The nineties in Korea were full of secrets. He was one of them. Because where the warm touch of the sun doesn’t reach, Choi Soobin inhabits. Rude, mean, sour and rough—he was a hitman hired by whoever could meet the price. The underground was the counterpart of heaven, where you and other guardian angels looked after their assigned humans. You’ve been watching him ever since he got his hands bloody for the first time, five years ago. Whatever he does, you’re there, guarding his soul.
Never understanding the mundane problems and diligences of humans, you often visited, hidden among them, relishing the secrecy. Sometimes you let yourself into his dusty apartment, which is barely used, to take in the small details, the textures, the scents. Everything you can’t see from above.
Until one day, Soobin comes home early.
One bite of the apple and it’s free-fall.
ᨀ. warnings for this chapter 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ no use of y/n. Dead dove do not eat. I love writing stories full of plot so it takes some time to get to the smut :P. Violence and Blood. Mentions of gore. Mentions of suicide. Heavy themes. Religious topics (glup). Morally gray characters. This probably is highly unethical. Smut (an attempt at it). Soobin is a bitch. Reader is obssesive and an unreliable narrator. Inexperienced reader (literally an angel). Reader watches Soobin all the time. Dom!Soobin and Sub!reader. Reader gets injured. Unprotected sex (wrap it up guys!). Penetrative Sex. Not pulling out. A knife is used like thrice but there is no kind wound (yeah oops!). Fingering. Oral (f & m). (i think thats all... if I forgot something lmk...).
ᨀ. inspo 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ fallen angels (ily wong kar wai). Apocalypse and Derre by BIBI
ᨀ. mar's note 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ I got this idea at 1 am while sneezing because I got a cold and I was half delirious. It took me like a month to finish this because I had writers block and I was halfway through the smut scene and I was so tired of it?? Idk, I know I'm learning to write smut so have that in mind. Barely proof read sorry!
You had gotten used to watching Soobin’s calloused hands drip in blood. The silence after a bullet was always deafening; even from above, you could hear the spatter of the scarlet liquid against cement. Despite five years of following his everyday life, your body never stopped flinching at the sound of a life being taken. Some might think that you should be unfazed by this by now, but you were surrounded by beings that represented the virtues of the universe. Outside your duty as a guardian angel, you only saw good.
When you first got assigned to Choi Soobin, you were excited. The last human you guarded was an infant who died young because of cancer. Emotionally, you kissed her forehead silently the day she passed; you commended her soul to the heavens. Praying that you could help your next mortal as much as you could.
When you gazed at him with hopeful eyes and a cheery smile, you saw him walking through a dark alleyway. Puddles of unknown substances splashing when he stepped on them. The neon lights reflecting against his fair skin showed his boyish features. He seemed nervous, an undecipherable expression plastered across his face. You didn’t know this was the last glimpse of innocence you were going to get.
You knew he was eighteen and freshly out of school; your superiors told you some details before you could get to work. Confused as to why he was out in the middle of the night, you frowned. It was only when his trembling hands lit up a cigarette that you started to worry. “He might get hurt. Somebody might do something to him." You thought, frantic to get him to safety—if only you knew.
The rattle of his shoes was swallowed by the muffled noise coming from the bar in front of him, a red neon sign perched above the black doors. He took a long puff before throwing the cigarette butt to the ground, smashing it with his foot. Adjusting his black jacket, he entered. It was full of grown men, faces toughened by the years. They paid no attention to Soobin, busying themselves with their drinks, cigars, and women in scarce clothing chatting too close to their faces. The dim lights made it hard to see clearly, so Soobin narrowed his gaze. He walked through the crowd, avoiding bumping into anyone. The loud music was overstimulating; your whole body was tense and confused.
He maneuvered himself well, like he knew where he was going. Everything seemed to point that this wasn’t his first time here. He took a turn to his right, where a little hallway made way to a series of rooms. Two of them were bathrooms, but on the end of the corridor was a room full of men gambling, a table in the middle packed with cash and different games. He looked around, to his left was the emergency exit and in front was the chamber.
He silently reached for something at his back. It was quick, and feelingless. He took a gun and shot everyone that stood in his way. Their blood spattering in every direction, making a bloody mess, some droplets staining his dark clothes. Some gasped, others muttered incoherent sounds. There were bullets so poorly aimed that he had to shoot twice in some cases, targeting their heads or hearts. But it was no use, bodies fell with a thud, without time for someone to retaliate—it was too late, they were dead before they knew. The clatter of the coins against the hardwood floor was the only thing left, decks of cards colored scarlet red.
Not even caring to glance back, he walked toward the back exit, the night swallowing his silhouette while he stuffed his warm weapon back into its place, you saw how he cleaned his dripping fingers on the back of his jacket. You were frozen in your spot, mouth slightly agape. Your whole body was quivering, tears forming in your eyes. The echo of the bullets was distant in your mind, the ringing lingering in your ears, haunting you. It could have been the way their forms fell to the ground, their souls now commended elsewhere. Or maybe it was how his expression remained bored—but something rotten bloomed inside you for the first time. A dark, red feeling that you could only attribute to what you just had witnessed.
And when the rivulets of tears wetted your cheeks, nobody knew how to handle it. Everyone asked if you were okay, confused. Angels weren’t used to feelings or even crying, sympathy was what they allowed themselves to have. But it was for a matter of duty. A long-lived angel swept the tears from your eyes mechanically and asked patiently why you were making such a scandal. You sobbed and said that your human was too complex this time.
She sighed and shook her head and just said, “Humans are complex, that is what differentiates them from us. They are faulty.”
You nodded, unable to explain the situation you were in.
You quickly learned that this would become routine for him. It was quite strange, because this was the very first job he took. You later overheard him on the phone talking with his employer, asking for his part. The caller scolded him because of his inability to kill in one swift motion. It could be said that this was a new thing for both of you, yet you wished to create good; he only sowed pain.
His days flew by fast. For him, the night was the time that mattered. Watching him eat, sleep, kill, and repeat, you got accustomed to his habits. You found it strange how he would only eat from the same ramen brand, the flavors he repeated the most were always spicy. You sometimes wished to slip in some vegetables and nutrients, the ones the mortals so highly praised.
A year in, you started venturing into the mortal realm. Against the protest of your friends and coworkers, you did it anyway. In general, guardian angels were even able to go to earth—to soothe or help. Never revealing their role, of course. You kept the truth about Choi Soobin a secret, you never knew why you didn’t blurt the words out. And each time you had to cover it up, you felt your wings sting. You only told them your human worked at night, in uncommon establishments. Given the mystery of your situation, everyone was afraid you might get hurt. Humans were known to harm each other, some countries had a deadlier night than others. And due to this, even angels were wary. You knew the truth. You knew the danger was closer than they imagined, you had seen it without exception every single time the sun hid.
Every fiber in your body screamed for more, contradicting common sense. You needed to fill the gaps in your head. How did he smell? Did he use cologne? Or was his scent a mixture of his natural odor, blood, and gunpowder? He seemed so mysterious. Even when you had observed so much about him that you knew how he took care after his injuries, you still knew nothing.
One time he got cut with a knife because one of his victims tried to defend himself. Retaliating, he smashed the butt of his gun between the man’s eyes, drawing blood. After that he shot him rapidly in the temple. The force of the gun scattered its contents out, dirtying his face. Cursing under his breath, he wiped the gray matter away from his eyes. Blinking, he noted that there was blood coming out of his stomach. Assessing the situation, he opted to continue with his modus operandi and leave the scene fast.
He was starting to look pale when he reached his apartment. An improvised tourniquet with his black button-up tried to stop the blood. He was incredibly careful, cleaning his hands and using latex gloves before reaching for his injury. His hands were usually careful when handling open wounds. He always made sure to have medical supplies. You even thought that some were only meant to be handled by a doctor. He rarely allowed people to get near enough to damage him, yet this wasn’t the first nor the last time it would happen.
You always looked away when he fetched bullets from his flesh, squeaking in your spot. You covered your eyes with your fingers. There were other times where you observed how he brushed his wet hair, droplets of water falling from the dark strands. Shyly, you heard him shower, averting your gaze. Counting how many minutes he stood under the showerhead, thinking. You wished you could know what goes through his head. Or maybe not, that’s something you hadn’t decided yet.
Yet you still cared enough to go through the hassle of traveling here. Clad in worn-out clothes, hiding your hair under your hoodie, wings gone. It was a stark contrast from the white, flowing dresses you wore. Your aura was heavenly by nature, and you had to intentionally camouflage this. If he were to see you, he would know something was odd about you. You took your façade so deep that you even tried smoking—it didn’t go well.
This time he was walking with his hair brushed back, a cigarette between his lips, fingers fidgeting with a set of dangling keys. Clothes dark as always. You stood behind an alleyway, watching his moves closely. He stopped at an entrance; there was a line of people waiting outside. It was crowded. They wore different kinds of garments. Women in tight short dresses—too short to cover anything. Showing their cleavage seductively, confident in themselves. Men were flirting or even kissing some girls, groping them shamelessly. They were wearing shirts that showed their muscles.
Almost everyone was chatting loudly, chewing gum, drinking, or smoking unknown substances. Soobin took lives, but you rarely saw him with something other than a cigarette between his fingertips. He eyed the long line, brows slightly furrowed. He walked toward the security guard, grabbing something from his pocket, and he showed the object to the guard. Nobody asked questions; he simply let himself in.
Gulping loudly, you looked at your fake ID. Was it going to suffice? You didn’t know. You walked with feigned confidence towards the entrance. Nobody cared about your presence, busy with whatever drug they were inhaling. Your ragged clothes didn’t highlight anything about you. If anything, they made you look like a tramp.
A thousand excuses ran through your mind before the interaction even began. The security guard was tall and broad. He had a permanent scowl in his face. One hit from him would leave you with a bruise.
“Huh? Name.” He was mean. His voice laced with tiredness, probably from people’s antics. It was very deep into the night; he probably had seen and heard everything by this time.
You forced your fake name out, hoping that you picked a normal human name. You tried to be nonchalant while fetching your ID, placing it at eye level. “I came with that guy.” You pointed inside, Soobin’s figure a blur inside the neon crowd.
“Take your hoodie out. I can’t even see your face.” Pointing toward your head, he scoffed.
You prayed to God that your nervousness would dim or maybe stop the suave quivering of your hands. You obliged quickly, so he couldn’t see your movements too closely. He raised a brow, scanning you.
“Why did you come after? If you two came together.” Taking a breath, he continued. “And you don't look the part. Are you here to scavenge through the trash?” He laughed at you when he finished, mocking your stupid excuse.
It was a series of logical questions, ones that didn’t occur to you. Your mind racing, you saw the outcome of every single one of the answers you were thinking of. Before you could even blurt one out, he tsked.
“Get lost. You are wasting my time.” He forcefully shoved your ID back to you, forcing you to take a few steps backwards to avoid losing balance.
Humans were rude. They were flawed creatures, kicked away from paradise. The divinities still had mercy and assigned them guardian angels to many who didn’t deserve them. At the same time, they were entrancing. Or at least Soobin was.
Slumping, you gave up, walking to the back exit. Several washes of disappointment coursed through your body. There was no way you were going to speak to him, but you wanted to get close enough to see how his features evolved across the evening. And, without a trace of rationality, you hid behind a few funky bins. Knowing the smell and scenery were unpleasant, you sat down. You forced the bile that arose in your throat down. Repeating this several times after you felt something warm against your thigh. At one moment you came to the realization that you were a heavenly being, you were above this. Any angel, be it guarding or not, would scold and shame you if they saw you. Any human would do so too. If you were stooping so low, what were you now?
Why were you even doing it?
Shaking your head and scrunching your nose, you endured it, shoving the questions to the back of your mind. Your improvised lair was far enough that anybody would confuse you with a homeless person yet close enough for you to see who left.
The track of time was something new to you. You found yourself learning it just so you could track how long his movements were. And like a naïve toddler who was gifted a lollipop, you were happy when you started getting how many minutes he spent training right.
Hours passed without a trace of him. You saw drunk groups of people walk past you. Their nonsensical chatter dissolving in the cold dawning air. A handful of them shoved each other playfully while others had their arms intertwined to avoid losing balance. Cars passed by with obnoxiously loud music, throwing trash your way. Sometimes they lowered their speed to spit on the asphalt. Until the doors flung open.
He walked with a girl under his arm. She was alright for a mortal; her body was full of curves. She had plump tits and a round ass. You thought that she had too much trust in her top and questioned the sinful way her body was glued to Soobin’s. Her hair was luscious and long, framing her face just right. She was no different from the catalog of girls you saw at the entrance. There was nothing special about her, yet he whispered lulls into her ear. Nibbling the tip softly. Like they'd known each other their whole lives.
She was loud; he spoke softly. They drunk-walked to their left; she twirled her hair, puffed her cheeks and giggled stupidly from time to time. You were unable to hear what they were saying. But judging by the way his left hand roamed over her waist, even going down to squish her butt at times, you knew he probably was going to take her somewhere secluded.
Your heart threatened to betray you. It wanted to leap out of your body and scream. You felt the tips of your ears and cheeks warm, too warm. Clutching your sweatpants tightly, you waited for them to be out of sight. You didn’t know you were holding your breath until you started feeling dizzy. Something inside you started churning, your eyes unfocused. You knew what he did to girls; you had seen him before.
He took them to motels—never to his apartment—and fucked them until they were so exhausted they couldn’t form a thought. You immorally acknowledge that you should’ve given him more privacy, but you were curious. As to why he was expressionless the whole time. Or the way he avoided kissing them, just sucking at their necks. Not a single sound erupted from his lips, only grunts. Sometimes you covered a gasp from your lips when you saw the way he licked their breasts, his lips sucking and nibbling their sensitive buds. A shiver ran down your spine.
And now you hoped that this wasn’t the exception. Because the bitterness wilting your body would be unbearable. Because the way your back burned in the spot where your wings should be is a reminder. You don’t belong in this world.
The path back to heaven that day was defeating. Everyone was so worried about you, not a single angel lost sight of your filthy body coming into view. For them, you were a poor angel abused by humans who didn’t understand the rules of the universe. They were rude because they were flawed creatures. You allowed them to believe whatever they wanted. Partially because you knew something inside you wasn’t supposed to be there. Because you were having trouble keeping your ideas at bay. You weren’t a weak mortal. You were supposed to be above them. Feelings were there for you to try and empathize with the mundane. Not to feel like them.
The days turned into months, then into years. Time flew by fast, lives did.
Two years of observing Soobin had passed. He had already killed more people than the days you had been watching him. You were keeping count of every life he took. Every night your fingers itched to caress his cheekbones, wanting to soothe whatever sorrow he was into. There was no other reason for him to cause such pain. He had to be fueled by his own. Because even after such a long time observing him, you never knew what happened to his family or if he had friends. He spoke with people, but it was purely pleasure or business. You wanted to believe he wasn’t entirely lonely—at least spiritually. He still had the chance for his soul to be taken care of.
You prayed to God that he would stop this nonsense. You never prayed to God, you didn’t need to pray, you were only supposed to carry his will. But you were desperate enough to let him fix this mess. Yet he never answered, never listened. His lackeys were the ones who had to endure human pain. He allowed as much beauty and as much evil as he wanted. He toyed with lives as he pleased.
Still hating the sound of bullets penetrating bodies and the way they fell with a squelch, you closed your eyes forcefully. Afraid of what might welcome you if you opened them, you mentally counted five minutes before opening your lids. You already dominated human time, and Soobin was meticulous. He never took more than five minutes before leaving a crime scene.
He had gotten better at taking lives, his hands were trained every day to learn new lethal points. Using fewer bullets, he was even faster at murdering. Often, you spoke to yourself, letting the word “murder” roll off your tongue. Your mouth always felt cottony after saying it out loud, its corrupt nature breathing heavy down your neck. Assigning that word so close to him was the truth, but you avoided acknowledging it frequently.
The night for humans was interesting, the city felt much more alive. The silvery touch from the moon was a silent promise that the secrets it witnessed were going to remain hidden. Couples under swaying trees, promising the world and beyond to each other. Drunk teenagers who ran away from home arguing on the streets. And proficient assassins doing their jobs. This is where Soobin existed, under all the “harmless” ruckus of the streets, he maneuvered himself.
It wasn’t like you weren’t used to the mortals. Even when they were so different from each other, they had distinct patterns. But he was peculiar, his situation. You had only taken care of normal people before. From day one you had been learning and perhaps tainting your celestial aura. Everyone was too flawless where you lived, they had nothing captivating. It was an endless cycle of abnegation, which you didn’t hate. Couldn’t hate. Your creation was done to fulfil your role. That was it.
Today he was out. You were out too. With the passing of months, you learned how to dress properly depending on the situation. And you used that ability well. You started frequenting bars and restaurants Soobin went. You knew by heart what he usually asked for, ordering it diligently when the bartender or waiter approached you. You were sitting at a secluded table at a ramen shop three blocks away from his apartment. You were nearing a line you knew you shouldn’t cross, this was as close as you were going to get to him. Still, the thrill of being within walking distance of his sacred place made you feel lightheaded. Knowing he probably was sleeping because it was afternoon with the sun beginning to set, you ventured into the earth.
Cautious not to draw too much attention, you dressed like a normal woman in her twenties during summer. Fresh and comfortable clothes, wings hidden and the slightest dab of makeup—this you didn’t do well. You had started enhancing your features when you saw that this was a recurrent detail in people’s faces. You mostly copied the girls you saw during the day. It was a much softer and natural style. The night style cosmetics were bolder, trying to make a statement as soon as you locked gazes with someone.
Shifting in your seat you put the menu down. This too, was an act, you knew what you were going to get already. The young waiter walked to your table, a friendly smile across his lips. Notepad ready to register your order he asked if you knew what you wanted. Tapping your fingers on your chin for a few seconds, faking a thought, you nodded.
“I’ll take the beef ramen.” He scribbled on the paper, his eyes never leaving your face. “Extra spicy, please.”
He nodded. “Anything else miss?”
“And one can of lemon-flavored soda. Thanks.” You grinned softly.
Learning how humans expressed their emotions silently was a challenge. All the grinning, thanking, politely asking, frowning or whispering was too much. But you were forcing yourself into these situations, trying to make your being slowly adapt to social norms.
“Alright!” With that he left you alone.
The place was not full, there were few people. You silently scanned the room, the decorations. It was full of figures of cats. The smell felt warm, human. The voice of the scattered customers holding lively conversations mixed with the ambience music. Some were talking about their day, taking long puffs of smoke between sentences. Others were complaining about coworkers with a pout. The scenery was alive, it felt so much different from what you usually saw from above.
Angels were indifferent to each other. They reserved emotion for humans. Practicality mattered above everything else. It was engraved in your nature, abiding the rules of God. You didn’t know when you started losing sight of the shine in heaven. When you started feeling a pang of disappointment every time you took breaks from work to talk with your kin. The days were gloomier in heaven than on earth and the rotten feeling invading your body made your wings sting, hurt. Almost feeling like they were going to fall, there were times when it was unbearable.
You reminisced about the times before Choi Soobin. Closing your eyes, you pictured your existence when your life felt full. Everything was easier, you didn’t have to hide anything. When you were created you thought that God made angels perfect, that there was no other way to be. Heaven was the desired target for every living soul, everyone opposed to it deserved punishment. It was luster, precious and pristine. There was not a corner where the light didn’t reach. These days you found yourself longing for a speck of color, for a shadow. For life. You questioned why you were made to serve. Were you that low of a creature? It should be a privilege to follow God’s will. You didn’t know anymore.
But it didn’t dawn on you until you were assigned a younger guardian angel to teach her the diligences of your job. She was bright, like a flower who just blossomed. Her eyes sparkled and she spoke softly. You thought if you were once like this, now you were the shadow of that young angel. She asked if she could see your human, you denied it amicably, saying that you preferred to respect his privacy.
“I want to have a human too. How long does it take?”
You both were walking after a long day of teaching. “You will probably assist an experienced angel first. After that you are good to go.”
She nodded. “Do angels love their humans?”
Gulping you felt nervousness. This was a habit you picked up from humans, you had to mentally suppress it whenever you were in heaven. Love was a strong word reserved only for one being in the universe: your creator. Young angels often needed to learn these implied rules with the passing of time.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We shall never learn to love humans. We pity them. That noun is strictly reserved for God.” Your voice was severe. As soon as the words left your mouth there was a tingling sensation in the joint of your wings with your back.
She tilted her head. “But do you love your human? You never said no.” You felt like cursing and clenched your fist behind your back.
What were you going to answer? No, yes, maybe, probably. I don’t know. Reaching for the last rational moments in your heart you huffed with the same scolding tone your elders had with you.
“Don’t ask stupid questions. I already told you my answer.” The pain in your wings had become sharp. The feeling of thousands of tongues of fire enveloping your feathers. You saw the features of Choi Soobin, his fair skin contrasted against the shadows. You felt your heartbeat accelerate. You acted as if nothing happened.
She apologized and continued her stroll, never mentioning it again.
Good angels learnt fast and obeyed tacit rules. If not, you might risk losing your status. There were stories of the things that happened to disobedient angels. Depending on the offense they either were sent to earth or to the depths of hell. Condemned to live a life full of sorrow either way. It was whispered that their wings usually withered slowly. It climbed feather by feather, necrotizing everything it touched. Until they fell from their bodies, like dead bodies. The process was long and torturous, nobody knew how long it took. The ache was supposed to be so unbearable that fallen angels committed suicide before reaching that point. Fallen angels that take their lives are eternally damned to hell.
The clatter of the bowl of ramen against the wooden table snapped you back to reality. You blinked slowly, getting rid of the lingering image of your home. The young man placed your food in front of you. The beef broth filled your nose, bringing you fully back.
Thanking him, you picked up a fork—you were still clumsy with chopsticks. You looked around to see how people ate this meal. Placing down your fork, you grasped the spoon, tasting the broth. It was amazing. You didn’t need food to live. Angels reached for other sources for their existence yet the pleasure that flooded your mouth was unique. Then the hurt came. It raised the temperature of your mouth and made you gulp down soda. Sticking out your tongue, you fanned your hand over your face. Brows furrowed.
You were too busy trying to soothe the pain that you didn’t pay attention to your surroundings. You saw a dark silhouette from the corner of your eye, blinking you focused your eyes on it.
It was him. It was him.
The pain in your tongue seemed to dim, a distant reminder of where you sat. He was bored looking at the menu, a cigarette between his fingers, casually flicking it above the ashtray. He looked at a newspaper, reading it silently. His jaw was relaxed, his body usually so alert now calm.
You averted your gaze before he spotted your presence. The food didn’t seem so appetizing anymore. A bead of sweat travelled from the back of your neck to your lower back. The wet sensation grounding you. You saw the waiter approach him, he ordered exactly what you were having. Voice stern.
Urging yourself to act normal, you took your fork and ate some noodles. The spice wasn’t so strong anymore, you endured it like it was nothing. Even from the next table you could smell him. For the first time you registered his scent. He smelled ordinary. It could’ve been soap, his shampoo, sweat, cheap cologne. You didn’t know what it was, you were new to human smells. You could discern the odor of the strong cigarettes he smoked. But to you this was the most precious smell in the universe, because it wasn’t random. It was his.
Closing your eyes you relished another piece of him being shown to you. With warm cheeks and tears forming in your eyes, you left money on the table. It was much more than you needed to pay, but you didn’t mind. You left as fast as you could, avoiding being noticed. You told yourself that the spice was too much, that this made you overwhelmed.
You knew this was a lie.
And when the days passed and you felt feverish every time you remembered his scent you closed your eyes. Legs pressed together, a blush creeping up your cheeks.
By year five you had visited the human realm more times than you could count. You knew him more than you did before, you had seen his features sharpen. He became an expert killer, his expression hardened by his job. There was no trace of the doubt he had on day one. Yet you still knew so little about him, so many gaps to be filled.
You didn’t know how it started. Maybe it was after you saw him fall asleep with his clothes on, soft expression plastered across his face. You wished you could feel the texture of his bed, how his sheets felt against your bare skin. Maybe it was that one time you saw him look at an old polaroid picture with sorrow. Eyes narrowed, he stuffed it in his locked drawer. Whatever reason you had to be doing this didn’t matter because it was eclipsed by one thing—you wanted it. Nothing else could change your mind because you simply wanted it.
So, from seven pm to eleven pm you roamed free in his apartment. It had begun a while ago, when you were casually walking near his house while he was out working. One day you walked up to his door, frozen in your spot, fingers itching to open it. You repeated this for weeks before actually letting yourself in.
You skillfully went up the stairs to his floor, sneakers squeaking against the ceramic tiles. Your black skirt swaying with your movements. You bit your lip to contain your excitement. His door was ugly, the paint was peeling and there wasn’t even a carpet. Every single door had at least a decoration to claim the place as theirs—his had none. You reached for the key that rested on top of the door frame, letting yourself in. You smiled, kicking off your shoes, leaving the key on the table by the door.
His smell clouded your mind. The lingering scent of his cheap cologne floated in the air, and the trace of cigarette smoke clung to the walls. You didn’t mind it. His place was broad. The living room was just a black sofa, a coffee table and the TV. He barely had any ornaments, just the necessary. The windows were covered by drapes slightly parted, letting some of the sunset rays in. You always walked towards his room first. Everything was messy, he had clothes discarded on the ceramic floor, his nightstand was packed to the brim. An ashtray with dozens of smoked cigarettes. A scribbled notepad with a pen, few crumbled papers surrounding it. And a silver clock. The drawers were locked. His unmade bed was your favorite place here. You plopped yourself against the mattress, the bed screeching. There was a certain roughness to it, the texture felt fresh against your skin, the smell of fabric softener mixed with traces of soap, shampoo and sweat overpowered everything else. You smiled, stretching your limbs happily.
You looked at the time. Seven thirty. You could allow yourself to take an hour nap. It was routine for you now because you had never rested as well as you did when you slept on his bed. You never rested outside of this apartment. Angels didn’t sleep, it wasn’t a need. You took the clock by his bed, adjusting the alarm. Hugging a white pillow and covering yourself with the weight of the duvet, you made yourself comfortable. Drifting towards sleep you dreamed of a distant paradise, of a faraway warmth.
When you woke up, startled by the loud noise, you spun, placing a pillow over your head. Groaning, you took an arm out reaching to turn off the alarm. Reluctantly, you sat up, blinking slowly. Feeling your mouth pasty, you noticed the wet spot on the pillow and cleaned a trail of saliva with the back of your hand. Getting up, you went to the kitchen to prepare the instant ramen you had bought—without spice.
By ten thirty, you had cleaned up any trace of your presence, the ramen cup in a plastic bag stuffed inside your purse. You always had to restrain yourself from tidying the whole place. You knew he would notice. You didn’t want to risk it. Brushing your fingers against the duvet of the bed, you silently said goodbye. Before leaving you made sure to leave the pillows in the same position and the alarm turned off.
You walked to the living room, giving one last look at the space. But before you could move, a sharp pain hit your stomach, a deafening sound exploded inside the room. You knew this sound well, it was his gun. The force of the bullet made you stumble two steps back. Legs quivering, you fell to your knees, your hands on the floor, supporting your body.
“O—Oh god.” You cried under your breath.
“Who the fuck sent you?” He stood at a reasonable distance, wary of your movements.
You had to stabilize your breath before slowly getting up. He saw how the hole in your tank top remained intact. There was no trace of blood, of flesh. A few seconds later, a bullet came out of it, hitting the floor with a metallic sound. Healing your body rapidly. The pain was white, sickening. Akin to someone stabbing you and twisting the blade slowly, tearing your insides every time it spun.
“Nobody.” You said breathless.
His jaw clenched when he stared at where the bullet pierced you, puzzled, brows tight. His grip on his gun tightened, pointing it again, this time at your thigh, shooting. You closed your eyelids tightly, gasping, balance faltering. Vision blurring, stars appearing before your eyes. You thought you might faint.
He took a step closer. “I’m not asking again.” His tone was demanding, threatening.
The pain was unbearable. So unbearable that your wings sprang out along with your heavenly aura. There was a silence, nobody moved. A few white feathers fell from your back, your whole body suffering the effect of the need to recover. Your mind raced.
His grip on his gun never loosened, even when he saw the feathers drift to the floor. His expression, however, cracked, you caught a glimpse of disbelief. Confusion. This was not normal, there wasn’t anything quite like this. And if there was, he had never seen it.
“Please—just. Don’t shoot again.” Heaving, you tried to steady yourself. “I have been taking care of you for a while now, Soobin.” Your words came out strained, the ache still lingering on your body.
He stared at you in silence for a moment. “Taking care of me?” The words came out in disbelief, a laugh at the end. He walked to your figure and examined your wings. He touched the feathers with his free hand, leaving a burning trail, his gaze was intense, fixed on the whiteness of them. He pressed hard, intent on discovering what you were.
You were hurt, your body throbbing where you had been pierced, there was no wound anymore, yet you could still feel it. And now all you could think about was how his coarse fingers touched you, it shouldn’t feel good. But it did. You were shuddering. It could have been because you were shot or because he was so close to you, you didn’t know. He kept his gun aimed at your heart, not leaving any room for error. You knew he could kill you if he wanted to, yet you still were an angel. You couldn’t die from this.
“What are you?” He hissed, voice low, locking his eyes with yours.
His eyes were deep, you knew you could’ve looked at them for an eternity. The moment was electrifying, it brought your body back to life, dimming the weight of what just happened. Your mind barely functioned, any coherent thoughts long gone. You thought your flesh would dissolve with the tension in the air. There was once an imaginary line you knew you weren’t going to cross for Choi Soobin, you weren’t so sure anymore.
You couldn’t stand straight, still you tried, wincing. “I’m not human.”
He seemed skeptical, the touch of his curious fingers distracting you. “Then what are you?” His eyes narrowing, he pressed his gun to your chest forcefully with his other hand, hurting you. Your eyes never leaving his, you gulped, nervous.
Shaky hands rising to eye level, you shook your head. “I don’t want to hurt you.” You were sincere, there was nothing behind your voice. You spread your arms open. “You can check.”
He stopped touching your wings, withdrawing his hand. “If you try anything I’ll shoot you.” His tone was matter of fact. He maneuvered his weapon with one hand while the other approached you.
He patted your back first. He checked under your tank top, the bareness of it making your skin prickle. You knew this meant nothing to him, it was something he needed to get out of the way to ensure his safety. But to you this was more than you ever thought you would get, and the idea alone of his hand on your skin made you lightheaded. He moved his hands down, to your lower back until he reached your butt. He moved his hand under your skirt, shamelessly. You wished for a moment that he would squeeze your ass, but you had to mentally remind yourself that you were not in a good situation. That you needed to survive.
He realized soon how you reacted under his touch, seeing how you could barely contain it. Nibbling on your lip, fingernails pressed against your palms. Body still quivering. He didn’t move an inch, still wary. When his fingers grazed your tits, you had to avert your gaze, he allowed himself to explore a little bit more—more than he should have. He felt how your nipples started to harden under his digits, but as indifferent as he seemed, he continued down. Touching under your skirt, he actively avoided going anywhere near your core, moving to your bare legs instead.
The cold gun never left your skin, it only moved from its spot at your heart anytime Soobin moved. It was a chilling reminder of the reality of the situation. When he finished, he lowered it, stuffing it at his back.
“Explain yourself.” He crossed his arms.
The absence of his warmth took the air out of your lungs. You had to blink a few times before speaking. “I have been watching you since your first job.” Inhaling you fiddled with your fingers. Were you really going to say it? You couldn’t take it back. This was dangerous. “I have been taking care of your soul. You have never been alone, I have been above, watching.”
He huffed annoyed. “Above? Be clearer.”
Shifting in your spot you mentally prepared yourself for what you were about to say. “I’m your guardian angel.”
The truth was out, the weight of it settled on your shoulders. You searched his face for a reaction. There was a moment of silence, then he scoffed.
“Do I look like I would have a guardian angel?”
Frustrated you nodded. “I don’t choose my humans. You were just assigned to me.”
“You aren’t making any fucking sense.” He stood tall in front of you, brow raised. Questioning the mere fact of your existence.
“I know you were eighteen when you first killed, your hands trembled even before you held your gun. I know that you like spicy beef ramen and that you get it three blocks from here. And I know there is a polaroid picture you don’t want anyone to see locked inside your nightstand’s drawer.”
He froze, his hands clenching. The third fact surprised him, a sudden glimpse of fear seeping through the crack of his front. He seemed taken aback at the sudden burst of vulnerability. He thought no one was seeing him, that those were things time was going to erase. A flickering of belief sparked in his eyes, he opened his mouth doubtfully.
“You are…an angel?” The words were foreign to him.
“Yes. I’m your guardian angel.” You chose your words carefully, hoping it would make sense to him.
“Fuck.” He muttered incredulously. “Why are you here?”
Oh.
That was a logical question, one that you didn’t want to answer. You remained silent. He walked towards you. A hint of danger behind his irises. “You know, it is weird.” He twirled a strand of your hair between his fingers, focusing on it. “For a while now, I have been smelling something out of place in my bedsheets.”
The proximity took you by surprise, the warmth that radiated from his body contrasted well with his usually cold persona. You tittered before speaking. “Maybe it’s the brand of detergent you’re using. Or you know you might reconsider sleeping with your clothes on. The blood smell on them might be—” You kept rambling, nervous.
His face was close to yours, he seemed calm, in control. “I know what blood smells like.” He sniffed the hair in his fingers, then he came even closer and took the scent of the skin in your neck. You never wear perfume, there was no way your natural scent was this strong. “It smells like you.”
“I—” Stammering, you tried to place some distance from him. His whole being was overwhelming. The way his eyes roamed over your figure was enough to send someone to madness. He grabbed your arm with enough force to keep you still. Your heart was pounding loudly, you could feel it all over your body. He was getting too close. He was already too close.
“Tell me everything. I want to know how much you know.” He loomed over you, voice low, barely above a whisper. His breath hitting your skin softly, prickling it. He was centimeters away from you, you could hear him perfectly.
Debating internally if you should just be honest with everything you had done these past five years, you locked eyes with him. There was so much to lose, so many to disappoint. And then there was him, just him. In front of you, finally, speaking to you, demanding answers. He acknowledged your existence, and that was enough. You didn’t need anything else. Determination in your irises you knew what you had to do.
“I’ve seen you kill. I’ve seen and heard every single life you have taken. I’ve seen you eat that stupid cup ramen you always buy. I’ve seen you sleep. I’ve seen you nervous. I’ve seen you get every single wound you ever had. I’ve seen you stitching yourself. I’ve seen you alone. I’ve seen you smoke alone in the darkness of your living room.” Blurting the words out you forced yourself to look him in the eye. You stopped registering his reactions the moment you splayed yourself raw. “I’ve seen you f—fuck. I’ve seen every single one of those. I see when you touch them, when you bite their skin. Every time you make them moan. I’ve heard, seen it and hated it.”
You waited five seconds to compose yourself, to breathe. “I’ve hated every single time you touch another woman. Each moment I’ve wished it was me.” Your wings were starting to throb.
After that you stopped looking at him, fixing your gaze on the floor. His grip on your arm loosened, staring silently at you. “You’ve been watching me fuck other women?”
You nodded, ashamed of yourself.
He chuckled in disbelief. “You’ve seen me kill.”
This wasn’t a question, this was a fact. You whispered yes anyway.
“And you still wanted me?”
You were surprised by the ease with how he spoke. These were things you tried to hide for years, these were secrets nobody knew. He knew what to say, what to ask to get you to say them aloud.
“Y—yes.” Inhaling, you spoke. “I’ve wanted you for a while now.” The confession made the pain in your wings ablaze, you winced. It was finally out.
His hand roamed from your elbow to your waist, tentatively. He brought you closer to him, your chest clashing against his. There was something similar to hunger taking over his eyes. “Such a pure creature meddling with things she shouldn’t.” His fingers brushed your cheek, as if he were afraid to touch you fully. “Taking care of me…” He trailed. “You’ve done a terrible job.”
You breathed heavily, following the movements of his fingers closely. You were alight, something gurgling underneath your skin, threatening to explode and take this whole world with you. You knew you were still alive, that this was real, because your figure throbbed and your wings were aching like they never had before. Every single fiber in your body screamed that this was wrong, that you should escape at the very first chance you had. That you should return to heaven and request another mortal.
You weren’t going to do any of that.
“I’m sorry. You are not an easy human to take care of.” Your tone was hushed.
He paused, looking for something behind your eyes. What could he be looking for? There was nothing more than this, this was you. Just you. “You are a weird angel. I don’t think you are supposed to get involved with me…” Then closing the distance, he stopped about two centimeters away from your lips. “You want me to touch you, don’t you? Your eyes look like they need me.”
“I…” Stammering because of how straightforward he was, you struggled to find coherent words. “I shouldn’t even come to earth this often.” Your breaths mixed and you felt it on your parted lips, the residual pain of the bullets still present—a reminder of his nature, of how opposite you were from him.
“For someone so pure, you seem to be having sinful thoughts.” He shifted and with how close your bodies stood, you could feel everything. His hand on your waist squeezed hard. You suppressed a sound. “Just look at you. You are such a fucking mess under my fingers.”
You gulped, trying to get something out of your mouth but you couldn’t. “Say it. Say that you need me.”
You had accepted a long time ago that you weren’t going to have this—that you couldn’t. This wasn’t right, you knew it. The apple was right there, juicy and vibrant. You just had to take the first bite.
“I…I need you.” Admitting it felt foreign.
“Such an obedient little angel.” He mocked you, leaving feather-like kisses on your neck. Then he moved to your cheek and patiently kissed the corner of your lips. He took his sweet time, entertaining himself with your little noises. With how large and impressed your pupils were. “I’ll make an exception for you, my guardian angel…” He kissed you, deep, furious, and hungry. You didn’t know how to answer to this, to such intensity. You’d never done it and you are sure he never does it either. You’ve never seen him kiss. There were millions of things going through your head right now, and all you could feel is your brain turning to mush. Trying to match his speed you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you.
“You are so bad at it.” Realization dawned on him. He looked at you amused, then he smirked. “Have you ever been kissed?”
Embarrassment flooded you. You tried to avert your gaze, but Soobin’s hand grabbed your chin, keeping you in place, demanding an answer. “No, I haven’t.”
“You think too much.” He sighed, moving his thumb over your lips. “Just follow my lead.”
Kissing you, slower this time, he allowed you time to explore. This one was different, the build-up tension was still present, he seemed careful with you. Ignoring the sharp pain coming from your back, you relished the way his lips felt. Every single one of those times you had pictured them did no justice to reality, he seemed to know how to maneuver himself with his body. You hated being so clumsy. His tongue parted your lips, allowing him to wander freely. You let him, happily.
He started walking towards his bedroom, never separating from you. He paused abruptly. “You really want to do this? You’ve seen me. You know how this ends.” He looked into your eyes. His were dark and hypnotic, you felt like he was restraining himself from something. You just didn’t know what.
“Be my first, Soobin.” You pleaded. There was something hidden underneath all of that, an acceptance of reality. A choice was made today, or perhaps five years ago. You couldn’t take it back anymore, you knew. You were already too deep the moment you saw him touch himself and hoped you could make him grunt like that too.
He trapped your lips, clouding your senses. His scent was so strong, and it mixed with your sweaty frame, which made you almost dizzy. Since you couldn’t resist temptation anymore, you allowed your fingers to travel to his arms, feeling every muscle, grazing his rough skin. He guided you towards his room, a path you both knew very well. It was difficult to walk thanks to the overwhelming sensation of being touched by human hands. You had never felt the warmth of somebody else. Every nerve in your body jolted every time he grabbed you by the waist or when his fingers pressed hard into your arms to keep you stable.
You felt the mattress squeak under your weight. He broke the kiss. “You taste so pristine…” He fetched a shiny, sharp knife from his belt and tore your white tank top from top to bottom. The ripping sound and your pulse were the only things your ears registered; everything else floated unnoticed in the air. This was actually happening. “I can’t wait to ruin you.”
You shuddered, your chest only covered by your bra. He toyed with the knife in his hands, thinking with his brows knitted. With resolve, he pushed you towards the bed. And as you lay there expectantly, the night air drifting through the window, tingling your bare skin, he came close to your frame. He gave feather-like touches to your skin with the tip of the knife, the cold metal a reminder of who you were entangling yourself with. He had the power to do whatever he wanted with your body, yet he was so careful and so knowing with his movements that you redirected all the faith in your body to him.
He adjusted your torn clothes and hair before taking in the sight of the art he had created. His gaze roamed free over your body. Your wings splayed over the duvet, cheeks red and breath uneven. The remains of your garment rested on your sides, hair disheveled and wet with sweat. Your eyes, consumed by lust, looking at him expectantly. He was able to smirk when he saw the tinge of innocence behind your irises, almost fading.
Satisfied with your state, he took the liberty to pull out one of your breasts. Your nipple already hard and ready to be taken care of. He groped your tit, pinching your nipple. The sensation was like something you had never ever imagined, it awoke the familiar warmth that bloomed in your lower abdomen every time you saw Soobin touching somebody else’s skin. You whimpered, pushing your legs together to soothe the growing heat from between your legs. “Your skin is so soft.”
He placed his arms on your sides, supporting his weight, while he positioned a leg in between yours, one of his knees meeting a delicious pressure with your clothed core. Your thighs engulfed him, silently pleading for more. He lowered his head to the band of your skirt, nuzzling it with his nose. Breath teasing you. You wanted him lower, that much you knew, yet he was intent on denying you this. He nibbled you at the bare skin over where the fabric ended. Creating a wet trail with his tongue, nipping and licking at your flesh, he hovered above your exposed tit. His ragged breath softly hitting your nipple, eager to be touched. You were buzzing under his ministrations.
When you couldn’t take the wait anymore, you reached for his hair, burying your hand between his locks, tugging at them. Desperately trying to break the distance. He answered your silent plea by enveloping your breast with his mouth. He sucked your nipple, sometimes pressing it carefully with his teeth, the sensation sending waves of joy that collapsed in your core. Other times just twirling his tongue around it. You pulled his strands harder, a choked sound escaping your parted lips. You saw how his arms flexed under his button-up. The wet sounds coming from your chest made you shudder.
With a pop, he separated, licking his lips. He pointed downwards. “Open your legs.” He demanded.
You slowly opened them, releasing his limb. Your skirt now hardly covered you. From his point of view, he could see your dollar-store white panties peeking; you weren’t the type to wear shorts underneath. There was a wet spot forming in them. “I’ve barely touched you. You are so painfully obvious.”
Crouching, he squeezed your thighs before kissing you near your throbbing entrance. “Don’t move or I'll stop.” He knew, of course he knew, how desperately you wanted to be touched there. It felt like a test of patience, the hardest one you ever had to overcome. Because when he nibbled your inner thighs, you had to grab a fistful of sheets to avoid flinching.
He stayed long painful minutes in between your legs, his hair tickling your skin. He seemed to like how loud you were; you had zero idea how to control these desires, and everything was so overstimulating that the only way you found relief was with sounds. That was until you felt his finger hook on your panties, because you went completely still and silent when he grabbed the wet fabric.
He used the cold knife to rip your panties, the fabric recoiling to expose your aching cunt. You saw how he licked his lips before enveloping your throbbing bud in his mouth. Gasping, you couldn’t avoid moving, closing your eyes. He didn’t stop, lapping at it. Moaning his name, your hands gripped the duvet tightly, your legs squeezing his neck. You felt every single fiber of your body threading a sensation you couldn’t quite put a name on.
He stopped for a brief moment to spit on his finger before slowly thrusting into your core. He looked at your face, flushed and messy. Your pupils were blown, walls clenching over his digit. "M—move," you whispered.
“I can’t hear you.” He spoke above your pussy, you could feel the movements of his lips.
Pushing the shame to the back of your mind, you spoke. “Move!”
To this, he smirked, sinking his finger to the depths of your core, thrusting. His mouth continued to tease your clit. It was like being touched everywhere; you felt it all over your body. He picked up a pace after a few minutes, and when he saw that your juices were flowing, he inserted a second finger. Startling you, he didn’t give you any time to adjust. The tension was delicious, stretching you.
He adjusted the angle of his hand, and you knew he was hitting a precious spot. Because your back started to arch and your body was brimming with an unknown white sensation. You tensed your muscles and closed your eyes, unable to see the filthy movements of Soobin.
“You are getting tighter. Don’t tell me you are going to come so soon?” His mocking tone wasn’t enough to snap you back into reality. You were too far gone.
“Please don’t stop.” Imploring him, you bucked your hips forward. This seemed to amuse him because he withdrew his fingers entirely. Shaken, you lifted your head, your eyes scanning his face for an answer.
He looked at her with a lopsided smile, relishing the sweet look of your eyes. Panting, with a tit out and hair tangled, you gulped. There was the dormant pain of your wings underneath all of that, it hadn’t stopped. On the contrary, it just seemed to escalate forward. And there was only one way out of this story, and you were ready to face the consequences of it.
The clinking of metal broke the silence of the room, snapping you back to reality. You followed his trail of movements closely, interested. The bulge in his boxers was thick and tight, you saw how it stretched the fabric of his underwear. “Help me out.”
You opened your eyes like a deer caught in headlights, dazzled. You adjusted your position so you could sit in front of him. The outline of his shaft made you wet your lips instinctively, wondering if you could do with your mouth what he used to do with his hand. Wanting to pleasure him.
He freed himself, his length sprang. It was glistening, covered in a sticky substance that oozed from the tip. He stroked himself a few times before smugly looking at you. You adjusted the loose strands of hair that stuck to your face and hesitantly took his member in your hand. His eyes were focused on you, a spark of hunger crossing his irises for a fleeting moment. And for some odd reason, that was enough to drive you insane. The mere thought of being desired by this man sent you into oblivion.
You pumped his cock up and down, hand trembling, vacillating. “C’mon. You should do better than that.” His sardonic words laced with boredom fueled you. You were going to be better than any woman who ever dared to even lay eyes on him. You had to be better than any fling, you were more than that. You needed to be more than that.
