite to it.
"Coming from the girl who named her succulent Jason, I'll take that as a compliment."
You walk in silence for a while, the campus quiet and peaceful around you. The stars are bright overhead, and the air is cool against your tear-stained cheeks, and Heeseung's hand is warm in yours, steady and reassuring.
When you reach your dorm building, he stops at the entrance, turning to face you. The light from the lobby spills through the glass doors, illuminating his features, the sharp line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his lips, the way his dark eyes fix on your face like you are something worth looking at.
"Y/N," he says.
"Yeah?"
"I meant what I said earlier. You don't have to figure everything out tonight. You don't have to have all the answers. But whatever you're going through, whatever made you cry like that… I hope you know you can talk to me. About anything. Even if it's hard. Even if it's confusing. Even if it's not what you think I want to hear."
Your throat tightens. He has no idea how relevant those words are. He has no idea that the thing that made you cry is, in part, him or at least, the situation he is unknowingly caught up in.
"Thank you," you whisper.
Heeseung smiles, that same soft smile that appeared when he poured coffee over his head, when he called you a little mouse, when he listened to you talk about video games for fifteen minutes straight. And then, before you can react, he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek.
It isn't romantic or it isn't supposed to be. It is brief and soft and chaste, the kind of kiss you might give a friend who is hurting. But his lips are warm against your skin, and when he pulls back, your cheek is tingling, and your heart does that traitorous flutter again.
"Goodnight, little mouse," he says. "Get some sleep."
And then he walks away, his hands in his pockets, his silhouette disappearing into the darkness of the campus night.
You stand there for a long moment, your hand pressed to your cheek where his lips have been, your heart a tangled mess of grief and confusion and something else, something warm and growing, something you don't want to name.
This is supposed to be simple. You are supposed to like Jungwon. You have liked Jungwon for four months. You wrote him a letter and dreamt about him and catalogued his habits and built an entire future around the idea of him.
But Jungwon walked away. Jungwon made his choice. Jungwon told you to take care of Heeseung and then poked your cheek one last time, a goodbye disguised as a signature gesture.
And Heeseung… Heeseung poured coffee on himself to make you feel less alone. Heeseung held your hand and told you that you were his Lara Jean. Heeseung kissed your cheek and called you little mouse and looked at you like you were something precious.
You don't know what to do anymore. You don't know what to feel. The map you have been following, the one that leads straight to Jungwon has crumbled in your hands, and now you stand in unfamiliar territory with no compass and no guide.
You push open the door to your dorm building and walk to your room in a daze, your mind still spinning. When you finally collapse onto your bed, still in your clothes, still wearing the tear tracks on your cheeks, you stare up at the ceiling and try to make sense of the chaos in your heart.
Jungwon liked you.
Jungwon gave up on you.
Heeseung said he wouldn't go anywhere.
Heeseung kissed your cheek.
You press your fingers to the spot where his lips have been and close your eyes.
"I don't know what I'm doing," you whisper to your empty room. "I really, really don't know what I'm doing."
Your room, as always, offers no answers. But somewhere in the distance, you can almost hear Heeseung's voice: You don't have to figure everything out tonight.
So you don't. You let the exhaustion pull you under, let sleep claim you, and try very hard not to think about the fact that the boy who just comforted you through your heartbreak is the same boy who might be slowly, quietly, unexpectedly stealing your heart.
The university, in its infinite and questionable wisdom, has decided that what the student body really needs is a three-day trip to a skiing station.
You received the email three weeks ago, skimmed it with the vague interest of someone who has never skied in her life and has no intention of starting now, and promptly archived it into the dark abyss of your inbox alongside seventeen other emails you will never open again. The trip is optional, after all. Attendance is not mandatory. You can simply stay on campus, enjoy the quiet emptiness of the dorms, and continue your ongoing mission of avoiding all tall informatics students while trying to piece together the shattered remnants of your romantic life.
It is a perfect plan. Flawless. Foolproof.
Until Yunjin gets involved.
"You're going," Yunjin says, standing in the doorway of your dorm room with her arms crossed and her expression one of immovable determination. She has just finished reading the email over your shoulder, and the glint in her eye is the same one she gets when she is about to bulldoze through every objection you can possibly raise.
"I'm not going," you reply, not looking up from your biology textbook. "I don't ski. I don't snowboard. I don't even own a proper winter coat. The heaviest thing I own is a cardigan, and I'm pretty sure it's made of acrylic."
"Then we'll get you a coat."
"Yunjin."
"Y/N."
"I can't go to a skiing station. I have studying to do. I have lab reports to write. I have approximately eight hundred flashcards to review before the next exam. My social life is already a disaster zone, I don't need to add frostbite and potential avalanche-related injuries to my list of problems."
Yunjin steps fully into the room, closes the door behind her, and fixes you with a look that you recognize as her "I'm about to say something brutally honest and you're not going to like it" expression. "You've been moping for two weeks."
"I haven't been moping. I've been processing."
"You've been moping. You've been staring at walls, listening to sad music, and eating instant ramen for every meal. I saw you crying over a nature documentary the other day because the baby penguin got separated from its family."
"That was emotionally manipulative editing! They set it to sad piano music! Anyone would have cried!"
"Y/N." Yunjin sits down on the edge of your bed, her voice softening. "I know about Jungwon. I know he told you he liked you and then walked away. I know you've been carrying that around like a weight on your chest. But hiding in your room isn't going to make it better. You need to get out. You need fresh air. You need to do something that isn't just staring at the same four walls and replaying the same conversation over and over in your head."
You set down your highlighter. "What if I run into Jungwon on the trip?"
"Then you'll be a normal human being about it. Or you'll be weird and awkward, which is your default state anyway, so nothing will have changed."
"Comforting."
"What if you run into Heeseung?"
The question catches you off guard. Your hand stills on your textbook, and you feel that familiar, complicated flutter in your chest, the one that has been appearing more and more frequently whenever someone mentions his name. "I don't know. I haven't really talked to him since…" Since the night he kissed your cheek. Since the night you realized that maybe, just maybe, your heart is no longer as firmly in Jungwon's camp as you always assumed.
"Exactly," Yunjin says, as if your silence has proven her point. "You need to figure things out. And you can't do that if you're hiding in your dorm room subsisting on sodium and self-pity. The ski trip is three days. Three days of fresh mountain air, hot chocolate, and the chance to actually talk to people face-to-face instead of through a fog of depression ramen."
"The ramen isn't that bad."
"The ramen is a cry for help."
You are quiet for a moment, staring at the pages of your textbook without really seeing them. Yunjin is right. You know she is right. You have been hiding from Jungwon, from Heeseung, from the tangled mess of feelings that you still haven't sorted out. The past two weeks have been a blur of avoidance and overthinking, and you are no closer to clarity than you were on that bench under the stars.
"Fine," you say finally, the word escaping before you can stop it. "I'll go."
Yunjin's face lights up. "Really?"
"But I'm not skiing. I refuse to ski. I'll sit in the lodge and drink hot chocolate and judge people from the window like a ghost."
"That's the spirit."
The morning of the trip arrives with a gray sky and a biting chill in the air. You stand outside the student union with your hastily packed duffel bag, which contains exactly zero items suitable for winter sports because your wardrobe is approximately eighty percent oversized sweaters and twenty percent academic stress, and watch your breath fog in the cold morning air.
The bus is already parked at the curb, a massive coach with the university logo emblazoned on the side. Students mill around, dragging suitcases and carrying thermoses of coffee, their chatter filling the air with a buzz of excitement. You spot a few familiar faces from your classes, a group of engineering students comparing snowboards, and your heart lurches, a flash of dark hair that might be Jungwon disappearing into the bus.
Yunjin has already boarded, abandoning you for a seat near the front because she wants to "network with the economics majors" or some other nonsense that you can't relate to. You are alone, clutching your bag and wondering if it is too late to fake a sudden illness, when a voice speaks directly behind you.
"Need help with your bag?"
You spin around so fast that your duffel bag swings in a wide arc and nearly takes out an innocent bystander. The innocent bystander, thankfully, has very good reflexes. He ducks, straightens up, and smiles at you with that familiar, devastating smile that has been haunting your dreams for weeks.
Heeseung.
He wears a black puffer jacket that makes his shoulders look even broader, a gray beanie pulled low over his hair, and a pair of snow boots that actually look like they belong on a ski trip. His cheeks are slightly pink from the cold, and his eyes are bright with that unshakeable, inexplicable cheerfulness that seems to follow him everywhere.
"Hi," you say, because your brain has apparently decided that monosyllables are all you can manage.
"Hi," he replies, his smile widening. "Fancy meeting you here. I thought you said you were photosensitive and couldn't be exposed to direct light. Is snow-light different from regular light?"
"That was a lie and you know it."
"I know." He reaches out and gently takes your duffel bag from your white-knuckled grip. "Come on. Let's find seats together. The bus is filling up."
"I… what… together?"
"Unless you already have a seatmate?"
Yunjin has abandoned you. You have no allies, no escape routes, and no valid excuses. "No," you admit. "I don't."
"Great." Heeseung starts walking toward the bus, your bag slung easily over his shoulder like it weighs nothing. "Fair warning, I'm a chronic window-seat person. I need to be able to stare dramatically at the scenery while contemplating the meaning of life."
"That's very specific."
"It's a lifestyle choice."
You follow him onto the bus, your heart doing that complicated gymnastics routine that it has perfected over the past few weeks. Heeseung navigates through the aisle with practiced ease, nodding at people who call out to him, exchanging quick greetings, but never stopping until he reaches an empty row near the middle of the bus.
"Window seat's yours," he says, gesturing for you to go first.
"I thought you said you were a chronic window-seat person."
"I am. But I'm making an exception." He stows your bag in the overhead compartment, then steps back to let you pass. "Consider it part of the whole starting slow thing. Sacrifices must be made."
You slide into the window seat, your heart hammering, and Heeseung settles in beside you. The seats are closer together than you expected. His shoulder brushes against yours, and even through the layers of your coats, you can feel the warmth of his body. You press yourself slightly closer to the window, trying to create more space, but the universe, in its infinite comedic wisdom, has clearly designed this bus to maximize accidental physical contact.
"Comfortable?" Heeseung asks, his voice tinged with amusement.
"Extremely. Never been more comfortable in my life. This is peak comfort."
"You're pressed against the window like you're trying to phase through it."
"The window is cold. The glass is… nice. I like glass."
Heeseung laughs, that genuine, surprised laugh that you heard in the cafeteria and the café and on the bench under the stars. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"The rambling thing. The nervous rambling thing." He turns in his seat slightly, facing you. "You know you don't have to be nervous around me, right? I thought we established this. Coffee disaster solidarity. Matching shirts. The whole thing."
"I'm not nervous," you lie. "I'm just… the bus is very… bus-like. It's making me feel things."
"Bus-like feelings."
"Exactly."
Heeseung shakes his head, still smiling, and pulls a pair of earbuds from his jacket pocket. "Here. Music helps me relax on long trips. We can share if you want."
He offers you one of his earbuds, holding it out between his fingers like it is something precious. The gesture is so simple, so unexpectedly intimate, that your breath catches in your throat. Sharing earbuds means sitting close enough for the cord to reach. Sharing earbuds means listening to his music, hearing the songs he likes, experiencing something together in the quiet space between words.
"Okay," you whisper, taking the earbud.
Your fingers brush against his, just for a second, and the contact sends a spark of electricity up your arm. You quickly insert the earbud, focusing very hard on not thinking about how close he is, how warm his shoulder feels against yours, how the faint scent of his cologne fills the space between you.
"What are we listening to?" you ask.
"A playlist I made," Heeseung says, scrolling through his phone. "It's kind of all over the place. Some indie, some R&B, some stuff I found on TikTok that got stuck in my head. I'm not very organized with my music."
"That's shocking. I assumed an informatics engineering student would have their music meticulously categorized by genre, mood, and decade of release."
"You assumed wrong. My playlists are chaos. This one is literally called vibes idk."
"That's the worst playlist name I've ever heard."
"It's an accurate playlist name. You'll see."
Lovers - Anna of the North playing now
He presses play, and music fills your ear.
"We should play a game," Heeseung says after a few songs have played. "To pass the time."
"What kind of game?"
"Twenty questions. But the version where you can skip questions if you don't want to answer. No pressure, no judgment, no awkwardness."
You consider this. Twenty questions with Heeseung is a dangerous proposition. There are so many things you don't want to answer, so many topics you have been carefully avoiding, so many truths that are still tangled up in misunderstandings and misplaced letters. But there is also something disarming about the way he offers the terms, no pressure, no judgment, no awkwardness, like he genuinely cares about making you feel safe.
"Fine," you say. "But you go first."
"Okay." Heeseung leans back in his seat, his shoulder still pressed against yours, his expression thoughtful. "What's your favorite movie of all time?"
"Pride and Prejudice. The 2005 version with Keira Knightley."
"The hand flex scene?"
You turn to stare at him. "You know about the hand flex scene?"
"Every person with a functioning heart knows about the hand flex scene. It's cinema history. Mr. Darcy flexing his hand after helping Elizabeth into the carriage because he's so overwhelmed by touching her? Iconic. Revolutionary. I think about it at least once a week."
You don't know what to do with this information. Lee Heeseung, reputed womanizer, hot informatics engineering student, the guy who is currently wearing a beanie and looking unfairly attractive in bus lighting, knows about the hand flex scene from Pride and Prejudice. He thinks about it weekly.
"You're very strange," you say.
"I prefer culturally literate."
"You said you've watched To All the Boys I've Loved Before at least six times."
"That's one of my favorite modern movies. Pride and Prejudice is my favorite classic. I contain multitudes." He nudges your shoulder with his. "Ask me something else."
The questions flow back and forth as the bus winds its way out of the city and into the mountains. You learn that Heeseung has an older brother who he FaceTimes every Sunday, that he chose informatics engineering because he loves the logic of coding but secretly dreams of being a music producer, that he loves Shin ramyeon and has created his own way of eating his instant noodles. He learns that you started collecting highlighters in middle school and now own over forty different colors, that you have named every plant in your dorm room after characters from classic literature, that you once won a poetry contest in high school but never told anyone because you were embarrassed.
The landscape outside the window shifts as the bus climbs higher into the mountains. Snow begins to appear, first in patches, then in sweeping blankets that cover the trees and the slopes and the distant peaks. The sky is a pale winter blue, and the sun glints off the snow.
The question hangs in the air between you, weightier than the ones that have come before. You could give a surface-level answer, spiders, heights, the dark, but something about the quiet intimacy of the bus, the warmth of his shoulder against yours, the gentle music in your ear, makes you want to be honest.
"Being seen," you say quietly. "Really seen. By someone who matters."
Heeseung doesn't respond right away. When he does, his voice is soft. "Why?"
"Because if someone really sees you, they might not like what they find. It's easier to stay on the surface. To be the version of yourself that you can control." You pause, watching the snow-covered trees blur past the window. "I'm good at dreaming about things. Imagining them. Writing them down. But actually doing them… actually putting myself out there… that's the scary part."
"That's why you write letters," Heeseung says. It isn't a question.
"Yeah. It's safer on paper. You can edit a letter. You can cross things out and start over. You can't do that with real life."
Heeseung is quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks, his words are careful and measured.
"For what it's worth," he says, "I've been seeing you for a few weeks now. The real you, I mean. The one who rambles and spills coffee and hides behind bulletin boards. And I haven't found anything I don't like yet."
Your heart stutters. You don't know what to say, so you say nothing, just let the music fill the space between you and try to memorize the exact timbre of his voice saying those words.
The skiing station is everything the brochure promised and more. A sprawling complex of wooden lodges and snow-covered slopes, nestled in a valley surrounded by towering peaks. The air is crisp and clean, carrying the scent of pine and woodsmoke, and the snow glitteres under the afternoon sun like a carpet of crushed diamonds.
You step off the bus and immediately sink three inches into a snowdrift.
"Excellent start," Yunjin says, appearing at your elbow and grinning. "Really graceful. Ten out of ten."
"I didn't see it."
"It's snow. It's everywhere. How did you not see it?"
You extract your foot from the drift and shake the snow off your boot with as much dignity as you can muster. "I was distracted by the scenery."
"Uh-huh." Yunjin's grin widens. "And by the scenery, you mean the six-foot-tall informatics student you spent the entire bus ride cuddled up with?"
"We weren't cuddling. We were sharing earbuds. There's a difference."
"There's really not."
You grab your duffel bag from the luggage compartment and follow the crowd toward the main lodge, your cheeks burning despite the cold. The lodge is a massive timber-frame building with a soaring ceiling, a massive stone fireplace, and windows that look out over the slopes. Students are already scattered across the lobby, checking in, collecting room keys, and making plans for the afternoon.
Your room is small but cozy, with a window that faces the mountains and a bed that looks impossibly inviting. You dump your bag on the floor, plug in your phone to charge, and then immediately find yourself staring out the window at the snow-covered landscape.
Yunjin finds you an hour later, dragging you out of your room and into the lodge's main café for hot chocolate. The café is warm and bustling, filled with students comparing ski passes and swapping stories about near-misses on the slopes. You find a table near the window, and Yunjin wastes no time in grilling you about the bus ride.
"So," she says, stirring her hot chocolate with a cinnamon stick, "Heeseung."
"What about him?"
"You spent three hours cuddled up with him on a bus."
"Sharing earbuds is not cuddling."
"You let him listen to music with you. You played twenty questions. You told him about your highlighter collection and the poetry contest you never told anyone about." Yunjin fixes you with a knowing look. "Those are not casual bus acquaintance topics. Those are I'm emotionally vulnerable with this person topics."
You stare into your hot chocolate. "I don't know what I'm doing, Yunjin. Everything is so tangled up. I started this whole mess because I was too scared to confess to the right person, and now the wrong person has been nothing but kind and thoughtful and unexpectedly perfect, and the right person told me he liked me and then walked away, and I don't know what I'm supposed to feel anymore."
Yunjin is quiet for a moment. Then she reaches across the table and places her hand on yours. "Maybe there isn't a supposed to. Maybe there's just what you actually feel, when you strip away all the expectations and the plans and the ideas about how things were meant to go."
You look up at her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you've been so focused on the idea of Jungwon, the letter, the confession, the grand romantic gesture, that you might have missed what's been happening right in front of you." She squeezes your hand. "Heeseung poured coffee on himself so you wouldn't feel alone. He held your hand while you cried. He looked at you on that bus like you were the most interesting person he'd ever met."
"That doesn't mean-"
"Y/N." Yunjin's voice is gentle but firm. "When are you going to stop being scared and start being honest?"
The question hits you like a punch to the chest. Because she is right. Yunjin is always right, that is the infuriating thing about her. You have been scared since the moment you walked into that PC room, scared of rejection, scared of humiliation, scared of what would happen if you actually let someone see you. And that fear has led you into a labyrinth of misunderstandings and half-truths, and somewhere along the way, you have gotten so lost that you can't even see the exit anymore.
"I need to tell him," you say quietly. "Heeseung. I need to tell him the truth about the letter."
Yunjin nods. "I think that's a good idea."
"He might hate me."
"He might. But he also might not. And either way, you'll finally be able to stop carrying this around." She leans back in her chair, blowing on her hot chocolate. "Besides, from everything you've told me about him, I don't think hating you is high on his list of priorities."
"What if it ruins everything?"
"What if it fixes everything?"
You don't have an answer to that. You just sit there, watching the snow fall outside the window, and feel the weight of your decision settling onto your shoulders. Tonight. You will tell him tonight. Before dinner, maybe, or after. You will find a quiet moment, away from the crowds and the noise and the chaos of the ski trip, and you will finally, finally tell him the truth.
Finding Heeseung turns out to be easier said than done.
The ski station is massive, a maze of slopes and trails and lodges that all look exactly the same. You wander through the main lodge, check the café, peek into the game room, and even brave the equipment rental shop where a terrifyingly efficient employee tries to convince you to try snowboarding. You escape with your dignity barely intact and a pamphlet about beginner lessons that you immediately stuff into the nearest trash can.
It isn't until you step outside, squinting against the glare of the sun on the snow, that you spot him.
He is on the intermediate slope, a dark figure against the white expanse of snow, cutting down the mountain with the kind of effortless grace that makes your heart lurch into your throat. He is snowboarding, of course he is snowboarding, because apparently there is nothing Lee Heeseung can't do and he moves like he was born on a board.
You have two options. Option one: wait at the bottom of the slope like a normal person and flag him down when he finishes his run. Option two: try to reach him now, which will involve navigating the snowy terrain between you and the slope, a task for which you are woefully underprepared both in terms of footwear and basic motor coordination.
You choose option two, because you are an idiot.
The path to the slope is a gentle incline of packed snow that looks deceptively easy to traverse. You take three steps and immediately realize your mistake. The snow is slippery, not the powdery kind of snow that crunches satisfyingly underfoot, but the packed, icy kind that has been trampled by hundreds of skiers and snowboarders and now has the texture of a skating rink.
You take a fourth step. Your foot slides. You windmill your arms frantically. Your other foot slides in the opposite direction. For one glorious, suspended moment, you do something that might generously be called a split, and then gravity takes over and you go down in a tangle of limbs and snow and absolute humiliation.
"Y/N?"
The voice comes from above you. You look up, snow clinging to your hair and your eyelashes and probably places you don't want to think about, and there is Heeseung, standing over you with his snowboard tucked under his arm and an expression somewhere between concern and barely suppressed laughter.
"Hi," you say weakly. "I was looking for you."
"You found me." He kneels down beside you, brushing snow off your shoulder. "Are you okay? That looked like a pretty spectacular fall."
"I've had better. I've also had worse. This is somewhere in the middle."
"Your standards for falls must be very high."
"I'm an overachiever."
Heeseung laughs and offers you his hand. You take it, and he pulls you to your feet with the same easy strength he showed in the café, steadying you when you wobble on the slippery snow.
"Come on," he says, still holding your hand. "Let's get you somewhere less treacherous. The beginner slope is over there, it's flatter and a lot less likely to attack you."
"I don't snowboard."
"I'll teach you."
"Heeseung-"
"It'll be fun. I promise." He already guides you toward the beginner slope, his hand warm and solid around yours. "Besides, you came all this way to find me. The least I can do is give you a snowboarding lesson."
The beginner slope is, as promised, much less intimidating than the intermediate one. It is a gentle hill with a slow incline, populated by other beginners who fall over with the same frequency and enthusiasm that you anticipate for yourself. Heeseung finds a quiet spot near the edge, props his snowboard in the snow, and turns to you with an expression of exaggerated seriousness.
"Okay, lesson one: standing on the board without falling."
"That sounds fake."
"It's very real. I've done it many times."
"Show-off."
He grins and proceeds to walk you through the basics of snowboarding with the patience of a saint and the enthusiasm of someone who genuinely loves sharing his hobbies. He holds your hands when you wobble, catches you when you fall, and laughs with you instead of at you when you face-plant into a snowbank for the third time in ten minutes.
"You're getting better," he says, pulling you upright after your fourth fall. Snow dusts his beanie and clings to his eyelashes, and his cheeks are flushed pink from the cold. "That time you almost made it five feet."
"Almost being the key word."
"Almost is progress. Almost is the first step toward eventually."
You look at him, really look at him and feel something shift in your chest. This is it. This is the moment. You can't put it off any longer.
"I need to tell you something," you say, your voice coming out steadier than you feel. "Can we sit down for a minute?"
Heeseung's expression flickers, curiosity, concern, something else you can't name but he nods. "Of course."
You find a bench near the edge of the slope, tucked under a pine tree whose branches are heavy with snow. The afternoon sun starts to sink lower in the sky, painting the mountains in shades of gold and pink, and the air is cold enough to make your breath fog. You sit down, and Heeseung sits beside you, close but not too close, his snowboard propped against the bench.
For a long moment, you don't say anything. You are gathering your courage, trying to find the right words, trying to figure out how to start a conversation that might change everything.
"The letter," you say finally. "The one I gave you in the PC room. There's something I need to tell you about it."
Heeseung doesn't react. He just waits, his dark eyes steady on your face.
"It wasn't meant for you," you say, and the words come out in a rush, tumbling over each other in their hurry to escape. "I wrote it for someone else. For Jungwon. I'd been planning to confess to him for weeks, and I'd written this whole letter, and I asked someone where he was and they said he was in the PC room, and I walked in and I saw someone sitting at the computer and I just assumed it was him, and I didn't look, I didn't check, I just handed over the letter and started talking, and then you looked up and it wasn't him at all, it was you and I was so embarrassed and everyone was watching and I couldn't correct you in front of all those people, and then everything spiraled and I kept trying to tell you but I couldn't find the right moment and then Jungwon found out and I couldn't correct it in front of him either and now everything is a mess and I'm so, so sorry, and I understand if you're angry, I understand if you hate me, I just… I couldn't keep lying to you anymore. You deserved to know the truth."
You stop talking. Your heart pounds so hard you can feel it in your temples. Your hands shake, and you press them together in your lap to keep them still. You don't look at Heeseung, you can't look at him, can't bear to see the expression on his face.
The silence stretches for what feels like an eternity.
And then Heeseung says, in the most casual voice imaginable: "I know."
Your head snaps up. "What?"
"I know the letter wasn't meant for me." He smiles, not a smirk, not a grin, but something gentle and warm and completely without judgment. "I've known since the beginning."
"But… how… since when-"
"Since I read it." Heeseung leans back on the bench, looking out at the snow-covered slope with a thoughtful expression. "The letter was beautiful. Every word of it. But it wasn't about me. It was about someone who smiles a certain way, someone who gave you gummy bears at 2 AM, someone who studies hard during free time at the library." He glances at you sideways. "I've never given anyone gummy bears. And I'm an informatics student, I don't take philosophy."
Your brain short-circuits. "You knew. This whole time. You knew."
"I knew."
"And you didn't say anything?"
"What was I supposed to say?" Heeseung's voice is gentle. "You were so flustered and embarrassed, and I could see you panicking in front of everyone. If I called you out right there, you would have been humiliated. And then I kept waiting for you to tell me yourself, but you never did, and eventually I just…" He shrugs. "I got curious. You wrote this incredible letter, and you were so weird and skittish and interesting, and I wanted to understand you. So I kept showing up."
"You kept showing up because I was interesting?"
"At first. Then it became something else." He turns to face you fully, his expression open and earnest. "You're not like the other people who confess to me. They want the idea of me, the reputation, the image. You didn't even want the real me. You wanted someone else entirely. And that was… refreshing. You weren't trying to impress me. You were trying to get rid of me. It was the first time anyone ever hid behind a bulletin board to avoid me."
"I wasn't… I didn't…" You bury your face in your hands. "This is so humiliating."
"It's not humiliating. It's human. You made a mistake. A very entertaining, very elaborate mistake." He gently pulls your hands away from your face, forcing you to look at him. "And somewhere along the way, while you were busy trying to make me lose interest, I got to know the real you. The one who names her plants after literary characters. The one who writes passionate essays about video game balance. The one who cried over a baby penguin last week."
"Yunjin told you about that?"
"Yunjin and I have been texting. But don't worry she didn't spilled all your dirty secrets."
You gape at him. "You and Yunjin have been texting?"
"She reached out after the coffee incident. Said she wanted to make sure my intentions were good." He smiles, a little sheepishly. "I think I passed the test. She said I was less of a disaster than expected."
"I'm going to kill her. I'm going to kill both of you."
"Before you do, let me finish." Heeseung's voice softens, and he takes your hand in his, the same way he did on the bench under the stars, steady and warm and reassuring. "I knew the letter wasn't for me. But I also know that somewhere along the way, something changed. Maybe it changed for you too. Maybe it didn't. Either way, I wanted to give you the space to figure it out on your own terms."
You stare at him, your mind reeling. He knew. He has known this entire time, and instead of being angry or hurt or humiliated, he just… waited. Gave you space. Let you come to him when you were ready.
"You're not upset?" you whisper.
"I'm not upset."
"You don't feel… I don't know, betrayed? Lied to?"
"Y/N." He squeezes your hand. "You were scared. I get it. I've spent my whole life being scared of disappointing people, scared of saying no, scared of letting anyone down. I know what it's like to be trapped in a situation you didn't mean to create. I'm not going to hold that against you."
The tears threaten again, not the ugly, heartbroken tears from that night on the pathway, but something softer. Something that feels almost like relief.
"I'm sorry," you say, your voice cracking. "I'm so sorry for not telling you sooner."
"You're telling me now. That's what matters."
"I don't know what I feel," you admit. "About anything. About anyone. Everything is so confusing."
"Then don't figure it out right now." Heeseung stands up, pulling you gently to your feet. "We have three days at a ski station. There's a jacuzzi. There's hot chocolate. There's an entire mountain to explore. Let's just… enjoy it. See what happens. No pressure, no expectations, no misunderstandings."
Just like that, the weight you have been carrying for weeks, the guilt, the anxiety, the tangled knot of secrets, begins to loosen. Not disappear entirely, but loosen enough that you can breathe again.
"There's really a jacuzzi?" you ask.
Heeseung grins. "There's really a jacuzzi. I saw it on the map. Outdoor, heated, with a view of the mountains. Very romantic. Very much the kind of thing you'd put in a letter about someone."
"You're making fun of me."
"A little bit. But also, I'm serious." He picks up his snowboard and tucks it under his arm. "What do you say? After dinner? We can go check it out."
You think about it. The jacuzzi. With Heeseung. In a swimsuit. In warm water under the stars, surrounded by snow-covered mountains. It is terrifying. It is ridiculous. It is exactly the kind of thing the hopeless romantic inside you has always dreamed about.
"Okay," you say. "After dinner."
By the time dinner rolls around, you are a nervous wreck.
You have spent the rest of the afternoon in your room, alternating between staring at the ceiling and frantically texting Yunjin for advice. Yunjin has responded with a series of increasingly unhelpful messages:
Yunjin: wear the cute swimsuit
You: i don't OWN a cute swimsuit
Yunjin: wear the one you borrowed from me for the pool party last semester
You: the black one???
Yunjin: YES the black one. he won't know what hit him
You: i don't want him to be HIT i want this to be NORMAL
Yunjin: nothing about your life has been normal since the moment you walked into that PC room. embrace it. wear the swimsuit.
You wear the swimsuit.
Underneath your clothes, of course. Underneath a thick sweater, a pair of jeans, and the oversized winter coat you borrowed from Yunjin specifically for this trip. You feel like you are wearing armor, except the armor is actually a swimsuit, and the battle is against your own nervous system.
Dinner is a blur. The lodge's restaurant is packed with students, the noise level somewhere between "lively" and "chaotic," and you barely taste the food on your plate. You keep glancing toward the table where Heeseung sits with a group of his friends, and every time he catches your eye, he smiles at you, that same soft, knowing smile that makes your stomach do complicated acrobatics.
At one point, you accidentally make eye contact with Jungwon across the dining hall. He sits with a group of philosophy students, and when your gazes meet, he raises his hand in a small wave. His expression is unreadable, not sad, not angry, just… neutral. You wave back, and then you both look away, and that is it. A quiet acknowledgment of everything that has happened and everything that hasn't.
After dinner, you return to your room and proceed to have a minor meltdown.
The text from Heeseung arrives at exactly 8:47 PM.
Heeseung: jacuzzi? meet in the lobby in 10? bring a towel
You stare at the message for approximately three full minutes. Then you type out seventeen different responses, delete all of them, and finally settle on:
You: okay
Just "okay." No punctuation. No enthusiasm. Just the monosyllabic response of someone who is either incredibly chill or seconds away from spontaneous combustion.
You grab your towel and make your way to the lobby. The lodge is quieter now, most students either in the game room or in their own rooms recovering from the day's activities. The fireplace in the main lobby still crackles, and a few people gather around it with mugs of hot chocolate.
Heeseung is already there, leaning against the reception desk with a towel slung over his shoulder and that same gray beanie pulled over his hair. He has changed out of his snowboarding gear into something simpler and when he sees you approaching, his face lights up with that genuine smile that never fails to make your heart flutter.
"Ready?" he asks.
"No," you admit.
"Good. Let's go anyway."
The jacuzzi is on the outdoor deck of the spa building, a steaming oasis surrounded by snow-covered rocks and pine trees draped in lights. The mountains rise in the distance, dark silhouettes against a sky so full of stars it looks like a painting. The air is freezing, the kind of cold that makes your lungs ache, but the water is perfectly, blissfully warm, and when you finally shed your coat and your sweater and your jeans and slip into the bubbling water in your borrowed black swimsuit, you let out a breath you didn't realize you have been holding.
"This is nice," you admit, sinking down until the water reaches your chin. "This is really, really nice."
"Told you." Heeseung slides into the water across from you, his towel discarded on a nearby bench. The lights catch the angles of his face, the curve of his shoulders, the way his hair curls slightly at the ends from the steam. "Sometimes I'm right about things."
"Sometimes."
"Rarely. Occasionally. Once in a blue moon."
You laugh, and it feels good, lighter than it has in weeks. The warm water, the cold air, the stars overhead, the boy across from you who has known the truth all along and hasn't run away, it all feels like something out of a dream.
"I'm glad you told me," Heeseung says quietly. "About the letter."
"Me too."
"And I'm glad you're here. At the ski station. In the jacuzzi. With me."
Your heart flutters. "Me too."
"So what happens now?" Heeseung asks, but there is no pressure in his voice. Just curiosity. Just openness.
"I don't know," you say honestly. "But I think… I think I'd like to find out."
Heeseung smiles, soft and real and full of something you are only just beginning to recognize.
"Then let's find out," he says. "Together."
The jacuzzi is bathed in purple light.
You don't know if it is intentional or if someone just installed colored LEDs and called it a day, but the effect is undeniably, unfairly romantic. The water glows with a deep violet hue, shifting to indigo where the bubbles break the surface, and the steam rising into the cold mountain air catches the light and turns it into something almost magical. It looks like a movie.
A romance movie, specifically. The kind you have watched a hundred times in your dorm room, wrapped in a blanket, dreaming about the day something like this would happen to you.
And now it is happening. And you are absolutely, catastrophically unprepared.
Heeseung sits across from you in the bubbling water, his arms stretched out along the edge of the jacuzzi, his head tilted back slightly to look at the stars. The purple light paints shadows across the planes of his face, the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the column of his throat disappearing into the steam. Droplets of water cling to his skin, and when he tilts his head forward to look at you, his dark eyes reflect the violet glow in a way that makes your stomach drop straight through the floor.
"You're doing it again," he says, his voice low and amused.
"Doing what?"
"Staring at me like you're trying to figure me out."
"I'm not staring. I'm… observing. It's different."
"Is it?"
"It's scientific. I'm conducting research."
Heeseung's lips curve into that familiar smile, the one that is definitely a smirk's first cousin by now, maybe even its sibling. "And what has your research concluded so far?"
"That you're very annoying," you say. "And that the purple light is doing unfair things to your bone structure."
"Unfair things to my bone structure," he repeats, laughing. "That's a new one. I'll add it to the list of compliments I've received."
"You keep a list?"
"Mentally. It's not written down anywhere. I'm not that egotistical."
"Debatable."
He laughs again, and the sound echoes across the water, mixing with the gentle hum of the jacuzzi jets. You try very hard to be normal, to act like you aren't sitting in a bubbling hot tub with a boy who has known your secret all along and has still chosen to be here, in the purple light, looking at you like he wants to kiss you.
And then he reaches for your foot.
His hand closes around your ankle beneath the water, warm and gentle, and before you can process what is happening, he lifts your leg, guiding your foot toward him. Your heel presses against his chest, against the firm warmth of his skin, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and your breath catches in your throat so abruptly that you make a small, strangled sound that is definitely not dignified. The memory of your wet dream surges instantly, and you mentally thank the purple lights for hiding the sudden flush on your face.
"What are you doing?" you manage, your voice coming out several octaves higher than normal.
"You were floating awkwardly," Heeseung says, like this is a perfectly reasonable explanation. His thumb traces a slow circle against your ankle bone, feather-light and devastating. "I thought you might want something to anchor you."
"My ankle. You're anchoring my ankle."
"Ankles are very anchorable."
"That's not a word."
"It is now. I'm an engineering student. I can invent words."
Your heart pounds so hard you are certain he can feel it through the sole of your foot. His hand still wraps around your ankle, warm and steady, and the position is so unexpectedly intimate, your leg stretched across the space between you, your foot pressed against his chest, his thumb drawing lazy patterns on your skin, that you don't know where to look or what to say or how to breathe.
"You know what's funny?" Heeseung says, his voice conversational, like he isn't currently holding your foot against his heart. "The jacuzzi scene in To All the Boys I've Loved Before."
Your brain, which is already operating at approximately ten percent capacity, struggles to process the shift in topic. "The… jacuzzi scene?"
"Lara Jean and Peter. The ski trip. The hot tub." He gestures vaguely at the purple water around you. "They're in a jacuzzi together for the first time, and Lara Jean is all nervous, and Peter is trying to be cool about it, and there's all this tension because they're fake dating but they're both starting to feel real things."
"I know the scene," you say, your voice faint.
"It's kind of the turning point in the movie. The moment where the fake relationship starts becoming real." Heeseung tilts his head, and his eyes meet yours, and there is something in them, something dark and warm and knowing—that makes your skin tingle. "Funny how we ended up in a jacuzzi too. At a ski station. Just like them."
"Are you saying we're in a romance movie?"
"I'm saying the parallels are getting a little uncanny." His thumb traces another circle on your ankle, slow and deliberate. "The letter. The ski trip. The hot tub."
"Well, technically the parallels are there but it's still different…"
"You're right. At the end of the day we're not in a movie… This is real life."
"Which means…"
"Which means we're in uncharted territory now." Heeseung's voice drops, becoming something lower, something that vibrates through the water and into your bones. "No movie to reference. No script to follow. Just… whatever happens next."
Your mouth is dry. When did your mouth become so dry? You are surrounded by water, and yet every drop of moisture has apparently evaporated from your body.
"That's terrifying," you whisper.
"Is it?" His hand tightens slightly on your ankle, grounding you. "I think it's kind of exciting. Don't you?"
You don't know how to answer that. You don't know how to articulate the complicated knot of fear and anticipation and something else, something warm and fluttering that has taken up residence in your chest. So you do what you always do when you don't know what to say: you deflect.
"You're very smooth, you know that?" you say, aiming for teasing and landing somewhere closer to breathless. "Has anyone ever told you that? The ankle thing, the movie reference, the uncharted territory line, it's a lot."
Heeseung's lips twitch. "Is it working?"
"I'm not answering that."
"That's an answer in itself."
"You're insufferable."
"And yet you're still here." His eyes flicker down for just a moment, barely a second, but enough to make your skin flush. "Letting me hold your ankle."
You pull your foot back, but he doesn't let go. His grip remains gentle, steady, his palm warm against your skin. "I'm not letting you do anything. You just… did it."
"And you didn't stop me."
"I was being polite."
"Polite." Heeseung's smile widens. "Right. That's what this is. Politeness."
The purple light flickers slightly, casting new shadows across his face. The bubbles swirl around you, warm and enveloping, and the cold mountain air nips at your exposed shoulders, creating a contrast that makes every sensation feel heightened. You are acutely aware of everything, the heat of the water, the chill of the breeze, the rough texture of the jacuzzi edge beneath your fingers, the steady pressure of Heeseung's hand on your ankle.
"Can I ask you something?" Heeseung says.
"You're going to anyway."
"True." He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer. More curious. "Have you ever done this before?"
"Done what? Sat in a jacuzzi?"
"Been physical with someone. Intimate." He says the words without embarrassment, without leering, just genuine curiosity. "You get so flustered every time I touch you. Earlier, when I kissed your cheek, I thought you were going to combust. And I'm not trying to make fun of you, I'm genuinely asking. Is this… new for you?"
Your cheeks, already flushed from the heat of the water, burn even hotter. "That's a very personal question."
"You don't have to answer. Remember? Twenty questions rules. No pressure."
You are quiet for a moment. The bubbles churn around you. The stars glitter overhead. Heeseung's thumb continues its slow, hypnotic circles on your ankle.
"I've kissed people before," you say finally. "A few times. But it was always… quick. Awkward. Spin the bottle at parties, that kind of thing." You pause, gathering your courage. "I've never had a real relationship. I've never… you know."
"Made out with someone?"
The bluntness of the question makes you choke on air. "I… that's… yes. That. I've never done that."
"Okay," Heeseung says simply.
"Okay? That's all you have to say?"
"What else would I say?"
"I don't know. Something. Most people would say something."
Heeseung is quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then he says, "I haven't either. Much, I mean. I've had my few moments but the amount you can count on your fingers. People assume I have, because of the reputation, but the truth is I've never really… connected with someone like that. I've had opportunities, I guess, but I didn't want to do it just for the sake of doing it. I wanted it to mean something."
The confession catches you off guard. You assumed, everyone assumed, that Lee Heeseung was experienced, that his womanizer reputation was built on a foundation of romantic conquests. But here he is, in the purple light of the jacuzzi, telling you that the reputation is just that: a reputation. Smoke and mirrors. Assumptions built on his inability to say no.
"We're both disasters," you say.
"Absolutely. But at least we're disasters together."
"Disaster twins."
"Matching shirts and everything."
You laugh, and it comes out lighter than you expected. The tension that has been coiling in your chest begins to ease, replaced by something warmer. Something that feels almost like comfort.
Wus Good/Curious - PARTYNEXTDOOR playing now
Somewhere in the lodge, someone has connected their phone to the outdoor speakers. The song that starts playing is slow and sensual, the timing so absurd, so perfectly, comedically timed, that you can't help but laugh. "Did you plan this?"
Heeseung laughs too, shaking his head in disbelief. "I swear I didn't. The universe is just showing off at this point."
"This is the least romantic song that could have possibly played."
"I don't know. It's got a certain vibe." His eyes meet yours, and there is a glint of mischief in them. "Very sensual. Very on-the-nose for a jacuzzi scene."
"It's about-" You stop, your face heating.
"It's about what?"
"You know what it's about."
"I want to hear you say it."
"You're the worst."
Heeseung grins, and the purple light catches the curve of his lips, the sparkle in his eyes, the way the water droplets trace paths down his neck and across his collarbone. The song continues playing, and you are suddenly very aware of how close he is, how the space between you has somehow shrunk without you noticing.
"Come here," he says softly.
"What?"
"Come here. I want to show you something."
Your heart hammers so hard you can feel it in your throat. "Show me what?"
"Trust me."
And you do. That is the terrifying thing. Despite everything, the misunderstandings, the secrets, the weeks of chaos and confusion, you trust him. You trust the boy who poured coffee on his head to make you feel less alone. You trust the boy who held your hand while you cried. You trust the boy who has known your secret all along and has never once made you feel foolish for it.
You move through the water, closer to him, and the purple light swirls around you like something out of a dream. When you are within reach, Heeseung's hands find your waist beneath the water, gentle but sure, and he guides you until you are straddling his lap, your knees on either side of his hips, your faces inches apart.
"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
Your breath comes in short, shallow gasps. His hands are warm on your waist, his thumbs tracing slow circles against the curve of your hips. His face is so close you can see the individual droplets of water on his eyelashes, can count the shades of brown in his eyes, can feel the warmth of his breath against your lips.
"Yes," you whisper. "This is… okay."
"You're shaking."
"I'm nervous."
"I know." His hands slide up from your waist, over your ribs, coming to rest on either side of your face. His palms are warm against your cheeks, his fingers threading gently into the wet strands of your hair. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for. We can just sit here. We can talk. We can get out and go back inside. Whatever you want."
The gentleness of his voice, the patience in his eyes, the way he holds your face like you are something precious, it makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the realization that you are in very, very deep trouble.