Furrowing your brows, you fully focused on trying to please him, now grabbing his shaft with newfound confidence. You saw him narrow his gaze, a slight telltale sign that he was enjoying himself. Trying to draw expressions on his face, you tried different ways to make him feel good. At first you squeezed a little bit tighter, to which he nodded smugly. Then you decided to drag the head with your thumb in a round motion, the precum allowed the movement to be swift. He bit his lower lip, yet you still weren’t satisfied with it. You wanted to make him grunt.
With a little bit of doubt, you parted your lips and wrapped them around his cock, taking him in, gliding until you had to physically suppress a choke, tears pricking your eyes. You freed him, needing to cough, muttering a "sorry" with frustration.
He shook his head, exhaling a sharp breath, almost becoming a laugh. “What did you expect? You had never blown someone.”
You felt a blush creep to your cheeks, averting your gaze. “It’s not a big deal.” He sighed, grabbing your chin so you could face him. “I’ll teach you.”
“Instead of trying to take it all at once, try to test how much you can handle.”
You tried a second time, taking as much as you could without gagging. “Try to hollow your cheeks a little bit and start to bob your head.”
You did as he said, looking expectantly from your position to see if you were doing good. He nodded as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, guiding you. “Keep going, little angel. You are just starting to get good.”
You allowed him to set the pace, doing your best to feel him. Lips pressed to him. The salty taste of precum invading your tongue. The unknown substance making you frown. “Try to circle the head with your tongue.”
Not releasing your hair, he guided you out so you could catch your breath before positioning you near his cock. Panting, you stuck your tongue out, circling his red tip. After that you mixed your tongue in between sucks, and it worked wonderfully. You were a fast learner, and the soft grunts he started to mutter after a while encouraged you.
You had never stayed watching long enough to hear Soobin moan. It wasn’t because of shame or even respect. It was rooted in the deep hatred you felt towards the women that lingered on his bed for too long. When a soft cry escaped his parted lips, glossing thanks to the sheer layer of saliva coming from them, he stopped you.
“I want to come inside you.” The bluntness of the statement left you at a loss for words, not knowing how to exactly answer that. Nervousness was the first thing that came to mind. “I want to be the first to taint you.”
He pushed you softly against the mattress, your back crashing against the soft bedding. When he started parting your legs, you stopped him hurriedly. “Could you take out your shirt?”
“Mmmm…Why?”
“I want to feel the warmth of your skin.”
He thought for a whole heartbeat before caressing your cheek. Feeling the curves of your cheeks. Looking into your supplicating eyes. “I wonder how cold heaven must have been.”
You shuddered at the mention of your home, you wanted to bury the fact that you were ever a pristine creation in the first place. Because what you were doing had a name, and it was rightfully punished. You were a sinner, the worst kind at that. Detaching yourself from that was the only way you were ever going to be able to pursue the passing joy of having Soobin, at least for a brief second.
He saw your face shift to worry, hands fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. He tsked, rolling his eyes. “I’ll take my shirt off.”
He undid the buttons of his shirt skillfully, looking at you the entire time. Throwing the garment to the floor, he picked up where he left off, not wasting a second. You grabbed his shoulders, kissing him, letting your hands roam free over his bare torso. Nails scratching his back, leaving red trails. He was startled by this, not quite meeting the pace of the kiss. You stopped for a second, grabbing his hands and placing them on your body.
“Feel me, touch me. Desire me.”
You didn’t have to kiss him because he buried his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and nibbling at the exposed skin. Every hickey he left was a claim over your body, he wanted to say he proudly helped you fall from grace. That he turned you evil. It excited him; it made him spiral. Because you were the first being that he could touch that didn’t feel like a mere piece of meat to him. You were so loving with your touch, yet you knew what his hands were capable of. How? Just how could you lay there and demand his touch? How could you dare relish in the warmth of an assassin?
A symphony of moans erupted from your throat, you hugged him tightly. Burying your hands in his dark locks, encouraging him to keep going. He pressed his body above yours, you felt his erection on your stomach. He was harder than before. The thought of having him inside you made your eyes roll to the back of your head.
He stopped, gasping for air. This time he roughly parted your legs open. “Fuck. I just want to feel you.”
Positioning himself in your entrance, he didn’t even think about teasing you before parting your folds with the tip and sinking his shaft. The stretch brought a sharp pain, and you couldn’t avoid letting out a cry. “I’ll give you time. Tell me when you want me to move.”
A few seconds in and the pain melted into an indescribable yet delicious feeling. Mewling, you demanded that he move. It started as a lazy drag, trying to allow you to fully adjust to him. When you brought him closer to your body, hugging his torso with your legs, he sank his cock to the hilt, knocking the air out of you. Without notice, he thrust strongly, drawing all sorts of sound from your body. Bucking your hips, you tried to meet his thrusts, and when you did, you swore you saw stars.
“You feel so good, little angel.”
The only correct answer for you was a messy kiss. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, exploring. Biting your bottom lip, savoring your taste. He changed his angle, hitting the same spot he discovered with his fingers making you nip at his lips. You knew your walls were clenching around his shaft, squeezing him. Grunting, he let you go, a shiny thread of saliva connecting your mouths.
He stopped speaking altogether when he saw your teary eyes looking at where you two were joined. “Faster, p—please.” And he obeyed.
You sank your nails into his shoulder blades when it was becoming too much to handle, when one of his hands started circling your clit quickly. You knew you were nearing something, that something was supposed to happen. It scared you, yet it pushed you to plead for him to not stop. A long, sharp moan came from the depths of your throat when the storm inside your body collided into an unbearable pleasure. You came undone under him, the remaining strength in your body holding onto him.
He smiled smugly, biting his lip, bucking his hips forward. The pain of the overstimulation wasn’t enough to bring you back. You were being used by him to reach his pleasure, and you were thankful. You were here, hugging him, his body like an anchor to earth, and there was nothing else beyond him and this moment.
“Moan, please.” You mustered weakly.
He did. He made all sorts of sounds just because you asked. And when he came undone, his seed filling you up, he tiredly whispered into your ear. "A human tainting an angel like this? Unthinkable.”
He rested on top of you, catching his breath. You were so far gone you didn’t realize when your feathers started cascading off from your wings. Falling to the ground like dead leaves, turning from white to a dull ashen black.
summary: in a dystopian future where the government enforces arranged marriages to combat plummeting birth rates, you’re assigned a husband—choi yeonjun, a stranger you’ve never met.
warnings: explicit sexual content, soft breeding kink, language, forced marriage system, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy, domestic intimacy, power imbalance due to forced pairing, first time sex, creampie, dirty talk, oral sex,
wc: 19,1k
notes: hi everyone! ✨ so recently this idea popped into my head—i’ve been wanting to write something with an arranged marriage trope but the whole cold ceo x neglected wife thing was starting to feel a bit repetitive, especially since i’ve already written something in that genre (which i still LOVE btw, but i just wanted to try something new) 🥲 then i remembered this anime called koi to uso — it’s about this dystopian world where the government assigns you a partner and yeah… i never finished it because it turned super harem-y and that’s not really my vibe AJSJHSKJJH but the concept really caught my attention, so i thought hmm maybe i should give it a try 🫣
hope you guys enjoy it!! 🫶
everything begins the day you turn twenty.
you wake up to the faint noise of birds outside your window, sunlight filtering through the pale curtains, painting quiet shadows across your bedroom floor. your mother is already in the kitchen, humming lowly, but there’s something off in her tone. a tremble, maybe. or maybe it’s just you. maybe you’re imagining it because today’s the day you have to register.
the day you officially surrender your right to choose who you’ll love.
in this country, love is not a decision. it is a number, an equation, a state-mandated obligation for survival. for years now, the country’s birth rate has been plummeting. desperate to avoid demographic collapse, the government instituted the pairing system: when you turn twenty, your data—genetic markers, temperament, emotional intelligence, compatibility rates—is run through the database. the algorithm does the rest. your match is chosen, your future locked in, and within the year, you are expected to marry and attend compulsory family planning. you have one job: produce offspring.
love is banned unless sanctioned by the state.
you walk into the government building with your hands shaking, your mother squeezing your fingers too tightly, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. she’s been crying in secret, you know. she didn’t want this for you. no one does.
and yet—there is no other choice.
the registration is swift. a photo, a signature, your blood drawn for one final compatibility cross-check. they tell you the letter will arrive in three to five business days. the envelope will be yellow. unmistakable.
“please return home and prepare for assignment.”
you try to keep your days normal after that. university lectures. cafeteria lunches. walking home with your head down, ignoring the couples holding hands across campus, each one with an official barcode tattooed on their ring fingers—a symbol of government approval. your own hand feels heavy just looking at them. branded love. manufactured desire. they never really chose each other.
sometimes you wonder if any of them are happy.
three days later, the yellow envelope is in your mailbox.
you freeze when you see it. fingers trembling, breath caught, skin going cold. the paper almost burns in your hands. you don’t open it right away. you walk straight to your room, lock the door, sit on your bed with your heart racing so violently you think you might throw up. and then, slowly, carefully, you tear the seal.
your eyes skim the top. the official logo of the bureau of demographic affairs. your name, your assigned number. and then:
assigned partner: choi yeonjun. age: 20.
a small, passport-sized photo is attached to the right side of the letter.
you stare.
he’s... beautiful.
cat-like eyes, tilted just enough to make him look a little wild. dark lashes, long and thick. a soft, upturned nose with a gentle slope that suits the elegant structure of his face. lips—full, plush, the kind that look perpetually kiss-bruised even in monochrome. his jaw is sharp but not too much, softened by a slight pout in his mouth. he’s unnervingly symmetrical. there’s a balance to his features, a harmony, like he was designed—crafted—to be attractive.
your throat feels dry.
beneath the photo, there’s a line of text confirming the date of your preliminary meeting—next friday at 2 p.m., government center, family conference room 2B. both sets of parents are expected to attend. your wedding will be planned based on that meeting’s outcome.
you lie back on the bed, letter pressed to your chest, and stare at the ceiling.
it feels... wrong to think this—but he’s attractive. unfairly so. and that terrifies you even more. because you were always taught not to feel. not to dream of fairytales or meet-cutes or falling for someone in the rain. love at first sight is a myth now. it's forbidden. it would disrupt the system. too much emotion, too much unpredictability. and yet—
yet here you are, cheeks warm, heart skipping, staring at the grayscale face of a boy you’re about to marry.
a boy you’ve never met.
friday. 2:00 p.m.government center, family conference room 2B.
you’re early.
your dress is navy, modest, but it hugs your figure in a way you wish it wouldn’t. you didn’t pick it to be pretty—you picked it because it was formal, appropriate. your mother insisted on curling your hair, and your father didn’t speak the entire ride over. only your little brother tried to smile at you, but even his usual mischief was subdued. he kept playing with the sleeves of his hoodie in the backseat, pretending not to be upset.
the building is tall and silent, cold in a way that doesn't come from the air conditioning. it's the sterility of a place that sees life as a series of documents and laws. a place that doesn’t care about dreams.
you sit on one side of the long glass table, your family beside you. your mother keeps wringing a tissue in her lap. your father’s jaw is clenched, his hands crossed tightly. this is the last time they will sit with you like this—before you are someone else's.
and then the door opens.
you hear his voice before you see him. low, warm, laughing quietly at something one of his parents said. and when he walks in, it’s—
it’s hard to breathe.
he’s wearing a black suit that fits too well. slim, tailored, crisp like a page never touched. his hair is pushed back, soft and styled, a few strands falling delicately onto his forehead. and his face—his photo didn’t do him justice. his features move with his expressions, eyes gleaming like obsidian, mouth curved just slightly at the corners as if he’s always on the edge of a smile.
choi yeonjun.
his mother is elegant, her hair in a low twist, expression unreadable. his father looks composed, dignified, already halfway through a handshake with the government official present. this isn’t their first pairing. you remember reading his file—third son. they’ve done this before.
you feel like you’re being auctioned off.
“this is my assigned partner?” yeonjun asks, voice lilting, curious—not judgmental. he’s looking straight at you. and then he bows.
you stand and bow too, polite. your voice stays caught in your throat.
“you’re pretty,” he says softly, once he straightens. “i’m glad.”
it shouldn’t affect you. it shouldn’t. and yet your stomach flutters, just for a second, before you kill the feeling dead.
you don’t say anything. not because you’re rude—but because this isn’t real. this is a performance. this is a sentence.
the government mediator begins to speak, outlining the stages of the arrangement: the preliminary meeting. the planning process. the mandatory cohabitation. the one-year marriage trial before reproduction is expected.
you zone out after a while. your mother is crying again. your father’s voice is hoarse when he answers the legal questions. your little brother won’t look at you. and across from you, yeonjun looks like he’s done this in another life. calm. collected. but not cruel.
then, the mediator clears her throat.
“now, if the parents could please give the pair some time to speak privately. it is customary.”
your mother hesitates. she squeezes your hand until her knuckles turn white. she whispers something—"don’t let them take your heart too, okay?"—and then lets go.
and just like that, you are alone with him.
just the two of you, in a silent room that smells like paper and polished wood.
yeonjun exhales once your families are gone. his shoulders relax a little.
“wow,” he says. “that was intense.”
you nod. your hands are in your lap, clutching the fabric of your dress.
“you don’t talk much, huh?”
you glance up at him. he’s watching you with a soft kind of curiosity. not the kind that pries. more like he’s observing the weather—trying to guess if rain is coming.
“i do,” you say finally, voice quiet. “just... not today.”
he smiles. “that’s fair.”
a pause. he sits across from you again, legs crossed, posture easy, like he’s not under the weight of state surveillance. like this is his decision.
“i know this is strange,” he says. “i’m not gonna pretend it’s not. they pick someone for you, give you a name and a photo, and you’re supposed to start building a future. it's... a lot.”
you say nothing. you’re watching the way his fingers tap on the edge of the table. rhythmical. patient.
“i’m not here to make this harder for you,” he says, gentler now. “i know some people get assigned to assholes. i promise i won’t be one.”
your brows knit together, surprised.
he leans forward, elbows on the table, chin resting in one palm.
“if we have to go through this, we might as well not suffer through it.”
and you look at him then, really look.
his gaze is steady. not forceful. not manipulative. he’s not trying to make you like him. he’s just... honest.
"you’re used to this,” you murmur.
his smile falters. “not really. i’ve just watched my brothers go through it. and i learned what not to do.”
there’s something about the way he says it. like he’s seen what happens when the system doesn’t pair people right. like he knows how love can die before it’s even born.
you swallow, throat tight.
“i didn’t want this,” you admit.
he nods. “me neither.”
silence settles between you again. it’s not awkward. just full. like both of you are trying to breathe in a place with no air.
“but...” he says softly, after a while. “i think you’re interesting. and you’re easy to talk to. even if you don’t say much.”
your cheeks flush, and you hate that you can feel it. he notices, of course. but he doesn’t tease you. he just smiles to himself, quiet and pleased.
“so,” he says, tilting his head. “can i know something real about you? not government data. just... you.”
you blink.
he waits.
slow burn. that’s what this is. he’s not rushing. he’s not playing pretend. he’s offering you a chance to make something human out of something cold.
and even though everything in you is screaming don’t trust it—
you speak.
you tell him a little. not much. just enough.
and he listens. attentively. sincerely.
maybe that’s how it starts. not with a kiss. not with a confession. but with someone sitting across from you, asking who you are when no one’s watching.
two weeks later.
the wedding is on a thursday.
you don’t get a white dress. there’s no music, no flowers. no ceremony beyond a document and a pen and the sterile voices of government officials making sure everything is binding and accounted for.
you wear beige.
yeonjun wears black again. no tie this time. his hair is messier, like he didn’t bother too much. he looks good anyway, like he always does. like someone who never had to try.
the room is almost identical to the one where you met: glass, steel, a flag in the corner.
your mother sobs quietly during the signing. your father doesn’t let go of her hand. your brother tries not to look, but when you lean down to hug him goodbye, he hides his face in your shoulder and mutters a broken, “please don’t forget us.”
and that’s when you finally cry.
not loud. not messy. just silent tears running down your cheeks as you sign the paper that says you no longer belong to them. your name next to yeonjun’s. your status: married. active participant in national repopulation initiative.
they even stamp it. a red seal. final. absolute.
you don't remember the ride to your new shared apartment. only the sound of the car, the blur of the buildings, your hands gripping the hem of your coat in your lap like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.
yeonjun doesn’t speak for a while. and when he does, it’s soft. careful.
“you don’t have to pretend around me,” he says, eyes on the road. “i know this hurts.”
you don’t answer.
he pulls into a residential complex. government-provided. modern, quiet. two bedrooms, a shared kitchen, everything fully equipped. it smells like fresh paint and new plastic. not like home.
your boxes are already inside. so are his.
the apartment is... neutral. beige walls. grey couch. chrome kitchen. there’s a small balcony, but it faces another building.
you walk into your assigned bedroom and close the door without saying a word.
and to his credit, he doesn’t follow you. not right away.
but now, days pass like fog.
there’s a schedule pinned to the fridge now. a printed routine from the bureau: acclimation period, cohabitation adjustment, health preparation. underlined: mandatory hospital check-up before family planning begins.
you go to the hospital together a week later.
the nurse greets you by your couple ID number.
yeonjun jokes to break the tension—something dumb about feeling like a robot in a factory—and you don’t laugh, but you glance at him sideways. just a little. he notices.
you both go through blood work, fertility testing, infectious disease screening. the nurse asks personal questions. too personal. about cycles and hormone levels and sexual history—
you flinch.
yeonjun speaks for you when you freeze.
“she’s not comfortable,” he says simply. “ask me first.”
his voice is calm, but there's steel beneath it. the nurse adjusts her tone after that.
on the ride home, you stare out the window. he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping his thigh, nervous energy he never shows in his posture. it’s the little things you’re starting to notice.
“you didn’t have to speak for me,” you say, finally.
“i know,” he answers. “but i wanted to.”
and again—there it is.
that kindness you didn’t ask for. that warmth he keeps offering, even though you haven’t given him much back.
nights are the hardest.
you pretend to sleep early, even when your eyes stay open in the dark for hours. the room feels too still, too foreign. the bed smells like the laundry detergent they gave you in the relocation kit. the ceiling fan turns slowly, quietly. your chest feels tight, like grief has found a home inside your ribs and refuses to move out.
sometimes, you press your ear against the bedroom wall. you can’t hear much. just the occasional soft shuffle, the hum of yeonjun’s voice when he speaks on the phone in hushed tones. he never speaks long. never laughs out loud. not anymore.
you miss your mother’s voice echoing from the kitchen, your brother’s heavy footsteps running down the hallway. the scent of warm rice and grilled mackerel. the sound of your father clearing his throat before calling everyone to eat.
now, there’s only silence.
until one night, a knock.
not loud. not urgent. just... present.
“hey,” comes his voice through the door. “you don’t have to open. i just wanted to say... i know this feels like the end of everything, but it isn’t.”
you sit up slowly. your hand hovers near the handle but doesn’t reach it.
“i know we didn’t choose each other,” he continues, voice low and careful, “but maybe that doesn’t mean we can’t choose to be good to each other.”
you swallow. your throat feels raw.
after a pause, your voice comes out in a whisper, hoarse but steady. “okay.”
you don’t open the door. but you walk to it, lean your back against the cool wood. and then—almost imperceptibly—you hear the sound of him lowering himself on the other side. sitting with you. just like that. no pressure. just presence.
you stay like that for a while. breathing the same air, separated by a few centimeters and a thin barrier. but somehow... it feels closer than anything else has in weeks.
you don’t talk more that night. but when you finally slide back into bed, you sleep without crying.
that’s a first.
the next morning, there’s tea waiting on the counter.
he doesn’t say it’s from him. but he’s the only other person here, so you thank him anyway.
a nod. a tiny smile. you sip it, and it’s sweet.
from that night on, something shifts. neither of you says it aloud, but the air is different now.
you start having breakfast together. simple stuff—toast, boiled eggs, fruit. you sit across from each other at the tiny kitchen table and talk about nothing. weather. uni schedules. news updates.
one afternoon, you both arrive home soaked from the sudden rain.
you were out grocery shopping. he met you on the walk back by chance. no umbrella. you ran together. you laughed—really laughed—for the first time since being assigned. your clothes clung to your skin, your breath short from the sprint.
in the elevator, he looks at you and says, a little breathless, “you’re kind of cute when you’re mad at the rain.”
you blink at him. cheeks warm. you don't know what to say.
that night, he passes you a hairdryer through your door.
“so you don’t catch a cold.”
you murmur thanks. he lingers in the hallway a moment, like he wants to say something else. but then he leaves.
the next few nights, he knocks more often. never asks to come in. just talks through the door. sometimes you join him on the floor again, your backs pressed to opposite sides of wood. you start to open up. a little at a time.
one night, just past midnight, you both end up in the kitchen again.
you couldn’t sleep. neither could he. you make tea, he brings a packet of cookies.
the city outside is asleep. your apartment is bathed in soft fridge light.
you find yourselves sitting on the floor, backs to the counter.
he asks, voice low, “did you ever fall in love before all this?”
the question feels heavy. you stare into your cup.
“no,” you answer honestly. “i didn’t let myself. what was the point, if it was forbidden? if we were all going to be assigned anyway?”
he nods slowly. you notice the way his eyes flick toward the window, as if remembering something far away.
“i did,” he says finally.
your heart stirs.
“in high school,” he goes on, “i fell for this girl in my class. she had this ridiculous laugh and used to bring snacks for everyone. i liked her for three years. never told her. i thought... i don’t know. part of me really believed she’d be assigned to me.”
you watch the way his lips twist into something halfway between a smile and a wince.
“i used to daydream about it,” he admits, almost embarrassed. “our names printed together on the envelope. hers next to mine. like it was meant to be.”
you don’t say anything. you let him speak.
“and then she got married last year. to someone else. she posted a photo with her husband and... i laughed. like, really laughed. because it was so stupid. how much hope i’d put into something that was never mine to decide.”
you imagine it. the version of him in a classroom, heart racing every time she turned around. young, hopeful. painfully innocent.
you don’t know her name. you’ll probably never meet her.
but you hate her a little.
you hate that she had his love, his dreams, his belief. something you were too scared to even touch.
and you hate that your chest aches when he says her name without saying it.
“i’m sorry,” you whisper. “that it didn’t work out.”
he looks at you, and there’s something tender in the way his eyes soften. “i’m not,” he says after a beat. “i wouldn’t have met you if it had.”
the silence after that is heavy, electric.
you don’t answer.
but you stay there with him. knees almost touching. the scent of tea between you. eyes a little too full. hearts slightly ajar.
the email arrives quietly, with the mechanical ding of a notification breaking the silence of your morning. it’s nothing dramatic—just a government seal, a cold subject line: YOUTH EMPLOYMENT PROGRAM FOR NEWLYWEDS.
you’re still in your oversized sleep shirt, hair loosely tied up, your fingers wrapped around a warm mug of barley tea as you sit at the small kitchen table. the place smells like toasted bread and laundry detergent. yeonjun walks in a few minutes later, yawning, dressed in sweatpants and a faded university hoodie, a slice of toast clenched between his teeth. he glances over your shoulder to see what you're looking at.
you click the email open. it’s from the ministry of social and familial affairs—another mandatory policy. another thing the government arranges for you, like you’re pieces on a board.
“because both parties are currently enrolled in higher education,” you read aloud softly, “the government will provide access to part-time employment opportunities and offer a financial subsidy for essential living expenses during the first year of marriage.”
you don’t say anything for a long while after that. the words hover in the air, bureaucratic and impersonal. but somehow, they make this life feel more real. more permanent. like you’re not just living in a temporary dream—you’re expected to stay here. build something.
“well,” yeonjun finally says, mouth half-full, “that’s... something. we should check it out later.”
you nod, even though your stomach feels hollow.
you still think about that night. the night he told you about his first love. about how he spent three years loving her in silence, convinced she'd be the one fate would give him. the girl with snacks and a bright laugh. the one who got married last year. not to him.
and no matter how much you tell yourself it’s ridiculous, it still gnaws at you sometimes. there’s this faint, irrational heat in your chest whenever she crosses your mind. you don’t even know what she looks like. you don’t know her name. but something about the way he talked about her—with such tender resignation—makes something sour rise in your throat.
you hate that it lingers.
you hate that it hurts.
that night, the rain starts late.
it begins with a steady tapping against the glass, the kind that would normally soothe you—white noise for your thoughts. but then the wind picks up, howling through the narrow alley between your apartment and the building next door, and you know what’s coming.
the first clap of thunder makes you freeze.
your fingers curl around the blanket. your chest tightens. you try to breathe slowly, like your therapist taught you when you were younger. but then comes another one—louder, deeper. it shakes the walls. it shakes you.
you’ve always hated storms. they made you cry as a child, and when you were too old to crawl into your mother’s bed, you forced your little brother to sleep beside you just so you wouldn’t feel alone.
now you’re in a place that doesn’t smell like your mother’s laundry, that doesn’t hold your brother’s sleepy warmth.
you’re alone again. except you’re not. not really.
you don’t think. you just move.
barefoot, your steps light across the cold floor, you open your bedroom door and cross the hall. you knock on yeonjun’s door twice, already feeling embarrassed, but unable to stop.
he opens almost immediately, wearing a gray t-shirt and sleep-tousled hair. his eyes are soft when they meet yours.
“are you okay?” he asks gently, already understanding.
you hesitate. “can i… stay here tonight?”
there’s a beat of silence. he nods, stepping aside without a word, and gestures for you to come in.
his room is dim, smelling faintly of his cologne and clean linen. it’s warmer than yours. there’s a stack of books by his bed, an open laptop with half-written notes still on the screen, a navy blue hoodie slung over the chair.
he grabs an extra blanket and starts to lay it out on the floor, but you shake your head, already trembling from another rumble of thunder.
“i… don’t want to be alone,” you whisper.
yeonjun pauses. and then, slowly, he walks back toward the bed and lifts the corner of the blanket for you.
you crawl in on one side. he lies down on the other. space between you, but not coldness. not indifference.
“i’ve always been scared of storms,” you murmur into the dark. “when i was little, i’d run to my parents’ room. then i made my little brother stay with me. i thought that when i grew up, i wouldn’t be scared anymore. but i guess… i still am.”
you feel the bed shift as he turns onto his side, facing you. his voice is low, almost a hush.
“nothing’s going to break tonight.”
those five words feel like something heavier than comfort. they feel like a promise. and they make something fragile inside you twist.
you’re quiet for a long time after that. the silence is heavy but not uncomfortable. it’s the kind of silence that lets your heartbeat slow. the kind that feels full of something new—something you don’t have a name for yet.
you fall asleep to the sound of rain and his breathing, even and steady beside you.
and when you wake up in the early morning light, his hand is resting over yours.
you slept like a baby.
it's the first thought you have when you blink your eyes open, bathed in the pale light of morning seeping through the curtains. the room smells like faint detergent and something unmistakably yeonjun—warm cotton and the slightest trace of his cologne. the air is quiet now, no more thunder shaking the walls, no rain tapping restlessly against the windows. and your chest feels… calm.
it surprises you, how rested you feel. how deep your sleep was. how safe.
you remember all those nights with your younger brother, clinging to him as the storm rattled outside, whispering stories or counting sheep until your mind shut down from exhaustion. sleep was never easy back then. it was something you wrestled for, clawed your way toward, until it finally overtook you like mercy. but last night... last night, it came softly. it held you.
and now you realize why.
yeonjun’s arms are around you.
not tightly, not possessively—just gently draped, like he forgot to move in the night, like his body instinctively curved around yours in sleep. one of his hands rests over your wrist, the other loosely against your waist, warm even through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. and his face is so close, calm and boyish, lips slightly parted, his breath even and soft against your skin.
your heart pounds immediately, panic fluttering low in your stomach—not because you’re scared, but because this is unfamiliar. because you don’t know what to do with this kind of tenderness.
you want to pull away. you should. you really, really should.
but instead you stay.
you stay because there’s something about this moment that feels too fragile to break. something inside you, some cracked place, is being filled just by existing in this quiet closeness. and you realize—though you’ve never wanted to admit it—that you’ve been touch-starved for a long time. that there’s a part of you that’s been aching for connection, for warmth, for someone.
his fingers twitch slightly in his sleep, adjusting against your hip, and your breath catches. the movement is innocent, unconscious—but your skin reacts like it’s been branded. you swallow hard, trying to still the storm inside you, even though the one outside is already gone.
you stay like that for several more minutes, listening to the soft hum of the apartment, watching the way the sunlight plays over his features. you trace the line of his brow with your eyes, the soft curve of his lashes, the shape of his lips. he looks so peaceful like this—unguarded, almost boyish. and for a second, you wonder what he’s dreaming about. if he ever dreamed of something like this.
he stirs eventually, a sleepy sound escaping his throat as he blinks slowly awake. his gaze is unfocused at first, but then it lands on you, and something warm flickers in it.
“…morning,” he mumbles, voice still gravelly from sleep.
“morning,” you whisper back, suddenly aware of how close you are, of how your bodies are still tucked together like pieces of the same story.
neither of you moves.
there’s a pause where his eyes search your face, slow and unreadable. and then, with a sleepy smile tugging at his lips, he lets out a soft breath.
“you didn’t run away in the middle of the night. that’s a good sign.”
you laugh quietly, your cheeks burning. “i slept too well to even think about moving.”
he hums, pleased. “me too. i usually toss around like crazy, but i guess… you were a good influence.”
you want to joke. to deflect. but instead you find yourself whispering something real.
“i felt safe.”
his eyes soften.
you don’t say anything else. you just lie there a while longer, not moving, not rushing. there’s a peace in the way your bodies still fit together, in how neither of you seems quite ready to let go.
but the world, eventually, pulls you back. responsibilities, the clock ticking louder in your head. breakfast. classes. life.
yeonjun stretches lazily and finally pulls back, giving you space without question, his smile sleepy but kind. “i’ll make us coffee.”
you nod, watching him slip out of bed, hair tousled, shirt riding up slightly at the back. you press your hand to where his body had been, still warm, and you sit there a little longer, your thoughts spiraling in slow, confused circles.
because even though last night was about fear and storms… this morning feels like the beginning of something else entirely.
the waiting room smells like antiseptic and soft lavender, a strange combination that doesn’t manage to calm your nerves. you sit side by side with yeonjun on a sleek government-issued bench, your fingers clasped tightly on your lap, trying not to let your knee bounce with the anxiety pressing into your chest.
he seems more composed than you are—back straight, hands relaxed, legs slightly spread in his usual confident posture—but when you glance sideways, you notice how he keeps licking his lips, how his jaw clenches just a little every few seconds.
the appointment with the planning officer had been scheduled right after your wedding—clinical, efficient, emotionless, like everything else in this system. you hadn’t talked about it. hadn’t even wanted to think about it. but now it’s here, and there’s nowhere to hide.
“choi yeonjun. choi y/n,” a nurse calls softly from the doorway, clipboard in hand. “follow me.”
you walk side by side into a white, spotless office where a woman in a pale beige suit greets you from behind a desk. she looks to be in her forties, composed, direct, her nametag reading ms. kang – reproductive health officer.
you sit across from her. the air feels heavier now.
“so,” she begins, smiling in that polite, unyielding way government workers do, “you’re about a month into your union. how’s the adjustment been?”
you blink, unsure how to answer. yeonjun speaks first.
“we’re getting used to it. slowly.”
“good,” she nods, tapping something on her tablet. “you’ve both passed the health screenings, no genetic flags or fertility concerns. so the next step is to begin trials of compatibility-based conception.”
you shift in your seat. trials.
“have you already begun your sexual relationship?” she asks, her tone calm, like she’s asking about the weather.
your breath catches. your eyes widen slightly, and your face goes hot. “uh—no. not yet,” you manage, your voice too soft, almost guilty.
yeonjun straightens a little, eyebrows twitching, his tone sharper. “we’ve only been married a few weeks. there hasn’t been time.”
ms. kang doesn’t flinch. she only nods and types something on her screen. “i see. while it’s natural for some couples to take time, we recommend initiating intimacy soon. it will help establish the rhythm of your connection and allow us to track progress for planning interventions if necessary.”
your ears are burning now. her words play back in your head like static: initiate intimacy, track progress.
you glance at yeonjun without meaning to, and he’s already looking at you—but his expression is unreadable. his jaw is tight again.
“we’ll… take that into consideration,” he says curtly.
the rest of the appointment passes in a blur. you nod and agree to things you barely hear, accept pamphlets on fertility monitoring and hormonal optimization. by the time you walk out of the clinic, your skin feels too tight for your body.
you don’t speak on the way home.
you sit beside him on the train, trying to focus on the passing buildings outside the window, but your thoughts keep circling the same place. the way she said it. the expectation of it. and worse—the idea of it.
because the thing is… you’ve thought about it. even before this meeting, in the quiet moments, in the space between shared breakfasts and brushing past each other in the kitchen, in that night you slept in his arms like you belonged there.
you’ve wondered what his mouth would feel like pressed to your neck.
you’ve wondered how his hands would move if he weren’t just offering comfort.
you’ve wondered how his voice would sound if it wasn’t so composed—if it cracked with want.
but that was all private. safe in your imagination. not something stamped into paperwork. not something tracked by government programs and fertility logs.
and now you can’t not think about it.
when you finally get home, it’s too quiet. you move around each other like magnets unsure if they should attract or repel. you both pretend you’re just tired. that it was just a long day.
but the silence drips between you, thick and unspoken.
you head to your room without a word, tossing the clinic folder on your desk like it burns. you try to sleep. but the image of yeonjun, tense and handsome in the cold clinic light, won’t leave your mind. his voice, defensive. his fingers, twitching on his knee. and most of all, the memory of his arm around your waist from that night—the heat of his skin under your palm.
an hour passes. maybe two.
you shift in bed, restless. you toss the blanket off. put it back on. stare at the ceiling. you hear footsteps in the hall.
a soft knock at your door.
you sit up, heart hammering. “come in.”
yeonjun stands there, messy hair and hoodie half-zipped, eyes unreadable in the dim light. he doesn’t come in right away. just leans against the doorframe and runs a hand through his hair.
“sorry,” he says after a moment. “about earlier. the clinic.”
you nod. “it’s okay.”
he looks at you then, longer, and something flickers in his expression—something caught between curiosity and hesitation.
“they make it sound like it’s supposed to be… mechanical,” he murmurs, crossing the room slowly. “but it’s not, right? it’s not supposed to be.”
your breath catches.
he stops by your bed. close enough for you to see the flutter of his lashes, the nervous line between his brows. close enough that you feel the heat radiating off his body.
you don’t know who moves first. maybe it’s you. maybe it’s both of you at the same time. but suddenly, the space between you disappears.
his hand brushes your cheek, soft and hesitant, and you lean into it without thinking.
“i don’t want it to be just… a task,” he says quietly, voice barely a breath now. “not with you.”
you don’t answer. you just let your forehead rest against his chest, your heart beating too loudly, your breath catching in your throat.
and when he wraps his arms around you again—warm and strong and familiar—you feel the storm rising again.
but this time, it’s not outside.
it’s you. it’s him.
and it’s not fear anymore.
it’s something else entirely.
you don’t kiss that night.
you could’ve. maybe you almost do. there’s a moment where his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth and your eyes lift to meet his, and you feel it—that shift, like the world holds its breath. but then he steps back, gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and says goodnight in a voice that’s too soft, too careful.
he leaves your door cracked open behind him. and somehow, that’s worse than closing it.
after that, the tension lingers—thick and quiet like smoke.
in the mornings, you find yourselves together more often than not. your coffee mugs sit side by side now. sometimes you forget whose is whose. he steals sips from yours and you pretend to scowl, but your heart trips every time your fingers brush when you both reach for the sugar at the same time.
you fall into a rhythm. not romantic. not domestic. but something else. something intimate in a quiet way.
when the job placement emails come through, you sit together on the couch, scrolling through them on your shared government-issued tablet. yeonjun lands a spot as an assistant at a community cultural center downtown—flexible hours, reasonable pay. you get placed in a local library, part-time shelving and cataloguing.
it’s not exciting. it’s not your dream. but it’s… stable.
“at least we won’t starve,” yeonjun says one evening, his arm slung lazily over the back of the couch behind you. “thanks, government.”
you snort. “maybe next year they’ll assign us a kid and a dog, too.”
he laughs—really laughs, loud and full—and something about the sound makes your chest ache. it makes you want to say something dumb just to hear it again.
but what sticks with you, what haunts you, is that night after the storm. not because of what happened—because of what didn’t.
and what happened at the clinic. what the officer said. what yeonjun said after.
you think about it too much. think about him too much.
and you think about her.
the girl he loved once. the one he talked about in that quiet, midnight voice, when the rain had softened and you were wrapped in his hoodie like armor.
you remember how his gaze turned distant as he spoke of her, how he confessed that he truly believed she’d be the one assigned to him. that he waited. that he hoped.
how the disappointment burned when he found out she wasn’t.
and you shouldn’t feel anything about it. it’s in the past. he told you that.
but sometimes, when you catch him staring into space or fiddling with that little leather bracelet he always wears, your chest twists a little. and you don’t know why.
you’re not in love.
you’re not supposed to fall in love.
yet it keeps slipping in—quiet and slow. like water through cracks.
one evening, it rains again. not a storm, just a steady drizzle that makes the air smell clean. you’re both tired from work and university, but neither of you wants to be alone in your room.
you sit on the windowsill together, knees touching, sharing a bowl of strawberries yeonjun bought on the way home. the fruit is sweet and cold against your tongue.
“i used to love the rain,” he murmurs, watching it trail down the glass. “when i was a kid, i’d sit on the porch for hours just listening. it felt like… everything else stopped for a while.”
you glance at him. his profile is soft in the dim light, his hair falling slightly over his eyes.
“it used to scare me,” you admit quietly. “storms, i mean. as you may know...”
he smiles without turning to you. “you were scared.”
“yeah.”
there’s a pause.
“you weren’t scared the other night,” he says. “not with me.”
you shrug. “you made it easy not to be.”
the silence that follows is gentle. not awkward. just… full.
“do you think it’s still possible?” he asks suddenly. “to fall for someone? even with all of this?” he gestures vaguely, and you know he means the system, the laws, the matching algorithms and fertility checkups and pre-written life paths.
you don’t answer right away. you don’t know how to.
“i think we’re not supposed to,” you say after a long pause. “but maybe… that doesn’t stop it from happening.”
his eyes find yours then, and they don’t look away.
your heart stumbles.
neither of you speaks. the air feels like it’s crackling again—not with lightning, but with something just as dangerous.
the next night, you fall asleep on the couch together. not planned. not anything.
you were watching something. you don’t even remember what. but you woke up with your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you, heartbeat steady against your ear.
you don’t move. you can’t move.
it feels too good. too right.
his shirt smells like laundry soap and skin. his fingers shift in his sleep, brushing lightly along your back. it makes you shiver. it makes you think about things you shouldn’t.
you stay there until the sun begins to rise.
you pretend to be asleep when he finally stirs and lifts his head slightly, blinking at your face. you feel the weight of his gaze.
but he doesn’t move either.
and neither do you.
because something’s changing. you both feel it.
you just don’t say it. not yet.
not until it’s too loud to ignore.
and maybe that moment is coming faster than either of you is ready for.
you try not to overthink the moments.
you try.
the accidental sleep on the couch becomes less accidental. the next week, it happens again—this time during a shared late-night study session. you're both exhausted, papers and notebooks strewn across the coffee table, half-finished cups of coffee gone cold.
you wake up tucked under the same blanket, the light off, the tablet blinking low battery on the floor. yeonjun is beside you, his legs tangled with yours, his breathing soft against the crown of your head.
he doesn’t say anything when you open your eyes. he’s already awake, watching you, and when he sees you stir, he whispers a faint “morning” like it’s a secret.
you nod, throat dry. “morning.”
neither of you moves.
and maybe it’s the silence. maybe it’s the way his hand is resting lightly on your hip, not possessive, not bold—just there.or maybe it’s because of the way your name sounds in his voice lately—gentler, more familiar, too intimate for two people who were supposed to be strangers made spouses.
whatever it is, it roots itself deep in your chest, wraps vines around your ribs, and refuses to let go.
but things are still complicated.
you remember the appointment at the family planning center far too clearly. how the sterile walls and uncomfortable chairs felt like a sentence being handed down. the woman at the desk, clipboard in hand, speaking in clinical terms while smiling too much. the questions.
“have you two begun sexual relations yet?”
your body stiffened so fast it hurt. you’d shaken your head, cheeks burning.
“no,” you said, barely above a whisper.
and then yeonjun.
his voice didn’t waver. didn’t shrink. but there was a hint of something—offense, maybe, or just discomfort buried beneath practiced calm.
“not yet.”
not yet.
those words echoed for hours after.
the woman nodded, unbothered, flipping her pen in one hand.
“you should consider beginning soon,” she said, checking off a box. “intimacy will help strengthen the emotional bond and allow us to begin identifying which fertility path will suit your needs. the government recommends couples begin within the first ninety days of union.”
you had never wanted to disappear more.
the walk home was silent.
yeonjun didn’t mention it. you didn’t either.
but it sat between you like a stormcloud, buzzing with electricity, waiting to crack open.
you catch him watching you more after that. not in a bad way. not in a way that makes you feel unsafe. no—it makes you feel too safe, and that’s somehow worse.
he’s careful. always. but he’s still a boy. and you’re still you. and your bodies know things your minds are afraid to say.
the small space you share only makes things more dangerous.
his cologne clings to your pillows. your lotion starts appearing on his arms. he hums the songs you listen to in the shower. he buys your favorite snack without asking.
you start wearing his shirts to sleep without realizing. you only notice the third time it happens—when he stops in the hallway and his eyes dip, linger, then flick back up with a quiet clearing of his throat.
“is that mine?”
you glance down at yourself. it’s an old oversized gray tee. soft. worn. familiar. his scent baked into the fabric like sunlight.
“uh… yeah. sorry. it was just on the chair and—”
“keep it,” he says, not letting you finish. “looks better on you.”
you go to bed that night with your skin buzzing.
and things only build from there.
he starts cooking more, pulling you into the kitchen with an easy “help me” that really means just stand here while i talk to you. you lean on the counter while he cuts vegetables, while he stirs sauces, while he tells you about his classes and how boring statistics is, how he almost fell asleep mid-lecture. you laugh and call him dramatic. he grins and tells you it’s your fault for not waking him up when he left.
“you’re supposed to be my wife now. you have responsibilities.”
he says it like a joke. you laugh like it is one.
but your heart stutters anyway.
one night, it rains again. not a storm, just heavy and constant, soft thunder echoing in the distance. you find yourself awake at midnight again, restless, curled on the couch in the living room with your knees tucked to your chest.
yeonjun finds you there.
he doesn’t say anything—just sits beside you, close but not touching, and watches the rain drip down the windows.
“can’t sleep?” he asks.
you shake your head. “not really.”
“you okay?”
you nod, even though you’re not sure.
the air between you hums. it’s familiar now. this closeness. this heavy, unsaid thing growing slowly between shared silences and sidelong glances.
you lean your head on his shoulder, unsure why. maybe it’s because the rain feels lonelier tonight. maybe it’s because it feels like something is shifting again.
his breath hitches almost imperceptibly, but he doesn’t move away.
“do you think they’re watching us?” you ask softly. “the government, i mean. checking how fast we fall in love. how fast we sleep together.”
he’s quiet for a moment.
“maybe,” he says finally. “but they can’t measure the parts that matter.”
“like what?”
he tilts his head toward yours. “like this.”
you feel the words like fingertips down your spine.
you close your eyes, and his shoulder under your cheek feels like solid ground.
this is the moment where maybe everything could change.
but you don’t kiss. not yet.
you breathe in together.
and for now, that’s enough.
the power cuts out a little after ten. it happens suddenly—an abrupt flicker, followed by darkness swallowing the apartment whole.
you blink, heart skipping, your body already tightening with reflex from the sound, from the silence that follows too quickly.
then the soft sound of rain begins again.
but unlike the last time, this one is gentle. no thunder, no flashes of light through the windows. just rain, steady and calm like fingers tapping against glass. it’s the kind of rain that makes the night feel softer than usual. quieter.
yeonjun lights a candle he keeps in the drawer near the kitchen, its flame swaying in the center of the living room table, casting shadows on the walls. he brings it over to the couch where you sit curled up under a blanket, your knees pressed to your chest, already waiting.
he joins you without asking.
“guess we’ll have to pretend we’re in the 1800s,” he murmurs, glancing at the candle.
you laugh softly. “at least you’re not reading me poetry.”
“don’t tempt me,” he grins.
the silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. it rarely is now. something about the rain, the flicker of light, the way you’re seated side by side with your shoulders barely touching, it all feels… close.
your gaze drifts to the window, where the raindrops race each other down the glass. and before you can stop yourself, your thoughts start circling again. you’ve been doing that more and more—ever since that night. ever since yeonjun told you about her. the girl he loved in high school. the one he thought would be assigned to him.
you swallow. your chest tightens, not with pain exactly—more like an unfamiliar ache. something raw you haven’t named yet.
“can i ask you something?” you say, voice quiet.
yeonjun hums, eyes still on the candlelight. “of course.”
“i haven’t stopped thinking about her.”
he turns to you, brows faintly furrowed. “who?”
“the girl you were in love with.”
his expression doesn’t change much. he just blinks slowly, watching you. “why?”
you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “i don’t know. maybe because… i’m jealous of her.”
that makes him laugh—soft, surprised. “jealous?”
you nod, heart pounding. “yeah. i guess it’s stupid. but… she got to be your first love. she got all of you when it meant something. and now, i’m just—”
“my wife?” he cuts in, still smiling, trying to lighten the air. “you’re my wife now. kind of a win, don’t you think?”
but you don’t smile back.
you turn to face him, the dim light catching on your lashes, your jaw tight. “it’s not the same,” you say softly. “i know this is supposed to be a marriage, but it doesn’t feel right… hearing about your past like that. it’s not fair. it’s not fair that i have to be the one who came after.”
yeonjun’s smile fades. the playfulness drains from his face, replaced by something heavier. something slower. he looks at you like he’s really seeing you now—like maybe he’s been seeing you all along but didn’t know how close you were to unraveling.
“hey,” he says quietly, voice low and careful. “you’re not after anyone.”
you try to look away, but he catches your chin between two fingers, guiding your eyes back to his.
“she’s the past,” he murmurs. “but you—you’re the present. you’re the one who’s here. who sleeps beside me. who leaves hair ties on the bathroom sink and wears my shirts and steals my side of the bed.”
your lips part, but no sound comes out.
“don’t do that to yourself,” he whispers. “don’t compare. it’s not the same because this is real. and growing. and you—”
he leans closer.
“you make me forget her name.”
you blink, breath catching. the air feels different now. the candlelight flickers between you, but you can barely see it. all you can see is him—his face inches from yours, his voice warm and deep and trembling just enough to make your pulse race.
“yeonjun…”
“can i kiss you?” he breathes.
you nod.
slowly, his hand slides to your jaw, his thumb brushing the soft skin beneath your cheekbone. he closes the space between you inch by inch, giving you time to pull away, but you don’t. you lean in.
when his lips finally meet yours, it’s not fireworks. it’s gravity.
you sink into it, into him, into the warmth and tenderness of it. it’s careful, at first—testing, soft, a question asked in the silence. but then you tilt your head, fingers finding the collar of his shirt, and he answers with a deeper kiss, one that pulls a sound from the back of your throat you didn’t expect.
it’s too much. it’s not enough. it’s everything all at once.
when you finally part, you’re breathless.
he presses his forehead to yours. the candle crackles gently nearby. the rain keeps falling.
“i’m sorry,” you whisper.
“don’t be,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “i should’ve known. i should’ve said something sooner.”
you shake your head. “no. i needed to feel it. to say it. i think i’ve been holding everything back since this marriage started.”
“me too.”
you both fall quiet again, but this time, it’s different.
you’re not two strangers trying to survive a system anymore.
you’re two people finally reaching across the space that was never meant to last.
and outside, the rain sings soft lullabies to the city, and the candle flickers like a heartbeat, and in his arms, you no longer feel like a second choice.
you feel chosen.
the next morning, something has changed.
it’s subtle. nothing overt. not at first.
you wake up earlier than him and find yourself just… watching him for a moment. the soft rise and fall of his chest. the curve of his lashes against his cheek. how he frowns slightly in his sleep, like he’s still half in a dream. you should look away—you’ve always looked away before—but now your eyes linger.
when he stirs, blinking against the light, he sees you watching. he doesn’t flinch. he just smiles, sleep-warm and real, and your heart does something uncomfortable and sweet in your chest.
“morning,” he murmurs, voice rough.
“morning,” you whisper back, your voice catching a little.
he reaches out lazily, his fingers brushing your arm beneath the blanket, and even though it’s nothing, just that, your breath hitches. you tell yourself it’s the closeness. the aftermath of the kiss. but the warmth in your chest says something else.
and then the day goes on—but not quite the same.
at breakfast, he sits closer than usual. your elbows touch when you both reach for the sugar. he doesn’t apologize like before. doesn’t pull away. just grins and bumps your shoulder on purpose this time.
you roll your eyes. “you’re annoying.”
“you kissed me last night,” he says, way too casually. “you don’t get to call me annoying anymore.”
“you asked first.”
“still counts.”
the banter is light, teasing, familiar. but under it, there’s a new current. an awareness. every glance feels heavier. every touch lingers a second longer than it should. when he hands you a dish, his fingers brush yours, and neither of you lets go right away.
the silence between you becomes something else entirely. no longer filled with obligation or awkwardness. now it feels like a question that neither of you is brave enough to answer out loud.
until it happens again. in the kitchen, late at night, as you’re washing dishes and he comes up behind you. at first it’s innocent—he says something dumb, you laugh—but then his hand finds the small of your back, and you freeze, not because it’s wrong but because it’s not. it feels too good. too natural.
you turn, slowly, water dripping from your hands, and he’s already looking at you like he wants to kiss you again.
he doesn’t. not yet. he just leans in and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers graze your cheek, his eyes drop to your lips, and then—he walks away.
you stand there for a moment, heart pounding, wondering how the hell he keeps doing this to you.
a few days later, you’re invited to visit your family.
it’s your first time back since the marriage. your parents had called to check in, of course, had even video called once or twice, but nothing replaces being home. your mother’s cooking. your father’s quiet warmth. your brother’s chaotic energy.
the moment you walk through the door, your mom pulls you into a hug so tight you almost cry again. your dad claps yeonjun’s shoulder, awkward but trying. your brother, now twelve, looks like he’s grown taller.
he eyes yeonjun up and down, squints a little, then smirks at you.
“so, are you pregnant yet?”
you freeze.
your dad chokes on his tea. your mother lets out a gasp so sharp it could cut metal. yeonjun’s eyes go wide—like someone just yanked the floor out from under him.
“yoonho!” your mom yells, already reaching for the nearest dish towel like it’s a weapon. “you can’t ask that!”
“what?” your brother yells as he runs from her, laughing like a maniac. “i just wanted to know if the government system’s working!”
your dad is still coughing. you’re standing there redder than a tomato. burning with mortification.
yeonjun, after a stunned beat, laughs. really laughs. full chest, head-tilted-back laughter that’s so contagious you can’t help but giggle through your hands.
“don’t encourage him,” you say, smacking his arm lightly.
he grins down at you, eyes sparkling. “i’m sorry, that was—really something.”
“he’s an idiot,” you mutter, still mortified.
“he’s your idiot,” he says, voice softer now.
you glance up at him and smile, something warm spreading in your chest. it surprises you, just how much that smile feels like home.
and even after the chaos settles, even after your mom manages to drag your brother back by the collar to apologize properly, even when you sit around the table laughing and eating and telling stories—there’s a small, secret current running beneath it all.
the way yeonjun’s hand grazes your lower back when he leans past you to grab a dish. the way you lean into him just slightly when your mom starts talking about your childhood, and he listens like he wants to know everything.
and when the night ends, and you both return to your apartment, it’s quieter—but it’s a good quiet. that kind of peace you only feel when someone’s truly, finally getting under your skin.
the drive back home is quiet, but not in a bad way. it’s the kind of silence that lingers after too much laughter, after too much emotion crammed into too little time. the windows are fogged slightly from your breaths, and the hum of the road is the only sound between you. outside, the city lights blur in soft halos, the streets wet from the rain earlier in the day, reflecting neon and moonlight.
you’re leaning against the car door, eyes heavy, body full from dinner, from memories, from everything. your family had insisted you stay the night, but you knew it would’ve made leaving harder. too emotional. too permanent. so you thanked them, smiled through the tightness in your throat, and left.
and now, here you are, beside him. yeonjun’s one hand is on the wheel, the other resting between the seats, fingers tapping idly against the console. you glance at it once. then again. his profile is calm, a faint curve to his lips like he’s still smiling at your brother’s chaos.
you break the silence first.
“sorry about today… my family can be a lot.”
he lets out a soft chuckle. “i liked it.”
you turn to him, a little surprised.
“really?”
he nods. “they’re… warm. chaotic, yeah, but it felt real. like they love you so much they don’t even try to hide it.”
you press your lips together, looking down at your lap, suddenly blinking back something stinging in your eyes. you weren’t expecting that answer. or maybe you were, but not the way it made your chest ache so gently.
“thanks,” you whisper.
you don’t realize you’re still staring at him until he speaks again, this time softer.
“and your brother…” he smirks a little. “i can’t believe he said that.”
you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “please don’t remind me.”
“i’m serious,” he laughs, and then looks over at you, his gaze lingering longer this time, “you were so red.”
“because it was embarrassing,” you shoot back, but your voice is lighter, warm with the trace of a smile.
his eyes flick down to your lips.
“you’re cute when you blush,” he murmurs, and it’s so quiet you’re not even sure he meant to say it out loud.
your breath catches. your heart stutters. suddenly the space between you feels smaller. the console is no longer an arm’s length—it’s a breath. the air is thicker. hotter.
you look at him, really look at him—his jaw sharp in the glow of passing streetlamps, the tendons in his neck tense, his grip on the wheel a little tighter now. he looks back, just briefly, but it’s enough. something electric pulses between you.
and then he pulls over.
not far from your building, not quite home yet—but enough to be alone. enough to pause. the engine hums low, a steady heartbeat in the silence. he doesn’t look at you right away, just stares forward, fingers tightening, loosening, tightening again on the wheel.
you feel your pulse in your throat.
“i…” he starts, then stops. he turns to you, eyes darker than before. clearer. “can i ask you something?”
you nod, heart racing.
“why did it bother you?” he asks quietly. “about the girl i told you about.”
you stare at him. that familiar heat returns to your chest, crawling up your neck. you bite the inside of your cheek before answering.
“i don’t know,” you lie at first. but then, you sigh. “maybe because it was real for you. maybe because… you had someone you wanted, once. and i never did. and now i’m supposed to just… live with that. pretend like i’m not wondering if she would’ve made you happier.”
he watches you for a long moment, expression unreadable. then, finally, he leans a little closer, voice low.
“do you think i’m not happy?”
your throat dries.
“are you?” you whisper.
he exhales slowly, shaking his head like he can’t believe he’s about to do this. and then he shifts, fully turning toward you. his fingers reach up, brushing lightly against your chin, lifting your face to his.
“you’re not her,” he says. “you’re you.”
and then, without waiting, without asking again—he kisses you.
it’s not urgent. not rough. it’s slow, deliberate, tender with something sharp hidden beneath. like he’s been holding it back for too long and now that it’s happening, he’s pouring everything into it. his hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. your lips part before you even realize, and his tongue grazes yours, soft, testing, like he’s still asking if this is okay even now.
you melt into it.
your hand slides up his arm, gripping his bicep, grounding yourself as heat spreads through your veins. your bodies don’t move much, still confined by seatbelts and space, but it’s intimate. intense. and when he finally pulls back, breathing harder than before, he rests his forehead against yours.
“you’re not her,” he whispers again. “and thank god for that.”
you sit there, breaths mingling, skin flushed, hearts racing in tandem. your hand is still on his arm. his thumb is still tracing your cheek.
and this time, neither of you says a word. because you both know—something just changed again.
you’re not lovers. not yet.
but your hands brush again on the way to bed. he holds your gaze a little longer. and when you lie down, back to back, you find yourself pressing closer, just enough that your spine feels the heat of his chest.
you fall asleep like that.
and neither of you says a word.
you both had an appointment early in the morning. the ministry of civil labor had sent a formal notice last week, listing the available part-time positions for couples still enrolled in university, and now you were seated across from an administrative worker who barely looked up from her screen as she explained the contracts. yeonjun was placed in a logistics department for a government-run supply chain—something with inventory and system inputs. you were assigned to a small local archival center where they'd digitize old birth and marriage records, which felt ironic in a way that made your stomach twist.
“you’ll receive your first schedule by the end of the week,” the woman said without emotion, and you both nodded, signing at the bottom of the page, pens scratching the paper in tandem.
walking out of the building, yeonjun nudged your shoulder with his and whispered, “look at us. signing contracts like a real married couple.” and you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile pulling at your lips.
“you mean we weren’t real before?” you asked, raising a brow.
he smirked, unlocking the car and opening your door. “we were married on paper. now we’re married... and employed.”
you both laughed, climbing into the vehicle, and the warmth lingered even after the engine hummed to life. it was a quiet kind of happiness, soft and simple, like the feeling of your bare thighs against the leather seat, like the sun warming the dashboard. you wore a dress that day—casual, nothing too fancy, but it clung lightly to your frame in the breeze when you walked out earlier, and you caught the way yeonjun had looked at you from the corner of your eye. not blatant. just... noticing.
the road was mostly empty. the hum of tires on pavement filled the silence as the laughter faded, replaced by something thicker. something weightier.
at a red light, he stopped the car smoothly, one hand still on the steering wheel. the other lifted, slowly, casually, and without looking at you, he placed it on your thigh.
he didn’t squeeze. he didn’t slide his fingers higher. just let his palm rest there, warm and firm, like it belonged.
your breath hitched.
you tried not to move, tried not to tense up, but the sensation crawled up your spine like wildfire. it was such a simple touch, so ordinary, but it landed somewhere deep in your belly—hot, twisting, coiling. your skin tingled where his fingers barely pressed into the flesh, and your thighs felt suddenly, achingly aware of how little separated them from him.
he said nothing.
neither did you.
but your body betrayed you—the way your chest rose a little faster, the way your knees shifted slightly, as if trying to find an answer to the question that touch had asked.
the light turned green.
he drove on.
his hand didn’t move.
the silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was charged. heavy with something that neither of you dared name yet.
you exhaled, slow and shaky, and he glanced at you briefly, lips curving—not into a smirk, but something softer. something fond. he rubbed his thumb in a slow arc, barely there, and your fingers curled around the hem of your dress to keep from shaking.
by the time you got home, the tension had woven itself into your skin like a second layer. you both stepped out of the car and walked toward the apartment quietly, but the air buzzed with every step.
inside, the routine resumed—shoes off, bags down, water poured into glasses—but your thoughts were nowhere near the surface. every time he passed behind you, you felt his presence more than you saw him. every brush of his hand, every graze of his arm felt like a firestarter.
you stood near the sink, rinsing the cups, when he came up behind you. didn’t touch you. just stood close enough that you felt the heat of his chest on your back, close enough that your breathing stuttered.
“need help?” he murmured, voice low, mouth near your ear.
you shook your head, but your body leaned slightly into him anyway. traitorously.
his hands didn’t move—not yet—but his presence surrounded you, a quiet pressure that built with every second. you turned your head slightly to glance at him, and the proximity was enough to make you both pause. your lips weren’t touching, but they could’ve. your noses almost brushed.
and then he reached for the cup beside you, taking it slowly, deliberately, his fingers brushing yours. your breath caught again.
“thanks,” he said, voice still low.
you watched him walk away, your hands trembling under the water, and you knew—tonight, you wouldn’t be able to pretend this tension didn’t exist. it was burning its way into your bones.
that night, everything felt like it was humming. the silence between you wasn’t really silence—it was full of what hadn’t been said, of what hadn’t been done but nearly was. the ghost of yeonjun’s hand on your thigh still lingered, burned into your skin. your legs still tingled from the pressure, the weight, the heat. and when he brushed past you in the kitchen again after dinner, it felt deliberate. or maybe you just wanted it to be.
your heart hadn’t settled since the drive home.
later, after you’d both changed into your sleep clothes, you met again in the hallway, the light above you casting a golden hue that made his skin look warm and soft. you paused at the same time, eyes locking. your breath caught in your throat, because he wasn’t just looking at you—he was seeing you. seeing the hem of your shirt, the way it clung slightly to your waist. seeing the bare stretch of your legs, your collarbone, the fine line of your neck.
you thought he’d say something.
he didn’t.
he just stepped past you, heading to the shared living room like usual. the storm from earlier had passed, leaving a cool breeze in its wake. you followed, drawn to him like always. you both sat on the couch, feet tucked beneath you, shoulders close but not quite touching. it was dark. the power had gone out temporarily again, only the soft blue emergency lights casting faint shadows across his face.
“you’re quiet,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.
“just thinking,” he replied, his tone low, almost distant.
you turned your head toward him. “about what?”
he hesitated. “about earlier... the car. and how it felt.”
you sucked in a soft breath. “me too.”
silence again.
and then, slowly, as if guided by instinct, he reached over and touched your hand. fingers brushing the back of yours. the contact was small. barely anything. but it was enough to pull the air from your lungs. you turned your palm and laced your fingers with his.
it felt dangerous.
he looked at your joined hands like he didn’t recognize his own, and then back at you—his eyes darker than usual, hooded, like he was holding back a tide. you weren’t sure who moved first. maybe it was him. maybe it was you. but one second you were sitting apart, and the next your bodies were angled toward each other, your knees brushing, your breaths tangled. his hand cupped your jaw gently, fingers trembling against your skin, and he leaned in, close enough that his lips nearly grazed yours.
your pulse roared in your ears.
his mouth touched yours like a whisper—featherlight, testing.
you responded before you could think, lips parting for him, heat blooming low in your stomach like wildfire. the kiss deepened slowly, wet and slow and dizzying. his tongue brushed yours, cautious at first, then more certain, like he needed to taste you, like he was starved. your hand curled into his shirt, tugging him closer, and he groaned softly into your mouth, deep and breathless.
his hand slid down your side, fingers skating over the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, and you gasped when they reached your hip. he pulled you into his lap, your thighs straddling him, bodies pressed together too close to ignore. the heat between you crackled—your hips shifted without thinking, and you felt the hardness of him, solid and hot beneath you.
his lips broke from yours for a second, his breathing rough. “fuck... y/n...”
his hands gripped your thighs, sliding up, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. you whimpered, pressing closer, grinding down gently. it was heady. dizzying. perfect.
and then—
his phone rang.
the sound shattered the moment like glass.
you both froze.
you were on his lap, panting, trembling, your lips swollen from the kiss, your heart pounding like a war drum. he didn’t move for a second. then he cursed under his breath and gently lifted you off him, muttering a strained apology as he reached for the phone. his voice cracked when he answered, trying to sound normal.
you stood there, stunned, breathing hard, still tasting him on your tongue.
after the call, which only lasted a few seconds, he didn’t look at you.
“i think... i’ll sleep in my room tonight,” he said quietly.
you blinked. “oh.”
he didn’t explain.
he just walked away.
and something cold settled in your chest.
you crawled into your bed alone, wrapping the blanket around yourself tightly, but you couldn’t sleep. not when you still felt the ghost of his hands on your body. not when your lips were still tingling from the kiss. not when he had looked at you like he needed you, and then walked away without a word.
you turned over. again. again. and again. your heart ached with confusion. was it too much? did he regret it? had you done something wrong?
you couldn’t take it anymore.
you got up, padded down the hall to his room, and raised your fist to knock.
but then you froze.
because you heard it.
soft, muffled sounds, irregular breathing. your eyes widened.
a low groan, deep and drawn out.
then a quiet, wet sound—rhythmic, unmistakable.
your breath caught.
you didn’t mean to listen. but you couldn’t move.
then, you heard it.
“y/n...”
your name, moaned out—quiet but desperate. raw. like a confession.
your knees weakened.
another moan, louder this time, almost a whimper.
and then—your name again, breathless, almost broken, followed by the sound of skin slapping softly against skin, faster now.
he was close.
he was touching himself.
thinking of you.
you pressed your palm to your mouth, trying not to make a sound, cheeks burning, body trembling. you shouldn’t be here. you shouldn’t hear this. but your legs wouldn’t move. your breath came in shaky gasps, your heart thundering as heat rushed between your thighs, pooling heavy and hot.
you didn’t know what this meant.
but you knew one thing.
he wanted you.
and now, you didn’t think you could ever look at him the same again.
you didn’t mean to lean closer.
you didn’t mean to press your ear too tightly against the door.
but your balance faltered—just a second too long standing on your toes, your weight shifting, your breath too shallow—and suddenly your foot slipped on the edge of the smooth hallway floor. a soft, startled sound escaped your throat as your body tilted sideways, your hand fumbling for the wall, failing.
and then—thud.
a soft crash, your hip hitting the floor, your palms slapping down just in time to soften the fall. you gasped and quickly clamped your hand over your mouth, praying he hadn’t heard, that you hadn’t been loud enough—but inside, panic bloomed like fire. your chest heaved as you tried to stay perfectly still, your cheeks on fire, the oversized t-shirt—his t-shirt—riding high around your waist from the fall.
then you heard the shuffle. footsteps. hurried. a sudden rush from the other side.
“y/n?” his voice was sharp. worried. confused.
before you could react, the door swung open.
and there he was.
yeonjun.
bare-chested, sweat clinging to his collarbones, his hair disheveled, lips swollen and flushed, his hand still adjusting the waistband of his boxers as if he hadn’t had time to fix himself. and then he saw you.
on the floor.
his shirt up around your waist.
your bare thighs. your panties exposed.
your hand covering your mouth, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.
time froze.
he stared at you, blinking once, then again. his mouth parted, but no words came out. his gaze dropped—just for a heartbeat—but you saw it. the flicker. the hunger. the tension that snapped into existence like a spark to gasoline.
you scrambled to tug the shirt down, cheeks burning, breath caught.
“i—i slipped, i wasn’t—i mean—”
“were you listening?” his voice came out low. rough.
you opened your mouth, then shut it. your throat tightened. your heart was pounding so violently you felt it behind your eyes.
“y/n…” he whispered, stepping closer.
your breath hitched.
“i heard you,” he said, his voice strained now. “outside the door. you… you heard me too, didn’t you?”
you nodded slowly, like it was all you could manage.
he knelt beside you without thinking, his hands hovering for a moment before one slid to the small of your back, the other cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin gently, eyes searching yours. “you heard me… say your name.”
you couldn’t speak.
“fuck,” he whispered. “i didn’t mean for you to know. i tried to walk away because i couldn’t control it. i thought... if i gave us space—”
“why?” your voice cracked. “why did you walk away after kissing me like that?”
his jaw clenched. “because i wanted more. i wanted too much.”
your lips trembled. “me too.”
something inside him snapped.
he surged forward, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that was no longer restrained. this wasn’t careful. this wasn’t gentle. this was weeks of stolen glances and soft touches and building need exploding all at once. his mouth was hot, possessive, his hand slipping to your thigh, then gripping, pulling you into him as you moaned against his lips.
you tasted everything—desperation, desire, the salt on his skin from sweat, the sound of his breath ragged and wild. you clung to him, your fingers digging into his bare shoulders as he leaned you back slowly onto the hallway floor, his body covering yours, fitting against you perfectly. your thighs opened for him without thought, welcoming the pressure of his hips between them, the hardness of him pressing directly against the wet heat soaking your panties.
“fuck, y/n,” he groaned against your mouth, “you have no idea what you do to me.”
his hand slid beneath the hem of the shirt—his shirt—the one you wore to sleep every night, the one that smelled like him. his palm caressed your waist, your ribs, then cupped your breast softly over the fabric of your bra, his thumb teasing the sensitive peak until you whimpered, arching up into him.
“you shouldn’t be here,” he rasped, but didn’t stop. “i’m trying so hard to do this right. to be careful.”
“then don’t,” you whispered back, your voice broken, needful. “don’t be careful.”
his eyes burned into yours.
his lips kissed down your jaw, your neck, biting softly at the tender skin just below your ear. “you’re gonna make me lose it,” he growled.
“maybe i want you to.”
his hand slipped lower, over your stomach, fingers grazing the band of your panties—when suddenly—
a sharp knock on the front door shattered the moment.
you both froze.
his chest rose and fell against yours, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.
another knock. then a voice from outside.
“government delivery. lights restored. system check.”
“fuck,” he hissed.
he helped you sit up, both of you breathing like you’d just run miles.
you looked at each other.
your lips swollen. your skin flushed. your bodies aching.
you wanted to scream.
but instead you swallowed it down, tugged the shirt over your thighs, stood on shaky legs. he followed you in silence, running a hand through his messy hair, still visibly hard, still clearly affected.
“i’m sorry,” he whispered.
you didn’t respond.
because you weren’t sure you wanted him to be.
you weren’t sure what you expected when you whispered, maybe i want you to. maybe you thought he would pull away, maybe he’d laugh and tell you to go to bed, that you were just talking nonsense, caught up in the tension of it all. but he didn’t. instead, the room stayed still, save for the thrum of the rain against the windows and the sound of his breathing, which was slow, deep, heavier now, as he looked down at you with something dark and burning in his eyes.
his voice was low, but not soft. "do you know what you're saying?" he asked, barely above a whisper. you nodded, your throat too tight to speak. you could feel his body, warm and solid, pressed against yours as he leaned in again, and this time the kiss wasn’t tentative. it was hungry, deeper, drawn out, and you could taste the restraint in him, the way he held himself back even as his hand gripped your waist tighter.
you barely noticed how he guided you back onto the mattress until your head hit the pillow. your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, the same one you'd stolen from him to sleep in, and now it was twisted between your hands as he kissed you again and again, lips trailing down the line of your jaw, the hollow of your throat, your pulse fluttering under his mouth.
every touch was slow, deliberate. when his hands slid under the hem of the shirt you wore, it wasn’t rushed—it was reverent. he looked at you like you were something sacred, something he’d been aching for, something forbidden and now finally his. his fingers traced the line of your hip, the soft skin just beneath your navel, pausing just above the waistband of your panties. you shivered beneath him, your body responding before your mind could catch up.
"tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured, his forehead pressed against yours. you shook your head immediately, a breathy no escaping your lips before you could second guess it. and something in him broke. or maybe it snapped into place. he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive, his hands roaming, learning the shape of you, the softness of your thighs, the arch of your back as you gasped under his touch.
he took his time. he whispered how beautiful you were, how long he had wanted you like this, how the thought of you in his bed had driven him insane since that first night the storm pushed you into his arms. every kiss lower was met with a pause, a glance, asking, confirming, cherishing. his hands didn’t fumble; they explored, gentle and firm, his mouth hot against your skin.
you had never felt like this before. it was more than arousal—it was a kind of unraveling, a melting of all the fear and restraint you had carried for so long. the rules, the systems, the cold logic of the world outside—none of it existed here. here, in his arms, you were just a girl wanting a boy. no laws. no assignments. no duties.
just him. just you.
and when he finally touched you, really touched you, the moan that escaped you was soft, stunned, your fingers digging into his shoulder as he kissed the side of your neck. you were wet, aching, needy in a way you hadn’t even known your body could feel, and yeonjun seemed to know exactly how to handle you—teasing, stroking, whispering your name like it was a prayer.
his own self-control was fraying at the edges. you could feel it in the way his breath hitched, the way his voice broke when he groaned your name against your collarbone, the way his hips rocked against your thigh without even realizing it.
"you make me crazy," he whispered, biting gently at your shoulder. "since that kiss. since that first night. fuck—i think about you all the time. you wearing my shirt, you laughing in the kitchen, you sleeping next to me—"
"yeonjun," you gasped, your back arching as his fingers slid beneath your panties, finally, finally touching you where you needed him most. he cursed under his breath, kissing you again as your legs parted naturally for him.
he kept you on the edge, slow, patient, as if he was memorizing every sound you made, every breath you took. he didn’t rush to have you—not yet. this was still the prelude, the first taste, the careful unraveling. but you were close. too close.
and then.
he leaned over you again, lips brushing your ear, his voice hoarse. "can i make love to you?"
you nodded, heart pounding. "yes. please."
every movement after that was reverent, every sigh swallowed into a kiss, every tremble in your limbs steadied by his hands. he helped you out of your panties, gently, and shed his own clothes with a kind of urgency that was quiet, controlled, but full of need. when he settled between your legs, he paused, eyes meeting yours with a question so full of tenderness it made your chest ache.
his hand wrapped around himself, and your breath caught in your throat. he was thick, long—too much. your eyes widened without meaning to, and he noticed, chuckling softly as he kissed the corner of your mouth.
“it’s okay,” he whispered, but your voice came out shaky when you murmured. “it won’t fit…” he hushed you gently, his palm stroking down your thigh.
“we’ll go slow,” he promised, though the way his jaw clenched told you even he was struggling to hold back.
the stretch was new, unfamiliar, but he moved slowly, letting you adjust, kissing you through the discomfort, murmuring praises against your lips. he held you like you were fragile, like the world would stop spinning if he hurt you, and when you finally relaxed around him, he moved with a rhythm that spoke of restraint and reverence, yet underneath it burned a fire he could barely contain.
it was gentle, yes, but not shy. it was soft, but not without heat. the way he groaned when your nails scraped down his back, the way he whispered your name like it anchored him—it was everything. his hands never stopped touching you, his mouth never far from yours, and the way he looked at you made you feel like you were the center of the universe.
the pace picked up only slightly, but the angle shifted when he gently maneuvered your body, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before whispering, “turn around for me, baby.” your heart skipped as you obeyed, rolling onto your stomach, your cheek resting against his pillow, flushed and dazed, breath hot against the fabric. he settled behind you, large hands caressing the curve of your hips, his voice low and rough against your ear. “you look so good like this… fuck, i could lose my mind.”
you felt him guide himself back in, slower this time, deeper, and the gasp that left you was nothing short of a whimper, your back arching instinctively. the new position had him hitting that spot—the spot—with a precision that made your eyes roll back, your mouth dropping open against the pillow. “yeonjun—oh my god—” you choked, voice muffled, and he groaned above you, one hand gripping your waist as the other gently turned your face just enough so he could kiss your parted lips. “look at you,” he breathed, panting, watching your blissed-out expression with dark, desperate eyes. “you feel so fucking good—so tight around me… you were made for me, weren’t you?”
your voice came out broken, shaking. “it feels s-so good… i can’t—yeonjun, i—” but you didn’t need to finish. he could feel it. your body clenching around him with every slow, deep thrust. he bent over you, chest pressed to your back, skin to skin, and whispered filth in your ear in between kisses down your spine. “such a good girl,” he rasped, “taking me so well… fuck, i’m close. i can’t—i need to pull out…”
you nodded weakly, barely able to breathe, trembling as he gave one more thrust, then another—and with a strangled moan of your name, he pulled out and spilled his release onto the dip of your lower back, hot and heavy against your skin, dripping down to your ass. he groaned, his forehead against your shoulder, panting hard as he tried to come down from the high. “fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, voice ragged. “so fucking perfect.”
when he collapsed beside you, he didn’t pull away. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, both of you still catching your breath. the rain still tapped gently against the windows, the room now full of the scent of sweat and skin, of something new, something sacred.
"i’ve wanted you for so long," he murmured against your hair.
"i know," you whispered back, curling into him.
and for once, you didn’t feel cold. you didn’t feel alone. you didn’t feel like someone forced into something by a cruel system. you felt wanted. chosen.
his.
yours.
the morning came too quickly, the sun bleeding gently through the curtains, casting a golden warmth across the tangled sheets. your body still ached in the most delicious ways, and your skin was marked with soft reminders of his mouth, his hands, the way he held you like you were breakable and wanted all at once. you hadn’t said much when you woke. yeonjun had only kissed your forehead, helped you get dressed, and now you were sitting in the waiting room of the ministry’s planning clinic, the air sterile and overly bright.
the doctor, a warm-looking woman with gentle eyes and an enthusiastic tone, greeted you both like old friends. “ah! newlyweds,” she smiled, scanning her clipboard. “i see you’ve finally started your sexual life together. that’s wonderful news!”
your cheeks flamed immediately, and beside you, yeonjun coughed, suddenly fascinated by a poster about prenatal vitamins on the wall. “uh, yeah,” you mumbled, barely able to meet her gaze.
“good, good,” she said brightly, motioning for you to follow her behind a curtain for a quick checkup. “we need to make sure everything’s healthy and progressing normally. it’s still early, but we want to optimize for fertility, yes?”
you nodded, letting her guide you onto the examination table. her hands were professional, but the whole thing still made your stomach twist. you were sore—still a little tender—and she noticed, humming under her breath.
“you’re fine,” she reassured you, adjusting her gloves. “some sensitivity is natural after a first experience. but you’re healthy, everything looks good.” she smiled. “do you track your cycle, darling?”
you nodded slowly, fingers tightening on the edge of the table. “yes… i keep a calendar.”
“perfect. when was your last period?”
you told her, and she did some quick math on her tablet before her smile brightened. “then your most fertile window should be starting in about four days. if you’re trying to conceive—and you should be, of course—it’s best to be active every other day during that period. that increases the chances significantly.”
you wanted to sink into the floor. “o-oh.”
“don’t be shy. this is natural.” she patted your knee, then stood. “you’re young and healthy. your compatibility score is ideal. You just need to be consistent now. and relaxed. it should be something enjoyable.”
you weren’t sure what your face looked like when you stepped out, but yeonjun blinked and stood instantly. the doctor gave him a little wink and whispered something about keeping the environment fun, and you could practically feel the tension coil between your ribs as you exited the building together.
the ride home was quiet for a while. the hum of the engine, the soft buzz of traffic, the way your thighs were pressed together beneath your dress. he tapped the wheel with his fingers, sneaking glances at you out of the corner of his eye.
finally, you exhaled. “she said i’m entering my fertile window soon.”
his hands stilled on the steering wheel.
“in four days,” you added, your voice too high, too soft.
“oh.”
another silence.
“and she said we should—uh—every other day. during that window. for higher chances.”
“right.” he adjusted his grip again. “makes sense.”
but neither of you looked at each other. because the thing was, last night hadn’t felt like a scheduled duty. it hadn’t felt like a requirement, or a step in a plan designed by the state. it had felt messy, desperate, slow, sweet, and hungry. it had felt human.
and now the idea of doing it again, like you were just checking off boxes on a clinical list, felt… weird.
“does it feel weird?” you blurted, staring out the window.
yeonjun looked at you, startled. “what?”
“this. talking about it. like it’s a chore or something. when last night—” you trailed off, cheeks heating.
he nodded slowly. “it feels weird because it wasn’t just about the system. it was… about us.” his voice was quiet, unsure, but honest.
you twisted your fingers in your lap, the weight of his words settling between your thighs like the lingering ache from last night. you didn’t know how to act now—how to go from that kind of vulnerability to pretending you were just following instructions.
“i want to do it again,” you admitted, so softly it could’ve been mistaken for a breath. “but not because of the calendar. because… i liked how it felt. with you.”
his knuckles tightened on the wheel, his jaw clenching as he looked at you again. something in his eyes flickered—warm, molten, restrained. “good,” he said roughly. “because i haven’t stopped thinking about it since i woke up.”
your breath caught.
the red light ahead turned green, but neither of you were breathing normally anymore.
this wasn’t just about reproduction.
not anymore.
and neither of you knew how to navigate that yet—but the thought of exploring it again?
set your blood on fire.
you didn’t even make it past the front door.
as soon as it clicked shut behind you, he turned to you like something had snapped loose inside him—like the silence in the car, the weight of what had been said at the clinic, the image of you squirming in your seat all flushed and embarrassed, had pushed him past the edge. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in with a force that made your breath stutter, his lips crashing into yours with none of the hesitation from the night before. it was need—pure, undiluted need—and you melted into it like you’d been waiting all day.
your back hit the wall, your fingers clawing at the hem of his shirt, dragging it up over his abs while he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. his hands found your thighs, lifted you slightly, pressing your hips together in a rhythm already too hungry for the softness of conversation.
you moaned into his mouth, and that was it—he growled low in his throat, carrying you the few messy steps to the living room, collapsing with you onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and breathless gasps. you straddled him instinctively, the dress you wore bunching at your hips, and the way you ground down against him made him curse under his breath, hands tightening on your waist.
"fuck, baby, you're driving me insane," he muttered, kissing down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, dragging the straps of your dress off your shoulders as his thumbs traced soft, dizzying circles into your skin.
"then do something about it," you whispered, breathless, rocking your hips again just to feel him buck up into you, so hard already it made your mouth go dry.
he didn't need more encouragement.
he kissed down your chest, taking his time, pulling down the top of your dress to reveal more skin, his mouth hot and greedy as he licked and sucked at your breasts, tongue flicking over your nipple until you were gasping his name. his fingers pushed the fabric higher, baring your panties and the damp patch growing darker by the second, and he groaned, burying his face between your thighs like he needed to taste you just to stay sane.
you cried out, your hands tangled in his hair, legs shaking as his tongue worked slow, devastating circles against your clit, sucking gently, teasing you with the edge of release only to pull away. “so wet for me already,” he whispered, voice thick, lips glistening. “you’ve been thinking about this since the car, haven’t you?”
you nodded, eyes fluttering shut, and he rewarded you by sucking harder, his fingers slipping inside to stretch you just right, his other hand holding your hips down while you rode the edge again and again until you whimpered, begging, thighs trembling.
“please, yeonjun… i need you, now.”
he didn’t make you ask twice.
he pulled you onto his lap again, kissing you deep, letting you taste yourself on his lips. and then he stood, shifting you onto the couch, turning your body gently, hands guiding your knees onto the cushions, your chest pressed to the armrest, your ass up for him—offered, exposed, throbbing.
"you’re so fucking perfect like this," he whispered, one hand sliding up your spine, the other gripping your hip as he positioned himself behind you, dragging the tip of his cock along your slit, teasing, wet and hot.
you whimpered, pushing back slightly, and when he slid in, inch by inch, you gasped—eyes rolling back, the stretch sharp and addictive all over again.
“fuck, you feel even tighter like this,” he groaned, sinking in all the way until your ass met his hips. “you’re gonna ruin me.”
he started to move slowly, the position letting him hit deeper, every thrust punching little moans from your lips. the slap of skin against skin echoed through the room, his hands gripping your waist, your thighs, your hair. and still, he kissed your spine, leaned over you, whispered filth against your neck.
“you like this, baby? you like being fucked like this?”
“yes—yes, fuck, yeonjun—it feels so good—”
he reached around, rubbed slow circles against your clit as he fucked into you deeper, faster, making you cry out into the pillow, your body arching under him, thighs shaking again.
"let me see your face," he panted, one hand turning your head slightly so he could kiss you, so he could see your expression—your flushed cheeks, your lips parted, eyes unfocused.
“you’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he growled. “you’re gonna make me come just looking at you.”
you felt it building again, heat coiling low in your belly, your body tightening, trembling, your moans turning desperate as he kept you right on the edge, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over.
“yeonjun—i’m gonna—”
“me too—fuck—i need to pull out—”
but you reached back, grabbing his hand, voice shaking. “don’t. please. come inside.”
he choked on a moan, hips stuttering, and then he was spilling into you with a groan so deep it made your toes curl, holding you tight as he filled you completely, shaking from the force of it. your own climax hit just seconds later, white-hot and blinding, and you collapsed onto the couch, boneless, his body draped over yours, both of you gasping for air.
his come dripped slowly down your thighs, warmth spreading between them, and he didn’t move—just pressed gentle kisses to your shoulder, your back, your spine, whispering your name like it was the only word he knew.
neither of you said anything for a long time.
but you both knew.
there was no going back.
the following days slipped into a blur of aching need and restless nights. you both tried to keep the doctor’s advice in mind, to space out your moments, to give your bodies time to recover, but desire doesn’t listen to calendars or rules. every morning, before you left for university, you found yourselves tangled together, breathless and desperate, fingers tracing familiar curves as if memorizing every inch again and again. afternoons after classes weren’t any different; the moment you closed the door behind you, yeonjun’s hands were already on your waist, pulling you close, his lips claiming yours with the same fierce hunger that never dulled.
the days were a patchwork of stolen touches and whispered promises, of quick, heated moments before rushing to your part-time jobs—him with the university’s cultural center, tutoring students in language and literature, and you at a small café nearby, pouring coffee and smiling through the haze of exhaustion and longing. you came home exhausted but your body still hummed with anticipation, the ache of missing him settling low and deep, urging you back into his arms. your skin grew sensitive, your senses sharper; even the smallest brush of fingers sparked a fire beneath your skin.
and every time he pulled you close, you let him come inside you—every time—forgetting the cautious rhythm the doctor had suggested, letting your bodies rewrite the rules in the heat of the moment. the cool logic of planning was swallowed whole by your hunger, your need to be closer, to feel him deeper, to lose yourselves entirely in the mess and sweetness of this forbidden, stolen intimacy.
sometimes you’d catch yourself wondering if the doctor would be surprised—or scandalized—to know how little control you really had, how much your hearts raced and how your bodies begged for more. but in those moments, all that mattered was yeonjun’s warm breath against your neck, the way his hands shaped you like a secret only he was meant to know, and the way your own voice trembled when you whispered his name.
it was messy, it was frantic, but it was yours. and for the first time since everything began, it felt like freedom.
you were wiping down the counter when one of your coworkers, a woman named hana, leaned over with a gentle smile. she was older than you, maybe 35, and had a quiet confidence about her that made people listen. she lowered her voice just a little, as if sharing a secret.
“you know, i was assigned a husband too. i thought it would be awful, honestly. i was scared. but it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. at first, i wasn’t sure if i could love him, or if he even cared. but slowly, i saw who he really was. and now, i’m so happy. we have two kids, and we’re thinking about a third. it’s scary, getting older, but i go to family planning a lot, trying to make sure it’s possible. the government even recognized me for wanting to keep repopulating. it’s strange, isn’t it? how these arrangements can lead to something real.”
you nodded, the thought settling deep inside your chest. could yeonjun and you be like that someday? sure, you cared for him. he was your husband, your partner in this harsh world. you pictured mornings waking up next to him, the soft light catching his face, the two of you building a life, maybe even raising children together. but love — real love? you had never felt it before, not like this. the feeling was foreign, like a story you’d read but never lived. still, yeonjun was everything to you, and that was enough for now.
later that day, when your shift ended, yeonjun was waiting by the door like always, leaning casually against his car. you slipped inside and immediately started talking about your day, the small victories, the tiring moments. he listened, eyes bright, then shared his own stories, laughter in his voice. the rhythm of your lives syncing quietly, comfortably.
and then, on a quiet street, just as the light ahead turned red, you suddenly blurted out, “do you love me?”
the car jerked slightly as yeonjun slammed on the brakes, both of you moving forward with the momentum. the question hung between you, heavy and unexpected.
he was silent for a moment, gaze fixed on the road ahead, and you could almost see the weight of the thought pressing on him. love was a strange word, loaded with promises and fears. but then his eyes met yours in the rearview mirror, steady and sure.
“i do,” he said slowly, voice low but certain. “maybe not like the stories you hear — wild and all-consuming — but i love you. from the moment i saw you, from that first kiss in the storm, from every day since. every laugh, every touch, every quiet moment. it’s real. and it will only grow.”
your heart fluttered in a way that was both new and familiar, and when the light turned green, he eased forward, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter.
back at the apartment, the world outside disappeared as yeonjun pulled you close. the night was gentle but full of fire, his hands exploring with a tenderness that spoke of trust and deep desire. lips brushed your skin with reverence, soft whispers mingling with quiet moans. you traced the curve of his neck, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. every touch was a promise, every kiss a new discovery.
he took his time, patient and caring, making sure you felt cherished, safe. the moments stretched between you, slow and delicious, as if the world had paused just for this — for the two of you, tangled in sheets and warmth, sharing something sacred.
and as you finally melted into him, the love he had spoken of filled the space between your bodies, unspoken but undeniable.
“congratulations,” the doctor said, her voice warm, glowing even, as if she had just handed you the entire sky. “you’re pregnant.”
the world stilled.
you blinked, lips parting, heartbeat stuttering in your chest. yeonjun, who had just stepped inside the room after waiting anxiously outside, froze beside you. his eyes darted from your stunned face to the doctor and back again, like he was trying to make sure he’d heard correctly.
“what?” you breathed, voice barely there.
the doctor smiled, gentle and knowing, like this was her favorite kind of moment to deliver. “you’re about six weeks along. everything looks good so far. the symptoms you’ve been experiencing — the nausea, the cravings, the mood swings — they all point to a healthy early pregnancy. we’ll begin prenatal care from today.”
you felt yeonjun’s fingers slip into yours, holding tight, like he needed to anchor himself. like you were both floating. he didn’t say anything right away — his throat worked around words he couldn’t seem to find — but his hand trembled slightly in yours.
the tears came slowly, not from fear or sadness, but from something else entirely. wonder. disbelief. awe.
a baby.
your baby.
with him.
“i…” you started, then shook your head with a small, breathless laugh. “i thought it was just stress. i didn’t want to hope.”
“and yet, here we are,” the doctor said kindly. “your next steps will be regular checkups, nutrition monitoring, and continued intimacy when you feel comfortable. you’re doing great already.”
you could hardly focus after that — her voice faded to a background hum as your eyes lifted to meet yeonjun’s. he was already looking at you, completely undone. his gaze was soft, watery, reverent. like you were something holy.
he squeezed your hand. “we’re going to be parents,” he whispered, like saying it out loud would make it real.
and it did.
you nodded, blinking away fresh tears. “we’re going to be a family.”
the drive home was quiet, but not empty. yeonjun kept stealing glances at you at every stoplight, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real — like he couldn’t believe the little life beginning inside you was real. his hand never left yours on the console between you, thumb tracing absent-minded circles over your knuckles.
when you stepped into the apartment, he didn’t let go. he guided you gently to the couch, like you might break if he wasn’t careful. and then he was kneeling in front of you, both hands now on your stomach, even though there was nothing visible yet — just warmth. just possibility.
“thank you,” he whispered. “for this. for you. for everything.”
you touched his hair, carding your fingers through the soft strands, heart swelling. “i didn’t do this alone, junnie.”
he leaned forward, lips brushing your still-flat belly, and then rested his forehead there, breathing slow and deep. “i’m gonna do everything i can to be good to you. to them. we didn’t choose this world, but i’ll choose you every day in it.”
you’d never felt more seen. more loved.
later that night, he held you closer than ever in bed, your back to his chest, one hand cradling your stomach, the other tangled with yours. the rain tapped gently against the window again, just like it had the night everything between you shifted.
and now it had shifted again.
you weren’t just husband and wife anymore.
you were parents.
you were a beginning.
and wrapped in his arms, with his heartbeat pressed against your spine, you let yourself dream — not of what the government wanted, not of duty or numbers, but of soft mornings and tiny fingers, of lullabies and laughter echoing through the walls.
of a future you hadn’t dared imagine.
but now, it was here.
growing inside you.
growing between you.
and it was love.
the apartment smelled of cake and laughter. pink balloons were tied to every chair, streamers hung slightly lopsided from the ceiling, and tiny frosting handprints decorated the corners of the tablecloth. your baby girl — chaeyeon — had turned one.
she was currently asleep in your arms, a little drool soaking into your blouse, her tiny chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. you'd never seen her smile so much in one day, or so determined to wobble around on her chubby legs while everyone clapped for her.
your parents had cried. yeonjun’s mother had brought enough food to feed an entire village. your brother had looked absolutely horrified when asked to hold chaeyeon and had instead stood frozen like she was made of glass. yeonjun’s older brothers had been more relaxed — juggling their own kids, swapping parenting tips with you and yeonjun, their wives giggling over how much yeonjun had softened in just a year.
it was a blur of love. of family. of a happiness you never expected from a life that had once felt forced upon you.
now it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
when the door closed behind the last guest, you let out a long breath and leaned against it. yeonjun was on his knees collecting bits of wrapping paper and cupcake crumbs, his sleeves rolled up and his hair a bit messy from carrying hana all afternoon.