Because this boy, this absurd, beautiful, incomprehensible boy who stumbled into your life through a misplaced letter and a catastrophic misunderstanding, has somehow become someone you can't imagine letting go of.
"What I want," you say, your voice barely steady, "is for you to kiss me."
Heeseung's eyes darken. The purple light flickers across his features, and his thumbs trace the line of your cheekbones, and his lips part slightly, and for one suspended moment, the entire world holds its breath.
"Okay," he murmurs. "But we're going to do this right."
And then he kisses you.
His lips meet yours softly at first, gentle, exploratory, the barest brush of contact. He tastes like the mint tea he had after dinner, and his mouth is warm, and the kiss is so sweet and so tender that you feel your entire body melt into him. Your hands, hovering awkwardly at your sides, come up to rest on his shoulders, and you feel the muscles beneath his skin shift as he pulls you closer.
But then you try to deepen the kiss, and it goes wrong.
Your nose bumps against his. Your teeth clack together with an audible click. You pull back, mortified, your face burning. "I'm sorry… I didn't… I don't know what I'm doing-"
"Hey." Heeseung's voice is gentle, his hands still cupping your face. "Hey. It's okay. Look at me."
You force yourself to meet his eyes, expecting to see amusement or frustration or something worse. But all you see is patience. Warmth. Something that looks a lot like affection.
"Everyone's first real kiss is awkward," he says. "That's normal. That's how it's supposed to be."
"It wasn't supposed to be with someone who actually knows what they're doing."
"Then let me teach you." His thumb traces your lower lip, feather-light. "We'll go slow. You follow my lead. And if at any point you want to stop, just say the word. Okay?"
Your heart pounds so hard you can feel it in your temples. "Okay."
He leans in again, slower this time, giving you every opportunity to pull away. When his lips meet yours, the pressure is deliberate, gentle but firm, guiding you. His mouth moves against yours in a slow, languid rhythm, and you follow, mimicking his movements, learning the dance as you go.
"Tilt your head a little," he murmurs against your lips. "There. Like that."
You adjust, and suddenly the angle is better, the kiss deepening naturally. His hands slide from your face down to your waist, pulling you closer, and you feel the length of his body against yours, warm and solid and very, very real.
"Now try parting your lips," he whispers. "Just a little."
You do, and the kiss changes. Becomes something deeper, more intense. His tongue brushes against your lower lip, a question rather than a demand, and when you open for him, the sensation is so overwhelming that a soft sound escapes your throat, something between a sigh and a gasp.
"Good," Heeseung breathes. "You're doing so good."
The praise sends a shiver down your spine. Your fingers curl into his shoulders, gripping him like he is the only solid thing in a world. The kiss deepens further, his mouth moving against yours with a confidence that makes your head spin, and you follow his lead, letting him guide you, letting yourself get lost in the warmth of his body and the taste of his lips and the steady, grounding pressure of his hands on your waist.
"Now," he murmurs, pulling back just enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, "there's variation. You don't have to do the same thing the whole time."
"Variation," you repeat, your voice dazed.
"You can kiss here-" His lips brush the edge of your jaw. "-and here-" A kiss to the sensitive spot just below your ear. "-and here." A kiss to the hollow of your throat that makes your breath catch and your fingers tighten on his shoulders.
"That's… a lot of places."
"There's more." He pulls back, and his eyes meet yours, dark and warm and full of something that makes your stomach flip. "But we can save those for later. If you want."
"If I want," you echo, still dazed.
"Only if you want." His hand comes up to cup your face again, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.
"This is insane," you whisper.
"Completely insane."
"I can't believe this is happening."
"Neither can I." He presses his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips. "But I'm really, really glad it is."
"Can we try again?" you ask, your voice small but steady. "The kissing thing. I think I need more practice."
Heeseung laughs, and the sound vibrates through his chest and into yours. "Practice makes perfect."
"I'm a STEM student. I believe in empirical evidence."
"Then let's gather some data."
He kisses you again, and this time, you are ready. Your lips meet his with more confidence, your hands sliding from his shoulders into his hair, it is soft, damp from the steam, and the way he sighs against your mouth when your fingers thread through it makes you feel powerful in a way you have never experienced before.
This time, when you deepen the kiss, it's less clumsy. It's more natural, instinctive, the kind of kiss that feels like it has been waiting to happen for weeks and is finally making up for lost time. Heeseung's hands tighten on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, and the water swirls around you.
Your hands roam over his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath your fingertips. Heeseung's tongue teases your lower lip, seeking entrance which you grant without hesitation. The kiss becomes hungrier, more desperate as your bodies press together in the warm water. He has been patient with you, letting you set the pace, never pushing for more than you are ready to give.
You feel something hard pressing against your thigh through the thin fabric of your swimsuit. You pull back slightly, breathless, your cheeks flushed with both desire and embarrassment.
"Don't mind it," Heeseung murmurs, his voice husky with arousal. "It's just a natural reaction to kissing someone I find incredibly attractive."
But instead of shying away, something bold awakens inside you. You've been waiting for this moment, wanting to take your relationship to the next level. Taking a deep breath, you meet his gaze directly, though your words come out in a clumsy rush.
"I want to... I mean, if you want to... I think I'm ready to... do it," you stammer, feeling your face heat up even more. "With you."
Heeseung's eyes widen slightly before softening with affection. "Are you sure? Here? Your first time should be special."
"It is special because it's with you," you insist, trying to sound more confident than you feel. "I want this. I want you. I want to be honest with myself."
A slow smile spreads across his face. "Okay," he murmurs, his hands moving to cup your face. "But we need to prepare you properly. I don't want to hurt you."
His thumb brushes against your cheek as he continues, "Have you ever... touched yourself before?"
You shake your head, feeling a mix of embarrassment and excitement.
"That's okay," he assures you. "I'll teach you. I'll make sure you feel good."
WGFT - Gunna playing now
Heeseung shifts slightly, adjusting your position on his lap. One hand trails down your back, over your hip, and between your legs. Even through the fabric of your swimsuit, his touch sends sparks through your body.
"First, I need to make sure you're ready," he explains softly. His fingers find the edge of your swimsuit bottom, toying with the fabric. "May I?"
You nod, your breath catching in anticipation.
Slowly, his fingers slip beneath the fabric, finding your folds. You gasp at the contact, your body tensing for a moment before relaxing into his touch.
"It's twitching," he murmurs against your ear. "That's good. It means your body wants this too."
His fingers explore gently, learning your anatomy as you bite your lip to hold back moans. He finds your clit and circles it slowly, watching your face for reactions.
"When I touch you here, it should build pleasure." he explains.
He demonstrates, applying a bit more pressure. You can't help but arch your back, a soft cry escaping your lips.
"Like that?" he asks with a knowing smile.
You can only nod, lost in the sensations he's creating.
After a few minutes of this delicious torture, he slides one finger lower, testing your entrance. "I'm going to prepare you," he warns softly. "It might feel a little strange at first, but I promise it will get better."
His finger enters you slowly, carefully. There's a slight discomfort, but as he begins to move in and out, the sensation transforms into pleasure. He watches your face intently, adjusting his movements based on your reactions.
"Does that feel good?" he asks.
You nod, your hips beginning to move in rhythm with his hand.
He adds a second finger, stretching you further. "You're so tight," he groans. "I can't wait to be inside you."
His words send another wave of desire through you. His thumb returns to your clit, rubbing in circles as his fingers continue their work inside you. The dual stimulation is overwhelming in the best way possible.
"Heeseung," you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders.
"I know, little mouse," he murmurs, kissing you deeply. "Let it build. Don't fight it."
The pleasure intensifies, coiling in your stomach like a spring. Your movements become more erratic as you chase the feeling building within you.
"That's it," he encourages. "Good girl"
With a cry, you shatter, waves of pleasure washing over you. Heeseung continues his movements, drawing out your orgasm until you collapse against his chest, trembling and breathless.
"You're so beautiful when you come," he whispers, kissing your forehead. "Can you do more?"
You can only nod, still recovering from the intensity of your first orgasm with someone else.
He slides down his shorts slightly just to reveal his already hard cock and slides your swimsuit to the side. His hands move to your hips, and you begin to grind against him instinctively. The water sloshes around you as you move, his lenght sliding between your folds, creating a delicious friction under the water. Lost in the moment, you shift your hips, trying to get closer, to feel more of him.
Suddenly, you both freeze as you feel him slip inside you. There's a sharp pain, followed by a sense of fullness that takes your breath away. Your eyes widen in shock as you look at Heeseung, whose expression mirrors your surprise.
"Oh my god," he gasps, his hands tightening on your hips. "I... I didn't mean for that to happen. Are you okay?"
You nod, still processing what just happened. The initial pain is already fading, replaced by a strange mix of discomfort and pleasure.
"I'm so sorry," Heeseung continues, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I should have been more careful. I didn't..."
As he stammers through an apology, you can't help but let out a small laugh. The absurdity of the situation , your first time happening so accidentally, so clumsily, suddenly strikes you as hilarious.
Heeseung looks at you in confusion before a smile breaks across his face. "You're laughing?"
"We're so clumsy," you giggle, the tension breaking between you. "All that careful preparation and then..."
He joins in your laughter, the moment transforming from awkward to intimate. "Well," he says once the laughter subsides, "since we're already here... are you okay to continue? We can stop if you want."
You shake your head, a new determination filling you. "No, I want to continue. Show me what to do."
Heeseung's expression softens with affection. "Okay," he murmurs, his hands guiding your hips. "Just relax and let me do the work. Move with me, but let me lead."
He begins to move slowly, guiding you in a gentle rhythm. The water sloshes around you as you find a pace together. With each thrust, pleasure builds, different from before but just as intense.
"You feel so good," Heeseung groans, his control beginning to slip. "So tight around me."
His praise only heightens your arousal. You try to meet his movements with your own, but your motions are awkward and uncoordinated. You feel clumsy, unsure of exactly how to move to maximize pleasure for both of you.
"Don't worry about doing it perfectly," Heeseung reassures you, noticing your frustration. "Just feel. Let your body respond naturally."
He adjusts your position slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts. A gasp escapes your lips as he hits a particularly sensitive spot.
"There," he murmurs, repeating the movement. "How does that feel?"
"Amazing," you breathe, your hands clutching at his shoulders.
Heeseung's hands roam your body, caressing your breasts, your back, your hips. His mouth finds your neck, sucking gently at your pulse point. Marking you as his.
"I've wanted this since the moment we got in the jacuzzi," he admits between kisses. "But I was too scared you would run away if I decided to act up."
"I want it," you assure him, your voice breathy with pleasure. "I want all of you. I'm not scared anymore."
Your words seem to unleash something in him. His movements become more deliberate, more purposeful as he chases his own release. One hand moves between your legs again, finding your clit and rubbing in time with his thrusts.
The dual stimulation quickly pushes you toward another orgasm. "Heeseung," you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders.
"I know," he groans. "Come with me this time."
His words are all it takes to push you over the edge. As you clench around him, Heeseung finds his own release, burying his face in your neck with a guttural moan.
For a moment, you stay connected, catching your breath as the water continues to bubble around you. Heeseung presses soft kisses to your shoulders, your neck, your cheeks.
"Are you okay?" he asks softly, pulling back to look at you.
You nod, a contented smile spreading across your face. "Better than okay. That was..."
"Incredible," he finishes for you, returning your smile. "You're incredible."
As you slowly separate, Heeseung adjusts your swimsuit back into place before
As you both recover in the warm bubbling water, you notice something pressing against your thigh again. You glance down and see that Heeseung is already getting hard once more. A blush spreads across your cheeks as you meet his eyes.
"Already?" you ask with a small laugh.
Heeseung grins, a hint of embarrassment in his expression. "I can't help it," he admits. "You feel so good, and I've wanted this for so long. My body seems to have a mind of its own around you."
A boldness takes hold of you, spurred by the confidence your first time gave you. "If you want to do it again... your way this time... I don't mind," you say, trying to sound casual despite the flutter in your stomach.
Heeseung's eyes darken with desire at your words. Without warning, he pounces, lifting you effortlessly from his lap. He carries you to the edge of the jacuzzi and gently sets you down on the edge. The contrast between the warm water and the cool air sends a shiver through your body.
"My way?" he asks, his voice husky with arousal. "I like the sound of that."
He kneels in the water between your legs, his hands spreading your thighs apart. His eyes never leave yours as he leans forward, pressing soft kisses to your inner thigh. You watch, mesmerized, as he works his way upward, leaving a trail of fire on your skin.
When he reaches your core, he pauses, his breath warm against your most sensitive flesh. "I've wanted to taste you since the first time I saw you in that swimsuit," he confesses, his voice low and intimate.
Then he dives in, his tongue exploring your folds. You gasp, your hands flying to his hair as waves of pleasure wash over you. Heeseung maintains eye contact as he eats you out, his dark eyes watching your every reaction, learning what makes you moan, what makes you arch your back.
"You taste so sweet," he murmurs against you before returning to his task, his tongue circling your clit before dipping inside you.
The sensations are overwhelming, building quickly toward another orgasm. Heeseung seems to sense your approaching release and redoubles his efforts, adding his fingers to the mix, curling them inside you as he continues to lavish attention on your clit.
"Heeseung," you cry out, your hips bucking against his face. "Please don't stop."
He doesn't. Instead, he increases his pace, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony until you shatter, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crash over you. He continues his ministrations, drawing out your orgasm until you're trembling and breathless.
Only then does he pull back, a triumphant grin on his face as he licks his lips. "Delicious," he declares, rising from the water.
He kisses his way up your body, over your stomach, between your breasts, along your collarbone, up your neck, until finally his lips claim yours. You can taste yourself on his tongue as the kiss deepens, passionate and hungry.
Without breaking the kiss, Heeseung positions himself at your entrance. This time, there's no accidental slip, he enters you deliberately, slowly, filling you completely. You moan into his mouth at the exquisite stretch and fullness.
He begins to move, his hips thrusting in a deep, slow rhythm that drives you wild. Each stroke is measured and controlled, hitting all the right spots. His movements are faster and harder than before, but still gentle, still considerate of your inexperience.
"You feel incredible," he groans, his voice thick with pleasure. "You're taking it well."
His hands roam your body as he moves, caressing your breasts, your hips, your thighs. His mouth finds your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine as he whispers praises and encouragements.
"You're doing so well," he murmurs. "Taking me so deep. You feel amazing wrapped around me."
His words only heighten your arousal, pushing you closer to another peak. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, matching his rhythm as best you can despite your inexperience.
After a few minutes, Heeseung pulls out gently. "Turn around," he commands softly.
You obey, positioning hands at the edge of the jacuzzi. He enters you from behind, this new angle allowing him to reach even deeper inside you. You cry out at the intensity of the sensation.
"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice strained with restraint.
"More than okay," you manage to gasp. "Don't stop."
He resumes his movements, his hands gripping your hips as he thrusts into you. The water sloshes with each movement, adding to the sensory experience. Heeseung's pace increases, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he chases his release.
His moans fill the night air, raw and uninhibited. "I'm getting close," he warns. "Where do you want me?"
"Inside me," you answer without hesitation.
Heeseung hesitates for a moment. "Are you sure? We didn't use anything."
Your mind races for a second before you respond, "I'm on the pill. It's okay."
With a groan of relief, Heeseung continues his movements, his pace becoming erratic as he approaches his climax. With one final deep thrust, he buries himself inside you, his body trembling as he finds his release.
For a moment, he stays inside you. Then he pulls out gently and helps you turn back over. He leans to slowly kiss you while stroking himself a few times before releasing again onto your stomach, warm and sticky.
You look at him in surprise.
"I couldn't," he explains, noticing your confusion. "I couldn't resist, I wanted to see you covered of me."
He reaches for a nearby towel, gently cleaning your stomach before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "Next time," he promises, "I'll be more gentle. We'll take our time, explore everything properly."
"There's going to be a next time?" you ask with a smile.
Heeseung grins, pulling you into his arms. "Oh, there's definitely going to be a next time. And a time after that, and after that... I'm never getting enough of you."
The walk back to your room feels like floating.
Not literally, of course, your feet are very much on the ground, leaving wet footprints on the wooden floorboards of the lodge hallway, but your mind is somewhere else entirely. Somewhere purple-lit and steaming, somewhere filled with the taste of mint tea and the feeling of warm hands on your waist and the sound of Heeseung's voice murmuring instructions against your lips.
You have had sex. In a jacuzzi. Under the stars. With Lee Heeseung.
The hopeless romantic inside you does cartwheels. The realistic part of your brain is still buffering, stuck on a loading screen that says "please wait while we process what just happened." Your body is somewhere in between, pleasantly warm despite the cold air, tingling in places you hadn't known could tingle, wrapped in your borrowed coat and your towel and the lingering sensation of his skin against yours.
Heeseung walks beside you, his hand intertwined with yours. He hums softly, and when he catches you looking at him, he smiles that devastating smile and squeezes your hand.
"What?" he asks.
"Nothing. Just… processing."
"Processing what?"
"Everything." You gesture vaguely with your free hand. "The conversation. The jacuzzi. The… everything after the conversation."
"The everything after the conversation," he repeats, his smile widening. "Very descriptive."
"I'm a STEM student, not a poet."
"You wrote a three-page love letter with calligraphy. You're absolutely a poet."
"That was a one-time thing. A fluke. I've since retired from poetry."
"Tragic. The literary world has lost a great talent."
You reach your door, and Heeseung stops, turning to face you.
"Are you okay?" he asks, and his voice is gentle. "Really okay? That was… a lot. I know it was a lot. And I want to make sure you're not freaking out."
"I am absolutely freaking out," you admit. "But in a good way. I think. It's hard to tell. My brain is still catching up."
"Good freak-out or bad freak-out?"
"Good. Definitely good. Just… overwhelming." You pause, searching for the right words. "It wasn't how I imagined my first time would be. It was awkward and clumsy and it accidentally went in, and I'm pretty sure I made some very weird sounds, and-"
"It was perfect," Heeseung interrupts softly. "It was real. It was you. That's all I want."
Your heart, which has already been through approximately seventeen different emotional states in the past hour, does another complicated flip. "You're very good at saying the right thing."
"I'm not trying to say the right thing. I'm just telling you the truth." He reaches up and tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your temple. "You're amazing, Y/N. And I'm not saying that because of what just happened. I'm saying it because it's been true since the moment you walked into that PC room and handed me a letter that wasn't meant for me."
"You're going to make me cry again."
"Please don't. I've seen you cry twice now, and both times it made me want to fight whoever made you sad. I can't fight myself. That's a conflict of interest."
You laugh, and it comes out a little watery. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm aware." He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, soft, gentle, lingering. "Goodnight, little mouse. Get some sleep."
"Goodnight, Heeseung."
He pulls back, his hand slipping from yours, and walks backward down the hallway for a few steps, still smiling at you. "Dream about me."
"I make no promises."
"I'll take that as confirmation."
He turns the corner and disappears, and you are left standing in front of your door with the lingering warmth of the best night of your life.
The moment you step into your room, Yunjin is on you like a hawk on a field mouse.
"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"
You close the door behind you, leaning against it with a dazed expression. Yunjin sits cross-legged on her bed, her phone in her hand, a half-eaten bag of chips on the nightstand. Her eyes are wide, her expression a mixture of curiosity and accusation.
"The jacuzzi," you say faintly.
"For three hours?"
"Was it three hours? It doesn't feel like three hours."
"Y/N." Yunjin shuts her laptop with a decisive click. "You're wearing a towel. Your hair is wet. You have that look on your face, the one that says I just did something and I don't know how to process it. Spill. Now. Every detail."
You push yourself off the door and collapse onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling.
"We had sex," you say.
"What?!"
"We had sex, don't make me repeat it please or I'm gonna die…"
Yunjin is silent for exactly two seconds. Then: "YOU GUYS FUCKED?"
"Yeah…"
"IN THE JACUZZI?"
"There aren't exactly a lot of alternative locations. The water is warm. There's purple lighting. It's very atmospheric."
Yunjin scrambles off her bed and crosses the room in three steps, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you upright. "I need details. I need all the details. How did it happen? Who initiated it? Was it good? Was he good? Did he-"
"Yunjin!" You press your hands to your burning cheeks. "I can't just… I don't know how to-"
"Start from the beginning. The jacuzzi. What happened?"
You take a deep breath, gathering your scattered thoughts, and then the words start tumbling out of you as you tell her everything.
Yunjin is quiet for a moment, processing. Then she lets out a long breath. "So your first time was in a jacuzzi, under the stars, with a hot informatics engineering student who knew you'd accidentally confessed to the wrong person and liked you anyway."
"That's… yeah. That's basically the summary."
"And you're telling me you're still worried this is some kind of disaster?"
"I'm not worried," you say slowly. "I'm just… confused. About what we are. We don't exactly have the what are we conversation. We just kind of… had sex. And now I don't know if we're dating, or if it was a one-time thing, or if he's going to wake up tomorrow and realize he made a huge mistake and-"
"Stop." Yunjin holds up a hand. "Just stop. I'm going to tell you something, and I need you to actually hear it."
"I'm listening."
"Lee Heeseung has known your secret for weeks. He's seen you at your absolute worst, hiding behind bulletin boards, choking on lettuce, spilling coffee all over yourself, crying on a bench in the middle of the night. He's seen you ramble about video games until you run out of breath, and he's seen you face-plant in the snow eight times in one afternoon. And after all of that, he still chooses to spend three hours in a jacuzzi with you and make sure your first time is special and safe and good."
Yunjin leans forward, her expression intense. "That's not the behavior of a guy who's going to wake up tomorrow and change his mind. That's the behavior of a guy who is completely, thoroughly, absolutely gone for you."
The words settle into your chest. "You really think so?"
"I know so. And I think you know so too. You're just scared to admit it because admitting it means this is real, and real is scary."
"When did you get so wise about relationships?"
"I've been watching you be a disaster for months. I've picked up a few things."
You laugh, and it comes out lighter than you expected. "So what do I do?"