“i think i have frosting in places i didn’t know were possible,” he muttered.
you giggled and padded over, gently placing a hand on his head. “she’s finally asleep. like… deep asleep. miracle of miracles.”
he looked up at you and smiled, slow and soft. “we survived our first birthday party.”
“barely.”
you both laughed, exhausted but giddy, and after tidying up the last of the chaos, you shuffled into your shared bedroom — the one that now held a rocking chair, a baby monitor, and the scent of lavender oil and baby lotion.
you sat on the bed, back against the headboard, and looked at yeonjun as he pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. his skin glowed faintly from the sweat of the day, and his eyes were crinkled with something tender when he looked at you.
“hard to believe we’ve made it here,” you murmured.
“i know.” he crawled onto the bed beside you, resting his head against your shoulder. “long time ago we were just trying to figure out how to be in the same room without losing our minds.”
“or jumping each other.”
he snorted, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “that too.”
you fell quiet for a moment, fingers brushing through his hair. “when they told me we were being assigned… i hated it. the system felt so cruel. mechanical. like love didn’t matter.”
“me too,” he admitted, voice low. “i kept wondering who you’d be. if you’d hate me. if i’d hate you.”
“and now… i can’t imagine waking up without you next to me.” you turned your face into his hair, breathing him in. “you’ve become everything.”
he lifted his head, eyes dark with something more than just love. “you gave me a family. you gave me her.”
“we gave her to each other,” you whispered, lips brushing his.
he kissed you then — slow, deep, familiar in a way that made your toes curl. and when he pulled back, eyes half-lidded, he murmured, “i need you.”
“then take me,” you breathed.
you barely finished speaking before he was on you, lips claiming yours again, more urgent this time, tongue teasing, his hands slipping beneath your shirt to cup your breasts. you gasped, arching into his touch as he rolled a thumb over your nipple.
“fuck, i love how sensitive you still are,” he muttered against your neck, biting softly before soothing the skin with kisses. “you get wet the second i touch you, don’t you?”
you nodded, already trembling as he dragged your panties down your thighs, fingers grazing your slick folds. “you make me like this… only you.”
he groaned, dipping two fingers inside you, curling them just right, his thumb circling your clit until your hips were grinding against his hand.
“look at you,” he said, voice rough, “needy little wife. always so eager for me. i could fuck you for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough, would it?”
“never enough,” you panted, nails digging into his shoulders. “please, junnie—”
he flipped you onto your stomach, lifting your hips until you were on all fours, head turned into the pillow. “you know what this does to me, seeing you like this,” he growled, running the head of his cock through your folds before slowly pushing in. “fuck, still so tight for me.”
you moaned, face burying into the pillow as he filled you to the hilt, rocking his hips with slow, brutal precision. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you back to meet each thrust, hitting that perfect spot that made your vision blur.
“tell me how good i make you feel,” he said through gritted teeth, fucking you deeper.
“so good—oh god, junnie—right there,” you whimpered. “you fuck me like you own me.”
“because i do,” he hissed. “you’re mine. every inch. every breath. and this pussy? fuck—this was made for me.”
your cries were muffled into the pillow, tears prickling at your eyes from the pleasure building impossibly fast. he bent over you, pressing kisses to your back, your shoulder, your neck, never stopping his rhythm.
“gonna come, baby?” he whispered in your ear. “cream on my cock like you always do?”
you nodded desperately, clenching around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a strangled moan.
he followed right after, cursing low and dark, emptying himself inside you with a final thrust. “fuck—gonna fill you up again. maybe give chaeyeon a little sibling.”
you both collapsed onto the bed, boneless and breathless, his arms wrapping tight around you from behind.
and in that moment, as the warmth of him settled over your back and your heartbeat steadied with his, you smiled.
because this was the life you never asked for — and yet, it was everything.
and now, there was no one else you’d rather be loved by.
so, how do we feel about yandere txt? i can see them as certain sub-types of one.
yeonjun: possessive. he believes his love interest is solely for him and him only. if he perceives any rivals he will get rid of them.
soobin: stalker. he watches and follows his love interest to collect information on them. he obsessed over every detail about them, especially if they have an interest that he does.
beomgyu: delusional. the person he’s in love with showed him unwavering kindness, so now he thinks that person has feelings for him even though they truly don’t.
taehyun: manipulative. his love interest doesn’t need anyone else but him. they certainly will never leave him either. he’ll make sure of that.
kai: obsesssive. he’s constantly thinking about his love interest. his entire life revolves around them. he’s willing to do anything for his love — especially getting rid of the nasty people in their life.
incest cw bc caleb. no really explicit smut, just a desc of cum and morning wood and a lot of implied stuff and Yearning and longing. also yay some writing finally. also they are adults in this, still living w josephine. like 18 n 21 ish.
reader has a vagina is referred to as meimei. some talk about masculinity.
wc is roughly 1.1k
you wake up first. it occurs rarely and the first thing you think about is how you're going to tease caleb for sleeping late.
grandma tells you to be a good girl and wake him. the scheme starts then, you'll spook him a little then tease him after. it's your job as his little sister to annoy him, anyway.
so, you tip-toe into his room already laughing to yourself. you move slowly, smiling a little with mischief. wondering if his patience will hold true even now.
(you know it will. it's part of why you feel comfortable to do it. you'll know he'll smile and roll his eyes, tell you to quit it, pet your head good morning.
you slept and miss his hands. you'd never tell him that)
you open his door, wincing as it creaks. you almost glide on the wood floors, socks sliding, still laughing.
and then you see him.
you're distracted and can't shake it off. he looks peaceful, but your mind drifts elsewhere, too slippery for you to grasp. your heart skips.
you aren't sure if it'll help to hold your breath or not.
caleb is laying there defenseless. sunlight is pouring into his bedroom window, spilling all over him and you can see him so clearly. his body so defined that it almost seems grand, all the room he takes up. kissed with sunlight and warmth and boyish charm. his face sleeping peacefully, snoring so lightly, jaw chiseled with hair that falls into his face. broad shoulders with his arm splayed, big chest rising and falling. the light hairs at the base of his stomach and his abs toned because it's early. you miss the softness of him but you're all too aware now of how strong he is now, how athletic, how much of a man he's grown up into.
and how big he is. always has been, it feels like. every year you grew up together. he was always a head taller, shoulders suddenly spanning an inch wider. and now he takes up most of his bed but you still want to lay with him. how you used to when you were kids from some reason that should make you sick but doesn't.
you don't what the feeling is inside of you. it's too tangled with so may other. you just know he'd make room for you. and some part of you wants that and something more.
your eyes dip. lower and lower, his legs, his—
you're already too distracted to notice the door shutting behind you
you feel it first in your chest, your eyes wide as saucers. your heart inches slowly up the canal of your throat, threatening to fall from your mouth.
he's huge.
you've seen...you've seen his dick before. you live together, accidents happen and all. but it's never on display like this.
(never so solid. never so hard and throbbing. never so thick you can see it through the material of his boxers where he's tented, fabric having to stretch over him, sunlight casting show. never so perfectly in your reach that your hands twitch at your side with the need to touch it.)
you usually just try not to think about it at all.
or—you only think about it when no one's home. to dampen of that feeling that crops up now and again. under your sheets with a hand in your underwear because you don't want anyone to find you wanting like that.
(don't want anyone to know, or to give yourself away. not even a breath or the rustle of clothes.)
you've never seen it hard. and you knew it was big but somehow it's bigger than what you could expect.
something you'd see in porn, some kind of exaggerated picture of masculinity but it's there in front of you. hard and heavy. but it's real, and you feel so close to it, your big brother and his cock so much like a mans, so heavy for something in his dreams. your eyes are fixed. is it too much to hope it's you he's thinking of? the thought makes your heart race.
(it's always been you, couldn't be anybody else).
the tip is already with with pre-cum, you notice. the detail was almost lost on you from how slight.
but a beat or two passes and then
his breathing gets more erratic, and his dick twitches endlessly and suddenly you see something come out—
you can't help but watch gege cum. it's the only thing you've ever wanted in your life. your deepest desire spread out for you, no one else to bear witness. your heart is hammering so loud it's ringing in your ears and you can't form words. your whole world tilts on it's axis. a flowering blooming in the dark.
your body feels like it's burning up from the inside. you shift your weight from one leg to another, body frozen with a molten pit in your core.
you're so wet. like you came a little. an impossibility to your arousal that makes you shudder. your knees feel weak. your pj shorts are going to soak through, a thought in the haze of your mind.
you almost don't hear caleb at all. it's all white noise except for his voice. kind and soft and perfect.
"meimei," he murmurs.
you jump in your skin, voice shaky. you try not to show it. "hi,"
"you sound sweet," caleb says, eyes still closed. you clench a little. "must be dreaming still. c'mere,"
he thinks he's dreaming. you take a few step towards him, body moving like a marionette, and when you're close enough caleb grabs you, pulling you into bed.
and you feel it, his cock throbbing and pressed into your body as you fall in next to him, your back to his chest. his hip rock unthinkingly into you as soon as your close enough, and he shudders—and all of a sudden, there's something hot and sticky spilling on your skin, on your thighs where your shorts are riding up and you can't breathe with how aroused you are, how much you need it. need gege's cock, the only one worth your time.
now you know for sure.
want makes your throat close up, words coming out like you're choking them out of you.
"...gotta wake up, gege"
"five more minutes pipsqueak," he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, so sweet and kind. like lovers. "promise,"
minutes stretch into what feels like hours as you wait for caleb to lull himself back into sleep. you push back against your wants like trying to push boulders. you pull yourself away even when there's a voice in you that urges you to push and push and push. trying to quiet an all-consuming hunger, you carefully peel yourself away. each time you move a limb off of you, it gets a little quieter.
but it never quite leaves your mind. not enough to let you forget.
you tiptoe down the hallway, away to your room. a wetness slicking your thighs as you walk yourself down, opening and closing your door. you hear grandma shouting for you and the noise is muffled, not loud enough to shake your thoughts as you stumble back into bed with your legs like a newborn fawn.
it quiets again and you let your hips rock against your bed, a name you whisper like keeping a lovenote under your pillow.
💌: this is not proof read and suuuuper short because i found it in my drafts and decided to feed y'all + no labels part 02 is coming out soon and dada is EXCITED and thinking abt yeonjun constantly. enjoy!
genre: yeonbin x fem!reader threesome (kinda crack-ish)
wc: 1.3k
warnings: soft dom!soobin & yeonjun, they're eiffel tower-ing reader, they argue but its not angsty at all its just incredibly stupid, very brief mention of yeonjun wearing a suit (or at least he was wearing one), oral (m!receiving), deep throating, backshots, yeonjun praises reader a bit, soobin is referred to as bunny, littleeee bit of mxm but its just kissing, soobin’s a little bit rough, slight face fucking towards the end, yeonjun cums in readers mouth, soobin cums inside reader, idk i probably missed a couple but whatever
You’re moaning and trying your best to keep your lips wrapped around yeonjun’s dick as his best friend of over ten years stretches the tight walls of your cunt open. You should be having a great time right now. You should be going stupid from the stimulation. But instead—
They're arguing.
Every time another stupid sentence leaves Yeonjun’s mouth, Soobin fucks into you harder. He doesn’t mean to, but Yeonjun is being so annoying right now. Poor bunny is trying so hard to be gentle while his drama queen of a friend continues running his mouth.
You're filled from both ends, body shaken back and forth between the two bickering men. They’ve been going at it non stop for hours now. Not even sex has seemed to shake them. It’s exhausting to say the least.
"You changed the decorations I picked, asshole!"
"Yeah, because you decided to pick them without asking me first."
"Well you would’ve just said no anyways, because you— ah— you have awful taste."
"Can you two please shut up! I'm trying to cum!"
You try to get them to continue focusing on the task at hand, fucking you, but they just grunt at each other. Soobin continuing to slam roughly into you, too irritated to remember to be gentle. Not that you’re complaining though, your sweet bunny is rarely ever rough. Yeonjun on the other hand is just simply too stubborn to completely let go of this pointless argument, even as he stares down at your pretty mouth swallowing his cock whole.
You’re so close to heaven, with Soobin relentlessly pounding into you as he moans and grunts and Yeonjun letting out the prettiest whimpers and leaning back onto his hands. You love having them like this, even if their endless back-and-forth is starting to get on your last nerve. Yeonjun’s mouth is slightly agape and his tie is hanging loosely around his neck, his blazer discarded somewhere on the floor. His pants are unbuttoned and boxers pulled down just enough for his leaky cock to be freed. You can’t see Soobin, but you’re willing to bet his hair is falling in his face and his pretty lips are glistening with leftover saliva from licking them constantly.
Even as you manage to shut them up for a bit, Soobin has started purposely slamming his hips flush with your ass, making you deepthroat Yeonjun. Which in turn, is making him whine pathetically as his hands dig into the sheets.
Soobin thought it was amusing at first, making Yeonjun loose his composure more than he already was to get him to finally shut up. But it wasn’t so funny when Yeonjun started obviously getting close to climax, his head tipping back and his moans getting higher and higher. He’s been nothing but a bitch all day long, he doesn’t deserve to cum first.
Yeonjun’s head shoots back up, staring daggers into Soobin’s eyes when your mouth is suddenly no longer around his dick. Soobin had yanked you back, hands tight on your hips. He couldn’t help but smirk seeing Yeonjun look so annoyed.
"What the fuck??” Yeonjun spits.
If looks could kill, Soobin would’ve been long gone right now. Yeonjun is not too happy with being edged right as he was about to cum so far down your warm throat.
“What? I didn’t do anything.” Soobin smiles, feigning innocence as his movements start to slow, more focused on getting back at his best friend than fucking you.
You were so close to cumming. But yet again, your momentary bliss is put on hold while the men argue. You could almost roll your eyes right now if it weren’t for Yeonjun gently grabbing your cheeks and feeding his dick right back in. Seems he’s choosing to ignore Soobin for once.
“Ahh fuck yesyesyes, just like that” Yeonjun moans out as your lips wrap back around him, his hands on the sides of your face slowly guiding you down.
“Feels so good, keep going please fuck— oh my god… You’re so pretty, so good at this” he babbles on.
You love when he gets like this, so pretty and dazed from the stimulation that he just talks and talks. Even in bed Yeonjun never knows how to stop talking.
Soobin however, does not love it. Even as he picks his pace back up and resumes fucking in and out of you, he’s distracted. And fed the fuck up.
“Will you stop— uh— talking please?” Soobin grunts out.
“Why should I listen to you? You don’t ever listen to me.”
“You think the whole world should listen to your stupid ideas.”
Your mouth pops off Yeonjun once again, this time to speak.
“Soobinnn, ‘m so close!” you moan out, feeling that familiar feeling building up in your lower tummy. Soobin’s thrusts have gotten brutal as Yeonjun continued to aggravate him further once again, his tip hitting and abusing your cervix over and over.
Suddenly the feeling of you clenching around Soobin has made itself known, his eyes falling to the sight of himself going in and out of you making him dizzy. He’s no longer busy arguing as he moans and snakes his fingers around you to work at your clit.
“Fuck— Yeah, okay. Go ahead and cum for me.”
Both the attention on Yeonjun’s cock and his words are forgotten now as Soobin’s tunnel visioned on making you cum. Yeonjun is not done talking though, and he’s tired of Soobin ruining everything.
“I want an apology.” he declares firmly.
“What? No way!” Soobin retorts, gaze averting from your dripping cunt back to Yeonjun.
You groan as Soobin’s pace falters once again, his fingers halting all movement at the absurdity of his friends words.
You’re pissed. If these two idiots would just shut up for one minute you would’ve came ages ago.
“What do you mean ‘no way’?” Yeonjun questions as he pushes his dick inside your warm mouth once again. “I deserve one! You’re the one who’s been a jerk all day long.”
“Me? You’re the one who’s been going around bad mouthing me to everyone just because you can’t handle not getting your way!” Soobin spits back, having completely stopped all movement now.
That’s it. You are sick and tired of your orgasm being put on hold over and over for them to continue having the worlds dumbest argument.
“Will you both just fucking kiss and make up?! You’re both jerks because you won’t let me cum!” You practically cry out, removing your mouth from Yeonjun once again as your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.
And that may have just been the best thing you’ve ever said.
Were they finally quiet? No. But were they still arguing? Nope!
They couldn’t when they were too busy moaning into each others mouths as they make out above you. Yeonjun’s up on his knees now to reach Soobin better, thrusting harshly in and out of your wet mouth. Soobin’s no better, bullying his cock into you relentlessly. Both their paces barely steady, and you know it won’t be much longer before they both cum.
And lo and behold, Yeonjun was the first to go. Moaning loudly into Soobin’s mouth as he shoved himself as far down your throat as he possibly could. Your nose buried into his pelvis as cum spurts into your mouth. You could feel yourself getting dizzy, finally feeling the warmth build back up in your stomach. Soobin must’ve felt it too as his fingers reach down to rub at your neglected clit once again.
Within seconds another loud and broken moan rips through the air, and shockingly its your own. As if on cue, Soobin follows right behind. His hands death grip your hips, pulling you down to the base of his cock as he spills inside you. It’s almost beautiful, the moans falling from all three of your mouths, sweat falling from your foreheads, and no more pointless arguing.
Who knew all they needed was to kiss for all of you to come, and cum, together so nicely?
⁀જ➣ You wouldn’t say lying comes easy to you. Especially not when you’re surrounded by people you care so deeply about. But when you’re forced into a corner, there is nothing left for you to do but to lie your way out, dragging an innocent server down with you. Luckily for you, Soobin, the ever so helpful server, is more than willing to make your time here enjoyable. So what if he has to attend a wedding for people he’s never met before? As long as he’s by your side, he doesn’t mind anything you throw his way.
pairing ↣ server!Soobin x fem!reader
genre ↣ romcom, fake dating, strangers to friends to lovers
featuring ↣ seventeen members, original characters, txt members
contains ↣ food mentions, alcohol consumption, mentions of being cheated on, a terrible ex boyfriend, green flag!Soobin
warnings ↣ smut, dry humping, unprotected sex + pull out
word count ↣ 29.4k
↪ izzy speaks... I'm so excited to finally show this to you guys!! It's been about time I wrote a long fic for txt again and it just happened to be Soobin hehehe. Which I'm incredibly thankful about btw because the energy and love I felt while writing this is not something I can explain and I know it's all thanks to him. I really missed him. Hopefully, you'll enjoy this as much as I did <3
As always, a huge shout out to my girl liv @livmarauder for making this banner I'm in love with and look at at least once a day!! Also a big thank you to the people doing this collab with me, I've had a lot of fun <3
playlist | collab m.list | soobin m.list
The room is nice. Tones of brown welcome you everywhere you look along with red decorating the walls. It's much bigger than your room back home, but you're convinced you'd be fine with anything when you're only staying for a week.
The worst week of your life, you remind yourself.
As happy as you want to be for your friends, how much you want to cheer them on on their big day, celebration is the last thing on your mind as you sit in your room, thinking about all the other guests occupying this floor. You think about Minho the most. Sweet, loving, Minho, who stabbed you in the back just a few weeks ago.
It'd be one thing to break up with you, but it's a completely different thing to do it like he did. If he just sat you down, told you he wasn't in love with you anymore and wanted to break things off, you probably wouldn't have a single hateful bone in your body for him. But he just had to ruin the last few weeks before your friends' wedding by having you find him with another girl.
You spent the first week hating yourself instead of him, convincing yourself that if you were better to him, if you took more time off work and came out of your way to meet his needs, none of this would have happened. You even blamed yourself for leaving work early that day in hopes to have a lunch with him. If you only had stayed back, you would have never found him in your bed with someone else.
You quickly realized it wasn't your fault, though. It was never your fault an unemployed man had too much time on his hands. It wasn't on you that he always needed to have you under control, know exactly where and who you were with. And it most definitely wasn't your fault that the video game he spent his days working on wasn't working like he'd always like to blame you.
It was never your fault he cheated on you, so why does it still hurt so much to know he is just a few rooms down the hall right now when he could have been right here with you, celebrating your friends' marriage?
Still, no matter how much your heart aches even all these weeks later, you need to put a smile on your face and pretend. You have to pretend for Nari's sake. You have to make sure her big day is still hers and she won't worry with how you're feeling. She deserves the prettiest and the most exciting wedding anyone has ever had.
Checking the time on the small digital clock on your bedside table, you stand up with a heavy sigh. The restaurant you're meeting at with the other bridesmaids is right down in the lobby, so you don't need more than five minutes before leaving your room. But with how your thoughts eat you alive in here, you'd much rather go there now and be fifteen minute early than keep wondering about what Minho is doing and if he regrets what happened in the slightest.
You're not sure what the other girls are wearing, but Nari told you to dress in something pretty but comfortable, so you decided on one of the sundresses you brought. To be honest, your suitcase is mostly filled with dresses. It's hot outside at this time of the year so you didn't think you'd be needing much more. You packed your dress for the reception, you got your pajamas, swimsuits, a pair of jean shorts and two tank tops, as well as a handful of summer dresses. You might have over packed a little, but you'd rather be safe than sorry. Who cares if you go home with only wearing half of the dresses you brought? You certainly don't.
Nari and her best friend Amy are already sitting at your reserved table when you come down, smiles decorating both of them as they talk about something. You smile at them as well as you come closer, a soft "Hi," leaving your lips as you take a seat on Nari's other side.
"We were just talking about how the guys decided to go to the bar tonight," Nari explains to you after exchanging her greetings. "Do you remember Chan? He's the one who convinced them to go and he's planning on getting all of them wasted," she shakes her head at the thought, her lips curved up in a grin.
"There is never anything good coming out of Chan having an idea," Amy adds, a matching smile on her face.
"I'm glad I won't have to deal with the aftermath. Good luck to you two," you smile back, but it doesn't quite mirror theirs. If they paid a little more attention to the details, you're sure they could tell. Thankfully, two more girls come to join the table before they can notice. Jihoo and Mina greet you all as they sit down, asking when Woohee is coming.
As if she could hear them, she comes through the front door right after, waving at your table excitedly as she dodges a couple who's leaving, apologizing for being in their way before crossing the room in a few quick steps.
It's funny how you all managed to match tonight. Nari is in a small white dress with green details, and her sister Jihoo is wearing the same one in blue. Amy's dress is deep red, ending at her knees just like Mina's, who is in all pink. Woohee is wearing a sundress like you, but unlike yours, hers is a beautiful pink. It's lighter than Mina's, but they're still both equally beautiful.
Once your party is complete, you all flip through the menu list. You keep your eyes down, scanning the different food and drink options while the girls talk. Their words fly by you, at least until the topic of the conversation doesn't shift from Nari to you.
"Are you okay?" Nari's eyes are filled with worry, and it's exactly the opposite of what you wanted. You want her to enjoy this and focus on getting to marry the love of her life, not you losing who you thought was yours. "I promise I wanted to cross him off the guest list, but you know how Seungcheol is. They've been friends practically their entire lives, so he couldn't just take back his invitation."
You quickly force a smile on, shaking your head. "It's okay, Ri. Really. I knew he was going to be here and I'm okay with that." That's a lie. You hate that he gets to laugh freely like nothing happened and enjoy the free stay while you're still eating yourself alive.
"Are you sure you're fine? I saw Minho this morning when we arrived. He brought a girl, and she is gorgeous. He really stepped up his game," Jihoo comments, and despite Nari shooting her a disapproving look instantly, it doesn't help how awfully it feels to hear her say it. You know she is gorgeous. Christ, you saw her naked just a few weeks ago and there hasn't been a day when you didn't think about how pretty she is.
"It really doesn't matter to me anymore. I'm over him," you lie again. "We weren't meant to be, that happens," you brush it off.
"That's good," Jihoo nods. "That's good. It's unfortunate you couldn't bring someone as well, but you know how it is. Some people are just hard to date."
"Jihoo!" Nari's eyes widen before you can even process what was said.
You watch as she opens her mouth to continue, but you refuse to ruin her night. You refuse to ruin her wedding week. She was so happy to go out with all of you tonight, you'll do anything to make sure it stays that way—happy, and without any fights. "I am dating again," you blurt out. "I have a boyfriend."
The table falls in silence, all five girls watching you in utter shock. Their expressions are different, though. Nari's shock is a mix of excitement and confusion, wondering why she didn't know about this beforehand, you assume. The explanation to that is simple—you didn't even know about it until a few seconds ago. Amy and Woohee carry similar expressions, while Mina just looks confused. You don't blame her, you would be too.
Jihoo's face doesn't resemble and ounce of genuine confusion or excitement. Her eyes are filled with anger, almost as if the fact you managed to fight back annoys the heck out of her. You truly hope it does annoy her at least half as much as her words hurt you.
"Why didn't you say so earlier? We could have booked a ticket for him as well," Nari is the first one to speak. Jihoo hangs on her question instantly, asking further questions about why none of them knew about him before and why you didn't bring him with. What are you possibly supposed to say to that?
Relief washes over you as your server comes to your table, asking if you're ready to order. You look up at him and tell him your order before either of the girls can properly register him, glad that the topic can shift elsewhere.
Except it doesn't. "Come on, tell us more about him," Jihoo taunts. "Or is that why you didn't bring him with you? Are you embarrassed of him?" Nari and Amy tell your server their orders but you can't hear them, only catching Jihoo's words. Nari and her are similar in many ways look wise, and anyone could tell they are sisters, but as long as you've known them for, you've always known their personalities couldn't be more different. Jihoo has always been terrible to you, and even though you still don't know why, you wish for her to suddenly start liking you and leave you be more than ever.
You shake your head harshly. "He's already here. That's why," you say the first explanation that comes to mind.
"Oh? Does he work here?" Mina wonders before redirecting her attention to the server and giving him her order.
Your eyes follow her line of sight, landing on the only man near your table. Soobin, you read off his name tag. If any of them paid closer attention to you, you're sure they'd notice how panicked you are at the moment. How could you not? There is no clean coming back from this. You already lied a bunch. You can't just admit there is no boyfriend and you still think about Minho daily.
"Soobin." The name escapes your lips before you can think about it, your eyes widening in shock when you realize you've said it out loud. Your eyes bounce between the girls, all of them watching you like they're waiting for you to slip up. You know that's not the case, at least in Nari's case you are certain she doesn't pray on your downfall, but it doesn't change how their gazes feel. "My boyfriend does work here," you nod quickly. "Meet Soobin."
The look in your eyes is nothing but desperate as you glance his way, begging him to play along with you. You notice him visibly freeze as he meets your eyes. He then takes a look at all your friends, clearing his throat awkwardly. God. You're fucked. He's going to tell them that he's never met you in his life and everything will go to shit.
"I thought you didn't want to tell your friends yet?" His question catches you so off guard you almost choke on air, your eyes wide as you meet his again. "It's pleasure to finally meet you all," he offers them a smile, his dimples showing. Huh?
You blink at him and then at the girls, watching as they all carefully take the sight of him in properly. An awkward wave of "Nice to meet you," rushes through the table, Jihoo's confusion and anger only getting worse. They finish ordering their food, still seemingly shocked as they watch him leave, their eyes locked on his back.
"We haven't been together for long so I didn't want to mention anything yet," you manage to blurt out, but you're not sure if either one of them is listening to you. Seems like that worked. How? You honestly have no idea.
"I can't believe you got a boyfriend and didn't tell me about it," Nari slaps your shoulder, still in a disbelieve. You've all got your food by now, and every time Soobin walks to or around your table, you catch them all looking his way. You don't think they'll be letting it go anytime soon.
"He is handsome," Mina nods, approving.
"Definitely an upgrade," Amy snickers and Jihoo rolls her eyes.
"You are taken, Amy Cheong," Nari reminds her, shaking her head with a smile on her face.
"Does that mean I can no longer appreciate a man's good looks?"
"How long have you two been together?"
Woohee's question has you stressed again. You look over at Soobin, finding him at one of the tables with ease. Approximately thirty minutes? Give or take. "Three weeks," you mumble.
"Where did you meet?" Amy adds another question, taking a bite of her chicken.
This restaurant, you think to yourself. Where on Earth could you have possibly met him when he works so far away? You had to fly over here for god's sake. "A mutual friend," you pipe, quickly stuffing your mouth with food to prevent any more questions.
The nerves you feel as Nari stands up to tip for the service are far worse than you ever felt. She's walking right behind Soobin, her lips curved in a smile as she speaks to him about something you can't grasp despite your effort at reading her lips. There's nothing you can do now that the two of them are alone. All that's left for you is to pray Soobin has your back.
"You know, I don't blame you for keeping it a secret," Nari says casually as she hands Soobin her fiance's card. "The situation sucks, I know that, but there is not much I could do for her, which I hate."
Soobin takes the sight of her in, shaking his head slightly as he runs the card through the system. "Like you said, it was better that way. At least for a while. With everything happening," he agrees. His brows furrow in confusion, not really understanding what he's saying. He doesn't know the story. He has no idea what the situation is, or why you felt the need to drag him into it, but when he saw the silent plea in your eyes, a helpless scream for someone to pull you out of your misery, he didn't think twice about it.
"You should come to the wedding."
Oh.
"No, I shouldn't," he shakes his head. He can only assume it's her wedding she is talking about considering she is inviting him. "I wish you all the luck on your big date and a happy marriage, but I shouldn't. It wouldn't be appropriate. We've only been together shortly."
It's Nari who shakes her head this time. "It doesn't matter whether you've been together for two years or two days. I hate the thought of her being sad and alone on what's supposed to be the happiest day of my life. It's bad enough that the fucker she calls her ex will be standing on Cheol's side the entire time, but to know he'll be attending with some girl I never even met while she has to look at them without a shoulder to lean on?" A heavy sigh leaves her lips. "Please, I beg of you, take the day off and be there for her. I couldn't stand knowing she was lonely on my big night."
Soobin listens to her without interruptions, trying to put together the pieces of the story she tells him. He can't say he knows for sure what's going on in your head at the moment, but he has an idea of what the situation you're facing is. He hands her back the card, looking over her shoulder to find you standing with the rest of the girls at your table, waiting for her to come back. You're already looking at him, and with the urge in your eyes, he thinks you've had your eyes on him for a while now. Possibly the entire time he's been talking to your friend. "I'll talk to her about it and see," he promises.
You're up early.
To be honest, you didn't sleep much in the first place. You were up all night thinking about what you're going to tell the others and how you're going to get yourself out of this. You came up with nothing.
You know the only right way to go about this is to tell them the truth, admit that you lied and you don't actually know Soobin. It's the only way to get out of this hole you dug for yourself, but if you're honest, it's the last thing you want to do. You don't want to see the look on Jihoo's face when she finds out you were just full of bullshit and none of it was ever real. You don't want to give her another reason to push you to the ground. It's already enough that she seems to be on Minho's side even after everything.
You force yourself out of bed as your clock shows 08:00, knowing you have to get down for breakfast if you want to eat anything. You don't know what the plan for today is, if Nari will need help with anything or if she has any plans for you. You decide on another dress for now. If needed, you'll get back to your room and change later.
Thinking about why you brought so many of your good dresses makes your heart ache, so you decide not to. It's better that way. When you don't overthink it and just slip the fabric on, it's a lot better than wondering if you'll catch Minho's attention.
The tables moved around a bit. Unlike last night, one of the walls is lined with tables filled with food, offering all kinds of breakfast options. You catch Nari at one of the tables with her sister, smiling at them briefly before moving to grab your own food.
"Hey," the voice startles you, and you quickly glance up at your side. Eyes wide, you face the same boy you convinced the entire bridesmaids party is your boyfriend last night. He looks different this morning, though. There is no name tag on his shirt or an uniform in sight. He's in a white button up and a pair of blue shorts that end above his knees, casual but still looking as handsome as last night.
"Hi," you blink up at him. You're screwed. "I'm so so sorry for last night," you quickly add, not giving him the opportunity to speak first. You need to explain yourself and apologize for all the discomfort you caused, as well as thank him for not leaving you to fend for yourself. "We don't know each other and I shouldn't have just blurted that out—"
Your name coming from somewhere behind you makes you turn around instantly, panic rushing through you at what they just heard. By the way Woohee's eyes flicker from you to your boyfriend, you don't think she caught you. "Are you having breakfast with us? You should introduce your boyfriend to us properly." She nods her head towards the table with Nari and Jihoo that you noticed earlier.
Opening your mouth to answer, you hesitate. You can't possibly tell her that you will. What would you say? You don't have a past or present with Soobin, and you certainly won't be able to introduce him to them. There is nothing you know about this man. Glancing up at him, you catch him already watching you curiously. It seems as if he's waiting for your next move. Well, that makes two of you.
"We're sorry," he shakes his head with a gentle smile. "I'm really busy this week so we wanted to have a breakfast together. Just the two of us. I'm sure you understand." Woohee's eyes widen at his soft spoken tone, nodding with hesitation. "I'd love to meet you all a different time if you don't mind."
"Of course!" She beams. You can't explain how grateful you are that she doesn't focus on you or your body language, otherwise you'd be in huge trouble. Not that you wouldn't already be. "I'm sure we'll run into each other more this week anyway." She smiles at you, telling you with her eyes how happy she is for you before moving past you, picking her breakfast.
"I'm so, so, sorry," you repeat your previous sentence, this time with much more sincerity and desperation. "I can't express how grateful—"
"We should get a table and talk about this, hm?" He interrupts you, sliding his hand to your lower back with a smile. "Bride is watching," he whispers through his teeth as soon as he feels you freeze under his touch and you naturally glance back, meeting eyes with Nari. Okay, you definitely need to talk.
Soobin finds a table on the other side of the restaurant, making sure you are out of your friends' view. It could not be more perfect. However this conversation might go, it's not something you want them to notice.
Keeping your eyes down, you take a seat awkwardly. It feels like you're coming to your senses for the first time since you arrived. Realizing the situation you put him in, how you just dragged him with you under the water without giving him an option, you feel even worse. You should really go join the girls and tell them you lied. That would be best for everyone.
Everyone except you, but you don't think you're in a position to choose right now.
"I think we should start over," he breaks the silence and your eyes shoot up to him. He doesn't seem to be in the same distress you are. To your surprise, he looks at you normally. "I'm Soobin," he extends his hand to you. "Choi Soobin." You blink at him first before shaking his hand, sharing your name in return. "Do you want to tell me what that was about?" He asks carefully.
You squeeze your eyes shut. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault and I should have never dragged you into this," you shake your head, refusing to look at him now that you started talking. "God, I don't know what went over me. I was panicking, and even though I know it doesn't excuse it, you were the first guy I saw and the only way of getting out of the grave I dug for myself was to use you."
"I, uhm, told them I have a boyfriend in panic, and well, there isn't actually one. I came here alone because that's what I am; alone," you sigh.
"Why did you lie to them?" He tilts his head, but you don't see any judgment on his face as he does.
That's a good question. Why did you? "I guess I didn't want them to know that my ex is doing so much better than me," you scoff quietly, finding it ridiculous. "It's stupid. I swear I'm not usually this stupid, but at that moment, all I wanted was for them to think I am not doing as badly as I really am."
He watches you for a beat, carefully observing as you stare into your plate, your hair falling into your face. "I'm not saying it's stupid," he shakes his head. "I can't say it was a good idea either, but I'm sure you aren't stupid."
"Thanks," you huff, meeting his eyes. "I truly am sorry."
"It's okay," he assures you. "Next time, I'll appreciate a heads up first, though."
You chuckle. "Yeah, you should make sure the next time a girl pretends you're her boyfriend, she lets you know beforehand."
He smiles when you joke with him, feeling you relax a bit again. "Can I ask what the situation is? Your friend kept mentioning that it sucks. She said that she knows it's bad and wishes she could do something to make it better." He wonders, trying to get another piece of the puzzle.
"Nari," you tell him. "My friend who spoke to you yesterday. Her name is Nari and we are here because she's getting married at the end of the week. Her soon to be husband, Seungcheol, is somehow related to the owner, which is why they could do it here."
He nods, listening carefully. "There isn't a situation happening. They're getting married, all their friends were invited, and my ex boyfriend brought his new girlfriend along. That's it. That's the story."
"That's the story?" He raises his eyebrow.
You shrug. "Yeah. He gets his happy ending or whatever and I keep drowning in agony. Simple, right?"
"Seems simply enough," he nods. A lot is happening in his head as he does. His lips curve into a smile, finding you endearing, but he also feels bad. You do make it sound simple, like it's completely normal for things to be this way and like you don't deserve your happy ending. No matter how he looks at it though, it's wrong. "What is your plan now? What do you want to do?"
"I don't know," you admit honestly. "I didn't plan to get into this situation, and I know you didn't either. We should just…" you hesitate, the words hanging at the tip of your tongue. But no matter how much you know telling them the truth is the right thing to do, you can't bring yourself to say it out loud.
It's when he realizes you aren't finishing your sentence that he decides to speak again. "Nari invited me to the wedding last night."
Your eyes widen, "She what?"
Soobin nods carefully. "She told me that she doesn't want you to be all alone on her big day when he will be there with someone else. She cares about you a lot."
"I…"
"Do you want me there with you?" He offers.
You had a lot of expectations on how this conversation might go, but neither of the scenarios included this. There's no way in hell you could have predicted for him to suggest something like this. It's bizarre and doesn't make any sense. Nari shouldn't worry about you so much and neither should he. You'll be okay. You'll put on your best smile and pretend for her. It's what you planned to do all along either way.
So why can't you just say it? Why can't you just tell him you'll be alright without his help and that you can take care of the trouble you caused for yourself?
Maybe it's the tremble of his eyes that stops you, the sign of him being nervous as he asks you. It's clearly not something he does every day, not knowing how to go about this just like you.
"As my boyfriend?" You question.
"Fake boyfriend," he suggests in return. He's not sure why, what makes him want to help you so much, but there is a pull to you he feels, a silent scream inside his head saying he needs to save you. And he'd much rather listen to it than try to see what happens if he doesn't. "I could help you keep playing into this story you built until the wedding is over and you don't have to be in that position again."
You don't ask what he means because you know. The position you're in. Once the wedding is over and you all return to your daily lives, you won't need his help anymore because no one will care. You won't need to keep pretending you're doing amazing just to assure your friends you're not falling behind. You won't need to watch Minho with his new girl anymore, and you won't have to be strong for anyone.
"Please," you nod. "I'd be forever in debt to you."
"There is no need for that," he shakes his head while waving you off. "I'll be happy to help."
"I mean it though," you insist. "I'll owe you one. Whatever it is, if you ever need help with anything, feel free to ask me."
"Okay," he nods, a soft smile tugging in the corner of his mouth.
"Okay."
Exchanging numbers with Soobin, you got as much information about him as you could. There is a lot you need to know, a lot you worry about the others asking you when you see them again, which is why you feel so unprepared even after sitting with him at the table for an hour. You would have probably stayed longer if it wasn't for Nari texting you to ask if you'll be joining them at the pool.
You asked Soobin if he wanted to come with, but he refused politely, explaining that he has a shift starting before lunch. You were about to tell him not to worry about it much and that you can find a different time when your friends can see you together, but then he suggested switching his place and serving at the bar outside. It could not be more perfect.
You wonder if you're doing too much as you look at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You can't tell if the choice of your bikini is because you want to show Minho how great you're doing with Soobin now, hoping to make him reconsider his decisions, or if you just want him to look at you.
Either way, deep down, you know you're dressing in hopes of getting a reaction out of him, and a part of you hates yourself for it.
You chose a pastel pink pair, your bottom high wasted with a little bow decor on the side. Your ass is practically fully out and your boobs are pushed up in the little triangles covering them. It's the type of swim wear Minho would hate on you. Not because he didn't like the style, but because he hated the fact you were showing your body around—as he liked to call it. You hesitated because of it at first, worried that if you do manage to get his eyes on you, it'll only be because he is disgusted with you, but the thought of Soobin being near quickly soothed you.
No matter what Minho will have to say to you when you see each other again, you feel safer knowing Soobin will be there in case you need him.
Grabbing your dress from the floor where you left it when you undressed, you put it over the bikini, fixing your hair once more before leaving the bathroom. You take a book with yourself as well as your phone, towel, and room key, heading out to meet with the rest of the party.
Amy is the first person you see. She's in a gorgeous burgundy bikini, her sunglasses resting on her head and a smile splattered on her face. Jeonghan, her boyfriend, is on a lounge chair right beside her, whispering something to her that makes her roll her eyes and her cheeks flush. They're watching their best friends—Nari and Seungcheol—in the pool, but it's not them your eyes fall to. It's Minho kissing his new girlfriend in the water, her back pressed against the edge and his hand in her wet hair.
You feel sick.
It's the same feeling you had all those weeks ago when you saw her for the first time, naked, in your bed, with Minho on top of her. You could throw up right now.
Nari calls your name as soon as she notices you. Your eyes snap to her, offering her a brief smile. "Come join us! You do have a swim suit, right? If not, I can borrow you one of mine!" Her grin is just as bright as always.
"I am wearing one. Thank you, though." You catch Minho's attention on you as you speak, both thrill and stress rushing through your body.
"I hope it's my favorite one." It's Soobin's voice catching your attention this time. He's standing right behind you, his hand wrapped around your waist casually as he smiles at your friends. He's in his work uniform, leaving you a little disappointed when you remember his earlier outfit.
"It is," you nod, playing into it right away. You turn back to your friends, watching as Minho scoffs at the interaction.
"I can't stay for long as I need to get back to the bar, but I wanted to properly introduce myself since some of you already met me," he looks around the group, noting all the girls that were with you last night and their partners. He doesn't need to search long to figure out which one of them is your ex, the guy practically staring holes into Soobin's body. There's a girl hanging on his arm, her wet hair pushed behind her ears, showing off the hoops she's wearing. Just looking at her, she couldn't be more different from you.
Not only does she look much shorter than you, but her hair is full of blond highlights and waves—that he is certain are the product of heat and not nature. He can't help but think that she looks fake, taking his eyes off before he can start judging her. That wouldn't be like him. "My name is Soobin."
Nari swims closer to the edge, pulling herself up a little so her hands can rest outside of the water. "It's unfortunate you can't join us this time."
"We are looking forward to knowing you," Seungcheol adds, joining his fiancee.
"You'll come to the wedding, right?"
All eyes are on him in an instant, but he only lets his drop to yours, giving you a reassuring smile. "If you'll have me," he nods.
"Of course we will!" Nari beams.
"Get in the water and enjoy yourself," Soobin tells you, squeezing your waist lightly to get you to focus on him instead of the man in the swimming pool. "If anything goes wrong or you need saving, I'll be at the bar," he whispers to you, making sure only you can hear. Tugging your hair behind your ear sweetly, he adds into the pretend you're playing. "I'll come rushing in if needed."
"Thank you," you mumble, your cheeks red from the closeness of him.
"I need to go, but I'll catch you guys later. If you need a drink, you know where you'll find me." His arm slips away from your waist and the feeling of something missing hits you immediately. Watching him walk away, you take your time taking all of him in. He's handsome. Huge, but that's something you're sure everyone noticed. He's much taller than the other guys in your party, definitely taller than Minho. He had glasses on last night, ones he isn't wearing now, and it makes you wonder if he's wearing contact lenses now or if the ones last night were fake.
"Come on, let's swim a little," Nari invites you into the pool again.
"Or, you can be much wiser, join us and just tan," Amy speaks up right away, patting the lounge chair between her and Woohee.
"I'll stick to the land for now," you offer Nari a smile. "You and your fiance have fun, though."
"Hold back on the fun," one of Seungcheol's friends shakes his head. Chan, you recognize him when you look closely. "Not in front of us all. It's enough I had to listen to you writing poems about your girlfriend all night long yesterday."
You don't need to look at them to know she's got the brightest smile on her face now. By the splash of water, you guess she isn't just smiling. Taking a chair between the girls, you quickly pull your dress down, staying in just your bikini as you rest under the sun. Even if this week feels terrible, a tan is the least you can get from it.
Doing your best to focus on the book you brought, you ignore the urge to check out Minho and see what he's doing, if he's back to kissing her now or if he has his eyes on you as well. Amy beside you laughs as she talks to her boyfriend, while Woohee has her eyes shut, close to drifting to sleep you'd say.
You look towards the bar, just to check where Soobin is, only to find him already looking at you. Tilting his head slightly, he mouths "Are you okay?" across the space, causing a smile to spread on your lips as you nod. It's nice to know someone has your back like this.
"How's Soobin?" Jeonghan's question makes you pull your eyes away from him. "Amy told me he works at the restaurant down in the lobby?"
"Mhm, he does," you agree. "He's been working here for the past two years. A friend of mine, uhm, introduced us a few months ago and then… we started dating three weeks back," you tell him the lie you agreed on with Soobin before. Truth is, if you were to start dating someone three weeks ago, you would have made them miserable. You broke up with Minho almost two months ago, and you still can't see yourself in a happy relationship with someone else.
Deep down, you feel like you don't deserve it.
"That's good," he nods with a smile, glancing towards the pool briefly. "You deserve this." Oh-oh. Can he read your mind? Does he posses some sort of superpower Amy never mentioned before? If so, then you're certainly fucked. You can't pretend a relationship with anyone if he can see through you so well.
"I— Uhm—"
"I'm getting a drink, anyone coming with?" Minho's voice rings in your ears as he pushes himself out of the pool, water dripping down his body. It takes you a second to remember you aren't together anymore and you have no right to watch him like this, forcing your eyes closed.
"Are you not drinking anything today?" Amy wonders, her head tilted to the side. She probably doesn't even realize she's suggesting you go with him to get a drink. Because why would that matter anyway? You're both dating again.
You really need to get that fact into your head if you want to survive this week.