"Tomorrow, you go find him. You see how he acts. And if he acts like nothing's changed except that he's even happier to see you than usual, then you'll have your answer."
"And if he acts weird?"
"Then I'll key his snowboard."
"Yunjin!"
"Kidding. Mostly." She grins and flops back onto her bed. "Now go to sleep. You've had a big night. You need rest. And honestly, I need time to process the fact that my best friend had a romantic jacuzzi rendezvous while I was sitting here eating chips and doomscrolling on TikTok."
"You could have come to the jacuzzi."
"And interrupt whatever is happening between you two? I'm a good friend, not a saint. I'd be third-wheeling so hard I'd need a snowplow to get out."
You laugh again, and for the first time in weeks, you feel light. Unburdened. Like the weight you've been carrying since the moment you walked into that PC room has finally been lifted.
"Goodnight, Yunjin."
"Goodnight, you absolute disaster of a human being. Dream about your hot engineer boy."
"He's not my-"
"Yet. He's not your boy yet. But I give it twenty-four hours."
You throw a pillow at her. She catches it and tucks it under her head with a satisfied grin.
The next morning, you wake up with a start, your heart racing. Dreams of purple light and warm water and hands on your waist and a voice murmuring good girl, you're doing so good against your lips haunt your memory.
You press your face into your pillow and scream.
It is a happy scream, mostly. A disbelieving, giddy scream. But it is also a nervous scream, because in approximately one hour, you are going to have to go downstairs and face Heeseung in the cold light of day, and you have absolutely no idea how that is going to go.
Would he be awkward? Would he be distant? Would he pretend nothing happened? Would he-
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Heeseung: good morning little mouse. breakfast in 30?
You stare at the message for a solid ten seconds. Then you type back:
You: okay
Heeseung: you're very eloquent in the morning
You: i haven't had caffeine yet
Heeseung: i'll have a vanilla latte waiting for you. extra shot of vanilla. just like last time
Heeseung: hopefully with less spilling this time
You: no promises
You get dressed in a daze, pulling on approximately four layers of clothing because you still don't own proper winter gear and the borrowed coat can only do so much. Yunjin is already gone, she has left a note on the nightstand that says went to find the economics majors. don't do anything I wouldn't do. (do everything I wouldn't do), so you are alone with your thoughts as you make your way down to the lodge's dining hall.
You spot Heeseung immediately. He sits at a table near the window, two cups of coffee in front of him, his hair still slightly messy from sleep. When he sees you approaching, his entire face lights up.
"There you are," he says, standing up and pulling out a chair for you. "I was starting to think you'd bailed."
"On breakfast?"
"On me. On this. On everything." He says it lightly, but there is a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, a tiny crack in his usual confident demeanor. "I wasn't sure if you'd want to see me this morning, or if you'd need space, or-"
"Hey." You reach out and touch his hand, just briefly. "I'm here. I want to see you."
The relief that washes over his face is so genuine, so unguarded, that your heart clenches. "Okay. Good. That's… good."
You sit down, and he slides the vanilla latte toward you. Your fingers brush as you take the cup, and the contact sends a spark of electricity up your arm. You both pretend not to notice, but the way Heeseung's ears turn slightly pink suggests he feels it too.
"So," you say, taking a sip of your latte to give yourself something to do with your hands. "Breakfast."
"Breakfast," he agrees. "Eggs. Bacon. Possibly a pastry if we're feeling adventurous."
"Very adventurous."
"I'm a risk-taker."
You try to eat normally. You really do. But every time you look up from your plate, Heeseung looks at you with that soft, wondering expression, and you forget how to chew, and you end up staring at him with a piece of toast halfway to your mouth like you've been frozen in time.
"You're doing it again," he says.
"Doing what?"
"The staring thing. The I'm trying to figure you out thing."
"I'm not trying to figure you out. I already figured you out. You're a people-pleaser who can't say no and you have a secret soft spot for romantic comedies."
"Then what are you thinking about?"
You set down your toast. "I'm thinking about last night. And what it means. And what we are now."
Heeseung's expression shifts, becoming more serious. "Do you want to have that conversation? The what are we conversation?"
"I don't know. Do you?"
"I asked you first."
"That's very mature."
"I have my moments." He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Look, I know we did things kind of backwards. Most people start with coffee and work their way up to jacuzzis. We started with a misplaced love letter and somehow ended up in a hot tub under the stars. It's not exactly a conventional timeline."
"When has anything about us been conventional?"
"Fair point." He reaches across the table and takes your hand, his thumb tracing circles on your palm. "I don't know what we are. Labels feel… complicated. But I know what I want us to be."
"What's that?"
"Something real. Something that isn't built on misunderstandings or accidents or letters that weren't meant for me. Something that's just… us. Figuring it out together."
Your heart does that fluttering thing again. "That sounds terrifying."
"I know. But you've been scared this whole time, and you've still kept showing up. That's the bravest thing I've ever seen."
"I haven't felt brave. I've felt like a disaster."
"Disasters can be brave. The two aren't mutually exclusive." He squeezes your hand. "So what do you say? Want to be brave together?"
You look at him, really look at him, and see the boy who poured coffee on his head, the boy who held you while you cried, the boy who knew your secret and waited for you to tell him in your own time. And you feel the fear, familiar and insistent, coiling in your stomach.
But beneath the fear, there is something else. Something warmer. Something that feels a lot like hope.
"Okay," you say. "Let's be brave together."
Heeseung smiles, real and open and devastating. "Okay."
The afternoon finds you back on the beginner slope, strapped into a snowboard and wondering how you let Heeseung talk you into this again.
"You said you wanted to practice," he reminds you, tightening the bindings on your boots. "Snowboarding, I mean. Not… other things."
"My entire body is sore from yesterday. Both from the snowboarding and from the… other things."
"Then we'll take it slow. No jumps, no tricks, just a gentle run down the beginner hill." He stands up and offers you his hand. "I'll be right there the whole time."
"You said that yesterday, and I still fell eight times."
"And you got up eight times. That's the important part."
You take his hand and let him pull you to your feet. The beginner slope stretches out before you, populated by other beginners who fall over with roughly the same frequency as you.
"Okay," you say, taking a deep breath. "Okay. I can do this. I'm a capable human being. I understand physics. Snowboarding is just physics with extra steps."
"That's the spirit."
"I'm going to fall."
"Probably."
"And you're going to catch me?"
"Always."
The word hangs in the air between you, heavier than it should be. Always. Not just on the ski slope, but everywhere. Always.
"Okay," you whisper. "Let's go."
You push off.
The first few seconds are wobbly, your balance shifts, your arms flail slightly, your heart pounds in your ears. But then something clicks. Your body remembers the lessons from yesterday, the way Heeseung taught you to lean into the turns, to keep your weight centered, to trust the board beneath your feet.
You pick up speed, and instead of panicking, you lean into it. The wind rushes past your face, cold and exhilarating.
And then, miraculously, impossibly, you reach the bottom of the slope without falling.
"I DID IT!" you scream, your voice echoing across the mountain. "I DID IT! I SNOWBOARDED!"
You are laughing, giddy with adrenaline and triumph, and you turn around to find Heeseung, to share this moment with him, to see the proud expression on his face.
But Heeseung isn't at the bottom of the slope.
He is still at the top.
And he is shouting something.
"Y/N! Y/N L/N!"
The entire slope seems to go quiet. Other skiers and snowboarders slow down, turning to look at the boy standing at the top of the beginner hill, his hands cupped around his mouth, his voice carrying across the snow with startling clarity.
"I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY!"
Your heart stops. Then starts again, twice as fast.
"I'VE BEEN TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO SAY THIS FOR WEEKS!" Heeseung shouts. "AND I REALIZED THAT THE BEST WAY TO TELL YOU IS THE SAME WAY YOU TOLD ME, WITH WORDS THAT I CAN'T TAKE BACK!"
People are staring. Everyone is staring.
"LEE HEESEUNG, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" you shout back, your voice cracking.
"I'M CONFESSING!" he yells. "PROPERLY! IN FRONT OF EVERYONE! BECAUSE YOU DESERVE A CONFESSION THAT'S JUST FOR YOU! YOU DESERVE THE LOVE YOU'VE DREAMED ABOUT!"
"THE FIRST LETTER WASN'T FOR ME!" Heeseung continues, his voice ringing across the snow. "BUT I WANT TO WRITE YOU ONE! I WANT TO WRITE YOU A HUNDRED LETTERS! I WANT TO LEARN YOUR FAVORITE HIGHLIGHTER COLORS AND THE NAMES OF ALL YOUR PLANTS AND THE EXACT WAY YOU LIKE YOUR VANILLA LATTES!"
Someone in the crowd lets out a wolf whistle. Someone else starts recording on their phone. You can't move, can't speak, can't do anything except stand at the bottom of the slope and stare up at the boy who shouts his heart out for everyone to hear.
"YOU'RE A DISASTER!" Heeseung yells, and his voice is full of joy, full of affection, full of something that looks a lot like love. "YOU'RE A HOPELESS ROMANTIC WHO'S TOO SCARED TO LIVE THE ROMANCE YOU DREAM ABOUT! YOU HIDE BEHIND BULLETIN BOARDS AND YOU CHOKE ON LETTUCE AND YOU SPILL COFFEE ON YOURSELF AND YOU MAKE GRAPHS ABOUT VIDEO GAME BALANCE AND YOU CRIED OVER A BABY PENGUIN IN A NATURE DOCUMENTARY!"
"This is the worst confession I've ever heard!" you shout back, but you are laughing, tears streaming down your face, your heart so full it feels like it might burst.
"I'M NOT FINISHED!" Heeseung takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer, still loud enough to carry, but more intimate, more vulnerable. "YOU'RE A DISASTER, Y/N L/N! AND I'M A DISASTER TOO! I'M A PEOPLE-PLEASER WHO CAN'T SAY NO, I HAVE A REPUTATION THAT DOESN'T REFLECT WHO I ACTUALLY AM, AND I POURED COFFEE ON MY HEAD BECAUSE I COULDN'T STAND TO SEE YOU CRY ALONE!"
He starts walking down the slope toward you, his snowboard forgotten at the top, his boots crunching through the snow.
"AND I THINK, NO, I KNOW THAT I'VE BEEN FALLING FOR YOU SINCE THE MOMENT YOU WALKED INTO THAT PC ROOM AND LOOKED AT ME LIKE I WAS THE WORST THING THAT HAD EVER HAPPENED TO YOU!"
He gets closer now, close enough that you can see the nervousness in his eyes, the vulnerability beneath the bravado, the way his hands shake slightly despite his confident posture.
"SO I'M ASKING YOU, IN FRONT OF ALL THESE PEOPLE, ON THIS VERY EMBARRASSING SKI SLOPE, IF YOU'LL BE MY DISASTER. OFFICIALLY. NO MORE MISUNDERSTANDINGS. NO MORE LETTERS MEANT FOR OTHER PEOPLE. JUST US."
He stops a few feet away from you, his breath fogging in the cold air, his dark eyes fixed on your face.
"WHAT DO YOU SAY, LITTLE MOUSE?"
The silence that follows is deafening. Every person on the slope watches you, waiting for your answer.
And you, you, the hopeless romantic who has always been too scared to live the romance you dream about, you take a deep breath, throw your arms out wide, and shout at the top of your lungs:
"I LIKE YOU TOO, YOU ABSOLUTE IDIOT! I'VE LIKED YOU FOR WEEKS AND I DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO SAY IT AND YOU JUST SHOUTED IT FROM A MOUNTAINTOP LIKE A CHARACTER IN A KDRAMA!"
Heeseung's face breaks into the biggest smile you have ever seen. "IS THAT A YES?"
"THAT'S A YES! THAT'S A THOUSAND TIMES YES! NOW COME HERE AND KISS ME BEFORE I PASS OUT FROM THE EMBARRASSMENT OF HAVING THIS CONVERSATION IN FRONT OF LITERALLY EVERYONE!"
He doesn't need to be told twice. He crosses the distance between you in three long strides, catches your face in his hands, and kisses you, deep and thorough and joyful, right there at the bottom of the beginner slope, with the snow sparkling around you and the crowd erupting into cheers and someone's phone recording what will undoubtedly become the most-watched video on the university's social media for the next month.
When he pulls back, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm against your lips, he grins like he has just won the lottery.
"You shouted your feelings from a mountaintop," he murmurs. "You, the girl who was too scared to even correct a misunderstanding, just shouted your feelings from a mountaintop."
"You started it."
"I did. And you finished it." He kisses the tip of your nose. "I'm so proud of you."
You have never been more embarrassed in your entire life, and you have never been happier.
"We're still disasters," you say.
"Absolutely. But now we're disasters who are dating."
"Are we dating? Is that what this is?"
"This is me, shouting from a mountaintop that I want to be with you. I'm pretty sure that counts as dating." He pauses, his expression shifting to something more serious. "Unless you don't want-"
"I want." You grab the front of his jacket and pull him closer. "I want everything. The letters and the coffee disasters and the matching shirts and the snowboarding lessons and the jacuzzi conversations and the ridiculous mountaintop confessions. I want all of it."
Heeseung kisses you again, and this time it is softer, sweeter, full of promise.
"You know what this means," he says against your lips.
"What?"
"We're going to have to tell Jungwon."
You groan. "Can we wait until after the trip? I need at least twenty-four hours to recover from this before I have another emotionally complicated conversation."
"Deal." He pulls back, taking your hand in his. "Come on. Let's get out of here before someone asks us for an interview."
And hand in hand, laughing like fools, you run away from the crowd and the chaos.
SUMMARY. Your older boyfriend Jimin is the epitome of patience—kind, gentle, and endlessly composed, because this is definitely not his first rodeo. But every man has his limits, and patient, loving Jimin has his too. Your first night staying over teaches you what it really means to be touched by a man.
word count. 7.9k
warnings. dom!jimin x sub!reader, age gap, jimin is in early 30’s reader is in early 20s, nasty filthy smut, NSFW, penetration, oral sex, bulging kink, praise, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, light coercion theme but nothing crazy, creampie, jimin has a beautiful cock (canon), jimin is louddd in bed (also canon)
note. another jimin fic!! this was entirely inspired by his recent live, his voice was so soothing and calm, i couldn’t stop letting my mind wander to older bf!jimin im so sorry for the delay in posting, i had some things come up in my personal time and i didn’t have as much time to write. im planning to drop more fics in quick succession so stay tuned!! love you guys so much, and thank you so much for the comments and anonymous messages i appreciate them so much and they encourage me to write more and more. you guys are the best and i hope you enjoy this fic because it a litttlleee different from what i usually write. also all characters in this fic are fictional and do not reflect on any real life person, jimin was simply used as inspiration but this does not reflect on him. pls check warnings before you read.
Jimin was an incredibly patient man, you’d come to realize. He held open doors for you, refilled your wine glass, and cracked open your jars when you cooked. He showed up when you were drunk at the club to drive you home, put up with your millions of questions, and let you tease him about his small hands. That was one of the many pluses of pursuing an older guy, you thought. They were too experienced to be annoyed.
But his patience was now making the pits of your stomach sour and tightening at your throat.
You knew he was a gentleman; he would never push. But you didn’t want to disappoint the somehow incredibly gorgeous man who had fallen into your orbit. When he had requested to stay the night, you’d agreed eagerly, letting a string of quick “yes’s” fall out of your lips on the phone. But you knew what that usually meant, and you weren’t sure how to go about it. It wasn’t like the thought of fucking him was anything less than surreal, but you were the type that spiraled into a spitball of anxiety at even the merest of tasks, getting to this stage with Jimin was eating you alive.
Your gentle-toned, dulcet voice, Jimin, was perched by your side, leaning in as you showed him your Prime Day shopping cart. You liked having him so close; his scent was always a subtle mixture of soap and an earthy, masculine cologne that was probably much more expensive than you realized.
“And I thought about refilling my primer, but this one is on discount, so I might get the more expensive one.” You added, jabbing a finger at the computer screen.
“Hmm..” Jimin hummed, running a tight hand through his hair. How sweet, you thought. He always gave his full consideration to your questions, no matter how insignificant they were. “Seems like a decent idea. But you know they hike prices up before it actually goes on sale.”
“Oh, I didn’t even consider that.” You said quickly, and drew in your bottom lip between your teeth, giving it a contemplative bite. Your eyebrows were scrunched in thought. Jimin chuckled and pinched your cheek.
“Make a decision, kid.” He urged. You grinned in response; the nickname was so overused by him, but you loved it nonetheless.
You scrolled further, adding to your cart, and Jimin rested his head completely on your shoulder. His black frames reflected the blue light of your laptop, and you reached up, running an affectionate hand through his hair. He smiled.
“Ooh, how about we get you a new wallet? I know yours looks fucked.” You chimed, your nose scrunched up in thought.
Jimin chuckled, a honey rumble that vibrated across the skin of your neck. If he noticed the sudden goosebumps rising on your skin, he didn’t comment. “That’s very sweet of you, you don’t have to do that though.”
“But I want to.” You emphasized while typing in the search bar. Jimin was generous with his money, unreasonably so, and you snatched at any opportunity you could take to treat him, even if it was a measly thirty bucks wallet.
A comfortable silence stretched between you two as you got absorbed in your hunt. Your mind was so fogged in concentration, you couldn’t even feel Jimin's heated gaze making its way to your doe features, taking in your pouted expression with an unwarranted hunger.
“You’re always so good to me.” He said. His hot breath gristled at your ear, and you instinctively flinched. Jimin wanted to coo at your innocent reaction, how sweet and malleable you were.
“Well, I like taking care of you.” You rested your head on his, but your eyes didn’t leave your screen.
Jimin felt a bubble of excitement, and the perfect opportunity to leer you in. “Yeah?”
“Mhmmm..” You nodded and rubbed your soft cheek against his ear.
Jimin suddenly shifted his head and sat up slightly, turning his head completely towards you. Suddenly, you became all too aware of how intense his eyes were. A feature you’d noticed before, but felt unusually predatory with his full attention on you. Your throat bobbed, but you couldn’t manage the weight of returning his gaze, so you kept your attention fixated on the laptop.
Your fingers started trembling lightly, and you started clicking on random products. Not bothered by whether they were relevant in any way.
Jimin could sense your unease from miles away, a characteristic of you he’d grown to adore. What a cute girl.
He couldn’t help but want to push at your nerves more, wanting to see when you would relinquish control and give in to his searing eyes. “You wanna take care of me more, kid?”
Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, but you didn’t dare to turn your head, "W-what do you mean, Jimin?”
Jimin hummed in response and took in your rapidly blinking eyes, like you were trying to blink away his undeniable presence. He didn’t say anything, but ran the pads of his fingers in a loose circle across your clothed thigh.
You jolted at the sudden touch, and you swore your hands looked lifeless as they clutched your laptop for dear life. Your knuckles went white, but you didn’t let go. You were silent, as if you moved, Jimin would pounce on you and eat you alive. Or maybe that was what you wanted to happen.
Jimin only felt bolder at your weighted silence. The rational part of him would stop now and realize he was pushing at you far too quickly. And god had kept his rational side afloat for far too long with you, but now he wanted to nudge at your discomfort a bit more. To see how far you’d really let him take things.
He continued his slow, burning circles and smirked lightly at your breath, visibly catching in your throat. “I’m asking..” He paused. You brought a finger up to your mouth to nibble at your cuticle, “For you to look at me.”
You paused, fully, completely. Your laptop hummed uselessly against your lap. Jimin reached a ringed hand out and closed the screen. The darkness of your apartment took over, succumbing to the lack of little illumination your screen was providing. You turned your head slowly to look at him, eyes wide and glassed over in anticipation.
“I-I was looking for wallets for you, though, Ji-” You started, but were shushed by the older man beside you. His fingers kept swirling on your thigh lightly, pressing in only enough to trace the texture of your smooth skin.
You looked at him like a deer caught in headlights, blinking sweetly at him. Jimin wanted to see those same eyes when he finally plunged into your poor pussy.
“Much better.” He cooed, his fingers danced across to the middle of your thigh, starting to pace up and down instead of in spirals. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
You wanted to die there and then. He had been so patient, so kind to you, and you were making him feel like he was committing a crime by wanting to touch you. In fact, his soft touch was evoking something in you that you didn’t know you could feel.
“No!” You said far too quickly, “No, no, of course you’re not.”
Jimin only sighed at your response and let his fingers crawl to your inner thigh. You froze further, and your bottom lip started to quiver. You wanted to fill the tension starting to build between you two, “You’re always so patient with me, Jimin.”
He nodded, “That I am..” His thumb brushed further up, but still not near your most sensitive area. You wanted to swallow in your awkward demeanor so bad, and you tried to slowly build the courage to do something.
“Then don’t you think I deserve you by now?”
You gaped at him, his supple voice ringing in the shell of your ear, “Deserve.. Me?”
He chuckled to himself at your dumbfounded expression and tapped a finger on your chin, “Deserve you.” He let you sit in the nervous, tense string of energy building between you, watching your fingers mess with a string on the couch. You were trying to find something to say, obviously.
He tilted his head, leaning back, and continued, keeping his hand on your thigh. “I’ve been patient with you, you know,” he said. “Followed your pace, even when you start those little games, trying me, then pulling away like you didn’t mean to.”
Your eyes widened. “I’m not playing any games!” you said quickly.
He tilted his head, “Yeah?”
“I’m not! I promise I’m not. I’m just..” You blinked rapidly, scratching at the couch. Jimin’s fingers ran down your leg, prompting you to continue. You gnawed at your lip, “Nervous...” You finished.
“Nervous,” he repeated, almost to himself. “Yeah, I figured.”
“I’ve been careful with you, though, haven’t I?” he said finally. His voice was quiet, but it carried an authority that made your stomach flip. “Haven’t pushed. Haven’t asked for more than you could give.”
You nodded, small and hesitant.
“And I could be more persistent,” He continued, “I really could.”
You swallowed.
“I just want to make you feel good, you don’t trust me yet, do you, kid?” He squeezed your thigh expectantly.