"I…" You hesitate, your eyes flickering to Minho, eyeing you up and down as you lay on the lounge chair. You want to cover up all of a sudden. "Yeah, I'll get a drink," you nod, standing up. You quickly wrap your towel around your waist to cover yourself more, looking down at your feet as you walk behind him towards the bar.
"I'll take a beer," Minho calls as soon as he reaches the bar, not bothered to wait for Soobin taking care of another order. His eyes flicker to the two of you instantly, his smile dropping when he sees you standing side by side with your ex. "And then whatever sweet cocktail you can make."
"Take your time," you say quickly, frowning as you nudge Minho in his side. "You're not the only one here wanting a drink."
"And?" He scoffs. "I'm sure your new pup can make time to serve us, can't he?" He leans closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear.
A shiver runs down your skin. "Don't touch me," you push him away, quickly taking a step back.
"Do we have a problem here?" Soobin is in front of you two before you can blink, the girl that was waiting for her order now gone. "Because I'll gladly call security on you and watch you get kicked out," his gaze is anything but welcoming, completely different from the one you're used to. You did not think he had a side like this in him.
"A beer and cocktail," Minho repeats, paying no attention to the anger on his face.
"Sure," Soobin gives him a fake smile before looking at you, his eyes softening instantly. "Do you want me to make your favorite?"
You don't remember what you told him your favorite drink is earlier, but you can't seem to care either. You'll take anything he serves you. Nodding, you watch him turn his back to you again and mix you a drink. Hadn't you known he started at the bar at first before switching to working as a waiter in the restaurant, you'd be much more surprised at how skilled he is. Apparently his cooking skills are below zero, but drinks he can handle.
He slides a red cocktail you can't recognize on the bar in front of Minho along with a pint of beer. Your mojito comes next, decorated with a slice of lime on the glass. "That's supposed to be her favorite?" Minho scoffs in amusement, shaking his head as he takes his two drinks.
"It is," you argue. He doesn't know you.
"Sure it is. Advice for next time, make her a Bloody Mary," he taps grins proudly at Soobin.
"I don't like Bloody Mary anymore," you proclaim. "Mojito is my favorite. Tastes change."
"Clearly," he doesn't look at you anymore as he walks away, calling to his girlfriend that he's got her drink.
"I'm so sorry for what he's causing," you groan, hanging at the bar for a bit longer.
"I'm fine," Soobin shakes his head. "Are you, though? I meant it, if he's making you uncomfortable or causing you trouble, I will call the security on him."
"No," you refuse quickly. "It doesn't matter. I'll be okay. I can't ruin their wedding by getting him escorted because I'm being petty."
"You aren't being petty," he assures you. "But I'll follow your lead, so if you think he should stay," he nods a little.
"He should," you agree. "He has always been Seungcheol's friend before he was my boyfriend."
"Okay."
"Okay."
You turn around to leave it at that, only for Soobin to call your name again. "You weren't lying. This certainly is my favorite bikini pair," he smiles, and somehow, it makes your smile grow as well.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You look beautiful."
You should probably be weirded out. You're practically naked after all. But with the way Soobin says it, it makes you feel like he'd look at you the exact same way if you were fully dressed. You could probably wear a padded jacket and your dirtiest sweats, and he'd still look at you the same.
Is this how one is supposed to look at you in a relationship? You're not sure. You can't tell for sure you ever saw Minho look at you like this.
Either way, you must say, Soobin is a great actor.
"I'll see you later?" You ask with a smile.
"I'm not going anywhere," he nods.
Soobin's eyes are on you whenever you look at him throughout the rest of the day. As you dip your legs in the water, as you hop in with Woohee, as you go for a refill of your drink, and especially as you talk to your friends. To your surprise, while Soobin's eyes stay on you, Minho's are on his. You wonder what goes through his head, what he thinks when he sees you.
You have to shake your head and remind yourself he doesn't care about you anymore, and you really shouldn't either. Getting back with him is the last thing you want anyway. You think.
You leave the pool around five, following Nari to help her with some of the wedding stuff while Soobin stays behind, finishing the rest of his shift on the bar. He texts you whenever he can, asking what you're up to and if Minho isn't causing any trouble. You keep assuring him you're okay, eventually sending him a picture to show him it's just the girls and Seungcheol. The fact Minho isn't anywhere near seems to calm him, sending you a quick good luck text before getting back to work.
You wonder what goes in his head as well. It's one thing to help you out when put on the spot, but what was he thinking when he suggested continuing this little game? You'd really love to be able to read minds at the moment. It would solve a lot of your questions.
"Sitting Soobin and Minho together is probably not a good idea, right?" Nari looks up from her notes and you shoot her a look, saying everything with your eyes. She giggles, "Relax, I was joking. I'm going to move Chan to your place and you and your boyfriend can sit at his original table."
"That's number 3 right?" You wonder, opening your phone to check the seating chart she sent you last week.
"Yes! There was a spot left so it works out perfectly."
You nod along, bringing another cocktail to your lips. You stopped drinking Mojitos when you left the beach, Nari convincing you on a different drink. It's safe to say you're drunk, but it doesn't stop you from helping as much as you can.
"He's okay with the reception food, right? No allergies or anything like that?" Fuck, you should have asked him that before. Sitting alone with Nari here, the other girls figuring out some things with Seungcheol, you somehow feel more on an edge than if everyone was here.
Sure, slipping up in front of everyone would be much worse than just her, but she's the person you hate lying to the most.
"No allergies," you shake your head, hoping you're right. "He's fine with anything."
"Okay, that's good," she nods, tapping her pen against her notes. "I'm really glad he's joining, by the way"
You blink at her. "You are?"
"Yeah," she assures you immediately. "Soobin seems nice and I'm glad you get to be happy. I want to see you smiling and in love on my wedding day," she flashes you a smile, one you try your hardest to return. You wish you could do that for her, but being in love is the last thing you'll be. You just hope you'll have a fun time with him and won't have to worry about anything else.
"Of course," you take another sip, hiding your face behind the glass. "Your parents are arriving tomorrow, right?" You ask even though you know the answer, trying to change the topic.
She hums. "They should be here around lunch if there aren't any delays. They'll be traveling with Seungcheol's parents. You should have seen them, they are so excited to get here."
"I bet they are," you smile, this time genuinely. "Imagine how it must feel being able to see their daughter get married to the love of her life. To Choi Seungcheol on top of everything!" You exclaim. "I still can't believe how rich he is."
"Right?" Nari laughs. "To think I would ever get married in such nice place. I'll be forever grateful to him for making my dream wedding happen. On the beach, with all my close friends present and no regrets," she sighs dreamily. "I'm hoping to thank his uncle and cousin when I meet them. I heard they are extremely busy this time around, though, so we'll be lucky if his uncle manages to come to the wedding at all."
"It'll all work itself out," you assure her.
"Of course it will," she nods. "With my luck, the president will attend," she giggles. "By the way, I am taking the credit for you finding a new date and having him here."
"Feel free to," you laugh.
You lost track of the drinks you had so far. All you know is that it's ten pm, and your glass is empty again.
"Come on, let's get you back to your room," Seungcheol is at your side, trying to help you on your feet. You shake your head, staying in your seat while Nari giggles beside you. You obviously both had too much to drink. Seungcheol sighs, moving on to his soon to be wife. "Ri, my love, we should get back to the room. How much did you guys drink?"
"A little bit," she tells him, showing him with her fingers, her thumb and pointer finger practically touching. "I'm just so happy," she sings and he shakes his head. "Aren't you happy?"
"The happiest," he assures her, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. That seems to work, getting her up on her feet. Seungcheol calls out to you so you'd start paying attention but you're already doing that, your eyes locked in on the two of them and yearning for the same. You once thought you'd marry as well, imagining a small simple wedding with Minho and your closest family and friends present. You never needed anything big either. You just wanted to be with him.
It hurts. It hurts so fucking much. The only thing you ever wanted was to be happy in your tiny little bubble. You didn't care that you weren't millionaires or that you'd argue from time to time. Turns out, he did care. Turns out, you just weren't enough for him.
"I miss my boyfriend," you sigh, your vision crooked. You can't tell if it's because your head is tilted or if you're just seeing things.
"We should call him!" Nari cheers right away, seemingly happy for you. "Cheol, we need to go on a double date with them sometime!" She turns to face him, almost falling onto him if he wasn't there to catch her. "Wouldn't that be just amazing?"
He smiles at her, his eyes so in love your heart aches. "Of course, my love."
You take your eyes from them and pull out your phone, unlocking it after the third attempt at typing in your pass code. You force your eyes shut before opening them again, doing your best to focus them on the letters on your screen as you scroll through your contacts.
Finally, you find the one titled boyfriend, dialing the number.
When you glance at Nari, she's kissing her fiance, her arms wrapped around his waist. You don't care, though. All you want is to hear Minho's voice once more.
It's not him who picks up, though, the softness in his tone making you frown for a second. Your name falls off Soobin's lips in a question and you pull your phone away from your ear to check who you're calling again. Right. Soobin is your boyfriend now. "Are you okay?"
"I drank a bit," you explain.
"Ah," he nods even though you can't see him. "Are you alone right now?"
"With Nari and Seungcheol," you glance to their side. "I think they are about to fuck."
Soobin chuckles lowly, checking the time on his clock. "Where are you? I'll come get you so you don't need to watch that."
"It could be interesting," you shrug, watching as his hand grips her side, obviously not minding the alcohol on her lips a bit. "We are near the lounge bar," you tell him, closing your eyes for a second to rest them.
"Okay, I'll be there in a second," he gets up from his bed, leaving his room to get down to the lounge.
"Soobin?"
"Yeah?"
You don't respond, not sure what you wanted to say. He doesn't say anything either, letting you rest in the silence while taking the elevator.
You can't say for sure how long it takes him to get to you, but it feels like only a few seconds pass when he calls out to you and you open your eyes. Judging by the fact Seungcheol and Nari aren't where you last saw them anymore, you assume it's been longer than that. "Come here, we need to get you to bed."
You take his hand when he offers, leaning on his side to walk in a straight line. You try convincing him you've got it and can go on your own, but he doesn't let you, only humming along while guiding you towards one of the elevators.
"Did you have fun with your friends tonight?" He wonders, glancing down at you.
You hum happily. "So much fun. We'll be sitting at table three together," you tell him and he nods.
"Yeah?" He sounds as gentle as ever, making you smile. "With who?" Stepping into the elevator, he waits for you to press the floor you're staying on, still holding you steady.
"Seungcheol's friends," you say, pressing the number 4. "Joshua, Mingyu," you hiccup, your eyes widening as you close your mouth again to calm down. "And Jihoon. Not Chan, though. Chan is switching with me."
"Okay," he nods, a soft smile spread across his face as he watches you lean against the wall. "Are you excited for the wedding?" You hum but don't bring yourself to respond with words. You're sure he understands you anyway. How could you not be excited? One of your closest friends is getting married!
"Which room is it?" Soobin wonders as soon as you step outside, fighting with your pocket to get your room key out.
Handing him the card, you point down the hall. "402."
After working here for what feels like forever, he knows well where each room is, nodding as he takes you towards your room.
Just mere two days ago, the idea of him carrying a woman back to her room would be mind blowing. Him? Choi Soobin? To be honest, it still feels a little surreal. When he accepted the job out here, it was because he was reconciled with staying alone and making money so that once he got out again, he could provide for both himself and his future partner. Getting mixed up in your mess was the last thing he planned. Getting mixed up in any mess, for the fact.
But as he chuckles over you stepping on your own feet and then cursing at him because you're convinced he did it, he can't say he minds. While he could not have been more bothered focusing on anything other than work just a week ago, he is glad he gets to be here now. With you.
He must say, it's been fun so far.
Well, except for the part where your ex boyfriend is still hanging around. That bit could not sit more wrong with him.
There's just something about the guy that rubs him the wrong way. Just looking at him drives him crazy and he's never even spoken to him except for their short exchange when he came to order. But Soobin doesn't even want to talk to him. If anything, he's waiting for the moment you allow him to call security and escort him out of here.
Maybe he won't even need your permission for it. If he could find a right time to tick him off and get into a fight, he could easily call the security without any issues. Then, neither you or your friends could blame him.
You stopping in your track makes him snap out of his thoughts, glancing at you before looking at the door beside him. 402. Right, okay.
Unlocking the door for you, he opens it widely so you can step inside. He let's you walk on your own for the first time since he came down, watching you walk straight ahead towards the bed. It's not a perfect straight line, but it's a lot better than he expected. Maybe he was just underestimating you. After all, he doesn't know what you're usually like when you drink.
Judging by the way you aren't completely blacked out after everything you had tonight, he can only assume you can hold your liquor.
You turn around again when you reach your bed, facing him. He follows you inside, just to make sure you get to bed and don't accidentally hurt yourself the moment he steps out. "Can you get it off?"
He blinks at you confusedly, stopping just a feet away from you. Take what off? And no— he absolutely can not. "What do you mean?"
"My dress," you say, as if it's the most obvious answer you've ever had to give. It most certainly isn't one he's ever received, though. Your name slips past his lips, his head tilted to the side, and you're not sure if it's in disappointment or confusion. "I want to go to sleep."
Taking you in, he carefully examines all of you, debating his choices. He's sure taking off your clothes is nowhere in the mental list he's made of all the things he is probably expected to do as your boyfriend. Fake boyfriend. Holding your hand, hugging you, flirting with you—all of those he counted on. Taking off your clothes? He never thought he'd be here debating if he should.
He's gone crazy. It's the only explanation he's able to give himself as he closes the space between you and grips the fabric of your dress in his hands. You raise your hands instantly, letting him pull it over your head slowly. He turns his gaze away as soon as he does, folding the dress in his hands. Sure, he's seen the bikini you're wearing before, but that was in a completely different context.
You were at the pool then, surrounded by multiple other people dressed the same unlike now. Now, as it's just the two of you standing in your hotel room, it feels much more vulnerable.
As if your previous request wasn't enough to mess him up, you have another. "Will you stay for a while?"
Meeting your eyes again, he takes the longest second before sighing. "I should go," he shakes his head.
"Please," you whisper. "It helps."
"With what?" He asks, confused.
"Not thinking about him."
You don't need to explain who you mean. He knows too well.
"Alright," he nods, not asking further. Offering him a brief smile, you try expressing how grateful you are to him that way. "Will you be okay in the bathroom alone? I'll wait right here." You nod, assuring him you'll manage before taking your pajamas from the bed and heading to the other room.
Soobin watches you walk around, doing his best to keep his eyes at a respectful height instead of all the flesh you're showing in just your swim wear. He'll feel a lot less like a creep once you get here with your pajamas on.
Settling in one of the armchairs the room provides, he looks around as if it's the first time he's seeing the interior. He's not sure what he expected. It's the same as the room he's been provided as an employee, except for a few layout differences. It's nothing huge though, and he's certain he could find everything here as well as he does in his room.
He's not sure how much time passes before you come back, letting himself rest for a bit while waiting. There's nothing to do, anyway. It's not like he's going to snoop through your space.
The realization of how wrong he was sets in as soon as you walk back into the room, your bikini no longer on, replaced with a cute little matching yellow piece. Shorts that sit high on your hips and a short sleeved shirt that buttons in the front. Your hair is brushed, and your make up off. He was so incredibly stupid for thinking it'll all be okay once you're wearing more on. The fact you're more covered right now does nothing to make him stop feeling like he's doing something wrong.
Maybe because he is. He has no right to look at you like he does as you walk past him to get to the bed, slipping under the covers with ease. He knows he is in no place to look at you and think about how attractive you are, but he can't help it.
"I'm sorry," you mumble into the silence, making him come back to his senses. "I wasn't going to call you and make you stay with me."
"It's okay," he assures you, shaking his head. "I'm glad you called."
You scoff quietly, making yourself more comfortable as you look at him. "I managed to sober up a little in the bathroom so the embarrassement is slowly coming to me. Don't take it to heart if I avoid you tomorrow."
He laughs, a soft sound that rings in your ears. "Let's not do that, hm? Friends help each other out when needed. There's no need to be awkward about it."
"Friends," you repeat after him, unable to contain your smile. "I'm happy to be your friend, Soobin."
"I'm glad I'm yours," he agrees. "You should sleep," he encourages. "It's been a long day and you need to rest properly to get the alcohol out of your system."
"You just want to get rid off me," you roll your eyes, joking.
He doesn't say anything else and you don't either. At least not for a while. You listen to the sound of the air conditioner in the room, gazing at the boy in the dark, trying to make out his features as best as you can. You wonder what goes through his head again. If he's truly okay with staying here or if he finds you annoying.
For some reason, you believe it's the former.
You can tell he's watching you too, careful as his eyes trail down your figure under the blanket. He doesn't say anything, but you doubt he has nothing on his mind.
"We broke up almost two months ago," you whisper, not sure if he can hear you. A part of you feels like you should tell him the full story, not only in case someone talks to him about it, but because you feel like it's important he understands how this all started. "I didn't see it if I'm being honest, but I guess we were broken even before that, though."
Soobin shifts in the chair, not interrupting. "It just wasn't the same anymore, but I never would have guessed he'd…" you sigh, turning to lay on your back. "I came home early from work wanting to have lunch with him, spend more time together because I thought that would make him happy, just to find him occupied."
The memory of him in your shared bed with his new girlfriend comes back to you and you quickly shake your head. "He cheated on me. Apparently he's been with her for a few months already when I found out."
The words hit him much harder than he expected. "For fuck's sake," he runs his hand down his face, his eyes closed in regret. It's not like he could have done anything about it, he didn't even know you back then, but he still somehow feels guilty about not helping more. The urge to escort Minho out this very instant grows more and more, and he has to steady himself not to do anything stupid. "I'm so sorry."
You shake your head. "It's okay," you assure him despite knowing it's not. It hasn't been okay for a while now. "I just… I wanted you to know."
He nods, "Thank you."
"Soobin?"
"Yeah?" He looks at you through the dark, the urge to comfort you strong.
"I'm so grateful to you."
He hasn't slept much last night. Not only because of the chair he stayed in, but because he kept repeating your conversation in his head the entire time. He didn't have it in him to leave when you fell asleep, the little voice yelling at him "Wrong!" every time he'd think about your ex staying somewhere in the same hallway getting louder and louder. Despite barely sleeping, he couldn't figure out what to do to help, though.
The only good option he came up with is still starting a fight with him and getting rid of him that way, but he's rational enough not to. Who knows what would really happen if he did that.
The digital clock in your room says 07:15 when he decides to finally leave you alone. You're still sleeping, and he thinks you'll be for a while longer. Smiling at you, he takes the sight of you in one last time. Your messy hair sprawled all over the pillow, your hands hugging the blanket as if it were a real person, and one of your legs bare on top of it. Your ass is practically out of your shorts, but he swears he didn't look. He respects you too much for that.
Clearing his throat, he forces himself to snap out of his thoughts and head out. He needs to get to his room, change, and get to work. His shifts are all over the place since the two of you planned how to make him available to hang out with your friends more, but surprisingly, he doesn't mind. Knowing you're not all alone there makes it worth it.
He knows you wouldn't be alone even if he wasn't there, most of the girls seem to be close with you, but he still feels better when he can be the one keeping you company.
Closing the door behind himself quietly, he almost jumps up when he hears Nari's excited voice behind him call his name. Turning around hesitantly, he faces her and her fiance. "Sneaking out of your girlfriend's room so early in the morning? What are we, in high school?" She laughs quietly and he offers her an awkward smile.
"I have to get to work. She's still sleeping and I didn't want to wake her up. She needs that rest after everything she drank last night with you."
Nari raises her hands in surrender. "Don't blame me, blame the bartender that kept pouring our drinks."
"Yeah, I should tell Beomgyu to stop serving you for the rest of your stay," he mumbles, more to himself than to the pair, shaking his head. "What are you two doing up so early anyway? I thought you weren't doing much better last night?" He questions, louder this time.
"She's the earliest bird I've ever met," Seungcheol shakes his head in response. Nari shoots him a look, her eyebrow raised as if she was questioning if he minds. "But I love her, so there is not much I can do," he squeezes her shoulder lovingly and Soobin watches as she instantly melts into him. "I'm sure you get it."
"Yeah," Soobin breathes out, not paying much attention to what he's saying. It's the answer he should have said. As a boyfriend in a happy relationship, it's one of the things expected of him, to look just as in love as Seungcheol does. He can't say he thought about it too much before the words escaped him, though. No part of him wondered if that's the right thing to say as your boyfriend before he did.
He shakes his head a little, clearing his throat. "I really need to get going now, but I heard your parents are arriving today?"
"Yes!" Nari nods happily. "We're going to the beach market later after lunch. Will you join us?"
"I will," he nods. It's why he took the morning shift after all. He should really go. He still needs to shower and get ready. But one more question stops him. "Is Minho joining as well?"
Nari's smile falters a bit, her eyes dropping to the floor. So that's a yes.
"I know it's a bit weird right now…" Seungcheol starts, looking down at his fiancee. "And I honestly you don't hate me much for it." Soobin is not sure if it's directed at him or Nari, but maybe it's both. "But yeah, he's coming as well. My mom has been looking forward to seeing him again and inviting him has been the least I could do for her. He's always been her favorite friend of mine."
"I can't say I feel the same," Soobin comments. "I'm sorry, it's not my place," he quickly apologizes when he realizes he said it out loud.
Seungcheol shakes his head. "You don't have to apologize to me. I'm honestly not his greatest fan right now as well, and every part of me if disgusted with what he did, but he's been my best friend all throughout my childhood. He's been there when I first met Nari and he was there when I was planning how to propose to her. I couldn't just leave him out after everything."
Soobin hums, trying to understand. He knows he's just feeling petty and his own opinion is clouding his judgment. Seungcheol has every right to invite his friends to his wedding, even if they are are someone Soobin hates. "No, of course," he forces a smile on his lips. "I'll see you guys later. Have fun until then."
He doesn't wait for the pair to say their goodbyes as well, quickly walking away to get to his own floor.
When Soobin sees you again later that day, you're wearing a blue dress. It's a pretty one. Which he doesn't forget to tell you.
"In case no one told you yet, you look beautiful."
You turn around to look at him, smiling as soon as you meet his eyes. "Thank you. You don't look too bad yourself." He's in a pair of gray shorts and a light blue button up. When he first came into your room to pick you up so you could walk down together, you just stared at him in surprised upon seeing you managed to match without a previous agreement. He seemed just as shocked, taking you in before you rushed him inside so you could finish getting ready.
Throwing the hairbrush down onto your bed, you fix your hair once more before nodding to him. Soobin watches you as you pick your purse and hang it over your shoulder, following you out of your room.
He stays quiet, his eyes on you at all times. You don't mind. Locking the room after stepping out, you only focus on going over all the stuff in your purse to make sure you got everything you need. Which is also why you don't notice him extending his hand towards you at first. It's only when you've assured yourself you won't need to run back here that you look at him again and see his palm waiting for you. Blinking confusedly, you meet his eyes. "Hand?" He asks, waiting for you to take the hint.
Your eyes flicker between his eyes and his fingers before deciding to hold his hand in yours. Letting him lace your fingers together, you look down at the connection while he tugs you down the hall towards the elevator.
"I'm sorry for last night," you mumble as soon as you know for sure you're alone and no one will sneak up on you and catch you in the middle of your conversation. "I really shouldn't have made you come get me. I don't normally drink like this and—"
"It's okay," he assures you. "I didn't mind. Whenever you need something, don't hesitate to call me. I'll gladly help."
"You're already helping me so much," you shake your head slightly. "I feel terrible for using you so much."
"Don't be," it's him shaking his head this time, still holding your hand as he leans back against the elevator wall, watching you. "You can use me all you want. I promise you I don't mind when it's you."
Your cheeks flush at his words, your mind reworking them into something you're certain he didn't mean. He glances to the side before meeting your eyes again, the softness of him pulling you in. "Come here." You step forward until you're right in front of him, looking up at him as if you were in trance. It's been a while since you've felt a pull like this. His free hand brushes a few strands of hair behind your ear, a smile on his lips as he keeps you close.
The elevator door opens at the same time, the little bubble you found yourself in crashing open as you hear the sound announcing the end of your ride. You blink at him confusedly, coming back to your senses and quickly taking a step back. Too quick. Fortunately, thanks to his fingers still being laced with yours, he manages to steady you again with a simple tug forward.
"There they are!" Nari calls out and your attention snaps towards the group of people already waiting for you.
Oh god. You feel so stupid. He was just trying to play into the whole pretend relationship and here you were, thinking all kinds of things far from appropriate for the little agreement of yours. It's his fault though, he should have told you what he was planning. It would have saved you a lot of embarrassement.
Smiling at the group, you make your way out of the elevator, tugging Soobin with yourself. You go greet Nari's parents with a happy grin on your face, letting her introduce your boyfriend to them. The same follows with Seungcheol's parents, and despite Minho giving him a dirty look as he does, he welcomes them jut as warmly as you do.
You don't get to chat with them much, everyone wanting to go already to see what the beach has to offer. You and Soobin trail together at the very back, still holding hands, and still keeping quiet. You listen in on the conversation Woohee is having with Amy and Jeonghan at first, but that stops interesting you after a while as well, and you're left with nothing to do again.
"How did you know they were already going to be there when we arrived?" You wonder out loud, glancing up at Soobin.
He meets your eyes without missing a beat, "I didn't."
And just like that, with only two words, he makes you go back to the person you were in the elevator, pulled to him by some invisible force and your head spinning. You're sure it doesn't mean anything, that even if he didn't know and wasn't meaning to make your play pretend more believable, it still doesn't mean you should be thinking so much about it.
It's just a few words after all. It's just a simple brush of his hand and proximity. It's just Choi Soobin being Choi Soobin.
So why, despite deep down knowing better than to, is your heart beating faster at the memory of you standing between his legs?
"You didn't?"
He shrugs, "I mean, I thought they might be since we were a little late, but I had no way of knowing."
You clear your throat, "So that was… You wanted to have them see us together like that, right?"
Soobin doesn't answer your question, looking ahead and following the rest of the group. You watch him, partly in confusion and partly in pure hope. Still, he doesn't give you a clear answer like you'd like. Of course. Because why would anyone make anything easier for you?
You'd like to press more, ask him again and beg for an answer so you can sleep better at night, but before you can do so, you're surrounded by all kinds of stalls, catching everyone's attention. A part of you is glad. You don't think you'd be able to ask him again anyway. You'd just stare at him without a single word escaping your mouth, embarrassing yourself in front of him. As if you haven't done that enough already.
God, you seriously can't believe you called him last night. You were drunk, sure, but couldn't have your drunken self manage herself a bit more? You should have hung up on him as soon as you realized who was on the other line and get yourself back to your room alone. It's not like you blacked out, so you could have done it—even if it would have taken you much longer than it did when you were with him. You still can't figure out why you didn't.
Even back then, you knew you shouldn't have relied on him or asked him to stay with you, so why did you?
You really can't understand yourself sometimes.
You hear your name called, but before you can turn around and figure out who is calling for you, an arm wraps around yours, pulling you away from Soobin and towards one of the stalls. Your eyes widen at the sudden lost of his touch, only calming again when you notice the smile on his face as he watches you get dragged away by Nari and the rest of the girls. "We need to get these bracelets!"
You tear your eyes off him to look at the girls, your smile matching theirs now that your attention is fully on them. When the group stops and starts looking through all the goods laid out on the table, your eyes trail back again. Soobin isn't standing there anymore, and just like that, you're separated for the first time.
When you meet again, you have a cocktail in one of your hands and a new blue, beach themed, bracelet on your wrist that matches with the rest of the girls. Soobin is still empty handed, but a lot of the other guys have their hands full. "Hi," you greet him with a smile, one he returns with ease.
"What did you get?" He wonders and you extend your arm towards him, offering him a sip. He tilts his head at the action at first but then decides to take the glass from you, tasting the drink. "Mhm, kind of exactly what I assumed you'd get."
"What does that even mean?" You giggle, bringing the glass back to your lips. You're not sure if it's unconsciously or what, but after taking a sip, you realize you turned the glass so your lips would touch the same place his did, your cheeks catching a hint of red. "What stalls did you guys check?" You quickly ask before you can spiral in your own head, averting your eyes and looking at Nari already convincing her parents to buy something you can't make out from your spot.
"There was this one with different decorations from seashells so Seungcheol bought some for Nari, and there is also a fruit place," he points towards the direction they came from and you nod. "Do you want any? They have all kinds of things."
You think for a second, glancing at the rest of the group hesitantly. "They won't mind if we disappear on our own," he assures you. "Let's get some, come on." Holding your hand in his as if it was the most natural thing he's ever had to do, he tugs you towards the fruit stall.
You sip on your drink while looking down at your connected hands, the rest of the group completely vanishing from your mind when you walk side by side with him. It's been a while since you felt like this around anyone—since a simple brush of hands sent a shiver up your skin.
"You're back! I told you you wouldn't want to leave here empty handed!" The girl behind the stall grins as soon as Soobin stops in front of the shop. You don't let go off his hand even now that your friends are out of sight, wanting to keep pretending for a little longer.
He shrugs, scanning the fruit options. "My girlfriend is a huge influence on me, what can I do?" You watch as a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, your own mirroring him.
You lean into him, sipping on your cocktail. "We should get some of those grapes. Oh! And a kiwi! It's been so long since I had one."
"Pick whatever you want," he nods to you, watching you with adoration while you keep your eyes on the food.
"You weren't lying, they have everything," you say in awe, making the seller giggle.
"It's a great season for melons, obviously, but I'd also recommend the apricots and nectarines."
"I think we'll pass on the melon," you shake your head, sure you could get one in the resort. "But pack us two of each of those, please."
She doesn't hesitate, bagging everything that fits your taste—always in pairs, for both you and Soobin. You only stop once he has his hand full, letting go of your hand only to take out his wallet and pay. You try offering paying or at least splitting it in half with him, but you're quickly dismissed by him waving his hand and handing the lady the total. He says his goodbyes before wrapping his arm around your shoulder, keeping you at his side as he takes you to see the other stalls he checked out with the guys.
"Let me at least carry something," you demand, looking at the bunch of plastic bags he holds. You want to help, even though, if you're honest, seeing him take everything in one hand with such ease is a pleasant sight.
"You're carrying your drink," he reminds you, as if you weren't aware of the glass in your hand.
"My other hand is empty, though."
"No, it's not," he shakes his hand, lacing his fingers with yours to prove a point. You scoff at his behavior, averting your eyes from him so he wouldn't see the light flush of your cheeks and the big smile you wear.
You don't see your friends anywhere, but frankly, you've completely forgotten you came here with them after a while. Walking around the beach market with Soobin at your side makes it feel a lot less like a group hangout and a lot more like a casual date couples go on on the basis. You can't say you ever had a date like this, but none of the dates you had been on felt like this either.
You buy another drink for yourself, promising you won't get drunk enough to call him for help again, which bubbles a laugh out of him and causes him to tell you how rescuing you is on the very bottom of things he has a problem with.
The sand rests between your toes as you keep walking around with him, holding hands and talking about anything that comes to mind. You learn more about his family and friends, telling him about more of your hobbies and interests in return. You do share some stories you have with your friends as well, but since he's already met them and you're finally without them now, you don't want to keep the conversation there.
You also don't talk about Minho at all. He was mentioned total of one time so far, and the annoyance in Soobin's eyes when he heard his name was enough to completely delete him from your vocabulary. Not that you would be looking forward to talking about him yourself.
"Want to dip our toes in?" You ask him, batting your eyelashes as you look up. All it takes for him to agree is for his eyes to lock on yours. He can't say no to you even if he wanted to. So, he does what he's certain anyone in his shoes would—he tugs you towards the water.
Stepping out of your sandals, you leave them on the sand along with your drink and Soobin. Despite you telling him to go with you and that he can leave the bags here alone, he refused. He stays still, the bags filled with fruits now resting beside his leg and his eyes locked on you. He watches you walk in the sea, a smile decorating his lips.
You can't take your eyes off him either, the task seemingly impossible when he looks at you like that.
"Are you really not going to join me?" You call after him.
"Who would save you from drowning if I did?"
"How about you prevent the drowning even happening by being by my side?"
He shakes his head, unable to hide his smile. Your own grin only grows. "Please! Why won't my boyfriend just put me out of my misery?" You exaggerate the words on purpose, throwing your hands around for a more dramatic effect. A few people turn to see what you are doing, but the only one you can focus on is the one standing in front of you, with his hands tugged in his shorts pockets and his messy hair falling into his eyes.
He laughs, the sound so quiet you can't hear it due to the distance. Fortunately, your mind works in your favor and adds the sound on its own. Imagination is a dangerous weapon, especially when it has your heart aching like this. "Why won't my girlfriend stop being so goddamn incredible all the time?"
This time it's you laughing. You kick the water weakly, splashing his way. He is too far for it to be even close to him, but you never wanted to get him wet either way.
Well, now that you think about it more, that is a lie.
You snap out of your thoughts when you see him unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes not on you for the first time. Your eyes trail every one of his movements, watching as he reveals more and more skin. His abs are the first thing your gaze lingers on. Of course your boyfriend—fake boyfriend—is attractive. Why wouldn't he be?
If you didn't already know otherwise, you would think he's an athlete by the way his abs are toned. But he told you that he is terrible at any and every sport you could possibly think of, so you'll have to give credits for this to the little time he spends at the gym and his natural build.
The next thing that catches your attention as he drops the piece of clothing to the ground are his biceps. A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you avert your eyes, trying to remain as respectful as he's been to you all this time. He's got a great body, one you'd love to look at more, but you know you need to give him a space to breathe. After all, he isn't your actually boyfriend for you to be ogling him like this.
He gets into the water with only his shorts on, leaving the rest of the stuff you two got on the beach beside your shoes. "What are you waiting for? Didn't you say you wanted to get in the water?" He raises an eyebrow as he closes the distance between the two of you.
Your eyes widen a little as you step back, your dress getting wet as the water reaches your knees. "I don't have my bikini on me. I didn't think I would need it."
"And?" The grin on his face makes you panic more.
"No, Soobin, wait," you shake your head, but the smile you wear is not helping you much. You step away from him again, your legs fully in the water now.
He easily wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him. "We are going into the water," he tells you, a huge grin plastered on his face.
"Soobin!" You want to sound mad, but the laugh that escapes you makes it hard for you. You want to warn him and tell him to let you go, but you can't bring yourself to do so. Even though you don't want to be soaking wet as you get back to your rooms, you also don't want him to leave you. His touch feels too comfortable for that. You melt into his arms instantly. You open your mouth again, but before any words can leave your lips, he is sinking you both in.
Coming back up from the water, you're quick to brush your wet hair back with both hands. You don't want to see how your makeup looks like right now. It's probably all smudged. He comes out of the water right after you, shaking his head to get the water out of his hair. He splashes you in the process, causing another laugh to bubble out of you.
"You don't listen at all!" You splash him as well, skipping away from him.
"What? You want to dive in again?" He brings his hand to his ear, pretending he can't hear you well.
"Go away!" You laugh, turning your back to him.
He doesn't answer, instead chasing after you. He's quick to catch up to you, taking your hand in his and spinning you around. Your palms rest on his wet chest as you come to a stop, your body a little too close to him for a relationship that is supposed to be fake. "I'd do anything but that," he shakes his head, his voice now much quieter than before.
You look up at him, your eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips. They are so close right now, you could simply push yourself up on your tiptoes and lean in. You can't take your eyes off him. He is so beautiful up close. His eyelashes hold a few more water drops, his pink lips looking more delicious than you remember them. Maybe you just weren't paying his face enough attention before because he truly is as handsome as they get.
"You got me all wet," you whisper, locking your eyes with his.
His smile is much gentler now compared to the teasing one he had before. "Did I?"
You nod, your eyes dropping to his lips again. You want to kiss him.
The realization should probably scare you. You should push yourself off him and remember that what the two of you are doing definitely doesn't involve kissing each other in the sea, acting like the happiest couple around here.
"Well then good thing you enjoyed that," he whispers, not wanting to break the moment.
You hum, unable to look away. Your cheeks are flushed, and even though you'd love to blame it on a sunburn, you both know that's not the case.
He seems to catch you, his smile growing as his eyes fall to your lips as well. They're right there, waiting for him. It would be easy to just lean down and kiss you. He wonders if you're thinking the same. If the urge to cross the invisible line is all you can see as well or if it's just him constantly struggling. Because the truth is, he's been unable to get his mind off you since the very first day you met. And each day, he feels like he is blurring the lines more and more.
Unfortunately for him, before he can erase the lines completely, the moment is interrupted, and you're stepping back from him the moment you hear Nari's voice. "There you two are! We've been wondering where you ran off to!"
Soobin's eyes linger on you for a moment more, hoping you know that has it not been for your friends finding you again, it would have been different. He needs you to know that what was happening wasn't just a figment of your imagination. He doesn't want this to turn into another elevator situation, where you convinced yourself he was close to you just because he had some sort of a master plan to manipulate your friends instead of the simple reality it is—that he just wanted to blur another line.
When you don't look at him again, he sighs and glances back over his shoulder to look at the rest of the group as well. Nari is under her fiance's arm, their parents talking about something right behind them. But they aren't who Soobin is focused on. Within a second, his eyes fall to Minho, his earlier excitement from being with you quickly replaced with resentment as he sees your ex boyfriend kiss his new girlfriend—a move he is certain he did only because he just saw you and Soobin close to each other.
He tries to catch your reaction, but you're already walking out of the water when he turns to you again. This was an amazing moment. He knows you felt it too. He saw it in your eyes. You looked at him the same way he looks at you every time he is with you. If only you had another minute alone together, maybe he'd finally learn what your lips taste like. But he isn't naive, he knows that now that you saw Minho again, your mood has shifted and he can't force the moment back. He doesn't blame you though. He can't possibly imagine how he'd feel if he was in your shoes.
"That's my fault," you laugh weakly, and even without seeing your expression, he knows the sound is not a real one. He has your laugh memorized, and this isn't even close to the soft sound you make for him every time you're genuinely happy. "I wanted to dip my feet in."
"Looks like you dipped more than that," Minho comments, eyeing you up and down in your wet dress. The fabric clings to your skin, forcing you to quickly cross your arms over your chest to hide a little. He scoffs at your attempt and you quickly avert your eyes from him, not wanting him to ruin your mood more than he already has.
Picking up your stuff from the ground, you also take some of the fruit bags to make it easier for Soobin. Having both of your hands occupied makes it impossible for you to cover up anymore, but you'll have to manage.
As if Soobin could read your mind, he quickly drapes his shirt over you, making you blink up at him. You didn't even notice him getting out of the water. "Give this to me," he shakes his head, taking everything from you, "and button up. You're going to get sick if you keep walking around all wet."
You're certain you won't. It's so hot outside that you both know your dress will dry up again in no time. Still, you do as he says and close the buttons over your chest, offering him a smile in return. "Are you sure you don't just want to walk around half naked?"
"Being naked doesn't interest me when we have company," he says, handing you back your drink while keeping all the fruit bags.
You don't argue with him, trying not to think about the meaning behind his words as you clear your throat, looking at the rest of the group. "Shall we?"
Turns out, there is more on the beach to explore than you thought. It took you guys hours to go through every stall there and then another two when the guys decided to jump into the sea, laughter echoing everywhere around you. Some of the other guests looked at you weirdly at first, but once Nari yelled at them that she was getting married and she was allowed to have fun with her friends, they didn't dare to look at your little group again.
You also visited the place where the ceremony will take place. It's close to the resort, much closer than the beach market. Some people might say it looked plain since a lot of the stuff for the wedding hasn't been moved there yet, but you find it beautiful. You couldn't imagine a better place to get married. With the sea in the background, a man who looks at her like she is the sun, and all her closest present—it's as amazing as it gets.
Your feet hurt when you make it back inside. You're carrying your sandals in your hand as you head towards the hotel barefoot, Soobin right beside you. You're the last of the group, taking your time. The gap appeared when you decided to take your shoes off, and you weren't in the mood to run to get back to everyone. Soobin doesn't seem to mind. If you had to guess, you actually think he is enjoying the fact you aren't surrounded by everyone anymore.
"Are you sure you don't want me to take them?" Soobin looks down at you and you glare at him.
"For the tenth time, no, you aren't carrying my shoes for me. You have your hands full and you've already done so much for me. I got this," you shake your head and he sighs, giving in. The entrance is only a few more feet away from you anyway.
The air inside is a lot better. Despite the sun setting down already, the heat hasn't disappeared so you appreciate the air conditioned room. Relaxing again, you take a deep breath as you head for the elevator.
"Do you want to come up with me?" You ask, peering up at your fake boyfriend. You hope he does. Even though you spent all afternoon with each other, you never get tired of him. Soobin doesn't answer, staring somewhere ahead of him. Confused, you frown as you follow his line of sight.
His zoned out expression makes sense as soon as you do, your eyes landing on Minho, his girlfriend, and Jihoo as they wait for an elevator. There really couldn't have been a worse group waiting for you.
"Oh, you two are back," Minho's girlfriend smiles at you as she leans into him. You're realizing you don't even know her name, but maybe that's for the better. You don't want to be close enough to know.
"We never went anywhere, you guys just wouldn't wait," Soobin answers before you can even open your mouth. You blink up at him but he isn't looking at you, his eyes are locked on your ex boyfriend. You're more and more curious about what goes in his head when he looks at him. "Seems to be a trait of yours."
"Do you have a problem with anything?" Minho raises an eyebrow, stepping forward without a care that his girlfriend was leaning on him.
Your eyes flicker from the two of them over to the guy sitting at the reception desk, unsure how this is going to go. Soobin is towering over him but it doesn't seem to do anything with Minho. You have no idea how good Soobin is at fights but you worry you might learn soon enough.
Wrapping your hand around his biceps, you bring his eyes to yours. Raising an eyebrow, you question what he's trying to do. His eyes soften instantly, the tension you saw in him just a second ago falling off.
"The elevator is here," Jihoo says, rolling her eyes. You're not sure if she's annoyed with you and Soobin or him and Minho. It's probably not worth figuring out.
Minho keeps his eyes on Soobin but thankfully he isn't looking at him anymore, keeping his eyes on you as he tugs you into the elevator. The rest makes their way in right after, but you don't say anything else to each other. There is nothing to talk about with them either way.
For possibly the first time since you broken up, you don't feel an ounce of regret for what happened.
As you stand in the closed space with both Soobin and Minho, you couldn't be more happy about who is by your side.
Your room is the first one, so you and Soobin quickly disappear inside before anyone can say anything else, simply waving them a quick goodbye before you close the door shut on them. You're sure Minho is scoffing on the other side, but you don't care.
Leaning back against the door, you sigh as you close your eyes.
"Sorry about before," Soobin mumbles with a heavy exhale. You peer your eyes open, shaking your head quickly. "I shouldn't have made a comment," he refuses to let it go. "It's not my place to be like this to him, I know."
"You have every right to feel however you want to feel about him," you assure him, pushing yourself off the door and crossing the space to get to him. "If I'm honest, I'm actually glad I'm not the only one that feels resentful towards him. So, please, stop apologizing."
His eyes follow you as you come up to him, wearing a sad smile. "He's a terrible person."
"I know," you assure him.
"I can't stand him."
"I know," you chuckle. "Thank you," standing on your tiptoes, you press your lips to his cheek. It's not quite what you imagined your kiss to be when you were standing in the sea, but it's the best you can offer him right now.
Soobin's breath shakes as you pull back again, his head spinning and his cheeks burning. He wants to have you back in his close proximity. He wants to wrap his hands around you and bring his lips to yours. He wants to do all the sweet things you deserve.
But he knows better than that. Letting you walk away, he follows after you once he clears his head again.
"Oh," you remember, turning to face him. "I took you in here without getting an answer, I'm sorry. I didn't even realize you might want to go back to your room instead," you shake your head at yourself. "I don't want to keep you. You should go."
Soobin tilts his head, raising his eyebrows as if to ask if you're being serious. "Do you want me to go?"
You hesitate for only a split second, shaking your head no. "Then I'm not going anywhere."
It's probably nothing. He is only answering you and there is no deeper meaning behind it. So why does your heart ache and your cheeks warm up no matter how hard you try to convince yourself of it?
He's not saying he plans on staying with you forever. He's not saying he'll stay by your side until you get sick of him. He's not saying that it will have to be you to leave him because he wouldn't do that to you. So what the hell? Why does your head convert it into that, hoping for more than there really is between you two?
Nodding, you avert your eyes from him again so he wouldn't be able to tell. "Okay. I'm going to shower and we can hang together some more."
Despite noticing you're off, he simply hums, letting you take your pajama with you to the bathroom. Unless you want to tell him what's going on in your head, he won't push for it. He sets all the things you guys bought together on your table as you close yourself in a different room, thinking back to the day. He can't get the image of you in the water out of his head. Your wet hair, your red cheeks, your lips, your eyes looking up at him as if you want him as much as he wants you. It goes on a repeat, every single expression on your face etched into his mind.
He is well aware that the moment the wedding is over and you all leave, this little arrangement you two agreed on is gone as well. He knows it. He swears he does. But it doesn't matter to him. It doesn't matter that the moment the week ends his heart will be broken more than he's ever experienced before. He can't help but think about kissing you. He can't help but wonder how things would be like if you met differently. He can't help but hope that by some sort of twist, he turns into the luckiest man alive and things turn for the better.
Because no matter how much he knows that's not in his cards, he would still do this all over again if he knew.
It's a weird feeling. He didn't even know you a few days ago and yet he feels as close to you as he does to some of the people he's known for years. Everything is so fast and it feels like his body can't quite catch up, but he still wouldn't change a thing. No matter how fast you move, how deep he falls, he still wants to keep spending time with you for as long as he can.
When you come out of the shower, he's sitting on the same chair he occupied last night. You smile at him, drying your hair as you walk in. "Do you want to shower as well? It really does feel refreshing."
He hesitates for only a second, taking in the sight of you before he nods. A shower will certainly do after the day he's had. From the almost kiss, through all the times he held you today, to this very minute where you smile at him while in your little pajamas and wet hair. Yeah, he needs the shower to calm his racing heart and mind.