“I do, Jimin, I swear I do.” You put your hand on top of his weighted one. Eager to please, Jimin thought. So willing.
“Then let me do that, baby. Let me touch you.” He reached over and ran the back of his knuckle over your cheek. You shut your eyes and breathed out, thinking, head running a mile a minute.
“Okay.” You said simply nodding, your heart thudded against your chest with force.
Jimin felt his cock twitch in his pants, but steadied himself. “Good, so stop holding your breath every time I get close.”
You let out a rush of air and finally turned your head completely towards him, eyes sparkling. He traced a shape into your thigh before running his hand up to the curve of your ass, fixated on your cautious soft expressions. You eyed his hands curiously, but made no move to flinch away.
He squeezed, and you gasped.
“Come here.” He patted his lap, signaling for you to get on his lap. You paused before gripping onto the couch and shifting your body up before swinging a leg over his seated body. Your body was stiff and awkward, but Jimin couldn't care less. You were letting him in; he’d pushed just the right amount, and he knew you were gonna warm up further. His courage was soaring.
“Good girl.” That drew a soft smile from you, and you blushed, looking up at him shyly through your lashes. Jimin’s greed took over, and he pressed his hand into the small of your back to push you deeper into him. Your noses brushed together.
“Jimin-” You started, but he cut you off by connecting your lips. The kiss started off peckish and soft, like every other time you guys had kissed before. But he couldn’t be satisfied with a soft tease anymore.
You felt the change before you could name it — the way his breath deepened, how his hand at your waist stopped holding and started restraining. The air between you grew heavier, the kind that hummed with something pent.
Soon enough, Jimin’s hands were spanning the expanse of your bare back under your shirt, as his lips bruised yours. His tongue roamed freely in your mouth, as if exploring every oral crevice. You were still perched on his lap sweetly, legs on either side of his beautiful frame, and your greedy, eager hands wandered the front of his shirtless body, tracing over every inch of pale skin presented to you. Your fingers danced across the tatted words on his ribs and then up his sternum, tracing over the protruding bones. Jimin sucked and nibbled at your lower lip, watching amused as the color shifted from a lovely peach to a passionate, juicy red.
Most of all, he watched your eyes dance back and forth under your eyelids, and the slight clench between your brows as your senses were overwhelmed by the older man. You were trying to take in everything all at once, the feeling of his warm, bare skin pressed against your clothed one, the lactonic smell of his freshly washed hair brushing your forehead, and the way his plump, round lips decorated the width of your mouth with cloy kisses. Jimin wanted more of his sweet girl, no, needed more of his sweet girl. Who was so eager to please him in any form.
He let your bunny kisses continue for a little bit, letting your hands press at various parts of him before he gripped your wrists lightly. You stilled, like you did something wrong, and your eyes fluttered open.
“Tell me one more time you’re okay with this.” He insisted.
You nodded quickly, “Yes, I am, I promise.” You didn’t want to stop, the feeling of his tender skin still under your fingertips.
Jimin’s eyes trailed across your face, your bruised pout, and the dewy flush travelling down your cheekbones; he bore into your eyes to search for any signs of uncertainty, but only received your widely dilated pupils.
“Okay.” His grip on your wrists tightened, but not enough to bruise, and you blinked up at him. “You wanna make me feel good, baby?”
His hand started pushing one of yours down his sinuous torso, and you gasped out, catching on. “Y-yes.. But I’m not too good-”
“I’ll guide you, sweetheart.” He released one of your wrists, still guiding the other down at a minuscule pace. His other ringed hand went to the waistband of his grey sweatpants and tugged lightly, revealing the black band of his boxers. Your eyes were trained on his movements, hypnotized.
He kept pushing your hand down his body until your fingers brushed at the very beginnings of his dark, happy trail. He had to suppress a moan, feeling your delicate touch was lighting sparks under his skin. God, he’d been looking forward to this more than he imagined.
He watched your thumb brush at the waistband of his boxers, and he started speaking, but was cut off by your mellow voice, “Can I, Jimin?” Of course, you asked for his permission, he thought. You were so good to him.
“Of course you can, baby.” Your hand disappeared beneath his sweatpants, and you gave a light experimental squeeze to his clothed cock. Jimin’s hands were still steady on your wrist, and he groaned out, cursing under his breath.
Your gaze snapped up at the addictive sound, and you gave another light squeeze; his cock jumped underneath the thin cloth, and you started to feel a sticky substance leak from the pulsing thick tissue. Jimin bucked his hips up at your hand instinctively, and you felt his precum leak through and stick to your palm.
You let out a small noise of appreciation, removing your hand. Jimin watched as you brought up your hand to your mouth and licked at the precum stuck to your palm, “Salty.” He almost came right there and then, your innocent but charged gesture messed with his mind further.
“Shit.” He cursed, and a vein in his forehead twitched. He guided your hand back into his pants, this time under his sticky boxers. Your blush deepened as you made contact with his thick cock, and you wrapped your hand around it. God, he was thick; your hand could barely wrap around him. He moved your wrist back and forth, making you give him slow, deliberate pumps. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down.
“Jimin..” You said softly, circling your thumb on his plump tip.
“Doing so good, sweetheart, fuck..” He started, shifting your hand faster, and a lewd schlick schlick schlick filled the room along with his deep, hot panting.
He twisted your wrist so you pumped him at an angle and bit down on his lower lip, suffocating his sounds. His moans were so unbelievably sweet, you noted, his sighs and breathy moans dripping out of your ears like sugary sap.
Without his guidance, you sped your hand up, and Jimin loosened his grip, letting you pump him with a tight grip. His cock twitched occasionally in your palm, and his precum started to drip down his member, making a sappy mess in his boxers that neither of you cared for. You felt drunk watching Jimin croon his head back into the couch as you pleasured him, his mouth open in a round “o” shape, revealing his two cute crooked front teeth that you loved.
You swore you were more turned on than him; the wetness of his velvet cock mirrored the warmth pooling between your own legs. All you could think about was making the older man finish.
Jimin bucked his hips a final time before his cum spurted out of his cock, thick white heat coating your smaller hand, his boxers and sweatpants now branded with his release. Jimin’s chest heaved as he brought his head back, narrowing his eyes at your awed expression. You gasped at the sensation of his hot release and watched your hand as you took off his pants. Your fingers were sticky and webbed.
Jimin caught his breath, “You wanna give it a taste for me?”
“Yes..” You said hushed, and brought a finger to your mouth, sucking it like a lollipop.
Jimin cursed, “Fuck.. Good girl.”
Your tongue wrapped around your second finger, liking the salty musky taste.
“You like how I taste?” He brought a loving hand and stroked the back of your head.
“Yes, tastes so good, Jimin.” You murmured as you licked the last of his release off your own hand, “Did I do good?”
“So good, such a good job, sweetheart.” He cooed.
You were floating, bubbly with a weird kind of pride, high off the look in his eyes and how you’d made him sound. The glow took up most of the oxygen in your lungs, dizzy and sweet.
He smiled, lazy and slow, chest still heaving up and down. “Come here.” He beckoned with a flick of his index finger, and you crawled up to nuzzle your nose against his, relishing the silk-heat of his skin. He pulled you against him, so close you could feel his heartbeat, bruising and quick. His hand drifted under your shirt again and quickly found the clasp of your bra. Your breath caught in your throat as Jimin’s fingers messed with the metal hooks before releasing them.
“Gonna get this off of you, baby.” He voiced and reached up, removing the beige straps from your shoulders. “Hands up.”
You raised your arms over your head, and Jimin eased off your oversized shirt.
You let out a shy inhale as your round breasts were bared to him, your nipples pebbled in the cool air-conditioned air of your apartment. Goosebumps rose across your arms as his gaze fell upon you.
“God… you’re gorgeous.” He cupped one breast with a hand and squeezed lightly, savoring the weight of it in the palm of his hand. His mouth salivated, and he wanted nothing more than to feel the bud in his mouth. He bent down, bringing his other hand to cup the other one before wrapping his whole mouth around the swell of your breast. He sucked gingerly before zoning in on your nipple. His tongue flicked at it in short up and down motions, and he tugged at it with his teeth, an action that caused your already overwhelmed nerves to light on fire. You squirmed in his lap, hands fixed on his broad shoulders for purchase.
Jimin glanced up, watching you sway in pleasure on top of him, and offered your other swollen breast similar treatment. He ran his tongue the pebbled span of your areola before sucking passionately at your erect nipple.
You sighed and played with his hair, curving your head down to rest on his. Jimin’s mouth was so hot on your already heated, flushed skin, and it felt like he was leaving a trail of crimson kisses all over your chest. You were getting impatient. His mouth on your tits could only satisfy a fraction of your mind, the rest chanting more, more, more, more, more.
You got carried away and gave an impatient tug at his hair, and Jimin broke free from your spit-slick nipple to look up at you once more, grinning ear to ear. “Getting impatient, huh?”
You nodded eagerly, “More, I want more.”
Jimin pressed an open-mouth kiss in the valley of your breasts and hummed in agreement, “I want more too, baby.”
He broke away from your skin to shuffle to the couch, tossing pillows roughly onto the floor and pushing the soft blanket away that covered the two of you just minutes before. He shuffled, before shifting his hips and lying your bare back onto the couch, before climbing over you. His silver chain dangled over you like a loose thread of moonlight, hitting your chin as he shifted.
The new angle of Jimin had a familiar warmth creep back between your legs, and you pressed your still clothed thighs together. He looked so good on top of you, like he was caging you into his delicious prison.
You arched up onto him, searching for something to relieve you from the slickness that was sticking to your thighs.
Jimin reached down and connected your lips for the thousandth time. You pressed your soft breasts into his toned chest, hands gripping at his shoulders in the newfound angle.
“You wanted more, didn’t you, baby?” He reminded, pulling away from your lips with a string of spit. You let out a soft whimper at the loss of his hot mouth, and Jimin pressed his half-hard, clothed cock on your upper thigh.
“Speak.” He demanded.
“Yes.. more..” You said with a pink, glossy pout.
“Let’s get you out of these, then.” His hand trailed down the edge of your shorts. “Be good and lift your hips for me.”
You hesitated, a mix of excitement and anxiety swirling in your gut. But the way he looked at you, with that predatory hunger, made it hard to refuse. You slowly complied, raising your hips, and he took that opportunity to hook his fingers into the waistband.
With a swift motion, he pulled your shorts down. Jimin was immediately in awe. Your panties were a delicate shade of pastel pink with the cutest satin bow perched right at your pubic bone. The panties were thin enough to peek at your folds, the fabric clinging to you, soaked with your slick. The cool air heightened the already wet, warm feeling between your legs. You gasped softly, and your soft plush thighs started to close, but Jimin’s hand stopped them quickly.
“Come on, sweetheart..” He coaxed, “Don’t close up on me now.” His fingers trailed gently in the middle of your clothed pussy, checking how wet you were. He groaned out, god, you were soaked already. Jimin wanted nothing more than to bury his cock deep in you already and see what you really looked like under the pretty material.
“Jimin.. ” You whined out at the sudden sensation, and Jimin sighed in response, letting the pads of his fingers press gently where your clothed clit would be. He twirled a circle shape, watching you jolt and slither underneath him at the light stimulation. He knew you would be reactive; he could tell just from how jumpy you were before, but this was nothing like he had imagined. He leaned down and flicked the pretty bow with the tip of his tongue, and your tummy tightened at the warm air of his breath.
Jimin took the opportunity to glide off your panties slowly down your legs till they pooled at your ankles. You crossed your legs, denying him the sight of your glossy pussy, and averted your gaze shyly.
“Don’t hide from me,” he murmured, his voice smooth and commanding. “You know I want to see you.” His palm pressed against your inner thigh firmly, and he pushed your legs open. His hips stuttered against your thigh, taken aback at the delicious sight of your tiny, slick pussy, so flushed and swollen already without him even touching it. His mouth watered; he couldn’t believe this was all his.
“Fuck.” He cursed and stopped his delicate dance on your inner thigh to run a finger up your slit, collecting your arousal. Your hips jumped, and you buried your head into the side of the couch, but Jimin was too entranced to notice. He brought his finger to his lips, tasting your arousal, and sighed at the sugared taste.
“So fucking sweet..” He breathed out. He pushed himself down, belly flat between your legs till he was nose level to your pussy and gripped both of your thighs, scooting you down and slapped the side of your thigh, “Put your legs on me.” He commanded, and you complied, exhilarated by the rough edge of his voice. Your knees bent, and you placed your ankles on his shoulders. You were wide open for him to see and devour.
You swallowed hard, the sensation of vulnerability mixed with excitement coursing through you. Jimin leaned in closer, his breath fanning over your slick core, teasingly close yet tantalizingly out of reach. “Breathe for me, baby.” His voice was measured despite the insanity coursing through him. You obeyed, of course, letting out an exhale. “And watch me, okay?”
You nodded, and Jimin dove in. His tongue started lapping thick stripes on your pussy lips, before he dove his tongue pointedly between your lips. He licked and savored the honeyed sap, letting it stick to his chin, his nose, and all over his mouth. He ate you like he was starving, and you were his death row meal. His mouth didn’t stop for a second, and he decorated your little pussy with open-mouth kisses.
Underneath him, you thrashed, arching up into the air and then wiggling your hips as much as you could under his unyielding, stone-like hands. Jimin grunted and softly pinched your thigh, urging you to stay in place so he could continue his attack. His tongue poked around in search of your clit, and when he finally located it, he nudged at the swollen nub. Your hands sprang to his hair, and you dug your fingers into his scalp, which Jimin relished. He nudged at your clit further before finally wrapping his lips around the button and giving it a passionate suck.
“Oh my god!” You cried out, and Jimin hummed in amusement, lapping and sucking at it with vigor. He slowly let go of one of your thighs and brought his fingers to your pussy. He broke free and looked up at you completely, letting his fingers start to play with your folds. The sounds coming from between your legs were obscene, a syrupy noise that echoed in your living room as his fingers ran up and down and then hovered lightly on your clit. His eyes were trained on you, angled and narrowed as he watched you curl back into the couch, hair fanning out over your jiggling breasts.
“Didn’t I tell you to look at me?” His voice was soft, not to draw you out of the glorious hum of pleasure you were absorbed in.
You brought your head up and fixed your gaze on his. Slowly, delicately, Jimin entered his index finger into you and curled it just enough. He hissed at the feeling of your plush walls, massaging his digit, even the light intrusion inducing a reaction from your body.
Your mouth fell open into an O shape, but your gaze didn’t move from his. Jimin wanted to kiss you more than ever. Your cheeks were so red, your eyebrows were pushed together and upwards, and your lips were bruised beyond belief. You looked so fucked out, which was funny because he hadn’t even had the chance to fuck you yet.
“That’s it..” He cooed, “You’re feeling so good, aren’t you?”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes, I am. “ You whined, high-pitched and desperate. He pumped his finger in and out, watching your pussy drool out onto the couch. His thumb of his other hand nudged at your clit, rubbing gentle circles and pressing into it. Jimin added another thick finger, and your cunt squelched in response. He picked up his pace, stuffing you as much as he could so his silver rings kissed your sticky lips. You were practically singing from pleasure, his fingers massaging spots in you you could never reach.
He curled his fingers and increased his pace once more. The squelches of your pussy deafened your whines, and you brought your hand to grace over Jimin’s wrist. Not to stop, just to feel.
“My sweet girl, you feel so tight around my fingers.” He affirmed. His fingers started to get rougher, now jolting your body up and down with each jab, and he leaned down and started lapping at your bud once more.
“So good! So good!” You chanted, “Feels so good!”
The rough texture of his tongue twisting on your cunt and his intense fingers had the coil in your belly tighten and tighten even further. You gripped onto his wrist harder, and Jimin let you, but didn’t stop.
“I know, baby. Shit, I know, come on. Cum for me.” He murmured. God, your pussy was sweet. He was almost mad at you; you held this from him for so long that he had to push so much to finally get you to relent.
“I’m gonna, fuck, I’m gonna-” You couldn’t finish your sentence, head so warped. Suddenly, it was like your orgasm seized you. You clamped your thighs around his head as the coil snapped. Your vision swirled, and your body trembled as you came. Jimin didn’t ease despite how caught up you were. His fingers stayed in you, curling and uncurling as your walls spasmed like a heartbeat. His nose stayed nudged in your folds, and your juices leaked out pathetically, making a mess on your couch.
When you finally calmed, your head dropped back onto the couch, eyes fluttering open and closed to regain yourself. Jimin eased his fingers out, and you flinched at the loss, and he turned his head, kissing at your inner thigh before suckling at a tender spot. You were quiet for a moment before you sighed out his name, and he nipped at you gently.
“Came so hard, didn’t you?” He said getting out from in between your legs and pushing his body up to be face to face with you.
You nodded slowly.
“Told you I’d make you feel good, right?” Jimin smiled.
“Mhmm.” You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck. “You did.”
“You wanna keep going?” He brushed a strand of hair from your adorable face, and you nodded again. You had a taste of what it meant to be with him; you couldn’t stop now.
“Words, sweetheart.” He emphasized.
“I wanna keep going, Jimin..” You paused and swallowed hard, “I want you to fuck me.”
Jimin’s jaw almost dropped. His sweet younger girlfriend, who was so shy just a while ago, was letting the filthiest sentences drop from her mouth. “You want me to fuck you?”
“Yes, please, want to fill you me.” You begged again.
A beat of silence from Jimin had you thinking maybe you were sounding too desperate or too insistent, and a flush started to creep up your neck. You were gonna shy away, once more, but Jimin cut you off.
“Tell me how badly.” He pressed one hand at the side of your face, steadying you. His eyes were in dark slivers, bearing down at you with vehemence.
Some jolt of courage possessed you, and you grabbed the hand on your face and lowered it. You kept lowering it till it went right on top of your sloppy, dripping cunt, “This badly.”
Jimin cursed loudly, and he pushed two fingers back into your eager hole, which stretched to accommodate him almost immediately. He pulled his fingers back out and analyzed the saccharine gloss on his fingers. “Still so wet..”
“Mhmm,” You said, “I'm still wet.”
“And only my dick can satisfy you, can’t it?” He hissed. He brought his slick, soaked fingers to your lips, and you parted your mouth. He dove his fingers into your mouth, and your fingers swirled around them, taking in your taste. Drool pooled out of the side of your mouth.
“God, you don’t know what you do to me, Y/N.” His voice sounded restrained in a way you hadn’t heard before.
“Please, Jimin.” You pleaded again, voice mushy from his fingers taking over your mouth, “Need you.”
“I’ll give you what you want, princess.” He said, finally, before sitting back. His hands made quick work of his sweatpants and sullied boxers, and he yanked them off, letting his pink cock spring free, already hard.
You licked your lips at the sight; his cock was blushing pink, the tip a glorious bruised purple. His length was average, but his cock was thicker than any you had seen before, the base decorated with neatly trimmed dark hair. His tip was kissed with his already leaking precum, a translucent white beading out of him.
“It’s so pretty.” You said in a hushed tone, and Jimin cracked a kind but devious smile.
“Yeah? You like my cock?” He gave it a couple of full strokes, and it stood prouder and harder than it had before.
“Yeah.. It’s so thick, though...” You trailed off and reached your hand out to his cock. Jimin let out a guttural groan as your fingers pressed at his sensitive tip, collecting the precum. His cock jumped lightly, and you bit your lip at the sight.
“I-I’ll make it fit.” He promised, voice breaking as you ran your ghostly fingers down the shaft, tracing a protruding vein.
“Be gentle.” You asked softly, before drawing your hand back and scooting on the couch to make space for him again.
“I’ll be so gentle with you, darling.” He said hoarsely as he climbed on top of you again, positioning his hands by either side of your head. Although he wasn’t sure if he could keep his control when he was actually inside you. His chain bounced over you again, and you licked your lips at the feeling of the cool metal tracing shapes under your chin.
Jimin grabbed his cock head and pushed at your thighs once more, giving a silent command for you to spread your legs. You bit your lips, eager but melting with nervousness. You didn’t know how he was going to fit; you could barely wrap your hand around him earlier.
Jimin ran his plush cockhead over your puffy folds, nudging around to collect your sap. Your hands played with your nipples, squeezing gently at your full breasts in anticipation. When Jimin was satisfied, he traced at your entrance, not pushing but circling. He felt so warm against you, so warm and velvety that it made your hole flutter in delight.
“You ready?” He asked, his voice gentle but threaded with restraint. His thumb circled lazily at your hip, grounding you.
“I’m ready.” You whispered.
“Tell me if it’s too much, baby.” He brushed a strand of hair from your cheek, his gaze so intensely focused on you that it left you breathless.
You sucked in air, bracing as he pushed forward, the blunt head of his cock nudging at your entrance before stretching you open, slow and unyielding. It burned, a delicious ache that had your fingers clawing at his shoulders.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Jimin groaned, voice rough at your ear, pausing. He paused when you gasped, his hips rolling just the tiniest bit deeper but not enough to overwhelm. “You can take it, darling. I know you can.” His cock was buried halfway in you, and you were already overwhelmed by the feeling of stretching to accommodate him. Your nails dug into his shoulder blades, and your eyes screwed closed.
“Gonna move now, okay?” He whispered, barely keeping it together.
“O-okay.” You whimpered, and even as your body trembled, you found yourself wanting nothing more than to be filled by him.
Jimin pushed the rest of his stocky length into you, finally stilling when his balls slapped against your ass lightly. You cried out when you were stuffed completely, hands trembling as you grabbed at him, the couch, anything to bring yourself back.
Jimin was.. A complete mess. The once control that he prided on was reaching its limits; he was buried so deep in you that he swore he was in your ribs. But he couldn’t move, too afraid that if he shifted, he’d cum instantly. Your pussy was sucking him in so deep that even if he wanted to, he couldn’t pull out. Your gluey walls suckling and pushing him in like a suction. Jimin trembled above you, and he took deep breaths to focus.
“Jimin..” You said his name so sweetly, he moaned.
“W-What.. Shit.. what is it, baby?”
“Move, please.” You said voice cracking.
Jimin cursed loudly, “You drive me crazy.”, but obliged. He gripped your hips and pushed his hips back, leaving your soppy pussy halfway before pushing back in. You whined out, the stretch feeling like you were being speared open. His cock was so fucking thick, you couldn’t think. He was tearing you in half, and you loved it.
Jimin panted and repeated the motion, pulling out halfway before experimenting with a rougher thrust. Your boobs jolted, and you captured your lower lip between your teeth, “Yes!” You whined, “Just like that, just like that.”
Jimin’s pupils dilated at your dulcet noise, “Y-Yeah, just like that?” He gave you another half, rough thrust, and wrapped a hand around one bouncing perky breast, squeezing it hard.
You whined again, “Ngh! Yes!”.
Jimin didn’t need to hear more; he pulled out before pushing in roughly, a loud squelch echoing through the room, and then he started a rhythm. Rough, brutish, slow thrusts that had your cunt gushing in delight. Your pussy didn’t relent a second, clenched so tight you could feel every vein of his cock rubbing your gummy walls.
You were euphoric, Jimin’s cock was angled just right, curving to hit a spongy, tender spot in you that you had never felt before. His cock head was nudging you at a bestial intensity, despite his slow pace. Every thrust, every stroke felt deliberate and planned like he was trying to devour you whole. Your hands were fixed on his shoulders, and tears started forming in your eyes at the feverish pleasure.
On top of that, Jimin was not a quiet man. His moans were breathy and almost melodic, like he was singing with every inch he impaled into you. His gaze was concentrated on your syrupy cunt, the way it was swallowing him whole and still begging for more. A creamy white ring decorated the base of his cock, from his precum and your arousal mixing.
He picked up his pace, thrusts smooth and long so you could feel all of him each time he shoved in you.
“Oh! Oh shit!” You squealed out as he fucked you, “S- so big!”
He moved with purpose, each motion a test of control, his breath warming your face. Tears started pooling out of your eyes, running down the sides of your blooming face.
“You're sucking me in, s-sweetheart.” He hissed and started giving you full thrusts, his balls slapping against your ass each time. Tears streamed down your face, and Jimin almost laughed, “Such a crybaby.”
His teeth gritted as his hips snapped into you, the force so intense the couch creaked. You were shaking wildly underneath him, not able to do much but hold on as your pussy engorged around him. He moaned, feeling your slick arousal start trailing its way down to his balls.
“Jimin! My god!” You bounced wildly under him.
Suddenly, his eyes settled on something that had his cock twitch inside you. Your lower belly was bulging with his cock, forming a little tight bump each time he sheathed you. “N-no fucking way.” He said, sweat beading at his hairline. “W-would you look at that.. “
Your bleary eyes could barely focus on what he was looking at, but you felt it. His hand pressed on your lower belly as he drove into you, and he pushed down. You yelped at the sudden sharp surge in pleasure and gripped onto his wrists.
“C-can barely fucking fit me, baby, y-you’re stuffed.” He choked out. He pressed down again, and your eyes rolled back in your head, and you drooled onto the couch.
“Hck, fuck fuck fuck fuck..” You chanted as his plump cock molded you.
Jimin was arguably in a worse state than you, hair stuck to his forehead, lips parted, and sweat dripping down his face. He could barely speak; he could only dig deeper and deeper into you, addicted to your body’s reactions and the warm, wet drool of your cunt. He bought a hand up, pinching your nipples, and you arched into his touch.
You felt a familiar heat accumulating in the pit of your stomach, and somehow your trembling fingers travelled between your legs to mess with your swollen, weeping cunt. You shook as you started circling your fingerpad of your peeking, tender clit, trying to chase your high.
“W-wanna cum that badly, don’t you?” His fingers replaced yours quickly, and he rubbed at your clit with the same intensity he was pistoning against you. Your hands clawed at his.
“W-wait, wait, it’s too much! J-Jimin, it’s too much!” You babbled stupidly, but Jimin didn’t care.
“Nothing is too much for you, baby, you can take it.” He pinched at your pink nub, abusing it.
You couldn’t say anything, too fucked out to even care how he was using you. You could only receive his rabid touch. A harsh rosy flush rose on Jimin’s chest as he thrusted into you, harder, faster, deeper, than he had ever before. No woman had made him so out of control, so pussy drunk that all he cared about was staying with you. He ground his hips deeper, letting his cock head kiss your cervix, and his eyes rolled back at the plump sensation.
“S-shit, I think I’m close too.” He murmured, more to himself, and kept grinding his cock in circles, refusing to pull out. His fingers continued their assault on your clit, rubbing shapes and designs he knew would send you over the edge.
Your eyes kept opening and closing, and Jimin almost felt bad, almost, that you could barely keep up with him. But he knew you were enjoying this even more than he was; no one else could ever bring you to this point.
He shifted his hips, angling his cock, and started his deep, solid thrusts again, not pulling out enough to leave your warmth. He bought his head dance and wrapped his lips around a rosy nipple, suckling and biting to taste and feel all of you at once. The soft feeling of your chubby breast pushed against his face was exhilarating.
You panted at the multitude of feelings, and then suddenly felt a strange sensation, like you were about to burst at the seams.
“J-Jim-” You got cut off at the sudden splash of your juices on his bare abdomen, and hot white pleasure blinded your vision. Your voice shattered as you let out a high-pitched, broken moan, unable to contain yourself.
Jimin was in awe. There was no way you had squirted all over his cock the first time he’d fucked you, but he didn’t pause to admire; he couldn’t, he was too greedy. He kept up his thrusts, gripping onto you as he did so.
“F-fucking squirted all o-over me, dirty girl.” He moaned.
“I- Oh shit!” You tried to start your sentence, an apology maybe for the mess you made, but couldn’t, succumbing to his unrelenting pace, driving you to the edge again. You were right there, once again, right at the teetering edge of a harsh orgasm.
You clenched, hard, stilling him. Jimin bottomed out and trembled as he tried to shift, but instead came. He cried out loudly, and his hot cum spurted out, right inside you, filling you up to the brim.
You whined at the warm full feeling, and your orgasm crashed over you, this one weaker but sending shivers down your spine. Your thighs trembled, and your tear-stained cheeks streaked with more fresh tears as you came.
A second passed, but he didn’t have the strength to pull out just yet, but he watched you with heavy, clouded eyes. His beautiful little girlfriend, leaking with his cum.
Finally, he pulled out, and you both flinched at the loss of tender warmth, and he collapsed next to you.
The silence that followed was deafening. He stayed there for a long moment, breathing against your shoulder, heartbeat wild.. Then his voice—hoarse, raw—broke the quiet.
“Did I hurt you?”
You shook your head, still catching your breath, and his gaze burned in the side of your cheek. You met his stare, slowly, and for a heartbeat, the room went still. His eyes were soft and warm, large and doe-like, so unlike him just seconds ago.
He traced his thumb along your cheekbone, wiping away the dampness there. “You did so well.”
Your chest tightened. “Did I?”
He sighed, voice low, steady. “Sweetheart. You did so good.” His fingers slipped down to your neck, tracing your pulse. “You let go. You trusted me.”
He paused, eyes flicking between your lips and your face, like he was trying to memorize every inch. “That’s all I ever wanted from you.” His eyes were like melted chocolate, dripping and swirling you in as they stayed on you steadily. You felt a bubble form in your throat.
“Jimin,” you whispered, hesitant, still dazed from how different he suddenly felt.
“Hmm?” He hummed
“I really like you.” You confessed, your pulse fluttered.
His mouth curved at the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner. “Yeah?” he said, his voice dipping lower, rich and teasing in that way of his. “I like you even more, baby.”
“You do?”
“Of course I do,” he said, a breathy laugh escaping his chest. “How could I not? You’re so easy to like.”
“Even though I’m not as experienced?” You inquired gently.
He shook his head lightly, eyes never leaving yours. “That doesn’t matter,” he whispered, voice warm but firm. “Never does.”
Your lips parted, but you couldn’t find your voice.
“You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a while.” He placed his hand over yours.
“Really?” You felt elated, the dull throb between your legs feeling like nothing compared to the flowery feeling blooming in your chest.
“Really.” He sealed it with a kiss, unhurriedly and slowly, lingering just long enough to steal your breath when he finally pulled back.
“Get some rest now,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t a command, not really. Jimin couldn’t be demanding of you, but you obeyed anyway, eyes fluttering shut as his hand found its place on you again.
While you started dozing off against him, Jimin thought back on his words.
No, you weren’t just the best thing that had happened to him in a while.
You were the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Synopsis: Your husband just can't keep it in his pants when he sees you holding baby clothes.
Pairing: husband!fuma x fem!reader
Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, p in v, unprotected sex (not for you), mating press, big dick fuma, size kink, breeding a shit ton of breeding, fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, dom!fuma, sub!reader, we're fucking against a wall btw, mentions of pregnancy, fuma's just horny asf, romance because obviously, yudai cameo i love him
A/N: i love you anon for requesting this, initially wrote about it here! i fainted 3497348 times writing this because lord knows im so pathetic for husband fuma THE SHIT I'D DO FOR HIM TO CALL ME DARLING THE SHIT I WOULD DO. Tagging my mother @blueuijoo because i need to get revenge 🫶 as always, enjoy, my babies!
Word Count: 6.7k (yall are getting bred good)
“What about this one? Too green?”
Murata Fuma was a fucked man.
He knew that the moment you had asked him to accompany him to the mall to buy presents for your best friend’s baby shower, his dick twitching at the prospect of seeing you run your hands over baby clothes. Earlier that week he had already seen you fawn over your baby nephew, holding him close to your chest and bouncing him up and down, all wide smiles and laughter that sounded poetic to him.
Murata Fuma was a fucked man everytime he thought about having children with you, laying you down on your bed and drilling you with his cock all damn night, pumping you full of his cum and waking up the next morning to go to the gynaecologist.
“Not green enough.” He chuckled, leaning against the shelf as you scanned your eyes with laser precision through all the shades of green of baby clothes neatly folded in front of you.
“Well, can’t say I trust you, baby.” You laughed, reaching to the very back of the shelf, “If it was up to you, we’d be shopping for Pokemon baby toys.”
“Hey, gotta get them in young.” Fuma shrugged his shoulders, crossing his arms and feigning deep thought as you pulled out an olive green shirt the size of his biceps, “Perfectly green enough.”
“I know right?” You smiled at him, looking down at the cloth in your hand with shining, triumphant eyes, “God, I hope she likes this.”
“Of course she will, darling.” Fuma stepped forward slowly, filling your senses with his cologne, “You picked it out didn't you?” His hands came up to your waist, eyes fixed on your lips as he ran a tongue over his.
Fuma stepped closer until the shelf behind you pressed lightly against your back, the tiny green shirt still clutched in your hands. You barely had time to raise an eyebrow before he leaned in.
“Fuma—” you started. But his lips met yours first.
Warm, oh so warm and certain, like he already knew you were going to laugh about it a second later. His hand stayed at your waist, steadying you as he kissed you, gentle but lingering enough that your protest turned into a muffled giggle against his mouth.
You pushed lightly at his chest. “We’re in public,” You whispered, breathless and amused.
“And?” He pulled back just a fraction, close enough that you could still feel the warmth of his breath, “Can I not kiss my darling wife in public?” The playful look in his eyes made your resolve wobble.
You shook your head, trying to look annoyed, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. For a moment you simply looked at him and something about the closeness, the familiar comfort of it, pulled you right back.
Before you could overthink it, you leaned forward again. This time the kiss was yours, soft and unhurried, your lips brushing his as if you were testing the moment rather than stealing it. His hand tightened slightly at your waist in quiet surprise, and he leaned into it instinctively, deepening the warmth of the kiss. You tasted faintly like the honey he’d put on your pancakes earlier in the morning.
When you finally pulled away, your cheeks were warm and your heart was beating a little faster than it should have been for a quiet aisle full of baby clothes. The moment sparked a memory so vividly that it made you smile.
The first time you had ever kissed each other was on your third date, You could still see the scene in your mind—your apartment lit softly by the ikea lamps you got on sale, the city lights outside the window flickering against the glass. A half-finished glass of wine sat on the table between you while the two of you talked about everything and nothing and the newest pokemon cards.
He had been sitting beside you on the couch, turning the stem of his wine glass slowly in his fingers, pretending to be calm but clearly working up the courage to do something. You had noticed of course—call it a lover’s intuition.
And when he finally leaned in that night, the kiss had been messy as messy could be, teeth accidentally bumping into each other, you almost biting his lips off and a glass of spilled wine.
But here you were, years later, wedding band on your finger and his wine stained shirt sitting somewhere at the back of your closet.
How beautiful a thing love was, you thought, even after all these years, kissing him felt exactly the same.
“You wanna go checkout?” You smiled, pressing your forehead to his. Fuma laughed softly.
“Five minutes more.”
___________________
Spring had arrived softly that year.
The air in the backyard carried the faint sweetness of blooming jasmine and freshly cut grass, sunlight filtering through the branches of a large maple tree that stretched comfortably across the yard. Someone had strung delicate pastel ribbons between the branches, and they fluttered lazily whenever the breeze passed through.
Tables were arranged across the lawn with soft cream tablecloths, each one decorated with small glass jars filled with pale pink roses and sprigs of baby’s breath. A long wooden table near the patio held the gifts—colorful boxes stacked in cheerful towers. Somewhere near the fence, a group of guests laughed over plastic cups of lemonade and iced tea.
It was the kind of afternoon that felt warm without being heavy, the perfect afternoon for a baby shower.
And the perfect afternoon for Fuma to internally combust whenever he saw you.
You had chosen a soft pastel summer dress for the occasion, the color somewhere between blush pink and pale peach, the fabric light enough to move gently whenever the wind touched it. The hem reached your lower thigh, brushing lightly against your legs as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other.
Your hair caught the sunlight every time you turned your head, strands glowing gold for just a second before settling again. You sat beside the mother to be—your best friend—talking excitedly with animated gestures, your hands moving as laughter erupted.
Even from across the yard, Fuma could hear the brightness in your voice. He leaned casually against the wooden railing of the deck, a plastic cup of lemonade in his hand that he had completely forgotten to drink. His attention was fixed entirely on you, watching the way you smiled when your friend showed you a tiny pair of baby socks.
Something about it made his chest feel tight.
“Man.” The voice beside him cut through his thoughts. Yudai appeared at his shoulder, arms folded as he followed Fuma’s line of sight across the yard. It took him about half a second to realize exactly what his friend had been staring at.
“You look ridiculous.” Yudai snorted, looking ridiculous with a flower crown on his head.
“What?” Fuma said absentmindedly, not moving his eyes away from you.
“You,” Yudai said, pointing directly at his face, “look like a wide eyed idiot.”
That earned him a small huff of laughter from Fuma. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious,” Yudai continued, leaning his elbows on the railing. “You’ve been standing here staring at her for ten minutes like she’s the last person on earth.”
“That obvious?” Fuma finally looked at him. Yudai stared at him for a moment, and then burst out laughing.
“Oh my god, it’s worse than I thought.”
Across the yard, you had crouched down beside the stroller someone had brought as a decoration display, picking up a tiny stuffed bear and holding it up with a delighted smile. Your friend said something excitedly, and the two of you dissolved into laughter.
Fuma turned his attention back to you without even realizing he had done it. The sight made something warm, like coffee steam, settle in his chest.
“Oh wow,” Yudai said slowly, noticing immediately, “How close is your heart to giving out right now?”
Fuma sighed heavily, “Extremely.” The admission slipped out more easily than he expected. Yudai tilted his head, studying him.
“You know,” He said thoughtfully, “I used to think you were exaggerating when you talked about her.”
“What do you mean?” Fuma frowned, turning his attention to his older friend now.
“I mean,” Yudai gestured toward the yard, “the way you talk about her sometimes? I figured it was just normal relationship stuff.” He paused to adjust his falling crown, “But that look on your face right now?” he added with a grin. “That’s like……the exact same expression every male lead in a romance anime makes.”
Fuma leaned back against the railing, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah.” He admitted quietly.
“You’re not even going to deny it?” Yudai blinked, the only time he’d ever seen his friend like this was at an eevee convention.
“What’s the point?” Fuma said, “I didn't marry her for nothing, you know.” His gaze drifted back to you again. You were still laughing with your friend, holding the tiny stuffed bear to your chest, the sunlight catching the soft folds of your dress, making the pastel fabric glow softly.
For a moment you looked angelic.
“I just….love her so much.” Fuma exhaled slowly.
“And?” Yudai’s brow arched.
Fuma watched as you stood up again, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear while listening to someone else talk.
“She’d be such a good mom,” He murmured, almost to himself. Yudai followed his gaze again.
“You’re thinking about that already?” He said, nudging his shoulder.
“It’s been two years already.” Fuma shrugged slightly, “Is that too fast?”
Yudai studied his friend carefully, watching the way his eyes went all droopy and drunk every time his gaze landed on you.
“You’ve got it down bad, man.” A giggle came from Yudai.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Fuma chuckled under his breath.
For a moment they stood there in silence, the sounds of the party drifting through the yard—laughter, soft music playing from a speaker near the patio, the clinking of glasses.
“You should tell her.” Yudai nudged him with his elbow.
“Tell her what?” Fuma blinked at him.
“That.” Yudai said simply.
“What do you mean, ‘that’?” Fuma frowned.
“You know exactly what I mean,” Yudai replied. “If you’re standing here thinking about having kids with her, maybe you should actually say something.”
Fuma hesitated. The idea made his stomach twist slightly. You two hadn't had a proper conversation about kids before getting married—he knew it was an immature thing to do, but love always seemed to make time seem like an ephemeral thing, passing by like the honest wind. And he would rather die than put that burden on you.
“She might think it’s weird.” He said, gaze flickering down to the grass.
“Why?”
“It’s a baby shower.”
“Exactly, you stupid man.”
Fuma blinked at him as Yudai sighed and gestured toward the yard again, clearly done with the lack of romantic tropes in his best friend’s life.
“You’re literally surrounded by baby decorations, gifts, and people talking about parenting. If there’s ever a moment to say something about wanting a future together, this is probably it.”
Fuma glanced back toward you. You had moved closer to the gift table now, examining the olive green baby shirt you had picked out together. The sight made him smile automatically. You looked so proud of that tiny shirt.
And suddenly, without warning, the thought appeared again. A family with you. You laughing in a backyard like this again someday, except the baby everyone was celebrating would be yours. The idea sent a strange mix of excitement and nervousness rushing through him.
“Oooh you’re thinking about it.” Yudai teased, his voice a pitch higher as he giggled at the expression on Fuma’s face, “Go tell her, already!”
Across the yard, you turned slightly, scanning the guests as if searching for someone. For a brief moment, your eyes met, your face lighting up instantly as you waved to him. Fuma felt his heart stumble in his chest as he raised his hand in return without thinking.
“She’s looking at you like you hung the moon,” Yudai said casually.
“You’re exaggerating.” Fuma laughed softly.
“I’m really not.” He nudged Fuma again. “Seriously. Go.”
Fuma looked at you one more time. You were still smiling at him, waiting for him to come over. And suddenly the world felt like the simplest thing ever—just you two in it, sitting atop clouds and drinking lemonade wrapped up in each other’s arms.
“Alright,” He said, “But I’m doing it when we get home.”
“That’s my guy.” Yudai grinned, triumphantly pushing up his crown.
Fuma pushed himself off the railing, setting his untouched drink down on the deck table. As he stepped onto the grass and began walking toward you, the sounds of the party seemed to fade slightly into the background. The only thing he could really focus on was the way your smile grew wider the closer he got.
Love was a simple thing really, or at least the definition of it was.
Every version of it always started with you.
_________________
You stepped through the front door of your home, the faint scent of baby powder and cake from the baby shower still clinging to your clothes. The afternoon had been sweet—eating cake and getting pumped with lemonade as you cooed over baby clothes with your friends. It was one of those rare moments when the world felt like something more than gray matter.
But now, exhaustion tugged at you, and you kicked off your shoes, heading straight for the bathroom. Fuma had left before you did, tugged away by a work call which he apologised at least fifteen times for before you placed your hand on his and told him gently that it was alright.
He was already home; you'd seen his car in the driveway, but the house was quiet, save for the distant hum of the refrigerator.
The hot water cascaded over your skin in the shower, washing away the day's stickiness. You lathered up with your favorite lavender soap, letting the steam fill the small space. By the time you stepped out, wrapping a towel around yourself, the sun was dipping lower outside the window.
You dried off and slipped into your lace camisole and matching panties—soft, sheer fabric that hugged your curves, the delicate patterns whispering against your skin, perfectly comfortable for a lazy evening, you thought, as you padded into the kitchen to make yourself a snack.
Chopping fruits at the counter, you absentmindedly hummed a tune, unaware of the absolute storm brewing behind you. You were completely absorbed in your task, blissfully unaware of his presence.
Fuma stood in the doorway of the kitchen, admiring you from behind. The soft glow of the setting sun cast a warm light across your silhouette, highlighting the curves of your hips.
He stepped closer, his eyes roaming over your body, taking in every detail. The way the soft lace of your camisole clung to your skin, the way the sheer fabric revealed tantalizing glimpses of what lay beneath. He felt a surge of desire, a hunger that grew with each passing moment.
It had been like this ever since the afternoon, ever since the moment you leaned into his touch when he wrapped his arm around your waist to tug you closer whilst you both ate cake. The way you had teasingly sucked on his thumb when he reached to wipe cream off of your lips sent blood rushing everywhere in his body.
His footsteps were silent until they weren't. Suddenly, his presence loomed behind you, heat radiating from his body like a furnace.
“Oh.” You made a soft noise as the smell of soft cotton filled your senses, “Hi baby. Want some strawberries?” You held up a piece to him.
Your husband didn't answer you, his lips finding your neck instead. He began to trail soft kisses along your skin, starting at your collarbone and working his way up. Each kiss sent a shiver down your spine, your body responding to his touch instinctively.