"The clean towels are—"
"On the shelf?" He finishes for you, a smile tugging on his lips. You chuckle as you realize you're trying to guide someone who has lived in one of these rooms the entire time he's worked here.
"On the shelf," you agree, resting your own towel on the bed for now. "Do you want me to get you some change of clothes in the meantime? I could go to your room, or maybe I could ask Nari and Cheol if they can't land you a pair of shorts?"
Soobin let's his eyes drop down your body again, quickly shaking his head. He'd much rather put on the same shorts he's been wearing all day again than know you're walking around the place in just your little pajamas. The yellow really looks amazing on you. "It's okay. Just wait here and try some of the fruits we got," he nods towards the table where he laid them out, offering you one of his smiles with dimples before disappearing into your bathroom.
Your cheeks heat up instantly when you hear the water running, wondering if he's felt the same way while waiting for you. Your head spins at the thought of him being naked just behind the wall separating you. You're not sure if you should blame it on the fact you haven't had sex since you broke up with Minho or accept that you find Soobin attractive, but your entire body feels hot.
Reaching for one of the nectarines, you're quick to take a bite in an attempt to focus on something else. Anything is better than thinking about your fake boyfriend being naked. You moan at the sweet taste, immediately grateful Soobin convinced you to go to the stall with him. You can't wait to try them all out. As much as you'd love to say you eat fruits and vegetables often, you can't always get your hands on them, especially not on some of the things you bought. You seriously don't remember the last time you had a kiwi.
Moving the table, you bring it right beside your bed before making yourself comfortable, sitting with your back against the headboard. There's plenty of space for Soobin as well, whether he decides to sit besides you or on the other side of the bed. Even though, you do have a preference.
The water stops and your eyes lock on the hallway, waiting for him to step out of the bathroom. You're not sure why, but you're excited about spending more time with him. He's made this trip so much better for you already, every time you're supposed to be with him, your heart does this little jump that scares and excites you at the same time. His bare torso is the first thing you see, his shorts sitting low on his hips and his hair dripping water on his shoulders. You haven't seen anything this attractive in a while.
"Thank you," he breaks the silence, forcing you out of your thoughts. "For letting me use the bathroom."
Your cheeks are red as you give him a nod, reaching for another fruit. "No problem," you mumble, keeping your eyes down.
Soobin automatically sits on his chair, leaving his towel on the back of it. Disappointment rushes through you as your eyes flicker from him and the empty space on your bed. You're not going to ask him to sit with you if he doesn't want to, though.
"How is it?" He wonders quietly, pointing at the fruits you're munching on.
"Amazing," you don't hesitate with your answer at all. "Thank you for bringing me to the stall. And for buying all this."
"No problem," he assures you, repeating your earlier words.
The room falls into silence again after until you end up laughing to yourself, catching his attention. He tilts his head, humming in question. "I don't remember us this awkward together." You're well aware why that is, he is as well. Almost kissing each other and then acting like nothing happened does that to people.
"It's my fault," he apologizes.
You shake your head, refusing to hear any of that. "You weren't like this when I decided to date you," you roll your eyes playfully, taking another nectarine from the table and throwing it to him. He doesn't catch it, the fruit hitting his chest and falling to his lap instead. You laugh at the way he closes his eyes in regret.
He clears his throat as he takes a bite, his eyes locked on you. "From what I remember, I decided to date you."
"Oh my prince charming, how glad I am you decided to save me from my misery." A huge grin paints your face, and Soobin is convinced he could never get enough of it. He wants to see you like this all the time. He wants you to have a smile on your face, to genuinely be happy and excited about what's to come, and he wants to be the one to make you feel this way.
"It's my pleasure," he does a little bow with his hand on his chest, another laugh bubbling out of you. You can't help but giggle every time you're with him.
Shaking your head at him, you lean against the headboard again, this time with your front facing him. "I'm seriously more grateful to you than I think you understand," you admit quietly.
His gaze softens as he watches you, wishing for nothing more than to wrap his arms around you and tell you how it'll all be okay, that he isn't going anywhere and that he's got you. That wouldn't be fair to you, though. "I'm glad I can help you like this."
"It's not just about that," you tell him and he raises his brows slightly. "I'm grateful for you, Soobin. Not just for the game you're playing with me."
Soobin's heart aches as he looks at you, forcing himself to take his eyes off you before he makes a mistake he wouldn't be able to take back. You're being vulnerable with him and he's being selfish. This isn't the time for him to be thinking about how much he hates he didn't get to kiss you earlier or that he wishes he could show you not everyone is like your ex.
Your name slips past his lips, so quietly you almost don't catch it. "You deserve the world. I hope you know that."
You don't get to see Soobin at all on Thursday. After talking for a bit longer, the two of you ended up falling asleep in your positions—him on the chair again, and you with your body weirdly curled up on the bed. Still, you think you had a better sleep than him in the chair. If he had asked, you would have told him to join you on the bed in a heartbeat, but the question never came. And once you woke up, he was already gone. Again.
You can't believe it's the second time he's slept in your room and the second time he's run away before you could wake up. If it was anyone else, you would have told yourself that it's not worth it, that you should cut him off and protect your peace if he's someone only willing to spend the night with you, but it's Soobin we're talking about. He's spent so much time with you already, you can't find it in yourself to blame him at all for not being there in the morning.
And because he has it out for you, he's left you a message saying he needed to get ready for work on the table beside your half eaten fruits. A smile spread on your lips before you could stop it, rolling your eyes at him before you fell back into bed, staring at the ceiling with your arms crossed over your chest and your heart beating faster than it did at all during these past two months.
During the day, when you were helping Nari and the rest of the bridal party make sure everything is in place for the big event, you couldn't help but check your messages every free minute you had. Soobin was busy, you're well aware of that, which is why the fact he still managed to find time to text you during it all had you falling for him so much.
You haven't been this happy in a long time, and you're not even officially dating him.
Every inch of you wants to figure out what it'd be like if the two of you were dating for real. You want to know what kinds of dates he'd take you to, what kinds of movies he'd watch with you, how he'd talk to you, how he'd kiss you, how he'd bring you pleasure—you need to know it all.
"At this point just go see him instead," Nari laughs at you, shaking her head when she catches you on your phone again.
You lift your eyes to meet hers, holding back a smile. "You didn't need to come if you weren't planning to help," Jihoo adds, her tone much less teasing than her sister's. Your smile falls off instantly.
"I want to help," you disagree, hiding your phone in your purse again. "I've been helping this entire time."
"As if," she scoffs, fixing the last row of chairs.
"Relax," Amy rolls her eyes at her, coming to join your side. "We've been preparing the tent this entire time while you kept asking Nari about what the guys are doing. If you want to blame anyone for not working, I'd look your way first."
"Girls, there is no need to fight," Nari shakes her head. "We are almost done. As soon as the guys bring in the rest of the flowers, we'll be all good to go."
"Are you excited?" Woohee grins as she wraps her arm around Nari's, leaning into her side.
Nari giggles, "More than ever. I don't think I've fully grasped it's really happening yet, though. It'll probably all come crashing down on me tomorrow."
"Do you think he'll cry when he sees you tomorrow?" Mina joins her other side, causing you all to giggle. Only Jihoo stays quiet, seemingly still annoyed Amy took your side.
"He better," Amy says. "Or I'll push him out and just take his place instead."
Nari shakes her head, grinning ear to ear. "What would Jeonghan say to that?"
"He doesn't have a say since he still hasn't proposed to me," Amy rolls her eyes. "He needs to put a ring on my finger soon or he won't have anyone!"
"We all know he loves you more than anything," Nari reminds her. "Just wait a bit more for him." You can't help but think Nari knows something by the way she says those words, wondering if Jeonghan already has a plan she's been made aware of. It wouldn't surprise you since before Seungcheol proposed, he came out of his way to talk to Amy and not only made sure everything would be perfect for Nari but also asked her for permission.
You truly believe Seungcheol is the best thing that could have happened to her.
And your brain is starting to see Soobin that way for you as well.
"My love, where do you want these?" Seungcheol's voice rings in your ears, interrupting the conversation as you all turn to face him. Along with the rest of his wedding party, he's carrying a box full of flowers.
You hear Amy whisper something about her boyfriend's arms behind her, and you're sure the rest of the girls feel the same way about getting to watch them like this. If it happened a few months ago, you would have been the same. You wouldn't be able to take your eyes off Minho's biceps and the way he looks, but right now, as you stand here, watching everyone, you couldn't care less.
Soobin must have really changed something, because no part of you finds him attractive anymore. You don't feel anything for him if you're honest. Even Mingyu who you have always viewed as nothing other than a friend does more for you than your ex boyfriend.
"Bring them all under the tent, please," she says as she watches them pass by, Seungcheol stopping when he reaches her to plant a kiss to her cheek. "Hi, love," she whispers, the prettiest smile decorating her lips.
"Do you want us to arrange the rest so you guys can go back to your rooms? You've been working all day."
Nari hesitates, glancing between her fiance and her bridal party. "You guys should go," she says to you. "I'll stay and finish it up with the guys. The flowers would be all over the place if I didn't," she teasingly shakes her head to which Seungcheol scoffs as he heads into the tent with the box in his hands.
"Are you sure?" Amy raises her brows, questioning her best friend.
"I'm sure," Nari assures her. "Go back, have a drink or something. I'll see you all tomorrow."
"Love you," Amy hugs her, the rest of you following right after. She laughs in your hold, sending you off. She's quick to tell Minho and Mingyu they are arranging the flowers completely wrong as you walk away, all five of you giggling at the interaction.
"Are you already texting Soobin?" Mina nudges you, trying to see your screen over your shoulder. You laugh, hiding your phone again.
"Maybe," you admit.
"You're so in love," Woohee sings. "Maybe I should hook up with someone after the wedding as well. Love seems to be in the cards here."
"The hot receptionist," Mina agrees with her immediately.
"I wouldn't bother," Jihoo interrupts.
"Hey! No need to ruin my dreams."
She shrugs, not carrying. "I saw him running around after this chef, that's all I'm saying."
"Oh," Mina breathes out, clearly disappointed.
"Mingyu has been looking at you all week if you want to know," Amy tells her, catching her attention immediately.
"What?"
"Yeah, he's been weird," Jihoo brushes her off, taking out her phone, seemingly done with this conversation.
"Don't tell me I'll be the only single one!" Woohee complains. "If anything, I need to be invited to everyone's weddings, I can't do this otherwise."
You laugh, shaking your head at her. "Whenever I get married, I'll invite you, Woo," you assure her.
"I love you!" She wraps her arms around you instantly, everyone except Jihoo laughing again. You hug her back, happy that you're here with them able to have fun.
Your room feels empty when you sit here alone. You've showered and changed into your pajamas already, sitting in bed and scrolling through social media while munching on more fruits. As much as you know you shouldn't, you miss Soobin. You don't even need him to talk to you about anything, you'll be perfectly happy if he can just keep you company.
Your cheeks flush as you scroll through your contacts to find the one titled boyfriend, dialing his number without thinking too much about it. And this time, when the call goes through, it's exactly who you wanted to call.
"Hi," Soobin greets you, a smile on his face as he holds his phone in one hand and wipes the last table with the other. "Are you back in your room already?"
You hum in response, "Got here a bit ago."
"Did everything go well?" He asks despite already knowing everything from your earlier messages. Still, he encourages you to tell him all over again, wanting to hear your voice. At one point, he ends up leaning against the nearest wall, cleaning long forgotten as he talks to you.
"Are you going to be done anytime soon?" You wonder as the call falls into a silence for the first time.
Soobin clears his throat, remembering that he was in the middle of closing when you called him. "Yeah, I just need to finish up a few more things and I'm done."
"So the kitchen isn't working anymore?"
He narrows his eyes, a chuckle hanging on his lips, "Are you hungry by any chance?"
"I've got plenty of fruits left, thank you for asking."
He shakes his head at you, "Do you want me to bring you something? I can't really cook you up a full dinner but I could bring up one of the desserts."
Your ears perk up immediately. Who are you to say no to a free dessert? Especially if it's delivered by your favorite server. "I'd love that."
"Okay," Soobin chuckles. "I'll finish cleaning and come by after." Before he gets a chance to hang up, you make sure to thank him, not only for the dessert but also everything else he's done for you.
He's never put the chairs up as fast as he's doing now, needing to be over with it already. Once that's done, he stops mid step, looking around and going over everything that needs to be done. He closed the register already, he cleaned everything and the kitchen should be all done as well. Finally. Taking off his name tag, he heads towards one of the drawers bellow the cash register, leaving it there before moving into the kitchen.
The freezer is stocked, so he just hopes tomorrows chef won't be too pissed at him. Fortunately, since the wedding is tomorrow, he doesn't work so he can't get yelled at either way. He scans all the options before settling on a strawberry one, packing it into a small box along with a fork so he can carry it up easier.
But because apparently he isn't just lucky, as he turns around, ready to go, he is greeted by another figure. "Yeonjun— Sir— Mr. Choi," he stumbles over his words, instantly closing his eyes in regret. Of course he has to run into a person in charge. He's seen him around in the past few days, getting the hang of stuff and checking the staff, but it's the first time he is alone with him like this. Great. He just has to be stealing desserts from the kitchen during the first meeting.
Yeonjun takes the sight of him in, looking for a name tag anywhere. When he doesn't find one, his eyes narrow. "What are you doing here?"
"I was closing," Soobin says quickly. "The rest of the servers left already to get in some sleep for tomorrow so I stayed behind. I swear this isn't what it looks like."
"And what does it look like?" He raises an eyebrow and Soobin looks down at the box in his hands.
"It's for my girlfriend. I know the kitchen is closed already and I shouldn't be taking stuff from the freezer but I promise you this is the first and last time it happened." He can see Yeonjun hesitating for a moment, trying to figure out what he should do in a situation like this. Eventually, he ends up sighing, motioning with his hand towards the exit. Relief washes over Soobin as he quickly steps towards the door, glancing over his shoulder to look at his future boss once more. His eyes land on a bottle in his hands, only now noticing that he's carrying wine. Maybe he isn't the only one stealing from the kitchen at this hour. "Got any plans tonight?"
Yeonjun looks down at the bottle in his hands then back at the server. "Go already before I change my mind."
"Yes, sir," Soobin nods instantly, not needing to be told twice before disappearing from the kitchen.
You jump out of the bed as soon as you hear knocking on your door, stopping in time to remind yourself to calm down. You haven't been like this about a man in a long time. Had it been anyone else, you might question what you're doing, but it's Choi Soobin at the other side of the door. Your (fake) boyfriend who has managed to make you feel more loved in the past week than your ex has in the entirety of your relationship.
"Hey," he is smiling as soon as you meet eyes, leaning against the door frame with one of his hands holding a small dessert box.
"Hi," you smile back at him, opening the door wider and stepping aside so he can join you. You're quick to close it behind him again, shutting out the rest of the world so you can be alone.
It feels amazing to watch him move around like it's his own room, immediately heading for the table to place the box down. You'd like to think he could be comfortable like this in your apartment back home as well. That by some sort of luck, you could continue this game even after the wedding and get to know each other outside of this resort.
"This cake better be worth losing my job," he sighs as he plops down on your bed, your smile only widening when you realize he didn't take a seat on the chair in the corner this time.
You narrow your eyes as you cross the room and sit down beside him, "You didn't do anything stupid to get this for me, did you?" Soobin hesitates for a moment and you already know the answer to your question. "You can't lose your job over me!" You nudge his shoulder, chuckling at how stupid he is.
He glances at you, a smile still hanging on his lips despite everything. "It would be worth it if I get to see you laugh like this."
You don't need a mirror to know your cheeks are bright red. You avert your eyes from him, staring at the dessert he brought and falling a bit more. You don't even need to know what other options there were to know he picked the best one. You're going to devour this.
"What did you do?" You ask quietly, bringing the box to yourself to try it.
Soobin shakes his head, leaning back on his arms as he watches you. "My boss— Well, future boss, caught me in the kitchen when I was taking it. I can't tell what he is thinking."
"Your future boss?" You glance at him, curious.
"He is the next in line. And with how he's been spending time here, trying to get the hang of it, I'm pretty sure he'll be taking over soon. So, we'll see if I'll still have a job then," he laughs quietly and you roll your eyes.
"You'll have a job. He'd be a fool to let you go."
Soobin keeps his eyes on you as he speaks again, "Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't working here anymore." You don't want to get your hopes up, you really don't, but you can't help but think that maybe, he is talking like this because of you. "Jeju is nice and all but… I could go back to Seoul."
"You wouldn't try to find another job here?"
"Seoul interests me more right now," he answers, his eyes locked with yours. A beat passes between you, no one saying anything. You're not sure what to answer. A part of you feels like he is asking to hear your opinion on the idea, but the other worries it's not your place to comment. As much as you'd love to have him with you in Seoul, you can't be the one to decide that for him. "But then again, that decision also isn't completely up to me, hm?"
You stay quiet, taking a bite of the cake he brought you.
"You never told me how you started here," your curiosity gets the better of you despite your attempt to stay silent.
"Oh," he breathes out, shifting on the bed to be more comfortable. "I don't wanna say I was running away from home but no matter how I look at it, that's how it started." You blink, confused. Every time he told you about his family or friends until now, he hasn't mentioned anything that would lead you to believe he doesn't enjoy spending every free minute he has with them. "It was weird back then, I don't know," he shrugs.
"What happened?" You ask, concern written all over your face. You put the dessert back down and lay on the bed beside him so you're face to face again. He's only a few inches from you, but you care a lot more about understanding him than the close proximity.
A heavy sigh leaves his lips as he rests his head in your sheets. "Both my brother and sister were already moved out, as you know, and so I was alone. At first, I liked that I could just spend all day playing games without worrying about anyone else. But eventually, it felt weird being at home and doing nothing. I didn't really have anyone I could go out with either, so I was just stuck there."
"So you decided to run away from the suffocating feeling the house gave you," you finish for him, understanding him too well. After you broke up with Minho, you only managed to stay in your apartment for three days before you had to move, the image of him with his new girlfriend in your bed haunting you every second of the day. But running away doesn't get rid of the feeling entirely, and you're sure he knows that too.
Soobin nods, "I looked for jobs and packed my bags as soon as I heard back from the restaurant. Working keeps me busy enough not to go crazy."
"And you'd go back to Seoul despite that?"
Tugging your hair behind your ear, his eyes gaze into yours. "I have a feeling I wouldn't be so alone this time."
He's so close. He is so pretty and so close. His words do nothing to help you stay away. In fact, you want to press your lips to his and promise him you'd stay by his side no matter what. You almost do, but then he pulls his hand away again, and you close your mouth before you can say something the two of you aren't ready for. You can't want for him to change his whole life for you.
So instead, you ask him something else, "Will you stay with me tonight again?"
"Of course," he nods without hesitation, offering you one of his smiles. His dimples are so adorable, you want to look at them for as long as he'll allow you.
"Sleep on the bed then?" You suggest carefully, keeping your eye on him. You can clearly see the hesitation on his face as he thinks about what you just asked of him, worries that you've read everything wrong rushing through you. "Tomorrow will be my last night here," you remind him, turning to lay on your back. You rest your hands on your stomach, staring at the ceiling. "So I just thought…. forget it."
Soobin's eyes flicker all over you, trying to read you as best as he can. Of course he wants to sleep with you on the bed. There is nothing more that he wants. Not only because sleeping on the chair for the third night in a row might seriously ruin his back, but because he wants to be close to you. He wants to hold you close in his sleep and nuzzle into your neck. He wants to have his legs tangled with yours and wake up beside you. "If you don't mind me there," he nods, reaching for your hand.
You glance at him again, hopeful. "More than anything," you admit, and he almost kisses you right then and there.
Nodding, he bites back a smile as he sits up again. "I'm going to go for a change of clothes and shower while you finish your dessert?" He offers and you nod, your smile stretching from ear to ear. He chuckles at your reaction, his chest warming at how adorable you look.
"Will you also be here when I wake up?" You wonder, wishing to break the streak of him sneaking out of your room before you get a chance to wake up.
He smiles, standing up from your bed and heading for the door. Just before he slips out, he glances over his shoulder and answers, "I'll be wherever you want me for as long as you'll have me."
Just as promised, the next day you wake up cuddled up to Soobin. One of his arms is resting on the pillows, working as your own pillow, while the other is loosely draped around your waist, keeping you close. When your eyes flutter open, he is still sleeping, his peaceful face putting a smile on your lips. You do your best not to wake him up as you move up, wanting to give him more space. As soon as you shift, his grip on your waist tightens, and he is pulling you right back.
You can't hide your smile as you rest your head against his chest, loving waking up like this. You could get used to it. "Good morning," he rasps, his morning voice making your head spin. As if you weren't already attracted enough to him.
"Good morning," you whisper back, leaning your head back to catch his eyes.
His smile grows as he looks at you. "Your hair is a mess in the morning."
With your cheeks flushed, you struggle to quickly run your fingers through it and make it a little more bearable. "Thanks a lot," you mumble, only making him laugh.
He catches your hands in his, bringing them back down. "You're beautiful."
"Even with my hair all over the place?"
"Even with your hair all over the place," he nods. "I could kiss you right now." The words slip past his lips before he can stop them, the morning haze making him more honest than he is normally. Otherwise, he wouldn't have admitted it so easily.
Your eyes widen as soon as you register his words, your eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips. He clears his throat quickly, looking away. "I meant— If I were your boyfriend, right, if it was real I could probably—"
"Just kiss me and shut up," you laugh, bringing your hands to his face and pulling him to yourself. You press your lips to his before he can stop you, melting into him instantly as he grips your waist and kisses you back. Your head spins, overwhelmed with thoughts of him. It feels like ages that you've been wishing for this, to know exactly how his lips taste. You must say—they taste fucking incredible. A soft moan leaves your lips as he deepens the connection, your body pressed into his.
He can't get enough of you, wishing there was a way he could be even closer to you. Well, there is one, but he isn't going to fuck you right now. That wouldn't be fair to either of you. For now, he will just have to do with being able to finally kiss you. "Tell me I'm not the only one going crazy," he begs, his lips on you again right after.
"You're not," you assure him, letting him turn you so you're on your back and he's hovering over you. He rests between your legs, but not close enough that he would press against you. You desperately want to pull him closer and feel him, but you're not going to do something he doesn't want to. "This is pretty much blowing my mind."
He chuckles at the awe in your eyes, kissing you once more. One of his hands rests on your cheek, tilting your face for better access, while the other holds your waist, feeling any flesh he can. He can't believe that he is finally touching you. Sure, he had his arm around you before to convince your friends of this little act, but this is completely different.
Your hand slides to the back of his neck as you kiss him back. Deep down you know you need to get up and start getting ready, check if Nari didn't text you anything or see if they don't need any more help, but every inch of you wants to stay in this moment with him for as long as possible. Just two more minutes. If you can kiss him for just two more minutes you'll be happier than ever.
"We should go," he whispers, voicing your thoughts. You hum back, your eyes still closed as your hands move lower to wander across his back—an amazing back if you have to say so yourself. Despite his reminder of how busy you both are today, the kiss doesn't stop. You can't pull away. Your body doesn't want to. He says your name as a warning but doesn't do anything himself to pull back, creating a smile on your lips.
"Continue, it's hot."
Rolling his eyes, smile lines his lips as he finally pushes himself off you, taking in the sight of you once again. Your lips are swollen, eyes blown away and your hair as messy as it was when he woke up. You're so incredibly beautiful, he doesn't think you understand. He's never seen himself as a stupid man, but you have him acting up. If you wanted to, he would blow away everything he's build here and just run away with you. He would do anything you want him to, no matter how irrational it seems.
You smile at him sheepishly as he watches you, pushing yourself up as well. You lean your back against the headboard, looking around in an attempt to find your phone. You have no idea where you left it last night. "What time is it?"
Soobin looks around for his own phone, finding it on the table. The screen flashes and he turns it so you can see, showcasing the 9:37. "Fuck," you curse quietly. "I need to find my phone, I'm not sure when Nari wanted us to meet for hair and makeup but I'm pretty damn sure I'm late."
He is quick to brush off the morning haze and focus properly, getting up to see where you could have left it. You search the bed in the meantime, relief washing over you when you find it under your pillow. As expected, there are messages waiting for you from the bride. You feel terrible, in a completely different way than you did when you first arrived.
"Is there anything I can do?" He wonders, watching you run your fingers through your hair as you try to calm down.
"No, I— I don't want to ruin this for her," you shake your head, getting up from the bed.
"You're not ruining anything," Soobin assures you, watching you type to who he assumes to be Nari.
"I've been ruining it for her all week."
He calls your name, making you look up at him. Crossing the room in two swift steps, he cups your cheeks and gives you another kiss. "You're not ruining anything. We just slept in a little, it's okay. There is still time."
It takes you a moment before you nod, the look in his eyes helping you relax again. "Can you bring me my dress in like an hour? I'm going to go down to meet with them and get ready. We can probably grab something to eat then I think? I think Nari mentioned having some food ready for us."
"Okay," he nods, dropping his hands. "Which dress is it?"
"The only purple one, you'll know," you assure him, collecting yourself again. "I'm going to shower as quickly as I possibly can and go. I'll see you later."
Soobin nods again, not holding you back any longer and watching as you rush to the bathroom.
Soobin only gets to see you for a minute when he brings you your dress before you're rushed away, needing to get your hair done. Everyone seems so busy, he just feels out of place. Amy and Jeonghan are moving from place to place, checking in with the kitchen staff as well as the makeup artists. Seungcheol is talking to his parents on the side and Nari is nowhere to be seen. He can only assume she is with her family somewhere, getting ready as well.
"Soobin! Hi!" Woohee greets him with a smile, bringing his eyes to her. Her makeup and hair is done already and she's in her dress—in the same shade of deep purple as yours is, but a different style. She looks nice, he has to give her that, but is still doesn't compare to you. He can't wait to see you all dolled up. If you were already so incredibly beautiful after waking up, he is sure he will die as soon as he sees you all ready.
"Hey," he smiles back at her. "I was just dropping in to deliver a dress, I should probably go."
"Don't say nonsense!" She shakes her head quickly, wrapping her arm around his and tugging him away. "We can use all the help. Let me see what Amy is doing."
He opens his mouth to argue but closes it again quickly, simply following her. He can help out. That's the least he can do.
You haven't seen Soobin since he handed you your dress. You tried to look for him, but whenever you thought you caught a glimpse of him, he was pulled away before you could do anything. You're glad your friends are liking him so much and are comfortable having him help out with everything he can, but you also wish you could just sit down together. You noticed immediately when he came around, but he looks incredible in his suit. It feels unfair that you can't find a time to meet when he is looking that fine.
You don't get to meet with him even after everything is ready and the rest of the guests start coming in. Seungcheol's friends have him under their arms, refusing to let go. You laugh at little at the sight, shaking a head at his confused expression as Chan tugs him towards the tent for drinks. He didn't see you yet, you think. If he has, it had to have been when you weren't looking.
You hear your name behind yourself, snapping out of your thoughts and turning around. Seungcheol is standing there, encouraging you to come with him. "Let me introduce you to the rest of my family before we start." You open your mouth but then close it again, simply nodding. You put on a smile, saying your hello to not only his parents but other relatives as well. You meet his brothers, aunt, as well as cousins. "This is Yeonjun, it's all thanks to him that we can have the wedding here."
"It was more my father than anything," he shakes his head, offering you a smile.
"Don't listen to him," Cheol refuses to even hear it. "He likes to give others credits for his work. It was all him who made this happen. He is going to take over the resort soon and this is one of the first events he planned."
"It wasn't all just me," Yeonjun admits, his eyes trailing somewhere behind the two of you. You don't turn around to see what or who he is looking at, too focused on what he just said. Yeonjun must be the guy Soobin met in the kitchen yesterday. Oh god.
"Cheol! Come take pictures with us!" Minho pulls him away from you and for the first time since you got here, you are grateful to him. It means you can talk to Yeonjun alone.
"I'm sorry if this is too much to ask of you," you start, getting his attention back to you. He tilts his head, questioning what it is you need. "But please don't fire Soobin because he wanted to bring me a dessert."
A chuckle leaves Yeonjun's lips as he realizes who you're talking about. He shakes his head, "I'm not firing anyone unless stealing from the kitchen is on the daily for him." You're quick to shake your head, promising he isn't like that. "But I'm surprised you want him to stay here," he comments. "I thought all of Nari's friends were from Seoul."
"We are," you nod, feeling a little nervous as you speak to him. "And I get that I should probably want for him to work somewhere near instead, but I don't want for anyone else to make the decision for him. Unless he decides to go back himself….I'd like for no one to stand in his way of what he build here."
Yeonjun gives you a smile, "I wish you two the best. I'm sure you'll figure it out together."
With your cheeks flushed, you mutter out your thank you, unable to say anything else because Yeonjun is pulled away by his family, laughing as they congratulate him on stepping up to take this job.
The next half an hour consists of you meeting everyone, chatting up with some of Nari's friends and telling them the news of your and Minho's breakup. Turns out, there are a lot more people surprised by the fact than you thought. Some of them you've barely ever spoken to before and they still care more than you do anymore. It's weird.
"It's time," Cheol taps your shoulder, the nervousness in his eyes clear.
"Right," you nod, turning back to face Nari's friend again. "I'll see you later. You need to tell me more about that job of yours." She nods, and you're quick to head for the tent while Seungcheol goes away. The rest of the bridesmaids and groomsmen are already waiting there, forming a little circle around Nari as they congratulate her once more. She looks incredible. You've seen her with her makeup done before already but it doesn't compare to how she looks right now. Standing in her white gown, her hair styled up into a low bun, her eyes shining as she gets ready to walk down the aisle.
"Okay, let's pair up. Everyone knows who they're with?" Amy claps her hands, waiting for everyone to nod before she starts the line, her boyfriend right beside her. "Mr. Kang," she calls to the singer preparing his piano. "Let's start once everyone is ready?" He gives her a nod in response, waiting for them to line up.
You watch pairs form in front of your eyes, frowning when you see Chan standing beside Jihoo. Wasn't he supposed to walk with you? You're pretty sure he was.
"Put on a smile, it's Nari's time to shine," Minho stands beside you, a smirk on his face. You blink at him, your confusion growing. "Don't look at me like that, we were always supposed to walk down together."
No, no, no. This is wrong. You aren't supposed to walk down with him. "But Chan—"
"Chan is with Jihoo," he interrupts you, not giving you any space for arguments. Leaning down, he stops once he reaches your ear. "Admit it, it was always meant to be us two."
Shiver runs down your spine, your skin spiking up with nerves as he rests his palm on the small of your back just like he used to all these months ago, acting as if nothing has changed. But so much has, and just the touch of his hand makes you feel uncomfortable. It's the same hand that's touched another woman, that has been touching another women all week. You feel disgusted, wanting nothing more than to slip away. But the music starts, and the line begins moving. You don't have a choice. You need to walk down with him.
Knowing you once thought it'd be him waiting for you at the altar, watching you walk down with love in his eyes, you feel incredibly stupid. You can't believe how naive you were. He offers you his arm so the two of you can look more put together and you simply stare at it for a long minute. But the reminder that this is your friend's big day sits in the back of your mind loud and clear, making you wrap your arm around his. "See, you can be a good girl when you try," he whispers. Without having to look up at him, you know he is smirking.
"Stop talking," you hiss, putting on a smile as you come into view for the rest of the guests. Soobin is the first person you see, but that's probably also because he is the one you're so desperately searching for. He is sitting in one of the back rows, his eyes meeting yours in an instant. The smile on his face is genuine as he takes in the sight of you, your cheeks heating up under his gaze. But then his eyes dip to the man beside you and his previous excitement is gone.
Minho seems to notice him as well. "Look at him over there. I bet he is thinking about how he wants to be in my place," he laughs. "But you've been mine all along, haven't you, baby?" It takes everything in you not to push him off you and run away. You hate him. You hate him with your whole heart.
"I haven't been yours for a while," you argue, keeping your eyes in the front, watching the back of Woohee's head. You can't look at him.
"Please," he scoffs, unhooking his arms from yours to wrap it around your waist instead. He grips you tight, pulling you into his side as he keeps smiling at everyone watching. "You can't do anything without me no matter how much you want to. You're not as strong."
"Get your hands off me."
"I know he's just a passing replacement before you come running back," he says, sounding way too confident for your liking. "As soon as that passes, you'll run back to me without a care that I had something with someone else. You know I'm right." His hand slides down from your waist to your ass and you finally snap, pushing him off you.
The music stops in an instant, but it's not because of what you did. It's because of the hand that managed to fly to Minho's face while you blinked. A gasp escapes your lips, followed by multiple more from the other guests. "What the fuck?" Minho curses, holding his hand in front of his nose. You watch the red drip between his fingers, knowing it's bleeding.
You quickly snap your head towards the person who punched him—something you would have done yourself soon—your eyes widening when you see angry Soobin standing by your side. "It's time you learn where your hands belong."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Minho doesn't waste any time, crossing the space and charing right back at him. You're not sure how he manages but Soobin avoids it, getting punched in the shoulder instead of his face.
"Boys!" Amy is the first one to interrupt, but it's like they can't hear, already holding each other's shirt. The scene is a lot different from the Soobin you know and yet completely on brand. Because if he'd fight anyone, it would be your ex over how uncomfortable he's been making you feel. "Stop it!"
You watch as Jeonghan tries to come between them, Seungcheol right behind him. You telling them to break apart doesn't do anything, the two of them too focused on each other to hear anyone else. Soobin is taller and easily towers over Minho, but he doesn't have as much strength so Minho is still able to push him back. It's a mess, a mess you desperately wanted to avoid today. You spent all week doing everything so you wouldn't ruin Nari's big day and here you are, witnessing your ex and fake boyfriend fight in the middle of the aisle when she is supposed to walk to the altar.
"Are you mad?" Seungcheol finally tears Minho away, pushing him to the side. "Why are you like this?"
"Why am I like this? He punched me first!" He argues.
"Deservingly so!" Mina joins in. She was walking behind you with Mingyu so you have no doubt she saw and probably heard everything. "You are being a piece of shit!"
"Can't disagree," Mingyu shakes his head. "Almost punched him myself."
Seungcheol's eyes are like daggers pointing at who is supposed to be one of his closest friends. Minho raises his hands in surrender but before he can say anything to defend himself, they are joined by another man. "I got it from here," Yeonjun says, grasping Minho's collar and dragging him with himself away.
"Well, now that the biggest error is gone," Nari clears her throat, all eyes immediately snapping to her. "Shall we?"
You want to drop to your knees and apologize for everything, beg for her forgiveness until she decides she has enough of you and kicks you out as well, but Soobin manages to speak before you can. "I'm so sorry." You can tell by the tone of his voice he regrets it, desperately wanting to fix things. "I should have stayed put and let the ceremony play out—"
"Don't say nonsense," Seungcheol shakes his head, averting his eyes from the bride for the first time. "And go take your place, someone has to walk the rest of the way with your girlfriend." Much to your surprise, there is a smile on his face as he nudges Soobin towards you. "If everyone could pretend like nothing happened and look at how incredibly beautiful my wife is, I will be the happiest man alive," he claps his hands, acting like everything is completely normal as he goes back to his place in front of the altar.
You watch him with wide eyes, trying to compose yourself again. Nari slips from her father's hold and makes her way to your side, squeezing your shoulder before leaning down and whispering into your ear. "Do not blame yourself for anything. I'm happy he is gone." She gives you one of her warm smiles, waiting for the music to start again and for the wedding party to make their way down the aisle so she can get to her soon to be husband.
Everything else following is perfect. You watch as Nari and Seungcheol exchange their vows, the biggest smile on your face as you glance over at Soobin standing on Seungcheol's side. His eyes are already on you, watching you the entire time. You do your best focusing on the bride and groom, cheering for them as they kiss and seal their marriage.
Minho doesn't come back which you're incredibly thankful for. You're lucky Nari has the same relieved expression on her face when she realizes he isn't coming back, seemingly much more comfortable now. Still, you apologize to her the entire afternoon, promising you never wanted for any of this to happen.
"I'm the one who is sorry. To all three of you," Soobin says, his eyes falling to the ground.
"How about you stop apologizing and have a drink with us, hm?" Seungcheol shakes his head, already catching Chan on his way somewhere and asking if he can get them all a drink. He doesn't hesitate, latching onto the chance to have another shot himself.
"I should have just kept down," Soobin continues. "I ruined your big day."
"You would have ruined my day if you didn't jump in to help your girlfriend," Nari says. "The last thing I ever wanted was for him to make any of you uncomfortable. He was out of line. He has been for a while."
You lean into Soobin's side, your hand wrapped around his waist. "I'm glad you were there," you tell him, looking up to meet his eyes. "I really hated how he…behaved."
The grip he has on your waist tightens, the anger he felt earlier flashing in front of his eyes when he thinks about the way Minho touched you. It was clear you felt uncomfortable. He couldn't just stand by and watch that. "He better not try to text me after today," Seungcheol states, "I'm going to beat him up myself if he does."
"As hot as that would be," Nari chuckles, shaking her head as she looks up at her husband. "Let's just avoid him and not get into any more fights, yeah?"
As if on cue, Chan comes back with a tray filled with shot glasses and a bottle of soju, grinning ear to ear. "Don't tell that Chef lady I stole her tray, I feel like she wouldn't be happy with me if she knew." Laughing, you watch him pour you all the drink. It's the first time you pull away from Soobin's side, holding your shot in your hand as you turn to face him. He looks down at you, smile lining his lips as he takes all of you in. "To the husband and wife!"
"To the Chois!" You add, clinking your glass with your boyfriend before doing the same with the rest of the group.
Shots go down quickly after that, always with a different group of people. At one point, you switch to a cocktail instead, drowning the alcohol you had by stuffing yourself with all the amazing food they prepared for today. Soobin stays by your side the entire time, going to the bathroom with you, dancing with you, meeting people with you, and your favorite part—kissing you every chance he gets.
"Maybe we could go back," you mumble as you pull from yet another kiss, your cheeks flushed and your hands desperately gripping his forearms. Soobin smiles at you, glancing around the people.
"Don't you want to celebrate with everyone?"
"I want to celebrate with you."
He takes his time gazing into your eyes, seemingly thinking about everything. But you've already done that. You went over everything that's happened in the past week and how you feel when you are around him so if he lets you, you know exactly what you want. "You're leaving tomorrow," he reminds you as if you weren't already aware of that, as if you could possibly forget.
"I am," you nod. "But it doesn't have to be forever."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive," you assure him, winning a nod in response.
Everything happens so fast. One second you're giggling as you unlock your room and the next you're making out with your fake boyfriend with your back pressed against the door. Your head is tilted back, his large hand holding your cheek. He's so incredibly attractive. It doesn't feel like you're drunk on the alcohol anymore, every last drop you had replaced with the thoughts of him. His scent is everyone, you feel his touch in every inch of your body, and the taste of his lips leaves you lingering for more.
"I really like you, Binnie," you whisper, a low moan leaving your lips as you pull him closer. Your hands rest on his sides, gripping onto his suit jacket.
He rests his forehead against yours, catching his breath. "I like you more than I thought was possible in such short amount of time." Gazing up into his eyes, you do your best biting back a smile. "I'm going to miss you."
"We can figure this out," you tell him, completely serious about wanting to keep seeing him.
He smiles back at you, using his hand to brush your hair away before cupping your face. "Yeah," he breathes, pressing his lips to yours again. "We'll figure it out."
Pushing yourself off the wall, you blindly head towards the bed. He willingly walks backwards, knowing exactly where you want to go. As soon as the back of his legs hits the mattress, he sits down, pulling you onto his lap. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you straddle his lap, your bodies pressed together.
You feel so comfortable compared to when Minho touched you as you walked down the aisle, Soobin's touches leaving a pleasing burn. "Have I told you how incredible you look today?" He whispers as his kisses move down to your neck.
"I don't think so," you shake your head, grinning. "You should tell me."
He raises his head to meet your eyes, "You are so incredibly gorgeous." His hands wander to your exposed back. "Don't tell anyone, but I think you out-shined the bride."
You laugh as his words reach your ears, your head falling forward to his shoulder. "You don't need to praise me so much."
"Why not? It seems to work," he hums into your ear, buckling your dress up so it pools at your hips. Resting his hands at your exposed cheeks, he helps you rock your body forward, your core pressed against his clothed bulge. "And I mean every word."
Biting back a moan, you move your hips on top of him. His name leaves your lips in a desperate plea that has his dick growing even more. "Take what you need, baby."
You do. You rock your hips in a speed that works for you, focusing on your own pleasure as he kisses every inch of your skin he can get to. You want to feel him so badly, you want to have his bare skin press against yours, for his hands to feel all of you, and for him so sink inside, but the need to bring yourself the much wanted pleasure is too strong, and you can't seem to stop moving. You get closer to your orgasm every time his cock rubs on your clit, the feeling making you moan out loud.
It's like a song in his ears. Every little sound you make settles in the back of his head, echoing loud and clear. He can't get enough. It makes him greedier, wanting to hear more of you, learn what else makes you let out these pretty sounds, and which one makes you feel the best.
He desperately wants to learn every inch of you and your body, be the one that knows you the best and can tell what you're thinking just based on the way you breathe. Not just in moments like these but outside of the bedroom as well. He wants it more than anything else.
It might be the alcohol he had tonight, making his head clearer, but he is even more certain about coming back to Seoul than he was last night. No matter what, he wants to figure this out with you together and be with you. It's a lot to ask of you, but he hopes you want him at least half as much as he wants you.
If he has anything to prove him that you do, it's the way you chase your release with him, using him for your own pleasure just like he asked you to. It's so hot, you only keep getting more and more attractive each day. Leaving wet kisses all across your neck and collarbone, he whines against your skin as you ride his clothed dick. He is going to come soon as well if you don't stop.
"Please," you beg despite not being sure what for. Still, Soobin nods, holding you close as he slowly thrusts his hips into yours on top of your rocks. A loud moan slips from your lips as your orgasm crashes down on you, your already wet panties only getting more ruined. He groans along with you, his eyes closed as he chases after your lips.
Pressing your chest against his, you force him to lay down on his back, letting your hand wander across his chest, down to his abs and then crotch. His hips jerk up beneath your touch, your name leaving his lips like a weak warning. Peering up at him, you tilt your head with a pout on your lips. "Can I take this off for you?"
He groans at the sight of you, nodding eagerly. A part of him is telling him not to fuck you tonight when you're leaving the next day, but he's too weak to be able to tell you no. He wants you too much for that.
You've left a wet spot behind yourself but he doesn't seem to mind at all. Smiling again, you pull back as you unbutton his dress pants, pushing them as far down as you possibly can from your seat on his thighs. Your eyes are glued to his hard length instantly. He felt big when you were humping him but look at him now? God. He wasn't only gifted in his height.
Your gaze flickers up to his face again, noticing the sheepish smile on his lips as he watches you. "We don't have to keep going," he reminds you despite his cock begging to continue. "I don't have a condom."
Biting your bottom lip, you hesitate for only a brief second. "I want to," you tell him. "If you do as well?"
"Of course I do," he says as if it wasn't even a question in the first place.
"Can you pull out?" You feel his cock twitch in his pants under your palm at your words, chuckling. "I think you like the idea of fucking me bare, baby."
"God," he groans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes.
Pushing yourself back, you get off him to stand in front of the bed, slowly pulling your dress over your head. His eyes find you in an instant, taking in all the newly exposed skin. Your breasts are on full display for him now, the only remaining clothing being your soaked panties.
"Fuck me," he breathes out, unable to keep his eyes to himself. It's insane how attracted he feels to you after such short amount of time. He doesn't think anyone else ever managed to make his head spin like this before.
You giggle, "I'm trying." Stepping out of your panties as well, you let them rest on the floor beside your dress. "Aren't you going to take it off?"
Rushing to sit up, you watch as he struggles to undo the buttons of his shirt. It's a funny sight, one that makes you fall for him even more. He's adorable—incredibly sexy with that boner in his boxers but also adorable.
You're quick to join him on the bed again when all his clothes are on the ground, unable to take your eyes off his bare skin. You can tell he feels the same, his eyes constantly flickering all over you. Putting your lips to his, you both moan into the kiss as he settles between your legs, pressing you into the mattress. His hands wander from your waist to your breast, cupping them gently.
You're aching, your skin is burning, and your mouth is calling for him. What more could he possibly need to finally sink into you? He takes his time despite all that, rolling your nipples between his fingers, planting kisses to your chest and then stomach, stroking your cheek and simply gazing into your eyes for a moment.
"Soobin, please," you whine, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. His tip nudges against your clit, causing another moan.
Nodding, he bites back his own sounds as he grips his length, aligning himself. "Tell me if you want me to stop, okay? At any point. For whatever reason."
"I won't," you shake your head. You want him in you more than anything, there is no way you'll be telling him to stop.
He says your name, completely serious. "Please."
"Okay," you agree, pushing yourself up to press your lips to his. "I'll tell you if anything."
"Thank—" his tip slides in, your mouth immediately falling open, "you," he groans as your walls wrap around him, holding you close. You're not sure if it's to assure himself you're real or to bring you comfort but it works both ways. You wrap your hands around his forearms, your nails digging into his skin as he stretches you. Despite coming just a while ago, you can already tell you're not going to last long.
Soobin starts moving slowly at first, letting you get used to his size. But the moment you start clenching around him it's hard to keep his composure, his hips jerking forward on their own. Still, he waits for you to give him a nod before he picks up his speed properly, squeezing your waist as he presses himself into you.
You're the first to reach your orgasm, your moans filling the room and his ears. Your walls fluttering around him make him break his pace, a desperate whimper that has you rolling your eyes slipping past his lips. He forces himself to pull away from you, jerking himself over your stomach. You wrap your hand around his, moving along with him, your eyes glued to his.
He comes as soon as you give him a few pumps, covering your stomach white. "Fuck," he curses, leaning down to kiss you again. You do so eagerly, loving to feeling of his lips on yours. "You're so amazing."