“Alright then, more for me I guess.” You chuckled, used to being bombed with his love randomly at times like this. As he continued to explore your neck with his lips, his hands began to roam, slipping under the hem of your camisole to caress the smooth skin of your stomach. His touch was gentle at first, but as the heat between you grew, his kisses became more urgent, more demanding.
“Fuma, sweetheart, you alright?” You asked, tilting your head back. Before you could turn, his hands gripped your hips, pulling you back against him. His breath was hot against your neck, ragged and urgent.
He nipped at your earlobe, sending another wave of pleasure through you. His hands moved higher, cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until they hardened beneath his touch.
You let out a soft moan, your head falling back against his shoulder, lost in the sensation of his touch. He took advantage of your position, his lips finding the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, and he began to suck and nibble at the skin, leaving a trail of red marks in his wake.
“You’re so beautiful.” Fuma sighed, lips brushing your ear, “Too damn beautiful." Fierce, open-mouthed pressed along the curve of your throat, teeth grazing just enough to send shivers racing down your spine.
Your body arched against him, your hips pressing back into his own. His hands continued to explore, one moving down to slip beneath the waistband of your panties, his fingers brushing against your most intimate area.
You gasped, the knife clattering to the cutting board as your hands braced against the counter. Fuma's worship was consuming; his mouth trailed lower, sucking at the sensitive spot below your jaw.
His arousal pressed hard against your ass through his jeans, unyielding and insistent. He nipped at your shoulder, pushing the strap of your top aside to expose more flesh, his tongue laving over the mark he'd made.
The intensity built like a wildfire, you tried to steady yourself, but Fuma spun you around, backing you against the kitchen wall with a thud that rattled a nearby cabinet. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with lust, as he caged you in—forearms braced on either side of your head.
“So beautiful, darling.” He repeated, crashing his lips to yours in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, devouring you, “Looked so perfect today.” His hands roamed, one sliding up to cup your breast through the lace, thumb circling your nipple until it peaked hard and aching. He broke the kiss only to drop to his knees, his gaze locked on yours, feral and reverent.
“Fuma…” You sighed as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, glancing up once to make sure you’re alright. When you gave him a small nod, he yanked them down your thighs in one swift motion.
You had no idea just what had gotten into your husband today—he was never one to initiate sex, always waiting for your approval and arousal and following through. A gentleman, in many ways.
There was nothing gentleman-ly in the way Fuma gripped your thighs now, his strength unyielding, and hoisted your legs over his broad shoulders, god his strength turned you on so much.
The idea that this man could you probably crush you between his arms with one gentle squeeze, and yet here he was, worshiping your pussy like it was his only diety—werent you the luckiest woman on earth? Your back pressed flat against the wall, the rough texture scraping lightly as he buried his face between your legs.
His mouth was ravenous, sweet tongue flat and broad, he licked a long stripe up your slit, savoring your taste with a guttural moan that vibrated through you. “So sweet for me, darling.” Fuma praised, words muffled as he delved deeper.
He sucked your clit between his lips, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, relentless in his assault, as you practically rode his face. Your hands flew to his hair, tugging at the dark strands as the pleasure coiled tight in your belly. Fuma's grip tightened, holding you open, his nose bumping your mound with each eager thrust of his tongue inside you.
He ate you like a man starved, alternating between broad laps that coated his chin with your arousal and precise circles around your swollen nub. One hand slid up your inner thigh, fingers teasing your entrance before plunging two inside, curling them against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. It was his favourite spot, the way it made his pretty wife shake in his grasp always made his dick twitch.
“Fuma!” You cried out, hips bucking involuntarily, “Right there, right—ahh fuckkkk…” Fuma pinned you firmer, devouring every drop as your thighs trembled over his shoulders.
“Relax, baby.” He urged, “Let go for me, that’s a good girl.”
The pressure built until it snapped—your orgasm crashed over you, walls clenching around your husband’s fingers as you flooded his mouth, body arching off the wall. You cried out his name, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm. He held you close as you rode out the waves of pleasure, his own breathing ragged as he watched you come undone in his arms.
When it was over, he pulled back slightly, looking up at you with his beautiful eyes. “Are you alright, darling?”
“That was….” You breathed, as he lowered your legs gently and rose, “What horny demon possessed you today, my dearest husband?”
“I’ve been asking the same question.” Fuma chuckled, claiming your mouth in a deep kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, “It's just….”
Fuma stopped in his tracks as he saw the way you looked at him, wide, loving eyes that held nothing but trust in them. God he felt so stupid, he could have just told you what he wanted. But—akin to a spoiled child—he had to go and fulfill his whims, and now he didn't know how to breach the subject.
“What happened baby?” You tilted your head, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek. Fuma melted into your palm, closing his eyes for a brief second, letting himself get lost in the cotton of your touch.
“You know how we were at the baby shower?”
“Uh huh.” You said, suppressing a giggle.
“And you know how we went to shop for baby clothes the other day?”
“Baby—”
“I want to do that again.” Fuma pressed a soft kiss to your palm, “I want to do that all over again, but—” His hold on your waist tightened, as if to ground himself, “—I want to do that for our family.”
When you married Fuma, a little voice in your head had told you that this would be the man you’d spent the rest of your life with, and it had asked you, are you sure? And you had answered back, yes. If life was three seconds, three days, three months or thirty years long, this man would be the person you’d spend the rest of it with. To run through dandelion fields, to talk about everything and nothing all at once under a starry sky, to celebrate the poetry of life with.
“Our family?” You repeated softly.
Fuma nodded once, though the movement was small. “Yeah.” His heart was beating fast now, faster than he would have liked, suddenly looking far less confident than he had a moment ago. “I mean—not right this second,” He added quickly. “I’m not trying to rush you or anything like that.”
You couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your face at that. Your husband looked like a child in trouble.
“But…” He continued, searching for the right words. “Standing there today, watching you with your friend, seeing how excited you were about everything…” He glanced down briefly, then back at you again. “You’d be amazing.” He said quietly.
“Amazing?” Your expression softened.
“A mom.” The word seemed to surprise the both of you. Fuma laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck again.
“See, this is why I didn’t plan to say this out loud.” He muttered, the tips of his ears turning faintly red.
“You’re doing great so far.” You laughed softly. He looked at you carefully, trying to read your expression.
“I just—” He paused, then tried again. “When I think about the future, you’re always there, every version of it.” You didn’t interrupt him this time. “And today just made it… clearer, I guess,” He finished.
Fuma reached up to brush a strand of your hair back behind your ears, another shuddering breath from him as he saw how damn beautiful you were. Two years of marriage and he still couldn't help but feel like a stupid 20 year old boy everytime he looked at you.
“You really thought about this a lot, didn’t you?” You asked
“A little.”
“Fuma.” You raised a brow.
“Okay.” He admitted. “A lot.”
That made you laugh again. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly when he heard it. Then you reached up again, your hand returning to his cheek.
“And what if I said—” You smiled sheepishly, “—I thought about it too?”
Fuma didn't know if it was relief or something else that washed over him at your words.
“Say sike right now.”
“Oh god Fuma.” You laughed, slapping his chest, “What has Maki been teaching you?” You laughed with him for a second before sighing and smiling softly, “If I’m being a hundred percent honest…the thought has come into my mind a few times, especially whenever you held a baby.” You ran a tongue over your lips, “You look exceptionally dashing when you do that.”
“Dashing?” Fuma cocked a brow, eyes flickering to your lips, “Go on.”
“Well,” You continued, “It’s been two years already.” Your hand reached down slowly, “And we’re both logical adults.” You palmed his cock, “And we’re both very horny right now.” He was already so hard beneath your touch, “And I don’t think I can sleep without another orgasm tonight."
Whatever Fuma did in his past life to get you in this one, he was thankful he did it. He let out a soft groan as you palmed his cock straining through his pants. God you were such a perfect fucking wife.
“You’re sure darling?” Fuma asked, “It’s a really big decision you know.”
“Good that I make really nice decisions then hm?” You squeezed his hard length through his pants, a playful smile on your lips, “Need you so bad Fuma.” You rocked your hips against his, fluttering your lashes.
Fuma groaned at your words, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily into your touch. "You're going to be the death of me."
With that, he scooped you up into his arms, carrying you off to the bedroom with a determined stride. The mattress dipped under his weight as he laid you down, the lace camisole still clinging to your sweat-damp skin, his eyes roaming over your body with a hungry gaze. Two years of marriage and he was still putty beneath the power of your gorgeous face.
Fuma crawled onto the bed, covering your body with his own. He kissed you deeply, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you—though you were already his. His hands roamed over your body, caressing every inch of your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
Your husband took a moment to admire your chest, running his thumbs over your hardened nipples. You gasped at the contact, arching your back to press yourself further into his touch.
Fuma stripped quickly—shirt tossed aside, sweats kicked off—revealing his toned body, cock thick and straining, tip red hot and angry. He slowly (very very agonizingly slowly) settled between your thighs, propping himself on one elbow while his free hand traced lazy patterns over your hip.
“You’re so beautiful, darling." He breathed, repeating the same praise for the fifteenth time that evening, eyes tracing every inch with worshipful intensity. His fingers dipped lower, gathering your lingering wetness before circling your entrance teasingly.
Slowly, so slowly, he pushed one thick finger inside you, watching your face as your pussy stretched around the intrusion.
“So damn tight….gonna have to work her open first, yeah?” Fuma pumped it in and out, deliberate strokes that had you mewling, the earlier orgasm leaving you hypersensitive. He added a second finger, scissoring them gently, stretching your walls with patient precision.
Fuma leaned down, kissing your collarbone, then your breasts, sucking a nipple through the lace until it was soaked and translucent. “I love you, my darling.” he murmured against your skin, his voice a mix of ferocity and adoration, “My everything, sweetheart.”
“Fuma—feel so good…..fuck!” His fingers curled inside you, stroking that inner ridge over and over, building the heat anew.
You writhed beneath him, hands clutching the sheets, as he worked you open—three fingers now, thrusting deep, preparing you for what was to come. The room filled with the wet sounds of his fingers fucking you, your moans echoing off the walls.
He kept the pace languid, draaawing out every sensation, his free hand pinning your wrist above your head in a gentle hold.
“Taking me so good, my darling.” Fuma’s eyes never left yours, passionate and intense, as another climax built, slower this time, like the coming of a spring, “Let go for me, go on.”
When it hit, it washed through you in waves, your pussy fluttering around his fingers, pulling him deeper. Your husband groaned, withdrawing at last, his cock twitching against your thigh.
“Alright, baby?” Fuma asked, gentle faze tracing over your twitching body. Cute, he thought, she’s shaking from just my fingers.
“Fumaaa…” You whined, bringing your hand up to stroke his jaw, looking at him though half lidded eyes, “Want your cock, please?”
Your husband was a….large man. Compared to others atleast, fucking hell was he built like a truck—one of the many reasons you married him. He was big in every aspect, broad shoulders and chest, thick fucking fingers (the fluid dripping down your thighs was proof it only took one deep plunge to make you cum), and perhaps the fattest cock you had ever seen in your life.
And by god did it fill his ego to the brim to see you struggle to take him.
His pretty little wife.
“Ready darling?” Your husband asked, all formal, as if anything was formal about that dick, positioning himself.
“Just put it in already.” You huffed, wrapping your legs round his waist to bring him closer. You needed him right now.
“So impatient baby.” He chuckled, tilting his head, “And if it doesn't fit? You know it never fits in the first try.”
Technically speaking, your husband was correct. Two damn years and you could never take him all in the first go. He had to make you cum at least three times to get you wet enough. But speaking from your horny brain, you did not give a fuck.
“I’ll make it fit.” You said, voice breathy, “Please, Fuma? I’ll be your good girl, I swear.” He groaned at your words, his hips twitching forward slightly as if seeking more of your touch.
“Well, who am I to deny such a pretty girl?” He purred, hovering above you, his cock heavy and throbbing against your slick folds, the broad head nudging your entrance. You moaned at the contact, your hips bucking up as if it were a conditioned reflex.
You could feel the stretch already, just from that initial press, your pussy still fluttering from the slow fingering that had left you open and aching for more. Fuma gripped the base of his cock, guiding it with deliberate slowness, but as he pushed forward, only the tip breached you before resistance met him—your walls clenching tight around the intrusion, too snug even after all his preparation.
Fuma let out a cocky laugh as he took his time, savoring the feeling of your right heat as he slooowly pushed inside. He groaned, low and frustrated, his hips twitching as he tried to sink deeper.
“So fucking small.” Fuma rasped, eyes locking onto yours with a mix of lust and amusement, “Pussy’s so damn small—pretty thing can’t even take half of me, yeah?”
“F-Fuma slow down!” You gasped, your hands reaching for him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you held on for dear life, “Fuck—hah oh god Fuma too much!”
“Tch tch.” Your husband clicked his tongue, “I don’t think I’m the problem here darling.” He leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, “You’re just—” thrust, “too” thrust, “small.” Your body shook like a dandelion in the wind as he forced his fat fucking cock into you, “Fuck she’s gripping me—ahh—like she wants to keep me out.” He rocked forward again, forcing another inch inside, but your body rebelled, muscles fluttering and squeezing in protest, “Does she want me out, my darling?”
You whimpered, hands fisting the sheets, the burn of the stretch mingling with sharp pleasure. Fuma chuckled darkly, pulling back just enough to let you breathe before thrusting shallowly, teasing your entrance with the thick ridge of his cockhead.
“Look at you, all worked up and still too tight for your husband.” His free hand trailed up your thigh, thumb pressing into the soft flesh as he watched your face contort—lips parted, brows furrowed in that exquisite mix of pain and need. “What am I supposed to do with a wife who milks me like this? Can't even fit all the way in without—fuck—a fight.” Fuma loved this part, the way your body yielded inch by inch, proving how perfectly you were made for him, even if it took effort.
You arched your back, trying to ease him in, but he held your hips steady, controlling the pace. “Calm down sweetheart.” His voice was gravelly, “You said you’ll make it fit, so we’re going to make it fit.”
He pumped in and out of that shallow depth, the wet slide of your arousal coating him, but he couldn't bury himself fully—not yet. Frustration edged his teasing, his breaths coming harsher as he ground against you, clit catching the friction of his pubic bone on each nudge.
Finally, the playfulness snapped. With a feral growl, Fuma's hands clamped onto your thighs, fingers digging into the meat of them hard enough to bruise.
He pulled your legs up roughly, folding them back against your chest in one swift motion—the mating press that pinned you open and vulnerable beneath him. Your knees nearly touched your shoulders, pussy splayed wide and exposed, the angle forcing your walls to part just enough.
“Theeere we go.” Fuma grunted, satisfaction lacing his tone as he aligned himself again. “Now you'll take it all, like the good girl you are.”
Surging forward, his cock speared into you in a single, brutal thrust, bottoming out with a slap of skin on skin. You cried out, the fullness overwhelming—his girth splitting you wide, the head of his dick kissing your cervix in a deep, unyielding press.
It burned, god did it fucking burn, the stretch bordering on too much, but the pleasure crashed in right after, your pussy clenching greedily around his length. Fuma didn't give you time to adjust; he pulled back almost to the tip and slammed back in, setting a punishing rhythm that rocked your body against the mattress.
“Fuck, yes—feel that? How deep I am now?” He panted, hips snapping forward relentlessly, each thrust driving him balls deep into your core.
The position kept you locked in place, unable to escape the onslaught, your thighs quivering from the strain as he folded you tighter. His weight bore down, chest pressing your legs further, turning you into a pliant vessel for his cock. He fucked you hard, the bed creaking under the force, your pussy squelching around him with every plunge—wet, obscene sounds filling the room alongside your moans and his grunts.
Sweat slicked his skin, dripping onto your chest as he rutted into you like an animal, chasing that primal need that had been resting in his chest ever since he saw you with a baby in your arms.
“Gonna fill you up.” He mumbled into your ear, lips brushing the shell as he nipped at your lobe, “Pump you so full—hah you’re so tight baby. You want that sweetheart? Wanna have our kids?”
“Fuma!” His words sent heat flooding your veins, your walls fluttering around his pistoning cock, pulling him deeper as if your body agreed, “Fuma fuck! Yes yes yes!” All your senses were gone at this point.
He shifted his angle slightly, grinding against that sensitive spot inside you with each thrust, the friction on your clit from his body adding layers of sensation. You were lost in it, head thrown back, nails raking down his back as pleasure built relentlessly. Fuma's pace never faltered—rough, demanding, fucking you into oblivion as promised.
“Take it darling.” His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing firm circles, pushing you toward the edge, “Take every fucking drop—ahhh god you’re squeezing me so tight.”
The first orgasm hit you like a freight train, ripping through your core as your pussy spasmed around his cock, milking him in tight pulses. You screamed his name, vision blurring, body convulsing in the tight fold of the mating press.
Fuma groaned, feeling you clamp down, but he didn't stop—thrusting through it, prolonging the waves until you were sobbing from the intensity. “One more, darling, just one more, I promise.”
He kept pounding, the overstimulation making every slide of his cock electric, your sensitivity heightening the drag of his veins against your walls. His free hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he chased his own release, but he focused on you—thumb pressing harder on your clit, hips rolling to hit that spot over and over.
“Fuck baby, go on—milk me dry. Show me how much you want our kids.” The words, combined with the relentless fucking, coiled the tension anew, faster this time, your body already primed.
You shattered a second time, orgasm crashing harder, your pussy gushing around him, soaking his balls as you clenched and released in rhythmic waves. Fuma cursed, the vice of your walls tipping him over.
With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, cock pulsing as he came—hot spurts of cum flooding your depths, painting your womb white. He ground against you, ensuring every drop stayed inside, his growl vibrating through your joined bodies.
“Full…….so fucking full for me.” Fuma had no idea what he was saying, dick and mind already milked to the brim, collapsing forward slightly, still folded over you as aftershocks rippled through both of you.
He stayed like that for long minutes, cock softening inside your bred pussy, plugging his cum deep. Only when your breaths evened did he ease your legs down, kissing your forehead softly as he pulled out.
“Shit.” You sighed as you felt him ease out, leaving you empty. Fuma cupped your cheek in his palm, tilting your face to look at you properly.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“Emotionally or physically?” You chuckled, fighting the urge to fall asleep right there and then, “Because emotionally, I won’t accept anything else other than all that for sex after this.”
“All that?” Fuma chuckled, sliding down next to you, warmth radiating off his body, “You sure we’ll even be able to have sex after all that?”
“Oh shut up.” You laughed, tossing one leg over his to tangle yourself in his grasp, “It takes people at least three attempts to get pregnant.”
“We can be an exception darling.” Fuma laughed, melting into your touch as the lady of the night pulled you both into her arms.
The two faint lines two weeks later proved you to be the exception, indeed.
SYNOPSIS: You and Jisung agree to go on a double date with Mark and his new talking stage. When you were getting ready for your day out, you asked Jisung for his opinion, but there was only silence from him. When you urge him to pay attention to you, things get frisky.
OR
You and Park Jisung fuck before a double date.
PAIRING: nonidol!pjs x fem+poc!reader
FEATURING: Mark of NCT
WORD COUNT: ~2.9k
CONTENT: MDNI, more porn than plot ngl, unprotected sex(plz wrap it up in this economy), thigh fucking, thigh riding, clothed grinding, cunnilingus slightly, multiple orgasms, neck grabbing, teasing, Jisung is mean in the most downbad way possible, slight voyerism(?), nipple play, nipple sucking, breast fondling, fingering, cum play(?), cum eating, begging, pet names(for y/n: pretty, pretty girl, baby; for both: love), creampie, squirting, probably more but idk
NOTES: first time writing a smutty fic, kinda nervous :/
“You’re not even taking this seriously,” you pout with your arms crossed and an eye roll. Are you throwing a slight tantrum? Maybe. Was the eye roll really needed? Probably not, but to you, your reaction wasn’t enough.
You and Jisung were about to go on a double date with Mark and his new talking stage. With Mark being one of your closest friends, you knew his social awkwardness could sometimes get in the way of his love life. And being one of the greatest friends ever, you decided to help him bag her.
Now the reason you're upset is that you were trying to get Jisung to help you pick out your outfit, but he wasn’t entertaining it. “I am taking this seriously,” Jisung presses the side of his phone, blackening the screen and waving it in your face. “See?”
“Kitten heels or platform flip flops?”
“Kitten heels, the platforms usually hurt your feet about an hour in.”
“You know me too well, but it’s about which one looks better,” you push.
“Of course I do pretty, but I promise they both look great.” Jisung leans forward to grip your hips, softly pulling you towards him. A small smile creeps onto your face as you drag your legs towards him and wrap your arms around his neck. His fingers loosen, tracing along the hemline of your capris. You dip your head down, letting your lips hover over his jaw, giving small kisses every so often.
“You know we have to leave in 10, right?” you question more towards yourself than him. He slows the movement of one hand before dragging it up your face to stall your teasing. His eyes that were once closed in bliss are now flicking between your glossed lips and hooded eyes. His hand pulls your face towards his, lips capturing yours. Any words or protests that were conjured up in your mind soon died as you gave in to his touch. His left hand is still rubbing circles on your exposed skin—His right floating back down, past your hips and to your ass. He grips the muscle through your thrifted capris, earning a small whimper from you.
You sift one hand through his hair on the back of his head, tugging ever-so-slightly. He grunts, breaking your kiss to dip down into your neck. He kisses along your scented skin, earning more sounds from you. “We have to leave,” you breathe out heavily. He hums in response, still peppering your skin and massaging your hips. A small lick is splayed right where you were hoping he wouldn’t. Your last bit of power is dwindling faster than you’d like.
His fingers soon find their way to your peekaboo thong, fiddling with the cloth. Your hands find his to pause his advances. “Please, love, we have to go,” you plead, head tilted back, neck still sustaining his abuse.