Smile spreads across your lips with such ease you surprise yourself. "I should be the one saying that," you whisper, unable to hold back. "I like you so much."
He smiles as well, resting his forehead against yours. "Be my girlfriend for real. We can work it out. We can pull through the distance for a while and then I'll move back. I'll find a job in Seoul and we can be together."
God. The way your stomach does flip flops and your heart blushes is no joke. Soobin makes you feel so good, you can't imagine your days without his presence anymore. You've gotten so used to him, it'd feel wrong to not have him there.
But you can do it for a few days, weeks, even months if it means he'll come to you. If it means you'll get to have him after that, you can go long distance for however long he needs you to.
"Please," you nod, sealing the promise with yet another kiss.
The last morning feels bittersweet.
You're packing your stuff with Soobin beside you, helping you with anything you might need. After taking a shower together last night, you talked into the night together, discussing all your future plans and how you could make this work. He's made it clear to you that he doesn't want to stay here after summer ends, that he will inform his boss and move to Seoul the moment August is over. You offered traveling back and forth, showing him a future in which he doesn't have to quit his job for you, but nothing would change his mind.
And because he is so amazing, he offered to pack with you when he woke up, claiming he wants to spend as much time as he can with you before you have to leave.
As happy as you are to be with him, how incredibly excited you are about what's waiting for you in the future, you're also going to miss him, and you're reminded of that with every kiss he gives you. It feels good when you're with him. Maybe too good. You're not used to this. You had a rocky start with Minho and an even worse end, so this feels like a full 360.
"Is that everything?" Soobin wonders as he zips up your suitcase. You take a look around the room, checking it again.
"Seems like so," you hum, crossing the space between you. Soobin gives you one of his smiles as he towers over you, tugging your hair behind your ear. "I'd love to delay this longer but they will be waiting for me in the lobby." He nods, lacing his fingers with yours and taking your suitcase in the other hand. You take your backpack before you leave as well, heading out with him.
Just like you thought they would be, most of them are already in the lobby, talking among themselves. Minho and his girlfriend are nowhere to be seen, and as you learn from Amy when you join them, their room has been already cleared out so they probably left during the ceremony last night. She doesn't know if they moved their flight or what happened to them after, but you don't care about that.
"Alright, we should start moving if we wanna be on time," Nari claps her hands, getting everyone's attention.
"You've heard what Mrs. Choi said, let's go," Seungcheol tells his friends, making you laugh. You're sure he loves the fact he can now officially call her that.
"He's been insufferable all night," Nari rolls her eyes but you can see the smile on her face. "I'm never hearing the end of it."
"Get used to it, you are now Mrs. Choi," Amy nudges her shoulder. "Oh how I'd love to be Mrs. Yoon," she sighs and Nari shakes her head at her.
"He'll get there as well, don't worry," you assure her, glancing at the men in question as he laughs at his best friend. Turning around to face Soobin again, your smile falls just a tiny bit. "We need to go."
"I know," he nods, his smile gentle. "Have a safe flight and call me when you land."
"I will," you assure him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him into a warm embrace. His hands wrap around your waist, holding you so tightly you know he doesn't want to let you go. "I'll be texting you every minute of the day until you're sick of me."
"Never going to happen," he says, kissing your lips one last time until he can see you again.
"Don't be a stranger," Nari is the next to say her goodbyes to your boyfriend, smiling at him. "You're in my wedding photos so I better see you around."
He laughs, assuring her she will. "I'll be in Seoul soon. You know my girlfriend, she can't stay away from me for too long."
You scoff at his comment even though you know that he is right. "Please, you're the one who can't go a day without me."
"You're right. I can't."
Your cheeks flush at his immediate agreement, his words so sure it makes your head spin. You haven't been this excited for what's to come in a while. A part of you still can't believe how what you thought was going to be the worst week of your life somehow blurred into the best one, everything turning around.
You certainly can't complain. There is nothing more you could want at the moment.
(•˕ •マ.ᐟ || You've been trying to ignore it for months, but when Soobin walks into the living room in sweatpants and those thin black glasses, fresh from a shower and offering to "guide" you through the choreography, your restraint finally snaps. And he turns out to be far more eager to submit than you ever imagined.
The others had left two hours ago for some variety show filming, something about games and punishment outfits that had Yeonjun cackling and Beomgyu groaning as they piled into the van. You'd begged off with a headache that had bloomed behind your eyes sometime after lunch, and Soobin had stayed back without much explanation, just a quiet "I'll make sure she actually rests" tossed over his shoulder as the door clicked shut.
Now the dorm was too quiet. The AC hummed. Somewhere down the hall, a faucet dripped.
You weren't resting. You were standing in the middle of the living room with your phone propped against a cushion, watching the choreography video for the third time, trying to nail the body roll transition that kept throwing you off-beat.
"You're going to give yourself another headache."
You startled. Soobin stood in the doorway, fresh from a shower, hair still damp and curling at the ends, dressed in sweatpants and a worn t-shirt that had seen better years. And, your breath caught a little, glasses. Thin black frames that he only ever wore after he took his contacts out, when he thought no one was looking.
"I thought you were napping," you said, too fast.
"I was. Then I heard you stomping around." He padded over, bare feet silent on the hardwood, and peered at your phone screen. "That part?"
"Yeah. I keep-" You demonstrated, hips shifting, but your shoulders went too early and the whole thing looked wrong. "See? I look like a broken robot."
Soobin huffed a laugh, soft and close. He was standing near enough that you could smell his soap, something clean and cedar-like. "You're overthinking it. Here-" He reached past you to pause the video, arm brushing your shoulder, and you tried not to flinch at the contact. "Show me from the top of the eight-count."
You did, fumbling through it, hyperaware of him watching. When you finished, he was quiet for a moment, chewing his lip.
"Okay. Turn around."
"What?"
"Turn around. I'll guide you through it."
Your mouth went dry. You turned, facing the blank TV screen, and felt him step in behind you. Close. Closer than necessary, maybe, or maybe that was just your pulse talking.
"Arms up first," he said, voice lower, and his hands found your wrists. His palms were warm, slightly calloused from gym equipment and dance practice. He lifted your arms to the correct height, adjusting the angle of your elbows with small, precise movements. "Now, the roll starts from your chest, not your hips. Like this-"
His chest pressed against your back as he demonstrated the isolation, his sternum rolling against your shoulder blades in a slow, controlled wave. You could feel his breath at your temple, steady and warm.
"Feel that?" he asked.
You made a sound that was meant to be yes but came out strangled.
He didn't move away. If anything, he seemed to settle in, his hips aligning with yours, his thighs bracketing the back of your legs. "Try it with me."
You attempted the roll again, but your focus was shredded, scattered across the points where his body touched yours, the hand that had slid to your hip to steady you, the thumb that brushed the dip of your waist, the way his glasses kept catching the light when you glanced at your reflection in the dark TV screen.
"You're stiff," he murmured, and his hand pressed firmer against your stomach, pulling you back against him. "Relax. Trust me."
"I do," you breathed, and the words hung in the air, too heavy, too honest.
The hand on your hip stilled. In the reflection, you watched his eyes, magnified slightly by the lenses, dark and searching, meet yours. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.
"You're not watching the choreography," he said quietly.
"Neither are you."
His fingers flexed against your waist. The dorm was silent except for the AC and your heartbeat, thunderous in your ears.
"These glasses," you said, before you could stop yourself, your voice barely audible. "You shouldn't wear them around me."
"Why?"
"Because I can't think when you do."
Behind you, his breath hitched. His grip tightened, not painful, just grounding, and you felt the moment the air shifted, charged, dangerous, inevitable.
"Then we're even," he said, rougher now, leader-mode cracking open to reveal something hungrier underneath, "because I haven't been able to think straight around you for months."
His hand slid up from your hip, slow, giving you every chance to pull away, and cupped your jaw instead, turning your head until you could see him properly, glasses and all, gaze fixed on your mouth with an intensity that made your knees weak.
"I should take them off," he said. It wasn't a statement. It was a question wrapped in restraint, his thumb tracing your cheekbone like he was memorizing the shape of you.
Your hand found his wrist, holding him there. "Don't," you whispered. "Not yet."
The frame of his glasses brushed your temple as he leaned in, close enough now that you could count his lashes, could see the way his pupils blew wide with want. The teaching was over. The confession was bleeding out between you, heavy and mutual, and neither of you were pulling back.
"Tell me to stop," he said, breath against your lips, "and I will."
But you were already tilting your chin up, closing the distance, and the last coherent thought you had was that the glasses had been a warning all along, you just hadn't realized what they were warning you about until it was too late to run.
The moment your lips meet, he makes a sound, high, fractured, like you'd surprised the breath right out of him. His mouth is soft, slightly parted from the shock of it, and he goes perfectly still against you, as if he's terrified that moving will make you disappear.
You take control immediately. Turning to face him.
Your hand slides from his wrist up to his jaw, angling his head where you want it, and he lets you, neck arching, throat exposed, a shiver running down his spine that you feel where your chests press together. He doesn't kiss back so much as he receives, lips pliant and yielding under yours, trembling slightly when you sweep your tongue against the seam of his mouth.
"Open," you murmur into him, and he does, immediately, without hesitation, jaw going slack as his lips part for you. The submission in it makes your head spin. This is Soobin, the leader, the one who carries the weight of five other people, and he's melting because you told him to.
You explore him slowly, deliberately, tasting the mint of his toothpaste and something sweeter underneath, and every new angle you take, he follows. When you deepen the kiss, he whimpers, actually whimpers, into your mouth, his hands finding your waist and gripping like he's drowning, like you're the only thing keeping him upright.
His glasses bump against your cheek, fogging from the heat and proximity, and you pull back just enough to nip at his lower lip, testing. His knees actually buckle, a full-body shudder rippling through him as he gasps your name against your mouth.
"Please," he breathes, and the word is wrecked, desperate. His eyes are blown wide behind the smudged lenses, pupils blown out, lips swollen and wet and parted. He's waiting for you to decide what happens next, needing you to decide. "Please, I-"
You cut him off with another kiss, hungrier this time, and he moans into it, open, unfiltered, the sound vibrating against your tongue. His hands slide up from your waist to your shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt, and he holds on like you're anchoring him in a storm. When you suck at his tongue, he jerks against you, hips stuttering forward involuntarily, chasing friction, chasing you.
You break away to trail kisses along his jaw, and he tilts his head back instantly, exposing the long column of his throat, panting in shallow, ragged bursts. "There," he whispers, voice cracking when you press your mouth to the pulse hammering beneath his skin. "Right there, please-"
The please again. Like you're doing him a favor. Like he's grateful.
You bite gently at the tendon in his neck, and his whole body goes rigid, a strangled noise catching in his throat as his fingers tighten in your shirt, pulling you impossibly closer. He's shaking now, actually shaking, fine tremors running through his arms where they cage you against him, not to trap you but because he can't support his own weight anymore.
You kiss your way back to his mouth, and this time when you meet, he chases you. It's messy, uncoordinated, all gasping breaths and clashing teeth because he's desperate for it now, whimpering every time you pull back just to breathe before diving back in. His tongue slides against yours with no rhythm, just need, raw, overwhelming need, and when you grip his hair, tangling your fingers in the damp curls at his nape and tugging, he sobs into your mouth.
His submission is total. He doesn't lead, doesn't take, he accepts. Every tilt of your head, every pressure of your lips, every scrape of your teeth, he meets with parted lips and hitched breaths. When you slow down, he slows with you, whining at the loss of intensity but obedient as a prayer. When you speed up, grow hungrier, he opens wider, takes more, his body going limp and willing against yours.
You pull back to watch him, really watch him, and the sight wrecks something in your chest. His glasses are completely fogged now, useless, perched crooked on his nose. His lips are bitten red, glistening, parted around desperate breaths. His eyes are glazed, unfocused, fixed on your mouth with such naked want that it makes your stomach clench.
"Look at you," you whisper, and his lashes flutter, a full-body shiver rippling through him at the attention. "You're shaking."
"I can't-" He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing. "I can't stop. I want-" He cuts himself off, biting his lip, and the gesture is so uncertain, so needy, that you lean in and soothe the bite with your tongue, laving over the swollen flesh until he's trembling again, until his knees are actually knocking against yours.
"Tell me," you command against his mouth, and he shudders like you've struck him, like the firm tone alone is enough to unravel him.
"More," he gasps, arching into you, his hips seeking yours with no subtlety left, all pretense of control abandoned. "Please, I need, kiss me again, please, I'll do anything, just-"
You give it to him. You cradle his jaw in both hands, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones, and you kiss him slow and deep and devastating, swallowing every whimper, every broken moan, every shaky breath he exhales into your mouth. He surrenders completely, body pliant, mouth open, hands clutching at you like you're salvation and ruin all at once.
When you finally break apart, both of you gasping, he doesn't let go. He presses his forehead to yours, nose bumping yours, breath mingling in the small space between you. His eyes are closed, lashes wet, and he's still trembling, small, continuous shivers that you feel everywhere your bodies touch.
"Again," he whispers, and it's not a demand. It's a plea. "Please, kiss me again. I'll be good, I promise, I'll-"
You silence him with your mouth, and he goes boneless against you, yielding completely, giving you everything he's been holding back for months in the form of gasping breaths and desperate sounds and the way his whole body arches into your touch, begging for more without saying a word.
The walk to the couch is a stumble, a slow collapse of distance where neither of you stop touching long enough to walk properly. Soobin's hands stay mapped to your waist, your hips, your lower back, touching, reassuring, needing, while you guide him backward, your mouth still attached to his throat, his jaw, the shell of his ear, anywhere you can reach.
He hits the couch cushions with a soft oof, glasses askew, hair falling into his eyes, and the sight of him, spread out, breathless, waiting, roots you to the spot for a moment, just looking. His shirt has ridden up, revealing a sliver of stomach, and his sweatpants hang low on his hips, and he looks debauched already, wrecked from nothing but kissing.
"Off," you say, and your voice is steadier than you feel, grounded in a command that makes his thighs press together, a full-body shiver racing through him.
He moves to strip himself, fingers fumbling at his hem, but you stop him with a hand over his, pinning it to his stomach. "No. I want to."
His breath catches, audible, desperate. He nods, fast, jerky, and lets his hands fall to his sides, gripping the couch cushions instead. He doesn't move. He doesn't help. He waits, watching you with blown-pupil eyes, his chest heaving in shallow, anticipatory bursts.
You straddle his thighs, settling your weight over him, and he whines at the contact, head falling back against the couch, exposing the long line of his throat. You take your time. You slide your hands under his shirt, palms flat against the heat of his stomach, feeling the muscles jump and flutter under your touch. He sucks in a sharp breath when your thumbs brush his ribs, arching into it like a cat, like he wants more and is terrified of it in equal measure.
"Lift," you murmur, and he obeys immediately, arms raising above his head, wrists crossed, submissive in a way that makes your mouth water.
You pull your own shirt over your head, and his gaze drops to your chest, his lips parting, a shaky exhale escaping him. You reach behind you to unclasp your bra, and he makes a noise, frantic, needy, his hands twitching like he wants to touch but doesn't dare move without permission.
"Touch me," you allow, and his hands fly to you like he's been waiting for the command his whole life, warm, slightly calloused palms cupping you, thumbs brushing over you with a reverence that makes your breath hitch. He looks at you like you're sacred, like he's memorizing scripture, and when you rock against him, feeling him hard and straining beneath his sweatpants, he groans, long and low, his forehead pressing against your sternum.
But you need more. You need him bare.
"Your pants," you murmur against his hair, and he whines, high and broken, his hips bucking up helplessly. "Take them off."
He moves immediately, scrambling, his usual grace abandoned in his desperation. He shoves at the waistband, lifting his hips, kicking them off along with his underwear in one tangled mess, and then he's naked beneath you, exposed, flushed, his cock heavy and hard against his stomach, leaving a smear of wetness on his skin. He doesn't try to cover himself. He spreads his thighs wider instead, letting you look, his hands gripping the couch cushions like he's stopping himself from reaching for you without permission.
The sight of him, naked, hard, and still wearing those fucking glasses like some kind of debauched scholar, makes your mouth water. The sight of him, naked, hard, and still wearing
those fucking glasses like some kind of debauched scholar, makes your mouth water.
"Now you," he breathes, his voice wrecked, his eyes fixed on your waist with naked hunger. "Please, can I, let me-"
You stand up from his thighs, and he makes a wounded noise at the loss of contact, his hands reaching out before he catches himself, fisting them back at his sides. You take your time. You hook your thumbs in your waistband and push your bottoms down slowly, stepping out of them, and his gaze tracks every movement, his mouth falling open, his chest heaving. When you straighten up, fully naked above him, he sobs, actually sobs, his head falling back, his throat working.
"Please," he mumbles into the air, the word punched out of him, his hips rolling up into nothing, seeking friction, seeking you. "Please, I need, can I-" He's incoherent, babbling, his hands sliding down to grip his own thighs, digging in hard enough to leave marks. "Want to taste you. Please. Been thinking about it, dreaming about it, please let me, I'll do it so good, I'll make it so good for you, just please-"
The begging. The desperate, filthy begging falling from his swollen lips, his glasses still on, crooked and fogged, framing those wide, pleading eyes, while he's completely naked beneath you, spread out and hard and waiting.
"Sit on my face," he gasps out, the words rushed, wrecked, his fingers digging into his own thighs now, restraining himself from touching you without consent. The words sound filthier coming from someone with glasses on, like he should be tutoring you in something respectable instead of begging to be used. "Please, please, I want you on my mouth, want to taste you, want you to use me, please, I'll be so good, I'll make you feel so good, just-"
You shift up his body, knees bracketing his ribs, and he sobs with relief, his hands flying to your waist to steady you, to guide you, trembling with the effort of being gentle when he's clearly unraveling. You stand over him for a moment, looking down at him, his hair a mess, his lips parted and wet, his glasses smudged and still somehow perfectly in place, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that burns, his whole body naked and flushed and his cock twitching against his stomach, neglected but secondary to his need to serve you.
"Please," he mumbles into your skin, the vibration of his voice sending sparks down your spine. "Please, I need, can I-" He's incoherent, babbling, his hands sliding down to your hips and gripping tight. "Want to taste you. Please. Been thinking about it, dreaming about it, please let me, I'll do it so good, I'll make it so good for you, just please-"
The begging. The desperate, filthy begging falling from his swollen lips, his glasses still on, crooked and fogged, framing those wide, pleading eyes.
"Keep them on," you say, meaning the glasses, and he nods frantically, his throat working.
"Yes, yes, anything, please-"
You lower yourself over him, one knee settling on the cushion beside his head, the other on the opposite armrest, caging him in completely. He whines at the position, at being trapped beneath you, his hands sliding up your thighs with shaking reverence. He looks hungry, desperate, his gaze fixed on the space between your legs like he's starving.
"Please," he whispers one last time, and it's the please that breaks you, the way he says it like a prayer, like worship.
You lower yourself onto his mouth, and the first swipe of his tongue makes you gasp, your hands flying to the back of the couch for balance. He moans against you, the vibration traveling through your core, and his hands grip your thighs, pulling you down harder, needing you to use him, to take your pleasure from him.
He's messy, eager, desperate, licking broad stripes through you like he's trying to taste every part of you at once, his nose bumping against you, his glasses brushing your inner thigh. The sight of him, Soobin, the responsible one, the leader, the one who holds everyone together, reduced to this, glasses on, face buried in you, making obscene, grateful noises like you're doing him a favor by letting him serve you, it's almost too much.
He finds your clit and sucks, and your knees buckle, a cry tearing from your throat. He whimpers in response, the sound muffled, vibrating against you, and his hands slide up to grip your hips, holding you in place, demanding that you take it, that you use him, that you ride his face until you're satisfied.
"Soobin," you gasp, and he moans louder at his name, the vibration making you see stars. He redoubles his efforts, his tongue flicking quick and filthy over you, his nose pressing hard, his whole face working for your pleasure with single-minded devotion.
You look down at him, really look, and the sight sears itself into your memory. His eyes are closed, lashes wet, his face flushed red, his glasses completely fogged now, useless, but still on because you told him to keep them. He looks ruined, wrecked, and he's the one doing the wrecking, his mouth relentless, his moans constant, vibrating through your core.
"So good," you pant, your hips rolling against his mouth without your permission, chasing the heat building in your belly. "You're doing so good, baby, so good for me-"
He sobs against you, the praise breaking something in him, and he pulls you down harder, his tongue pressing inside, fucking you with it while his nose grinds against your clit. He's making noises like he's dying, like you're killing him, and he wants it, he wants to drown in you, wants to be used until he can't think, can't breathe, can't be anything but yours.
Your orgasm builds fast and hard, your thighs trembling where they bracket his head, your grip on the couch turning white-knuckled. You grind down against his mouth, taking what you need from him, and he takes it, takes it, his hands gripping your ass, holding you there, his tongue working you through it, through you, desperate and devoted and his.
When you come, it's with a cry that echoes off the dorm walls, your body arching, your hips stuttering against his face. He moans against you, long and broken, like he's coming undone just from your pleasure, from being allowed to give it to you, and he doesn't stop, keeps licking, keeps sucking, gentle now, worshipful, like he's thanking you, like he's grateful.
You collapse forward, hands braced on the back of the couch, your body still shuddering, and he presses soft, reverent kisses to your inner thighs, your hip bones, anywhere he can reach, his hands stroking up and down your legs like he's soothing you, like he's the one who needs to take care of you even now.
"Thank you," he whispers, breathless, his voice wrecked, his face glistening, his glasses finally sliding down his nose. "Thank you, thank you, can I, please, can I-" He's still hard beneath you, straining, aching, and he's begging for permission to touch himself, to find his own release, his eyes wide and pleading behind those fogged lenses.
You look down at him, this beautiful, wrecked boy who just gave you everything, who begged to be used, who kept his glasses on because you asked, and your chest aches with something fierce and possessive.
"Yes," you whisper, and he sobs with relief, his hand flying to himself, and you settle in to watch, to take him apart the way he just took you apart, piece by desperate, grateful piece.
"Yes," you whisper, and he sobs with relief, his hand flying to himself, and you settle in to watch, to take him apart the way he just took you apart, piece by desperate, grateful piece.
But you don't let him finish alone.
You knock his hand away, and he whines, high, broken, devastated, until you grip him yourself, your palm sliding down his length, feeling the heat and weight of him, the way he throbs against your fingers. His hips jerk up into your touch, uncontrolled, his head slamming back against the couch cushions.
"Please," he gasps, "please, please, I need you, need to be inside, please-"
You lift yourself over him, positioning him at your entrance, and he goes perfectly still beneath you, every muscle locked, his breath held, his eyes wide and begging behind those fogged lenses. You sink down slowly, inch by inch, feeling him stretch you, fill you, and he moans, long and loud and unrestrained, his hands flying to your hips, gripping hard, his fingers digging in with desperate strength.
"Move," he breathes, "please, god, move, I can't-"
You roll your hips, and he cries out, his neck arching, his glasses slipping down his nose. You reach up and adjust them, pushing them back into place, and he whimpers at the gesture, at you taking care of him even now, at the intimacy of it.
"Keep them on," you murmur, rocking against him, and he nods frantically, his hands sliding up to your waist, guiding your movements, his hips thrusting up to meet you, desperate and needy.
You ride him slowly at first, controlled, deliberate, watching him unravel beneath you. His mouth is open, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his chest heaving with the effort of holding back. He's trying to be good, trying to let you set the pace, but his body is begging, hips stuttering up into you, his cock twitching inside you, his hands gripping you like he's drowning.
"Touch yourself," you command, and his hand flies to his length, stroking the remaining length when you raise your hips as you ride, his other sliding between to his balls, cupping and rolling them in his hands, his eyes rolling back, his whole body trembling.
"Close," he gasps, "so close, please, can I-"
"Not yet."
He whines, high and desperate, his hand stilling, his hips bucking up helplessly. You lean down, your chest pressed to his, your mouth at his ear. "My turn again."
You climb off him, and he sobs at the loss, his hand reaching for you, his eyes wide and wrecked. "No, please, I was so close, please don't-"
"Shh," you soothe, taking his hand, pulling him up from the couch. He stumbles, uncoordinated, his legs unsteady, and you guide him, naked, flushed, glasses askew, to the large mirror mounted on the wall near the hallway.
You turn him to face it, then turn yourself, pressing your back against his chest, looking at your reflection, his reflection, wild-eyed and desperate, his cock hard and wet against the small of your back.
"Youre fucking gorgeous," you whisper, and you brace your hands against the mirror, bending at the waist, presenting yourself to him.
He groans, low, guttural, animal, and his hands fly to your hips, gripping hard, his fingers bruising. You can feel him shaking, feel the restraint vibrating through him like a live wire.
"Soobin," you say, looking at him in the mirror, "fuck me."
He snaps.
He drives into you in one hard thrust, and you cry out, your hands slamming against the glass, the mirror fogging from your breath. He doesn't pause, doesn't wait, he pounds into you, his hips snapping against yours, the sound of skin on skin filling the room, harsh and filthy.
His glasses finally fall, sliding down his nose, and he doesn't stop to fix them. He tears them off, tossing them aside, and his eyes, god, his eyes, are dark and wild, fixed on yours in the mirror, watching your face as he takes you apart.
"Look at you," he growls, and his voice is different, deeper, rougher, stripped of the desperate begging and replaced with raw, possessive hunger. "Look at you taking me. So fucking good for me, aren't you? So perfect-"
He reaches around, his hand finding you, his fingers circling you with rough, desperate pressure, and you moan, your knees buckling, your forehead pressing against the cool glass.
He doesn't slow. He can't. He's lost in it, lost in the heat and the friction and the sight of you bent over for him, taking him, wanting him. His thrusts become erratic, uncontrolled, his hips snapping hard enough to move the mirror on its mounts.
"Gonna-" he gasps, "can't stop, I'm gonna-"
"Come inside me," you beg, looking at him in the mirror, at this beautiful, wrecked boy who has completely lost himself in you. "Soobin, please, I want to feel you-"
He roars, actually roars, his hips slamming into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt, and he pulses, hot and hard, his whole body locking up, his hand on you squeezing, his head falling back, his mouth open in a silent scream.
He collapses against you, his chest heaving against your back, his sweat slick between you, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you up, holding you close. You can feel his heart hammering against your spine, feel the aftershocks rippling through him, feel him trembling, still trembling, still his.
"Thank you," he whispers into your hair, his voice wrecked, his hold on you tightening. "Thank you, thank you, I-" He breaks off, pressing kisses to your shoulder, your neck, anywhere he can reach. "I love you. I've loved you for so long, I-"
You turn in his arms, facing him, and his eyes are wet, tears, actual tears, sliding down his flushed cheeks. You kiss them away, tasting salt, tasting him.
"I know," you whisper. "I love you too."
He sobs, soft, relieved, broken, and buries his face in your neck, holding you like you're the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, and for a long moment, you just stand there, wrapped around each other, naked and shaking and his.
You guide him, wobbly, giggling, still naked, to his room, and he collapses onto his bed with a whump, pulling you down with him. He wraps around you immediately, limbs tangling with yours, his face buried in your hair, breathing you in like he's trying to memorize the scent of you mixed with him.
"Stay," he mumbles, half-asleep already, his voice muffled against your shoulder. "Please. Just, don't go yet."
You press a kiss to his forehead, smoothing his damp hair back. "Not going anywhere, Soobin."
He makes a small, contented noise, pulling you closer, his glasses long forgotten on the floor somewhere in the living room. You trace lazy patterns on his back, listening to his breathing even out, feeling the last tremors fade from his muscles. He falls asleep like that, clinging to you, naked and unguarded, a soft smile on his swollen lips.
---
You don't know how much time passes, maybe an hour, maybe two, when the front door slams open downstairs, loud voices and laughter echoing through the dorm.
", and then Yeonjun had to wear the chicken suit-"
"It was humiliating, I looked like a-"
", hyung, you looked amazing, don't lie-"
The voices cut off. There's a silence, heavy, pointed, and then Beomgyu's voice rings out, high and delighted.
"Uh. Why are there clothes everywhere?"
You freeze in Soobin's arms. He blinks awake, confused, and then his eyes go wide as the realization hits him. His sweatpants. Your shirt. His glasses, God, his glasses,
"Is that a bra on the couch?" Taehyun's voice, deeply amused. "On the armrest?"
"Oh my God," Hueningkai whispers, loud enough to carry. "They did it in the living room-"
"Don't, don't look at the mirror," Yeonjun says, cackling. "I'm not looking at that mirror ever again-"
Soobin buries his face in your neck, groaning, his whole body flushing red. "We're never leaving this room," he mumbles, mortified. "We live here now. This is our home."
You laugh, unable to help it, pressing kisses to his heated cheeks. "We should probably face them eventually."
"Eventually," he agrees, pulling the blanket over your heads, hiding you both from the world. "In like. A year."
Downstairs, someone, probably Beomgyu, picks up Soobin's glasses, holding them up to the light.
"These are fogged, dude. Like. Completely fogged-"
"GYU, PUT THOSE DOWN-"
Soobin's groan vibrates against your chest, and you hold him tighter, laughing into his hair, happier than you've ever been.
The nineties in Korea were full of secrets. He was one of them. Because where the warm touch of the sun doesn’t reach, Choi Soobin inhabits. Rude, mean, sour and rough—he was a hitman hired by whoever could meet the price. The underground was the counterpart of heaven, where you and other guardian angels looked after their assigned humans. You’ve been watching him ever since he got his hands bloody for the first time, five years ago. Whatever he does, you’re there, guarding his soul.
Never understanding the mundane problems and diligences of humans, you often visited, hidden among them, relishing the secrecy. Sometimes you let yourself into his dusty apartment, which is barely used, to take in the small details, the textures, the scents. Everything you can’t see from above.
Until one day, Soobin comes home early.
One bite of the apple and it’s free-fall.
ᨀ. warnings for this chapter 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ no use of y/n. Dead dove do not eat. I love writing stories full of plot so it takes some time to get to the smut :P. Violence and Blood. Mentions of gore. Mentions of suicide. Heavy themes. Religious topics (glup). Morally gray characters. This probably is highly unethical. Smut (an attempt at it). Soobin is a bitch. Reader is obssesive and an unreliable narrator. Inexperienced reader (literally an angel). Reader watches Soobin all the time. Dom!Soobin and Sub!reader. Reader gets injured. Unprotected sex (wrap it up guys!). Penetrative Sex. Not pulling out. A knife is used like thrice but there is no kind wound (yeah oops!). Fingering. Oral (f & m). (i think thats all... if I forgot something lmk...).
ᨀ. inspo 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ fallen angels (ily wong kar wai). Apocalypse and Derre by BIBI
ᨀ. mar's note 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ I got this idea at 1 am while sneezing because I got a cold and I was half delirious. It took me like a month to finish this because I had writers block and I was halfway through the smut scene and I was so tired of it?? Idk, I know I'm learning to write smut so have that in mind. Barely proof read sorry!
You had gotten used to watching Soobin’s calloused hands drip in blood. The silence after a bullet was always deafening; even from above, you could hear the spatter of the scarlet liquid against cement. Despite five years of following his everyday life, your body never stopped flinching at the sound of a life being taken. Some might think that you should be unfazed by this by now, but you were surrounded by beings that represented the virtues of the universe. Outside your duty as a guardian angel, you only saw good.
When you first got assigned to Choi Soobin, you were excited. The last human you guarded was an infant who died young because of cancer. Emotionally, you kissed her forehead silently the day she passed; you commended her soul to the heavens. Praying that you could help your next mortal as much as you could.
When you gazed at him with hopeful eyes and a cheery smile, you saw him walking through a dark alleyway. Puddles of unknown substances splashing when he stepped on them. The neon lights reflecting against his fair skin showed his boyish features. He seemed nervous, an undecipherable expression plastered across his face. You didn’t know this was the last glimpse of innocence you were going to get.
You knew he was eighteen and freshly out of school; your superiors told you some details before you could get to work. Confused as to why he was out in the middle of the night, you frowned. It was only when his trembling hands lit up a cigarette that you started to worry. “He might get hurt. Somebody might do something to him." You thought, frantic to get him to safety—if only you knew.
The rattle of his shoes was swallowed by the muffled noise coming from the bar in front of him, a red neon sign perched above the black doors. He took a long puff before throwing the cigarette butt to the ground, smashing it with his foot. Adjusting his black jacket, he entered. It was full of grown men, faces toughened by the years. They paid no attention to Soobin, busying themselves with their drinks, cigars, and women in scarce clothing chatting too close to their faces. The dim lights made it hard to see clearly, so Soobin narrowed his gaze. He walked through the crowd, avoiding bumping into anyone. The loud music was overstimulating; your whole body was tense and confused.
He maneuvered himself well, like he knew where he was going. Everything seemed to point that this wasn’t his first time here. He took a turn to his right, where a little hallway made way to a series of rooms. Two of them were bathrooms, but on the end of the corridor was a room full of men gambling, a table in the middle packed with cash and different games. He looked around, to his left was the emergency exit and in front was the chamber.
He silently reached for something at his back. It was quick, and feelingless. He took a gun and shot everyone that stood in his way. Their blood spattering in every direction, making a bloody mess, some droplets staining his dark clothes. Some gasped, others muttered incoherent sounds. There were bullets so poorly aimed that he had to shoot twice in some cases, targeting their heads or hearts. But it was no use, bodies fell with a thud, without time for someone to retaliate—it was too late, they were dead before they knew. The clatter of the coins against the hardwood floor was the only thing left, decks of cards colored scarlet red.
Not even caring to glance back, he walked toward the back exit, the night swallowing his silhouette while he stuffed his warm weapon back into its place, you saw how he cleaned his dripping fingers on the back of his jacket. You were frozen in your spot, mouth slightly agape. Your whole body was quivering, tears forming in your eyes. The echo of the bullets was distant in your mind, the ringing lingering in your ears, haunting you. It could have been the way their forms fell to the ground, their souls now commended elsewhere. Or maybe it was how his expression remained bored—but something rotten bloomed inside you for the first time. A dark, red feeling that you could only attribute to what you just had witnessed.
And when the rivulets of tears wetted your cheeks, nobody knew how to handle it. Everyone asked if you were okay, confused. Angels weren’t used to feelings or even crying, sympathy was what they allowed themselves to have. But it was for a matter of duty. A long-lived angel swept the tears from your eyes mechanically and asked patiently why you were making such a scandal. You sobbed and said that your human was too complex this time.
She sighed and shook her head and just said, “Humans are complex, that is what differentiates them from us. They are faulty.”
You nodded, unable to explain the situation you were in.
You quickly learned that this would become routine for him. It was quite strange, because this was the very first job he took. You later overheard him on the phone talking with his employer, asking for his part. The caller scolded him because of his inability to kill in one swift motion. It could be said that this was a new thing for both of you, yet you wished to create good; he only sowed pain.
His days flew by fast. For him, the night was the time that mattered. Watching him eat, sleep, kill, and repeat, you got accustomed to his habits. You found it strange how he would only eat from the same ramen brand, the flavors he repeated the most were always spicy. You sometimes wished to slip in some vegetables and nutrients, the ones the mortals so highly praised.
A year in, you started venturing into the mortal realm. Against the protest of your friends and coworkers, you did it anyway. In general, guardian angels were even able to go to earth—to soothe or help. Never revealing their role, of course. You kept the truth about Choi Soobin a secret, you never knew why you didn’t blurt the words out. And each time you had to cover it up, you felt your wings sting. You only told them your human worked at night, in uncommon establishments. Given the mystery of your situation, everyone was afraid you might get hurt. Humans were known to harm each other, some countries had a deadlier night than others. And due to this, even angels were wary. You knew the truth. You knew the danger was closer than they imagined, you had seen it without exception every single time the sun hid.
Every fiber in your body screamed for more, contradicting common sense. You needed to fill the gaps in your head. How did he smell? Did he use cologne? Or was his scent a mixture of his natural odor, blood, and gunpowder? He seemed so mysterious. Even when you had observed so much about him that you knew how he took care after his injuries, you still knew nothing.
One time he got cut with a knife because one of his victims tried to defend himself. Retaliating, he smashed the butt of his gun between the man’s eyes, drawing blood. After that he shot him rapidly in the temple. The force of the gun scattered its contents out, dirtying his face. Cursing under his breath, he wiped the gray matter away from his eyes. Blinking, he noted that there was blood coming out of his stomach. Assessing the situation, he opted to continue with his modus operandi and leave the scene fast.
He was starting to look pale when he reached his apartment. An improvised tourniquet with his black button-up tried to stop the blood. He was incredibly careful, cleaning his hands and using latex gloves before reaching for his injury. His hands were usually careful when handling open wounds. He always made sure to have medical supplies. You even thought that some were only meant to be handled by a doctor. He rarely allowed people to get near enough to damage him, yet this wasn’t the first nor the last time it would happen.
You always looked away when he fetched bullets from his flesh, squeaking in your spot. You covered your eyes with your fingers. There were other times where you observed how he brushed his wet hair, droplets of water falling from the dark strands. Shyly, you heard him shower, averting your gaze. Counting how many minutes he stood under the showerhead, thinking. You wished you could know what goes through his head. Or maybe not, that’s something you hadn’t decided yet.
Yet you still cared enough to go through the hassle of traveling here. Clad in worn-out clothes, hiding your hair under your hoodie, wings gone. It was a stark contrast from the white, flowing dresses you wore. Your aura was heavenly by nature, and you had to intentionally camouflage this. If he were to see you, he would know something was odd about you. You took your façade so deep that you even tried smoking—it didn’t go well.
This time he was walking with his hair brushed back, a cigarette between his lips, fingers fidgeting with a set of dangling keys. Clothes dark as always. You stood behind an alleyway, watching his moves closely. He stopped at an entrance; there was a line of people waiting outside. It was crowded. They wore different kinds of garments. Women in tight short dresses—too short to cover anything. Showing their cleavage seductively, confident in themselves. Men were flirting or even kissing some girls, groping them shamelessly. They were wearing shirts that showed their muscles.
Almost everyone was chatting loudly, chewing gum, drinking, or smoking unknown substances. Soobin took lives, but you rarely saw him with something other than a cigarette between his fingertips. He eyed the long line, brows slightly furrowed. He walked toward the security guard, grabbing something from his pocket, and he showed the object to the guard. Nobody asked questions; he simply let himself in.
Gulping loudly, you looked at your fake ID. Was it going to suffice? You didn’t know. You walked with feigned confidence towards the entrance. Nobody cared about your presence, busy with whatever drug they were inhaling. Your ragged clothes didn’t highlight anything about you. If anything, they made you look like a tramp.
A thousand excuses ran through your mind before the interaction even began. The security guard was tall and broad. He had a permanent scowl in his face. One hit from him would leave you with a bruise.
“Huh? Name.” He was mean. His voice laced with tiredness, probably from people’s antics. It was very deep into the night; he probably had seen and heard everything by this time.
You forced your fake name out, hoping that you picked a normal human name. You tried to be nonchalant while fetching your ID, placing it at eye level. “I came with that guy.” You pointed inside, Soobin’s figure a blur inside the neon crowd.
“Take your hoodie out. I can’t even see your face.” Pointing toward your head, he scoffed.
You prayed to God that your nervousness would dim or maybe stop the suave quivering of your hands. You obliged quickly, so he couldn’t see your movements too closely. He raised a brow, scanning you.
“Why did you come after? If you two came together.” Taking a breath, he continued. “And you don't look the part. Are you here to scavenge through the trash?” He laughed at you when he finished, mocking your stupid excuse.
It was a series of logical questions, ones that didn’t occur to you. Your mind racing, you saw the outcome of every single one of the answers you were thinking of. Before you could even blurt one out, he tsked.
“Get lost. You are wasting my time.” He forcefully shoved your ID back to you, forcing you to take a few steps backwards to avoid losing balance.
Humans were rude. They were flawed creatures, kicked away from paradise. The divinities still had mercy and assigned them guardian angels to many who didn’t deserve them. At the same time, they were entrancing. Or at least Soobin was.
Slumping, you gave up, walking to the back exit. Several washes of disappointment coursed through your body. There was no way you were going to speak to him, but you wanted to get close enough to see how his features evolved across the evening. And, without a trace of rationality, you hid behind a few funky bins. Knowing the smell and scenery were unpleasant, you sat down. You forced the bile that arose in your throat down. Repeating this several times after you felt something warm against your thigh. At one moment you came to the realization that you were a heavenly being, you were above this. Any angel, be it guarding or not, would scold and shame you if they saw you. Any human would do so too. If you were stooping so low, what were you now?
Why were you even doing it?
Shaking your head and scrunching your nose, you endured it, shoving the questions to the back of your mind. Your improvised lair was far enough that anybody would confuse you with a homeless person yet close enough for you to see who left.
The track of time was something new to you. You found yourself learning it just so you could track how long his movements were. And like a naïve toddler who was gifted a lollipop, you were happy when you started getting how many minutes he spent training right.
Hours passed without a trace of him. You saw drunk groups of people walk past you. Their nonsensical chatter dissolving in the cold dawning air. A handful of them shoved each other playfully while others had their arms intertwined to avoid losing balance. Cars passed by with obnoxiously loud music, throwing trash your way. Sometimes they lowered their speed to spit on the asphalt. Until the doors flung open.
He walked with a girl under his arm. She was alright for a mortal; her body was full of curves. She had plump tits and a round ass. You thought that she had too much trust in her top and questioned the sinful way her body was glued to Soobin’s. Her hair was luscious and long, framing her face just right. She was no different from the catalog of girls you saw at the entrance. There was nothing special about her, yet he whispered lulls into her ear. Nibbling the tip softly. Like they'd known each other their whole lives.
She was loud; he spoke softly. They drunk-walked to their left; she twirled her hair, puffed her cheeks and giggled stupidly from time to time. You were unable to hear what they were saying. But judging by the way his left hand roamed over her waist, even going down to squish her butt at times, you knew he probably was going to take her somewhere secluded.
Your heart threatened to betray you. It wanted to leap out of your body and scream. You felt the tips of your ears and cheeks warm, too warm. Clutching your sweatpants tightly, you waited for them to be out of sight. You didn’t know you were holding your breath until you started feeling dizzy. Something inside you started churning, your eyes unfocused. You knew what he did to girls; you had seen him before.
He took them to motels—never to his apartment—and fucked them until they were so exhausted they couldn’t form a thought. You immorally acknowledge that you should’ve given him more privacy, but you were curious. As to why he was expressionless the whole time. Or the way he avoided kissing them, just sucking at their necks. Not a single sound erupted from his lips, only grunts. Sometimes you covered a gasp from your lips when you saw the way he licked their breasts, his lips sucking and nibbling their sensitive buds. A shiver ran down your spine.
And now you hoped that this wasn’t the exception. Because the bitterness wilting your body would be unbearable. Because the way your back burned in the spot where your wings should be is a reminder. You don’t belong in this world.
The path back to heaven that day was defeating. Everyone was so worried about you, not a single angel lost sight of your filthy body coming into view. For them, you were a poor angel abused by humans who didn’t understand the rules of the universe. They were rude because they were flawed creatures. You allowed them to believe whatever they wanted. Partially because you knew something inside you wasn’t supposed to be there. Because you were having trouble keeping your ideas at bay. You weren’t a weak mortal. You were supposed to be above them. Feelings were there for you to try and empathize with the mundane. Not to feel like them.
The days turned into months, then into years. Time flew by fast, lives did.
Two years of observing Soobin had passed. He had already killed more people than the days you had been watching him. You were keeping count of every life he took. Every night your fingers itched to caress his cheekbones, wanting to soothe whatever sorrow he was into. There was no other reason for him to cause such pain. He had to be fueled by his own. Because even after such a long time observing him, you never knew what happened to his family or if he had friends. He spoke with people, but it was purely pleasure or business. You wanted to believe he wasn’t entirely lonely—at least spiritually. He still had the chance for his soul to be taken care of.
You prayed to God that he would stop this nonsense. You never prayed to God, you didn’t need to pray, you were only supposed to carry his will. But you were desperate enough to let him fix this mess. Yet he never answered, never listened. His lackeys were the ones who had to endure human pain. He allowed as much beauty and as much evil as he wanted. He toyed with lives as he pleased.
Still hating the sound of bullets penetrating bodies and the way they fell with a squelch, you closed your eyes forcefully. Afraid of what might welcome you if you opened them, you mentally counted five minutes before opening your lids. You already dominated human time, and Soobin was meticulous. He never took more than five minutes before leaving a crime scene.
He had gotten better at taking lives, his hands were trained every day to learn new lethal points. Using fewer bullets, he was even faster at murdering. Often, you spoke to yourself, letting the word “murder” roll off your tongue. Your mouth always felt cottony after saying it out loud, its corrupt nature breathing heavy down your neck. Assigning that word so close to him was the truth, but you avoided acknowledging it frequently.
The night for humans was interesting, the city felt much more alive. The silvery touch from the moon was a silent promise that the secrets it witnessed were going to remain hidden. Couples under swaying trees, promising the world and beyond to each other. Drunk teenagers who ran away from home arguing on the streets. And proficient assassins doing their jobs. This is where Soobin existed, under all the “harmless” ruckus of the streets, he maneuvered himself.
It wasn’t like you weren’t used to the mortals. Even when they were so different from each other, they had distinct patterns. But he was peculiar, his situation. You had only taken care of normal people before. From day one you had been learning and perhaps tainting your celestial aura. Everyone was too flawless where you lived, they had nothing captivating. It was an endless cycle of abnegation, which you didn’t hate. Couldn’t hate. Your creation was done to fulfil your role. That was it.
Today he was out. You were out too. With the passing of months, you learned how to dress properly depending on the situation. And you used that ability well. You started frequenting bars and restaurants Soobin went. You knew by heart what he usually asked for, ordering it diligently when the bartender or waiter approached you. You were sitting at a secluded table at a ramen shop three blocks away from his apartment. You were nearing a line you knew you shouldn’t cross, this was as close as you were going to get to him. Still, the thrill of being within walking distance of his sacred place made you feel lightheaded. Knowing he probably was sleeping because it was afternoon with the sun beginning to set, you ventured into the earth.