“I thought you wanted my attention?” He questions. “I’m giving it to you, undivided.” His lips are progressing down the valley of your breasts, and your mind is stuck on whether or not you actually need to go on this double date. Mark can’t be that helpless… right?
As if it’s on queue, your phone starts ringing piercingly loud. You lean over to grab your phone off the bed, Jisung now being used for balance. “Hello?”
“Yn, where are you and Jisung?” Mark’s voice sounds slightly panicked.
“Like 15 minutes away, you good?” Jisung pops a smirk after witnessing you lie straight through your teeth.
“Yeah I’m fine, just wondering.” Translation: “It’s getting awkward, and I need help.” Jisung’s previously ignored advances soon catch up to you in one vicious moment. He swiftly pulls at your halter top, exposing your chest. His mouth engulfs your nipple, sucking and flicking just the way you like. Your mouth hangs open in shock and pleasure.
“We’ll be there soon,” you say, trying not to moan in Mark’s ear. You were hoping he would take that as an indication to hang up, but he soon started up another conversation with you. You keep your responses short and sweet, but not enough to be dismissive.
Jisung pulls you even closer to him, forcing you to straddle his thigh. The pressure of your heat on his thigh entices you, but you try to keep it cool. Your boyfriend has other plans. As soon as he feels you shiver, he smiles knowingly. He continues sucking on your nipples, testing with different speeds and techniques, but then he starts moving your hips. Your covered heat is grinding against his toned thighs, yearning for some sort of relief. You take your hand that was once resting on his shoulder to cover your mouth. Though your moans were small, Mark can be attentive, and you weren’t looking to be embarrassed. You look at Jisung through hooded eyes, begging for mercy, but it doesn’t seem like it's coming anytime soon.
He unbuttons your jeans to allow you a little more freedom. Switching hands that’s holding your phone, you clasp onto Jisung’s wrist before he can pull back from your zipper fully. You take his hand and slide it to your tits, pushing him to fondle you for a moment. Smirking, you lean into his warmth and begin moving his hand again. You move his hand up, first to your neck for a brief moment, and then suck his middle fingers in your mouth. You take your phone away from your ear while Mark is still talking, put it on speaker, and set yourself to mute. You turn your attention back to your boyfriend, taking his fingers out of your mouth. You guide his glistening fingers back down, “Please touch me.” His eyes darken at your actions, and he complies. His wet fingers slide into your panties and begin circling your clit. You bite your lip and begin grinding against his fingers. You lay your head on his shoulder, sucking on his neck while you try to grind for your release. He prods at your entrance, making you whine. You try to angle yourself so that he slips inside you, but he purposefully avoids it.
“Do you want my fingers that badly?” He tilts his head mockingly.
“Please,” you moan out.
“Hmm, what was that?”
“Please, love. I need you inside me. Please.” How could he refuse when you begged him so well? He slips a finger inside you, the ache sitting in your stomach relieved. Much to your dismay, he pulls out his finger, but only to circle your entrance and add another finger. “Oh fuck,” you shiver as you watch him bring the thumb of his other hand to your mouth. You suck in the extremity, circling it with your tongue. He peppers your face with kisses before dragging his thumb out of your mouth. He watches you intensely as he begins to massage your clit with his wet thumb. Your hips buck towards him in want, and your moans quicken along with his pace.
“Hello? Hello?” Marks says, still on the line.
“Shit,” you say as you come back to reality slightly. You pick up the phone quickly, unmuting it, “Yeah, I’m still here, keep going.” You draw out the end of your sentence by accident, hoping he doesn’t notice.
“Are you sure? I mean, we’ve been talking on the phone for 15 minutes, and that’s how long you said it would take you to get here.”
Jisung curls his finger just right, hitting the spongy flesh that makes you roll your eyes to the back of your head. “Oh my god,” you whisper-moan out.
“Are you okay?”
Using his relatively freer hand, Jisung grabs the phone from you as you clinch, wanting him even deeper.
“Yeah, she’s fine,” he finishes for you. “Look, we’ll be there in like an hour. She’s taking a little too long getting ready.” He hangs up before the conversation can get any more detailed about your time management. Phone thrown to the side, he immediately goes back to circling your clit.
“Mmm, fuck,” you moan out. You slide your hands down, over his defined chest, to palm him through his pants. You lift your head slightly to whisper in his ear, “I want you deeper.” You whimper and nibble on his ear, coercing him into giving you what you ask.
“Aw, you want my dick, pretty?” He picks up the pace, curling his fingers in and out of you. “How much do you want it? Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”
“Want it so bad, please.”
“Of course, baby,” he pouts at you mockingly. He pulls his fingers out of you slowly, bringing them to his mouth, moaning at the taste. “Mmm, pretty will always get what she wants,” He says as he grabs your neck, kissing you longingly.
Jisung stands you up and follows along, towering over you. He lifts the bottom of your shirt, pulling it over your head and watching your breasts bounce free. He throws your shirt elsewhere and pushes down your jeans and thong to reveal your wet heat. He spins you around and bends you over your queen-sized bed.
Jisung rids himself of his own clothing and pushes himself against your bottom. He slips his length in the tight space between your thighs and your pussy—tilting his head back in immediate ecstasy. “Shit,” he groans, “I could cum just from this—You always feel so good for me.” His hands float around your body, stopping at your ass. He caresses the flesh before spreading your asscheeks, displaying your glistening pussy. Jisung lets spit drip from his mouth onto your aching hole and sinks 3 fingers in you this time. The stretch isn’t something new, but it still has you rolling your hips back and tightening your thighs around his dick.
“Don’t get too antsy, pretty, you know I’ll always give you more.” Jisung stalls his prodding to pull you up, back against his chest. He freckles your shoulders with kisses as he begins rubbing your clit again. He teases his tip at your entrance, “Should I really give you my dick? Are you sure you deserve it?” He pushes the tip against you enough to make you feel the pressure, but not enough to enter you.
You wiggle your hips in hopes that he’d slip in, “Give it to me.”
“Why should I? I thought I wasn’t paying attention?” You roll your eyes at his comment, ignoring his antics. “Hmm, pretty?”
“Just fuck me,” you complain, still rolling your hips.
“What? You can’t wait a few extra seconds to answer me?” He antagonizes. Losing your patience, you grab his length, position it right where you need, and slide down.
“You’re so big,” you mewl. Despite his thin yet muscular stature, Jisung’s dick was girthy on top of his 7 inches. You fuck yourself on his thick length, refusing to bottom out.
In response to your actions, he immediately lifts you all the way onto the bed. “You’re too impatient, pretty, but I don’t blame you,” he says seductively as he sucks at the nape of your neck. You shiver at his actions, and he continues, “If you’re going fuck yourself, at least do it right.” As soon as he finishes his sentence, he slams into you, making sure you take every inch.
He glides in and out of you, gripping your hips, pushing your back down so it curves. Your eyes roll back as you sink further into the bed. Moans and whimpers bounce off the walls. You reach down between your legs to massage your clit. The combination of his rough thrusts and your quick circles makes you clench. “That feels good, baby?” He panders.
“S’good, fuck. It’s so good!”
“Really, baby?” He lays your body all the way flat, grinding as deep as he can into your cunt. Your moans double in volume.
“I’m going to cum!” You moan out.
“What do you say, pretty?” He taunts, voice shaky.
“Please!” You beg as you quicken your pace on your clit. Jisung immediately ups the intensity, forcing you over the edge. You squeeze around him, coming undone. He slows down to keep himself from cumming and letting you come off your high. Twitching, you hoarsely say, “I want another. Give me another.”
“Pretty’s sounding greedy—but what did you expect, baby? You thought I would leave you with only one orgasm? I’m not that harsh, love.” They both knew he wasn’t harsh at all. Jisung would give you the world on a platter if he could—why wouldn’t he give you multiple orgasms?
Jisung pulls out of you slowly before turning you over onto your back. He shuffles in between your thighs, spreading you open a bit. He dips his fingers inside you and plays with your lips. Your body convulses at the overstimulation, but you can’t help but yearn for more.
You take your hand and spit on it a bit. Gripping his length, you slowly rub back and forth. “Yeah, just like that pretty girl,” he grunts. He lets you rub him for a minute while he caresses your thighs. You guide his tip to your heat and slide it between your folds. You both shudder at the feeling, wanting to be connected again.
Moving your hand out of the way, he pushes into you slowly and deep. This is exactly what you wanted and how you wanted it. He never fails to please you exactly the way you want. Of course, in the beginning of your relationship, it took some time to understand one another, but he has always been attentive and loving.
He bottoms out on you and begins grinding slowly. “Shit, shit, shit,” you loll out, “it’s too deep.”
“It’s too deep, pretty?” He feigns remorse, getting closer to your ear, “I don’t think it is. Your pussy keeps trying to pull me in further.”
“It’s just so good, you always feel so good.” You begin moaning his name over and over again as he quickens his pace. He lifts your hips and pulls your pelvis flat against him, making you grind on him in missionary. “Pleaseee,” you moan.
“What do you need from me, baby?” You don’t respond, too focused on quickening the motion of your pelvis. Jisung leans back onto his calves, pulling you closer and forcing your back to bend farther. This pushes his dick into you differently than before—tip pelting your G-spot. Your pussy begins to gush, the squelching making it sound much too explicit in your room.
“Oh fuck I’m cumming, Jisung, please let me cum,” you beg over and over.
“Come on, pretty, cum on my dick,” he says. “I wanna fill you up so bad.” His words send you over the edge, plummeting into the second orgasm of your escapades. You’re twitching and squeezing him inside, and you feel him pulse—reaching the high you've peaked at twice now. He starts filling you up deep, speed slowed, but still pounding your pussy. He mumbles lovingly to you while grinding in and out of your cunt. "You're the only one for me, love. Your pussy is so good, the only one who can make me feel like this. I love you so much, pretty."
His words and continuous abuse of your pussy flip a switch within you. “I’m gonna cum again,” you moan, “you fill me so good.” Feeling you start to squeeze him for your third orgasm, he ruts into you while kissing you tenderly. Overstimulation catching up with him—he hurriedly plays with your nipples. The slight pinch and flick motion of his fingers sends you tumbling into your orgasm. “Shit!” You push him out of you, gripping the sheets and tensing heavily. Irratically jerking your hips up, you soak his dick and the sheets below you. Jisung notices tears slipping out of your eyes, and he's quick to kiss them away.
“Fuck love, you wet the sheets,” He pokes fun at you, trying to lighten up your intense high. You’re too busy trying to come down to notice what he said. You go to close your legs, but you twitch and mewl at the compression.
“S’good,” you moan, looking at him through hooded eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he starts, “I’ll fuck you again.” You roll your eyes and pull him closer to you. You peck his lips once, twice, and soon he is kissing and caressing you passionately again.
Your phone blares—“Mark” displayed in all caps. “Okay, we actually have to go now.”
"Yo, you're 2 hours late!" Mark exclaims.
"Actually, an hour and a half," you correct matter-of-factly. You say a quick "Hi" to his date, Sanai, and give her a quick side hug.
"Same shit," he grunts, "what even took you so long?" You try to come up with a quick excuse, but instead, your brain sends you back to relive the events of earlier. Both Mark and Sanai look at you expectantly, but you've got nothing—you shrug. "What's that on your shoulder?" Mark asks. You jump back quickly before he can touch the "bruise" on your neck that you hoped your curls would cover. Jisung smirks at your interaction, not even trying to hide his content. "No way!" He yells after you, "You were late cause you wanted some dick?"
"Nuh Uh!" You rush away from him as quickly as you can in your COACH kitten heels.
he posted this pic on his story and i dropped my pants in preparation
bsf!seonghwa x f!reader
content: teaching you how to ride, slow and wet, eye contact, choking
wc: 2.3k
thinking about seonghwa...
“never?” he murmurs, nibbling on his inner cheek as he gives you a once-over. not in disbelief, but something else. something dangerous.
you shake your head. “nope.” you shrug and pick up your phone again and start to scroll through your settings apps. “but it’s not a big deal, really, it’s just another thing to cross off the bucket list.”
seonghwa snorts and peeks over to snoop at your phone, to which you angle it away from him with an annoyed scowl. “i think it may be a little more serious than that.”
you type gibberish into the search bar. "why does it have to be serious, hwa? it's just sex."
its seonghwa's turn to scoff this time, and he pinches the skin of your calf, you swat at him with your free hand. but he does it again, and you bite out an irritated "quit it" as he starts to speak again.
"thats a bad mindset to have, y'know that right?" he lowers his voice to that annoying, mothering tone he uses with you when he thinks you're being stupid. "it should never be "just sex."
"okay yeah, but you can't be so picky and choosy all the time. i'm sure ill get with some guy and when he figures it out, he'll work with me or whatever. teach me or something." you speak of it fleetingly, like it was nothing more than a pesky errand.
seonghwa snatches your phone from you and shoves it into the couch cushions, and you sigh loudly.
"some guy?" he questions with a raise of his eyebrow. you move to fish your phone out of the couch, but he reaches out and gently grabs your wrist, encasing it in his slender fingers and rubbing his thumb over your thrumming pulse point.
"why not me?" he speaks lowly, and you snap your eyes up to his. he stares back at you with an intensity that settles low in your gut. his thumb stroked over your inner wrist slowly, and his other hand twitched at his side on the couch.
the air went thick, the quiet of his living room felt encased in a bubble, and the warmth of his skin suddenly burned.
he sees it. your thighs clenching beneath your body, the conflict flashing over your eyes, your free hand digging its nails into the cushion.
when you don't respond, he lets his eyes fall to where his hand held your wrist, watching with illustrated intent as he traces patterns against the fragile skin.
"i could show you, i've always been told i'm a good teacher." seonghwa tickles the skin of your palm with gentle scratches of his nails.
"thats what friends are for, yeah?" he lifts his pretty eyes back up to you, and something else has shadowed over them, and you feel something inside of you crack. you're aware of the way veins in his hands flow prettily under his skin.
the way his collarbones peak through the thin fabric of his shirt. the slick shine on his bottom lip where he licked to wet it. his tongue poked against his inner cheek and his eyebrows raised again to urge an answer out of you.
"c'mon pretty, don't leave me hanging." his voice is softer than usual, a new tone lacing it you've never heard from your best friend, something heated, something needy.
if deciding to have your best friend teach you how to ride dick was a bad idea, then you could mull on it later. because it wasn't long until he was sitting under you on the couch, legs spread nice and wide, his hands pressing into your hips where he held your body above him.
you straddled him, your thighs resting on either side of his, your knees pressed into the rough fabric of the couch cushions. your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into the flesh of the blades.
he looks up at you through his lashes, as if you were a gift from god himself, his eyebrows knit together so prettily. "its fun up there, huh?" he smiles, dragging his warm hands up your thighs, holding you like you might melt and slip through his fingers.
you could barely keep yourself together; he was so deep inside of you. your thighs shook around him, his tip nudging against that spot so sweet and so dirty. his fingers kneaded the flesh of your hips, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth with a quiet moan when he felt your cunt clench around him.
"it helps that you're, ah… so wet…" his voice cracks lightly, his cock twitching inside of you and sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.
you shiver and grip his shoulders a little harder, and you begin to lift your hips, but his grip on them tightens, and he pushes you right back down until your ass hits his thighs again, and you groan nice and low as he fills you all the way up again.
"no-no-no-no-no, baby, stop. don't lift." he presses his lips to your collarbone and kisses you there softly, running his tongue over the skin warmly. one hand leaves your hip and runs over your waist before he presses his palm flat against your lower back and pushes until you arch a little.
just enough that he somehow slips deeper into you, and you let out a weak whine when his fat tip presses ever harder against that spot.
"grind." he instructs in a gravelly, soft moan. "rock your hips, back and forth. it'll help me hit that spot for you."
you shake and whimper under your breath, but you obey. you gently move your hips forward, and the feeling is immediate, his cock drags against your soft walls just enough that it feels like pure heaven.
you move your hands and card them through the hair at the back of his head, cradling his skull in your arms as you hide your face in the crook of his neck, moaning softly against his skin as you rock your hips, nice and slow.
it helps that he's so big, each roll of your lower body has him slipping in and out of you just enough to stimulate you, but not enough to where you can consider him fucking you. his tip dragging against that spot like a constant button, your legs shaking uncontrollaby and your whine brushing past his ear like a song.
your clit lightly brushes against his abs, where his shirt has ridden up over his lower stomach. he keeps his hand on your lower back, keeping you arched all the while his other hand stays glued to your hips, pushing and pulling on your lower body, helping you grind his cock into your body.
"there, how's that feel, baby? good?" he whispers in your ear, kissing just below your earlobe as he helps you rock your body around his cock.
you nod against his neck, gripping his soft, dark hair harder and choking out a moan when he teases you with a heavy lift of his hips. then you feel as he encases your hips with both his hands again, and gently he lifts your body ever so slightly.
you squeeze his head even harder, seonghwa's soft moans shaking in his throat as he lifts and pushes your cunt back down on his cock in slow, deep intervals. "don't stop rocking those hips, keep fucking me like you want. grind, deep, slow…"
he guides you perfectly, each time he lifts your hips himself it makes you clench around him harder. you start to feel a little desperate, and your hips start to move a little faster, rocking with a little more rhythm, but seonghwa didn't like that.
one hand finds the back of your neck and grabs it firmly, pulling your head away from his shoulder and pressing your forehead to his. suddenly all you can see is his eyes, and it overwhelms you to the point of tears. you whine pathetically when he thrusts his cock up into your pussy so sharply that a drop of drool falls from your lips onto his chest.
"easy…" he grumbles against your lips, his breath fanning over your face in low, heavy pants. "slow down pretty, no need to rush." his nails dig into the back of your neck, and you shiver when he starts to grind his own hips up into you, so deep it has your stomach caving.
"if i wanted you pounded into the floor i would've put you on your back, but i'm teaching you sweetness. listen to me." his eyes fall low-lidded as you resume your slow grinding, and his mouth falls open in a pretty moan when you tighten around him, the sound of your slickness loud in your ears.
"it's your dick right now, baby, use it. do what feels good, but don't lose your head." he keeps up the torturous movement of his hips, a choreographed grind that makes his stomach roll prettily.
he doesn't let you look away, forcing you to lock in on his needy gaze while he keeps you filled up with him, nudging every deep spot, every nook and cranny of your pussy. there wasn't a single space inside of you that remained untouched.
"s, t-too, mm-" you tried to talk, try to tell him how good you were feeling but it came out in slurred babbles, and he laughed at you. his warm breath shudders over your parted lip,s and he nudges his head up, melding his soft lips with yours and kissing you deep and nasty.
his tongue fills your mouth with a purr, curling and essentially fucking your mouth with it. "it's a lot i know…" he whispers into your mouth, interrupting the kiss with a low moan when you clench so hard around him it makes his entire body fuzzy.
he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, letting go with a wet pop and pressing your hips down so hard onto his cock you thought if you looked down you'd see his tip poking through the flesh of your stomach.
"wouldn't have felt like this with anyone else, baby." seonghwa nips at the corner of your mouth, dropping his head to run his warm tongue flat up the front of your throat. "feel how wet you are? no other man will be able to make you feel this good."
his eyes lift as he sucks marks of possession into the skin of your neck, and when he sees a tear slipping down your cheek, he growls low in his throat and jerks his cock up into you rough and deep, and you yelp as the bliss shoots through you.
"oh no, don't cry. it makes me wanna be mean to you, makes me wanna fuck you til it feels wrong when i'm not inside you."
now he wraps his hands around your throat, pressing his thumbs against those soft spots that melt your brain, his eyes darting all over your pretty little blissed out face, his lips brushing against your in a ghost of a kiss.
"now lift, drop, and roll. fuck me, bunny. its yours, use this cock until you're satisfied. make yourself cum for me."
you coudln't disobey if you tried, working your body and focusing on that rapidly tightening knot in your stomach as you fuck yourself on seonghwa's dick, every delicious drag inside of you forcing your eyes to roll to the back of your head.
he doesn't bother to chastise you for breaking eye contact; he knows you're too lost in it to control yourself. he squeezes your throat tighter, your moans coming choked and broken. seonghwa helps push you over that edge, groaning and purring prettily for you, lifting his hips to match your desperate movements.
"i feel you baby, pussy feels so good around me. so warm, so tight." he lifts his head to press his lips to the shell of your hot ears, moaning and sighing as you ride him to high heaven. your head feels fuzzy with the lack of air, seonghwa making sure that the only thing you could think about was his dick working you out.
“cum as much as you need,” he coos in your ear his voice low and breathless, sinking his teeth into the soft lobe. “ride me, bunny, ride me.”
you absolutely lose it, slamming your hips down onto his dick and shattering, dribbling drool in rivers as you cum. he squeezed your throat in pulsing intervals, giving you air, then snatching it from you, rolling his hips up into your cunt and dragging every drop of your orgasm out of your body.
"oh god…fuck." he grumbles in his throat, overwhelmed by how pretty you looked on top of him, blissed out over your warm, gummy pussy squeezing him so tight he almost came inside of you. "such a quick learner, baby."
he drags his hands away from your throat, cradling your head, smearing your drool all over your cheeks with his thumbs, your face hazy and drunk while he rocks his hips into you in painfully slow, high off the way you shake and whimper, your slick sticking to his thighs and his lower stomach, a messy proof of his effect on you.
"did so good beautiful, yes you did." he praises, and yet his hips never stop moving. rolling, grinding, upwards strokes that make you feel helpless, regardless of the fact that he was beneath you.
"think you can give me another one? lesson's not over yet." he bites out, grabbing your arms and dragging your body down so your forehead rests over his shoulder. then he grips your hips, lifts your body up, and shimmies his hips down just enough so he can plant his feet flat on the floor, before he starts to fuck.
hard, deep, powerful thrusts up into your overstimulated cunt that has your moans coming out in staccato chokes.
"you did your w-work, now let me use this pussy." he groans through gritted teeth, and you feel your body erupt into flames the more he moves. making you feel every inch of him, each thrust touching your brain. making you feel so good.