Cautious not to draw too much attention, you dressed like a normal woman in her twenties during summer. Fresh and comfortable clothes, wings hidden and the slightest dab of makeup—this you didn’t do well. You had started enhancing your features when you saw that this was a recurrent detail in people’s faces. You mostly copied the girls you saw during the day. It was a much softer and natural style. The night style cosmetics were bolder, trying to make a statement as soon as you locked gazes with someone.
Shifting in your seat you put the menu down. This too, was an act, you knew what you were going to get already. The young waiter walked to your table, a friendly smile across his lips. Notepad ready to register your order he asked if you knew what you wanted. Tapping your fingers on your chin for a few seconds, faking a thought, you nodded.
“I’ll take the beef ramen.” He scribbled on the paper, his eyes never leaving your face. “Extra spicy, please.”
He nodded. “Anything else miss?”
“And one can of lemon-flavored soda. Thanks.” You grinned softly.
Learning how humans expressed their emotions silently was a challenge. All the grinning, thanking, politely asking, frowning or whispering was too much. But you were forcing yourself into these situations, trying to make your being slowly adapt to social norms.
“Alright!” With that he left you alone.
The place was not full, there were few people. You silently scanned the room, the decorations. It was full of figures of cats. The smell felt warm, human. The voice of the scattered customers holding lively conversations mixed with the ambience music. Some were talking about their day, taking long puffs of smoke between sentences. Others were complaining about coworkers with a pout. The scenery was alive, it felt so much different from what you usually saw from above.
Angels were indifferent to each other. They reserved emotion for humans. Practicality mattered above everything else. It was engraved in your nature, abiding the rules of God. You didn’t know when you started losing sight of the shine in heaven. When you started feeling a pang of disappointment every time you took breaks from work to talk with your kin. The days were gloomier in heaven than on earth and the rotten feeling invading your body made your wings sting, hurt. Almost feeling like they were going to fall, there were times when it was unbearable.
You reminisced about the times before Choi Soobin. Closing your eyes, you pictured your existence when your life felt full. Everything was easier, you didn’t have to hide anything. When you were created you thought that God made angels perfect, that there was no other way to be. Heaven was the desired target for every living soul, everyone opposed to it deserved punishment. It was luster, precious and pristine. There was not a corner where the light didn’t reach. These days you found yourself longing for a speck of color, for a shadow. For life. You questioned why you were made to serve. Were you that low of a creature? It should be a privilege to follow God’s will. You didn’t know anymore.
But it didn’t dawn on you until you were assigned a younger guardian angel to teach her the diligences of your job. She was bright, like a flower who just blossomed. Her eyes sparkled and she spoke softly. You thought if you were once like this, now you were the shadow of that young angel. She asked if she could see your human, you denied it amicably, saying that you preferred to respect his privacy.
“I want to have a human too. How long does it take?”
You both were walking after a long day of teaching. “You will probably assist an experienced angel first. After that you are good to go.”
She nodded. “Do angels love their humans?”
Gulping you felt nervousness. This was a habit you picked up from humans, you had to mentally suppress it whenever you were in heaven. Love was a strong word reserved only for one being in the universe: your creator. Young angels often needed to learn these implied rules with the passing of time.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We shall never learn to love humans. We pity them. That noun is strictly reserved for God.” Your voice was severe. As soon as the words left your mouth there was a tingling sensation in the joint of your wings with your back.
She tilted her head. “But do you love your human? You never said no.” You felt like cursing and clenched your fist behind your back.
What were you going to answer? No, yes, maybe, probably. I don’t know. Reaching for the last rational moments in your heart you huffed with the same scolding tone your elders had with you.
“Don’t ask stupid questions. I already told you my answer.” The pain in your wings had become sharp. The feeling of thousands of tongues of fire enveloping your feathers. You saw the features of Choi Soobin, his fair skin contrasted against the shadows. You felt your heartbeat accelerate. You acted as if nothing happened.
She apologized and continued her stroll, never mentioning it again.
Good angels learnt fast and obeyed tacit rules. If not, you might risk losing your status. There were stories of the things that happened to disobedient angels. Depending on the offense they either were sent to earth or to the depths of hell. Condemned to live a life full of sorrow either way. It was whispered that their wings usually withered slowly. It climbed feather by feather, necrotizing everything it touched. Until they fell from their bodies, like dead bodies. The process was long and torturous, nobody knew how long it took. The ache was supposed to be so unbearable that fallen angels committed suicide before reaching that point. Fallen angels that take their lives are eternally damned to hell.
The clatter of the bowl of ramen against the wooden table snapped you back to reality. You blinked slowly, getting rid of the lingering image of your home. The young man placed your food in front of you. The beef broth filled your nose, bringing you fully back.
Thanking him, you picked up a fork—you were still clumsy with chopsticks. You looked around to see how people ate this meal. Placing down your fork, you grasped the spoon, tasting the broth. It was amazing. You didn’t need food to live. Angels reached for other sources for their existence yet the pleasure that flooded your mouth was unique. Then the hurt came. It raised the temperature of your mouth and made you gulp down soda. Sticking out your tongue, you fanned your hand over your face. Brows furrowed.
You were too busy trying to soothe the pain that you didn’t pay attention to your surroundings. You saw a dark silhouette from the corner of your eye, blinking you focused your eyes on it.
It was him. It was him.
The pain in your tongue seemed to dim, a distant reminder of where you sat. He was bored looking at the menu, a cigarette between his fingers, casually flicking it above the ashtray. He looked at a newspaper, reading it silently. His jaw was relaxed, his body usually so alert now calm.
You averted your gaze before he spotted your presence. The food didn’t seem so appetizing anymore. A bead of sweat travelled from the back of your neck to your lower back. The wet sensation grounding you. You saw the waiter approach him, he ordered exactly what you were having. Voice stern.
Urging yourself to act normal, you took your fork and ate some noodles. The spice wasn’t so strong anymore, you endured it like it was nothing. Even from the next table you could smell him. For the first time you registered his scent. He smelled ordinary. It could’ve been soap, his shampoo, sweat, cheap cologne. You didn’t know what it was, you were new to human smells. You could discern the odor of the strong cigarettes he smoked. But to you this was the most precious smell in the universe, because it wasn’t random. It was his.
Closing your eyes you relished another piece of him being shown to you. With warm cheeks and tears forming in your eyes, you left money on the table. It was much more than you needed to pay, but you didn’t mind. You left as fast as you could, avoiding being noticed. You told yourself that the spice was too much, that this made you overwhelmed.
You knew this was a lie.
And when the days passed and you felt feverish every time you remembered his scent you closed your eyes. Legs pressed together, a blush creeping up your cheeks.
By year five you had visited the human realm more times than you could count. You knew him more than you did before, you had seen his features sharpen. He became an expert killer, his expression hardened by his job. There was no trace of the doubt he had on day one. Yet you still knew so little about him, so many gaps to be filled.
You didn’t know how it started. Maybe it was after you saw him fall asleep with his clothes on, soft expression plastered across his face. You wished you could feel the texture of his bed, how his sheets felt against your bare skin. Maybe it was that one time you saw him look at an old polaroid picture with sorrow. Eyes narrowed, he stuffed it in his locked drawer. Whatever reason you had to be doing this didn’t matter because it was eclipsed by one thing—you wanted it. Nothing else could change your mind because you simply wanted it.
So, from seven pm to eleven pm you roamed free in his apartment. It had begun a while ago, when you were casually walking near his house while he was out working. One day you walked up to his door, frozen in your spot, fingers itching to open it. You repeated this for weeks before actually letting yourself in.
You skillfully went up the stairs to his floor, sneakers squeaking against the ceramic tiles. Your black skirt swaying with your movements. You bit your lip to contain your excitement. His door was ugly, the paint was peeling and there wasn’t even a carpet. Every single door had at least a decoration to claim the place as theirs—his had none. You reached for the key that rested on top of the door frame, letting yourself in. You smiled, kicking off your shoes, leaving the key on the table by the door.
His smell clouded your mind. The lingering scent of his cheap cologne floated in the air, and the trace of cigarette smoke clung to the walls. You didn’t mind it. His place was broad. The living room was just a black sofa, a coffee table and the TV. He barely had any ornaments, just the necessary. The windows were covered by drapes slightly parted, letting some of the sunset rays in. You always walked towards his room first. Everything was messy, he had clothes discarded on the ceramic floor, his nightstand was packed to the brim. An ashtray with dozens of smoked cigarettes. A scribbled notepad with a pen, few crumbled papers surrounding it. And a silver clock. The drawers were locked. His unmade bed was your favorite place here. You plopped yourself against the mattress, the bed screeching. There was a certain roughness to it, the texture felt fresh against your skin, the smell of fabric softener mixed with traces of soap, shampoo and sweat overpowered everything else. You smiled, stretching your limbs happily.
You looked at the time. Seven thirty. You could allow yourself to take an hour nap. It was routine for you now because you had never rested as well as you did when you slept on his bed. You never rested outside of this apartment. Angels didn’t sleep, it wasn’t a need. You took the clock by his bed, adjusting the alarm. Hugging a white pillow and covering yourself with the weight of the duvet, you made yourself comfortable. Drifting towards sleep you dreamed of a distant paradise, of a faraway warmth.
When you woke up, startled by the loud noise, you spun, placing a pillow over your head. Groaning, you took an arm out reaching to turn off the alarm. Reluctantly, you sat up, blinking slowly. Feeling your mouth pasty, you noticed the wet spot on the pillow and cleaned a trail of saliva with the back of your hand. Getting up, you went to the kitchen to prepare the instant ramen you had bought—without spice.
By ten thirty, you had cleaned up any trace of your presence, the ramen cup in a plastic bag stuffed inside your purse. You always had to restrain yourself from tidying the whole place. You knew he would notice. You didn’t want to risk it. Brushing your fingers against the duvet of the bed, you silently said goodbye. Before leaving you made sure to leave the pillows in the same position and the alarm turned off.
You walked to the living room, giving one last look at the space. But before you could move, a sharp pain hit your stomach, a deafening sound exploded inside the room. You knew this sound well, it was his gun. The force of the bullet made you stumble two steps back. Legs quivering, you fell to your knees, your hands on the floor, supporting your body.
“O—Oh god.” You cried under your breath.
“Who the fuck sent you?” He stood at a reasonable distance, wary of your movements.
You had to stabilize your breath before slowly getting up. He saw how the hole in your tank top remained intact. There was no trace of blood, of flesh. A few seconds later, a bullet came out of it, hitting the floor with a metallic sound. Healing your body rapidly. The pain was white, sickening. Akin to someone stabbing you and twisting the blade slowly, tearing your insides every time it spun.
“Nobody.” You said breathless.
His jaw clenched when he stared at where the bullet pierced you, puzzled, brows tight. His grip on his gun tightened, pointing it again, this time at your thigh, shooting. You closed your eyelids tightly, gasping, balance faltering. Vision blurring, stars appearing before your eyes. You thought you might faint.
He took a step closer. “I’m not asking again.” His tone was demanding, threatening.
The pain was unbearable. So unbearable that your wings sprang out along with your heavenly aura. There was a silence, nobody moved. A few white feathers fell from your back, your whole body suffering the effect of the need to recover. Your mind raced.
His grip on his gun never loosened, even when he saw the feathers drift to the floor. His expression, however, cracked, you caught a glimpse of disbelief. Confusion. This was not normal, there wasn’t anything quite like this. And if there was, he had never seen it.
“Please—just. Don’t shoot again.” Heaving, you tried to steady yourself. “I have been taking care of you for a while now, Soobin.” Your words came out strained, the ache still lingering on your body.
He stared at you in silence for a moment. “Taking care of me?” The words came out in disbelief, a laugh at the end. He walked to your figure and examined your wings. He touched the feathers with his free hand, leaving a burning trail, his gaze was intense, fixed on the whiteness of them. He pressed hard, intent on discovering what you were.
You were hurt, your body throbbing where you had been pierced, there was no wound anymore, yet you could still feel it. And now all you could think about was how his coarse fingers touched you, it shouldn’t feel good. But it did. You were shuddering. It could have been because you were shot or because he was so close to you, you didn’t know. He kept his gun aimed at your heart, not leaving any room for error. You knew he could kill you if he wanted to, yet you still were an angel. You couldn’t die from this.
“What are you?” He hissed, voice low, locking his eyes with yours.
His eyes were deep, you knew you could’ve looked at them for an eternity. The moment was electrifying, it brought your body back to life, dimming the weight of what just happened. Your mind barely functioned, any coherent thoughts long gone. You thought your flesh would dissolve with the tension in the air. There was once an imaginary line you knew you weren’t going to cross for Choi Soobin, you weren’t so sure anymore.
You couldn’t stand straight, still you tried, wincing. “I’m not human.”
He seemed skeptical, the touch of his curious fingers distracting you. “Then what are you?” His eyes narrowing, he pressed his gun to your chest forcefully with his other hand, hurting you. Your eyes never leaving his, you gulped, nervous.
Shaky hands rising to eye level, you shook your head. “I don’t want to hurt you.” You were sincere, there was nothing behind your voice. You spread your arms open. “You can check.”
He stopped touching your wings, withdrawing his hand. “If you try anything I’ll shoot you.” His tone was matter of fact. He maneuvered his weapon with one hand while the other approached you.
He patted your back first. He checked under your tank top, the bareness of it making your skin prickle. You knew this meant nothing to him, it was something he needed to get out of the way to ensure his safety. But to you this was more than you ever thought you would get, and the idea alone of his hand on your skin made you lightheaded. He moved his hands down, to your lower back until he reached your butt. He moved his hand under your skirt, shamelessly. You wished for a moment that he would squeeze your ass, but you had to mentally remind yourself that you were not in a good situation. That you needed to survive.
He realized soon how you reacted under his touch, seeing how you could barely contain it. Nibbling on your lip, fingernails pressed against your palms. Body still quivering. He didn’t move an inch, still wary. When his fingers grazed your tits, you had to avert your gaze, he allowed himself to explore a little bit more—more than he should have. He felt how your nipples started to harden under his digits, but as indifferent as he seemed, he continued down. Touching under your skirt, he actively avoided going anywhere near your core, moving to your bare legs instead.
The cold gun never left your skin, it only moved from its spot at your heart anytime Soobin moved. It was a chilling reminder of the reality of the situation. When he finished, he lowered it, stuffing it at his back.
“Explain yourself.” He crossed his arms.
The absence of his warmth took the air out of your lungs. You had to blink a few times before speaking. “I have been watching you since your first job.” Inhaling you fiddled with your fingers. Were you really going to say it? You couldn’t take it back. This was dangerous. “I have been taking care of your soul. You have never been alone, I have been above, watching.”
He huffed annoyed. “Above? Be clearer.”
Shifting in your spot you mentally prepared yourself for what you were about to say. “I’m your guardian angel.”
The truth was out, the weight of it settled on your shoulders. You searched his face for a reaction. There was a moment of silence, then he scoffed.
“Do I look like I would have a guardian angel?”
Frustrated you nodded. “I don’t choose my humans. You were just assigned to me.”
“You aren’t making any fucking sense.” He stood tall in front of you, brow raised. Questioning the mere fact of your existence.
“I know you were eighteen when you first killed, your hands trembled even before you held your gun. I know that you like spicy beef ramen and that you get it three blocks from here. And I know there is a polaroid picture you don’t want anyone to see locked inside your nightstand’s drawer.”
He froze, his hands clenching. The third fact surprised him, a sudden glimpse of fear seeping through the crack of his front. He seemed taken aback at the sudden burst of vulnerability. He thought no one was seeing him, that those were things time was going to erase. A flickering of belief sparked in his eyes, he opened his mouth doubtfully.
“You are…an angel?” The words were foreign to him.
“Yes. I’m your guardian angel.” You chose your words carefully, hoping it would make sense to him.
“Fuck.” He muttered incredulously. “Why are you here?”
Oh.
That was a logical question, one that you didn’t want to answer. You remained silent. He walked towards you. A hint of danger behind his irises. “You know, it is weird.” He twirled a strand of your hair between his fingers, focusing on it. “For a while now, I have been smelling something out of place in my bedsheets.”
The proximity took you by surprise, the warmth that radiated from his body contrasted well with his usually cold persona. You tittered before speaking. “Maybe it’s the brand of detergent you’re using. Or you know you might reconsider sleeping with your clothes on. The blood smell on them might be—” You kept rambling, nervous.
His face was close to yours, he seemed calm, in control. “I know what blood smells like.” He sniffed the hair in his fingers, then he came even closer and took the scent of the skin in your neck. You never wear perfume, there was no way your natural scent was this strong. “It smells like you.”
“I—” Stammering, you tried to place some distance from him. His whole being was overwhelming. The way his eyes roamed over your figure was enough to send someone to madness. He grabbed your arm with enough force to keep you still. Your heart was pounding loudly, you could feel it all over your body. He was getting too close. He was already too close.
“Tell me everything. I want to know how much you know.” He loomed over you, voice low, barely above a whisper. His breath hitting your skin softly, prickling it. He was centimeters away from you, you could hear him perfectly.
Debating internally if you should just be honest with everything you had done these past five years, you locked eyes with him. There was so much to lose, so many to disappoint. And then there was him, just him. In front of you, finally, speaking to you, demanding answers. He acknowledged your existence, and that was enough. You didn’t need anything else. Determination in your irises you knew what you had to do.
“I’ve seen you kill. I’ve seen and heard every single life you have taken. I’ve seen you eat that stupid cup ramen you always buy. I’ve seen you sleep. I’ve seen you nervous. I’ve seen you get every single wound you ever had. I’ve seen you stitching yourself. I’ve seen you alone. I’ve seen you smoke alone in the darkness of your living room.” Blurting the words out you forced yourself to look him in the eye. You stopped registering his reactions the moment you splayed yourself raw. “I’ve seen you f—fuck. I’ve seen every single one of those. I see when you touch them, when you bite their skin. Every time you make them moan. I’ve heard, seen it and hated it.”
You waited five seconds to compose yourself, to breathe. “I’ve hated every single time you touch another woman. Each moment I’ve wished it was me.” Your wings were starting to throb.
After that you stopped looking at him, fixing your gaze on the floor. His grip on your arm loosened, staring silently at you. “You’ve been watching me fuck other women?”
You nodded, ashamed of yourself.
He chuckled in disbelief. “You’ve seen me kill.”
This wasn’t a question, this was a fact. You whispered yes anyway.
“And you still wanted me?”
You were surprised by the ease with how he spoke. These were things you tried to hide for years, these were secrets nobody knew. He knew what to say, what to ask to get you to say them aloud.
“Y—yes.” Inhaling, you spoke. “I’ve wanted you for a while now.” The confession made the pain in your wings ablaze, you winced. It was finally out.
His hand roamed from your elbow to your waist, tentatively. He brought you closer to him, your chest clashing against his. There was something similar to hunger taking over his eyes. “Such a pure creature meddling with things she shouldn’t.” His fingers brushed your cheek, as if he were afraid to touch you fully. “Taking care of me…” He trailed. “You’ve done a terrible job.”
You breathed heavily, following the movements of his fingers closely. You were alight, something gurgling underneath your skin, threatening to explode and take this whole world with you. You knew you were still alive, that this was real, because your figure throbbed and your wings were aching like they never had before. Every single fiber in your body screamed that this was wrong, that you should escape at the very first chance you had. That you should return to heaven and request another mortal.
You weren’t going to do any of that.
“I’m sorry. You are not an easy human to take care of.” Your tone was hushed.
He paused, looking for something behind your eyes. What could he be looking for? There was nothing more than this, this was you. Just you. “You are a weird angel. I don’t think you are supposed to get involved with me…” Then closing the distance, he stopped about two centimeters away from your lips. “You want me to touch you, don’t you? Your eyes look like they need me.”
“I…” Stammering because of how straightforward he was, you struggled to find coherent words. “I shouldn’t even come to earth this often.” Your breaths mixed and you felt it on your parted lips, the residual pain of the bullets still present—a reminder of his nature, of how opposite you were from him.
“For someone so pure, you seem to be having sinful thoughts.” He shifted and with how close your bodies stood, you could feel everything. His hand on your waist squeezed hard. You suppressed a sound. “Just look at you. You are such a fucking mess under my fingers.”
You gulped, trying to get something out of your mouth but you couldn’t. “Say it. Say that you need me.”
You had accepted a long time ago that you weren’t going to have this—that you couldn’t. This wasn’t right, you knew it. The apple was right there, juicy and vibrant. You just had to take the first bite.
“I…I need you.” Admitting it felt foreign.
“Such an obedient little angel.” He mocked you, leaving feather-like kisses on your neck. Then he moved to your cheek and patiently kissed the corner of your lips. He took his sweet time, entertaining himself with your little noises. With how large and impressed your pupils were. “I’ll make an exception for you, my guardian angel…” He kissed you, deep, furious, and hungry. You didn’t know how to answer to this, to such intensity. You’d never done it and you are sure he never does it either. You’ve never seen him kiss. There were millions of things going through your head right now, and all you could feel is your brain turning to mush. Trying to match his speed you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you.
“You are so bad at it.” Realization dawned on him. He looked at you amused, then he smirked. “Have you ever been kissed?”
Embarrassment flooded you. You tried to avert your gaze, but Soobin’s hand grabbed your chin, keeping you in place, demanding an answer. “No, I haven’t.”
“You think too much.” He sighed, moving his thumb over your lips. “Just follow my lead.”
Kissing you, slower this time, he allowed you time to explore. This one was different, the build-up tension was still present, he seemed careful with you. Ignoring the sharp pain coming from your back, you relished the way his lips felt. Every single one of those times you had pictured them did no justice to reality, he seemed to know how to maneuver himself with his body. You hated being so clumsy. His tongue parted your lips, allowing him to wander freely. You let him, happily.
He started walking towards his bedroom, never separating from you. He paused abruptly. “You really want to do this? You’ve seen me. You know how this ends.” He looked into your eyes. His were dark and hypnotic, you felt like he was restraining himself from something. You just didn’t know what.
“Be my first, Soobin.” You pleaded. There was something hidden underneath all of that, an acceptance of reality. A choice was made today, or perhaps five years ago. You couldn’t take it back anymore, you knew. You were already too deep the moment you saw him touch himself and hoped you could make him grunt like that too.
He trapped your lips, clouding your senses. His scent was so strong, and it mixed with your sweaty frame, which made you almost dizzy. Since you couldn’t resist temptation anymore, you allowed your fingers to travel to his arms, feeling every muscle, grazing his rough skin. He guided you towards his room, a path you both knew very well. It was difficult to walk thanks to the overwhelming sensation of being touched by human hands. You had never felt the warmth of somebody else. Every nerve in your body jolted every time he grabbed you by the waist or when his fingers pressed hard into your arms to keep you stable.
You felt the mattress squeak under your weight. He broke the kiss. “You taste so pristine…” He fetched a shiny, sharp knife from his belt and tore your white tank top from top to bottom. The ripping sound and your pulse were the only things your ears registered; everything else floated unnoticed in the air. This was actually happening. “I can’t wait to ruin you.”
You shuddered, your chest only covered by your bra. He toyed with the knife in his hands, thinking with his brows knitted. With resolve, he pushed you towards the bed. And as you lay there expectantly, the night air drifting through the window, tingling your bare skin, he came close to your frame. He gave feather-like touches to your skin with the tip of the knife, the cold metal a reminder of who you were entangling yourself with. He had the power to do whatever he wanted with your body, yet he was so careful and so knowing with his movements that you redirected all the faith in your body to him.
He adjusted your torn clothes and hair before taking in the sight of the art he had created. His gaze roamed free over your body. Your wings splayed over the duvet, cheeks red and breath uneven. The remains of your garment rested on your sides, hair disheveled and wet with sweat. Your eyes, consumed by lust, looking at him expectantly. He was able to smirk when he saw the tinge of innocence behind your irises, almost fading.
Satisfied with your state, he took the liberty to pull out one of your breasts. Your nipple already hard and ready to be taken care of. He groped your tit, pinching your nipple. The sensation was like something you had never ever imagined, it awoke the familiar warmth that bloomed in your lower abdomen every time you saw Soobin touching somebody else’s skin. You whimpered, pushing your legs together to soothe the growing heat from between your legs. “Your skin is so soft.”
He placed his arms on your sides, supporting his weight, while he positioned a leg in between yours, one of his knees meeting a delicious pressure with your clothed core. Your thighs engulfed him, silently pleading for more. He lowered his head to the band of your skirt, nuzzling it with his nose. Breath teasing you. You wanted him lower, that much you knew, yet he was intent on denying you this. He nibbled you at the bare skin over where the fabric ended. Creating a wet trail with his tongue, nipping and licking at your flesh, he hovered above your exposed tit. His ragged breath softly hitting your nipple, eager to be touched. You were buzzing under his ministrations.
When you couldn’t take the wait anymore, you reached for his hair, burying your hand between his locks, tugging at them. Desperately trying to break the distance. He answered your silent plea by enveloping your breast with his mouth. He sucked your nipple, sometimes pressing it carefully with his teeth, the sensation sending waves of joy that collapsed in your core. Other times just twirling his tongue around it. You pulled his strands harder, a choked sound escaping your parted lips. You saw how his arms flexed under his button-up. The wet sounds coming from your chest made you shudder.
With a pop, he separated, licking his lips. He pointed downwards. “Open your legs.” He demanded.
You slowly opened them, releasing his limb. Your skirt now hardly covered you. From his point of view, he could see your dollar-store white panties peeking; you weren’t the type to wear shorts underneath. There was a wet spot forming in them. “I’ve barely touched you. You are so painfully obvious.”
Crouching, he squeezed your thighs before kissing you near your throbbing entrance. “Don’t move or I'll stop.” He knew, of course he knew, how desperately you wanted to be touched there. It felt like a test of patience, the hardest one you ever had to overcome. Because when he nibbled your inner thighs, you had to grab a fistful of sheets to avoid flinching.
He stayed long painful minutes in between your legs, his hair tickling your skin. He seemed to like how loud you were; you had zero idea how to control these desires, and everything was so overstimulating that the only way you found relief was with sounds. That was until you felt his finger hook on your panties, because you went completely still and silent when he grabbed the wet fabric.
He used the cold knife to rip your panties, the fabric recoiling to expose your aching cunt. You saw how he licked his lips before enveloping your throbbing bud in his mouth. Gasping, you couldn’t avoid moving, closing your eyes. He didn’t stop, lapping at it. Moaning his name, your hands gripped the duvet tightly, your legs squeezing his neck. You felt every single fiber of your body threading a sensation you couldn’t quite put a name on.
He stopped for a brief moment to spit on his finger before slowly thrusting into your core. He looked at your face, flushed and messy. Your pupils were blown, walls clenching over his digit. "M—move," you whispered.
“I can’t hear you.” He spoke above your pussy, you could feel the movements of his lips.
Pushing the shame to the back of your mind, you spoke. “Move!”
To this, he smirked, sinking his finger to the depths of your core, thrusting. His mouth continued to tease your clit. It was like being touched everywhere; you felt it all over your body. He picked up a pace after a few minutes, and when he saw that your juices were flowing, he inserted a second finger. Startling you, he didn’t give you any time to adjust. The tension was delicious, stretching you.
He adjusted the angle of his hand, and you knew he was hitting a precious spot. Because your back started to arch and your body was brimming with an unknown white sensation. You tensed your muscles and closed your eyes, unable to see the filthy movements of Soobin.
“You are getting tighter. Don’t tell me you are going to come so soon?” His mocking tone wasn’t enough to snap you back into reality. You were too far gone.
“Please don’t stop.” Imploring him, you bucked your hips forward. This seemed to amuse him because he withdrew his fingers entirely. Shaken, you lifted your head, your eyes scanning his face for an answer.
He looked at her with a lopsided smile, relishing the sweet look of your eyes. Panting, with a tit out and hair tangled, you gulped. There was the dormant pain of your wings underneath all of that, it hadn’t stopped. On the contrary, it just seemed to escalate forward. And there was only one way out of this story, and you were ready to face the consequences of it.
The clinking of metal broke the silence of the room, snapping you back to reality. You followed his trail of movements closely, interested. The bulge in his boxers was thick and tight, you saw how it stretched the fabric of his underwear. “Help me out.”
You opened your eyes like a deer caught in headlights, dazzled. You adjusted your position so you could sit in front of him. The outline of his shaft made you wet your lips instinctively, wondering if you could do with your mouth what he used to do with his hand. Wanting to pleasure him.
He freed himself, his length sprang. It was glistening, covered in a sticky substance that oozed from the tip. He stroked himself a few times before smugly looking at you. You adjusted the loose strands of hair that stuck to your face and hesitantly took his member in your hand. His eyes were focused on you, a spark of hunger crossing his irises for a fleeting moment. And for some odd reason, that was enough to drive you insane. The mere thought of being desired by this man sent you into oblivion.
You pumped his cock up and down, hand trembling, vacillating. “C’mon. You should do better than that.” His sardonic words laced with boredom fueled you. You were going to be better than any woman who ever dared to even lay eyes on him. You had to be better than any fling, you were more than that. You needed to be more than that.
Furrowing your brows, you fully focused on trying to please him, now grabbing his shaft with newfound confidence. You saw him narrow his gaze, a slight telltale sign that he was enjoying himself. Trying to draw expressions on his face, you tried different ways to make him feel good. At first you squeezed a little bit tighter, to which he nodded smugly. Then you decided to drag the head with your thumb in a round motion, the precum allowed the movement to be swift. He bit his lower lip, yet you still weren’t satisfied with it. You wanted to make him grunt.
With a little bit of doubt, you parted your lips and wrapped them around his cock, taking him in, gliding until you had to physically suppress a choke, tears pricking your eyes. You freed him, needing to cough, muttering a "sorry" with frustration.
He shook his head, exhaling a sharp breath, almost becoming a laugh. “What did you expect? You had never blown someone.”
You felt a blush creep to your cheeks, averting your gaze. “It’s not a big deal.” He sighed, grabbing your chin so you could face him. “I’ll teach you.”
“Instead of trying to take it all at once, try to test how much you can handle.”
You tried a second time, taking as much as you could without gagging. “Try to hollow your cheeks a little bit and start to bob your head.”
You did as he said, looking expectantly from your position to see if you were doing good. He nodded as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, guiding you. “Keep going, little angel. You are just starting to get good.”
You allowed him to set the pace, doing your best to feel him. Lips pressed to him. The salty taste of precum invading your tongue. The unknown substance making you frown. “Try to circle the head with your tongue.”
Not releasing your hair, he guided you out so you could catch your breath before positioning you near his cock. Panting, you stuck your tongue out, circling his red tip. After that you mixed your tongue in between sucks, and it worked wonderfully. You were a fast learner, and the soft grunts he started to mutter after a while encouraged you.
You had never stayed watching long enough to hear Soobin moan. It wasn’t because of shame or even respect. It was rooted in the deep hatred you felt towards the women that lingered on his bed for too long. When a soft cry escaped his parted lips, glossing thanks to the sheer layer of saliva coming from them, he stopped you.
“I want to come inside you.” The bluntness of the statement left you at a loss for words, not knowing how to exactly answer that. Nervousness was the first thing that came to mind. “I want to be the first to taint you.”
He pushed you softly against the mattress, your back crashing against the soft bedding. When he started parting your legs, you stopped him hurriedly. “Could you take out your shirt?”
“Mmmm…Why?”
“I want to feel the warmth of your skin.”
He thought for a whole heartbeat before caressing your cheek. Feeling the curves of your cheeks. Looking into your supplicating eyes. “I wonder how cold heaven must have been.”
You shuddered at the mention of your home, you wanted to bury the fact that you were ever a pristine creation in the first place. Because what you were doing had a name, and it was rightfully punished. You were a sinner, the worst kind at that. Detaching yourself from that was the only way you were ever going to be able to pursue the passing joy of having Soobin, at least for a brief second.
He saw your face shift to worry, hands fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. He tsked, rolling his eyes. “I’ll take my shirt off.”
He undid the buttons of his shirt skillfully, looking at you the entire time. Throwing the garment to the floor, he picked up where he left off, not wasting a second. You grabbed his shoulders, kissing him, letting your hands roam free over his bare torso. Nails scratching his back, leaving red trails. He was startled by this, not quite meeting the pace of the kiss. You stopped for a second, grabbing his hands and placing them on your body.
“Feel me, touch me. Desire me.”
You didn’t have to kiss him because he buried his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and nibbling at the exposed skin. Every hickey he left was a claim over your body, he wanted to say he proudly helped you fall from grace. That he turned you evil. It excited him; it made him spiral. Because you were the first being that he could touch that didn’t feel like a mere piece of meat to him. You were so loving with your touch, yet you knew what his hands were capable of. How? Just how could you lay there and demand his touch? How could you dare relish in the warmth of an assassin?
A symphony of moans erupted from your throat, you hugged him tightly. Burying your hands in his dark locks, encouraging him to keep going. He pressed his body above yours, you felt his erection on your stomach. He was harder than before. The thought of having him inside you made your eyes roll to the back of your head.
He stopped, gasping for air. This time he roughly parted your legs open. “Fuck. I just want to feel you.”
Positioning himself in your entrance, he didn’t even think about teasing you before parting your folds with the tip and sinking his shaft. The stretch brought a sharp pain, and you couldn’t avoid letting out a cry. “I’ll give you time. Tell me when you want me to move.”
A few seconds in and the pain melted into an indescribable yet delicious feeling. Mewling, you demanded that he move. It started as a lazy drag, trying to allow you to fully adjust to him. When you brought him closer to your body, hugging his torso with your legs, he sank his cock to the hilt, knocking the air out of you. Without notice, he thrust strongly, drawing all sorts of sound from your body. Bucking your hips, you tried to meet his thrusts, and when you did, you swore you saw stars.
“You feel so good, little angel.”
The only correct answer for you was a messy kiss. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, exploring. Biting your bottom lip, savoring your taste. He changed his angle, hitting the same spot he discovered with his fingers making you nip at his lips. You knew your walls were clenching around his shaft, squeezing him. Grunting, he let you go, a shiny thread of saliva connecting your mouths.
He stopped speaking altogether when he saw your teary eyes looking at where you two were joined. “Faster, p—please.” And he obeyed.
You sank your nails into his shoulder blades when it was becoming too much to handle, when one of his hands started circling your clit quickly. You knew you were nearing something, that something was supposed to happen. It scared you, yet it pushed you to plead for him to not stop. A long, sharp moan came from the depths of your throat when the storm inside your body collided into an unbearable pleasure. You came undone under him, the remaining strength in your body holding onto him.
He smiled smugly, biting his lip, bucking his hips forward. The pain of the overstimulation wasn’t enough to bring you back. You were being used by him to reach his pleasure, and you were thankful. You were here, hugging him, his body like an anchor to earth, and there was nothing else beyond him and this moment.
“Moan, please.” You mustered weakly.
He did. He made all sorts of sounds just because you asked. And when he came undone, his seed filling you up, he tiredly whispered into your ear. "A human tainting an angel like this? Unthinkable.”
He rested on top of you, catching his breath. You were so far gone you didn’t realize when your feathers started cascading off from your wings. Falling to the ground like dead leaves, turning from white to a dull ashen black.
random but here is a recipe for cold peanut noodles that you can make during hot weather because i just ate this and had a fantastic time
2tbsp of peanut butter. a splash of rice vinegar, soy sauce, sesame oil, maple syrup. some chili flakes, some sesame seeds. a splash of water to thin it out. now you put in your noodles (cooled!!!! boiled and rinsed so they’re cold!!) and then some chopped up cucumber or carrot or avocado or cabbage or any crunchy vegetable. i just used cucumber
you can also put in lime juice or herbs or sriracha or grated garlic/ginger or anything like that; tofu/tempe/meat for more protein etc. noodle wise this can be ramen soba udon whatever, i used soba. enjoy homies
was thinking of this guy when i made this post. invented the two most environmentally damaging chemicals in history and then got polio and immediately killed himself with a contraption
valko feels like his cock is about to break and fall off from his lower abdomen. you were riding him non stop for hours now since he came home from his research facility.
he doesn’t quite understand why you’re suddenly all over him when he reached the front door, whining and begging for his cock.
“i’m ovulating, val… need your cock- fuck, i need your cock inside me, please?”
ovulating? he had heard of that term before, but he wasn’t really familiar with it. to be fair, he wasn’t familiar with human’s biology overall. he knows the basics, like how female humans have menstrual cycles, where blood is released from your uterus. god, his heart honestly wrecked at the thought of you and women going through that!
well, that’s probably it. ovulation? he knows that’s when you’re at the highest chance of pregnancy. but he remembered learning more about what it was through social media. there were thousands of posts from women who shared their experiences, saying ovulation is basically going into heat. valko was doubtful, can this ‘ovulating’ really send women the same way as going into heat?
he shouldn’t really be doubting. now that he had witnessed you ovulating, he was sure- no, he was confident that your ovulation is worse than female wolves when they’re in heat.
you were jumping on him the moment he was home, asking and begging for his stupid cock. valko, as stupid as his cock, immediately giving in, carrying and bringing your smaller figure to your shared bedroom, not knowing what is about to happen to him.
you’ve been riding his cock for hours now, never a second did you feel worn-out.
“you feel so good, valko… mmhm! cock so good..! m-more… more…” you whimpered as you shifted your hips up and down where his large cock met your spot. his cock is so huge, you love the way you struggled to make it move past your gummy walls, where it keeps on clenching around him.
valko could only lay there, large hands gripping on your hips to keep you stable on his cock, as he took what you gave him. he had been edging himself, he wouldn’t want to risk knotting you at this time. he hides his raspy groans by biting onto your neck when your walls keep clenching around him.
“pup- you can’t do that…! i can’t last- mmhm! i can’t hold myself if you keep clenching…!” valko’s voice came out in a high pitched, making it sound like a whine.
“c-cum in me..! p-please… please, valko! n-need it, need your cum! i want your cum! i need your knot! knot me- mmhm! knot me, valko…!” your pace got quicker, bouncing on his cock, whining at his size abusing and bruising your cunt.
valko whined, he held you in place, slowing you down which makes you whine in return.
“n-no don’t stop. p-please? need your cum…! knot me, valko… please- mmhm! s-so big..!” you ignored his hard grip, still trying to ride on his cock.
“fuck… pup, please… i- ngh… don’t tempt me… we don’t want you pregnant with my cubs when you’re not sure and ready…” he swear he’s trying so hard not to bust right there and then. he’s trying so hard to be good. he knows you’re not entirely ready and only wants it to get off your high. but you’re making it so damn difficult.
“d-don’t care…! just want your cum! please… please, baby, i want to have your cubs…! get me pregnant? p-please knot me- mmhm!” your words get cut off from sudden thrust from valko’s hips.
valko couldn’t hold back anymore.
“you want it so bad, pup. then take it. i will give it to you.” he growled as he continued his animalistic thrust, cock basically splitting you open, making you look like a toy for him to play and manhandle.
your mouth opened at the feeling of his base swelling, locking him deep inside you, giving you what have you been begging for.
“good girl… so- so tight! mine, mine, mine. so pretty, my mate, only mine. so good for me…” it was overwhelming as you cried out, eyes glazed over. your mind is foggy, you couldn’t really tell what’s happening.
you could feel your body goes limp, but valko was quick to hold you back, grabbing you by the waist and pulling your frame close to his.
he nuzzled into your neck, inhaling your aftermath scent. he gave it small kisses, before his eyes moved up to meet your warm gaze. as bright as the sun, he gave you a soft smile, kissing your glowy cheek.
“mine, my mate. all mine.”
valko’s big fat knot… 🤤
𑣲⋆｡˚ please do not copy my work, repost or feed it into ai!
Choi Soobin x fem!reader
genre: romance, fluff, small angst, established relationship
Synopsis: At the Choi family's annual Tan Hua gathering, Y/N finds herself under the watchful eyes of Korea's elite, where every smile hides a question and every compliment comes with a quiet judgment. Dating the family's favorite grandson was always going to come at a price.
[ 🍾⋆｡𖦹 °.🏮⋆🥂˖°👘 ]
The moment they stepped through the grand entrance, the room’s ambient hum softened.
Y/N felt dozens of eyes settle on her—sweeping over her hair, her silhouette, her posture before politely veering away. Crystal glasses clinked in soft toasts, and conversations resumed with practiced discretion.
The estate was breathtaking. Strings of warm, amber lights draped through the branches of ancient oaks, and a string quartet filled the terraced garden with a gentle classical melody. Every guest looked as though they had stepped out of a high-fashion editorial, wrapped in tailored tuxedos and sweeping silk gowns.
Beside her, Soobin navigated the room with the practiced ease of someone who had been born into it.
"There he is."
"Our favorite grandson finally decided to grace us with his presence."
"How long are you planning on staying in Korea, Soobin-ah?"
Hands reached out—touching his forearm, pressing against his back, anchoring him in place. Every elder in the room seemed eager to claim a piece of his time. Within minutes, a dense ring of relatives had quietly walling him off.
Then, the crowd parted smoothly for a woman in a champagne-colored evening gown. Her poise was absolute, her posture effortless.
"Soobin."
He turned instantly. "Mother."
She pressed a light kiss to his cheek before her gaze shifted, landing squarely on Y/N. The appraisal was instantaneous, sharp, and entirely hidden behind a flawless smile.
"You must be Y/N."
Y/N offered a polite, measured bow. "It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Choi."
"The pleasure is mine, dear." Her voice was smooth as glass. Turning back to her son, her tone shifted into something firm wrapped in velvet. "Your father needs you in the main study. A few of his associates have been asking for you all evening."
Soobin glanced between his mother and Y/N, a subtle tension tightening his shoulders. "I was just showing Y/N around."
"It won't take long."
He hesitated. His mother didn't argue; she simply maintained her smile and waited. The silence carried the weight of twenty years of familial expectation.
"They've been waiting, Soobin."
With a quiet sigh, Soobin yielded. He turned back to Y/N, his eyes softening. "You'll be okay for a few minutes?"
"Of course," she said, keeping her voice light. "Go."
"You sure?"
"I'll survive."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping below the noise of the room. "I'll come find you the second I break free."
"I'll hold you to that."
He offered a quick, reassuring smile before his mother smoothly anchored her arm in his, steering him back through the sea of tuxedos.
Y/N watched his tall frame disappear into the crowd.
"...You know," a low, amused drawl sounded right beside her ear, "It'll probably be awhile for him to be back."
She turned to find Beomgyu leaning casually against a marble pillar. He had one hand shoved into his trousers pocket, the other loosely holding a slender flute of champagne.
"Ah... really?"
"Every single Tan Hua party," Beomgyu said, offering her a lazy grin. "'I'll only be gone five minutes, I promise.'"
Y/N let out a breathy laugh. "And?"
Beomgyu took a deliberate sip. "An hour later, he's still being paraded from corner to corner like the family crown jewel."
"Great. So I'm officially abandoned for awhile."
"Nah." He tilted his chin toward the arched double doors leading out to the patio. "Come on. I'll rescue you."
They slipped through the doors and out onto the stone terrace, leaving the stifling heat of the ballroom behind. The night air was crisp, carrying the cool scent of wet slate and blooming jasmine. Below them, paper lanterns cast flickering orange light across the surface of a wide koi pond.
Y/N leaned against the stone balustrade, finally letting her shoulders drop.
"Uhm... would it be okay if I ask you something?"
"Shoot."
She glanced back through the glass windows at the glittering crowd inside. "They keep staring. Even when they think I'm not looking."
Beomgyu rested his elbows on the railing beside her, looking back at the party. "They've been staring since the second you came in."
Y/N looked down at her dress, running a hand over the fabric to smooth down a wrinkle that wasn't there. "...Is it too much? I wasn't sure about the dress code. I thought maybe I overdid it or didn't try hard enough."
Beomgyu blinked at her mid-sip of his champagne. "What?"
"The dress," she insisted softly. "Is that why?"
A genuine laugh escaped him. "No. Definitely not the dress."
"Then why?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, his playful demeanor giving way to something surprisingly earnest. "They're just pissed you stole the prince's heart."
Y/N frowned, looking at him sideways. "The prince?"
"Soobin."
She snorted. "You're joking."
"I wish I was." He swirled the champagne in his glass, watching the bubbles rise. "Soobin's always been Halmeoni's absolute favorite. I hate admitting it, but..." He shrugged helplessly. "He's the golden boy. Always has been."
Y/N looked back toward the study doors where Soobin had disappeared. "I noticed."
"Trust me, you've only seen the polite version," Beomgyu said quietly. "Half the people in that room have spent the last five years plotting, scheming, and jockeying to figure out which high-society family he'd marry into."
She turned to him, bewildered. "Seriously?"
"Oh, modern arranged marriages are very much alive and well in these circles," he said, tapping his glass. "And then you walked through the front door."
"But... they don't even know me."
Beomgyu looked at her, offering a small, knowing smile that carried a touch of quiet solidarity.
"They're about to."
The soft, clear chime of a crystal glass echoed across the terrace, cutting through the low hum of the evening. Their conversations gradually quieted, drifting to a halt.
Beomgyu glanced back toward the illuminated doors of the ballroom. "Saved by the bell."
"Hm?"
"They're calling everyone to the greenhouse."
"For?"
"The Tan Hua," he said simply, turning to face her with a theatrically dramatic bow, offering his arm. "Shall we?"
Before she could ask another question or even begin to unpack what Tan Hua meant a familiar voice called out from the patio doors.
"There you are."
Y/N turned. Soobin was weaving through the clusters of lingering guests toward them, with the practiced smile he’d worn for the last forty minutes visibly melting off his face.
"I'm so sorry," he exhaled, stopping in front of her.
"Your dad's work colleagues again?" Beomgyu asked, raising an eyebrow with practiced cynicism.
"You know it," Soobin groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Every single one of them wanted to ask about the company."
Beomgyu patted his shoulder with solemn, dramatic sympathy. "My deepest condolences."
Soobin brushed him off, his attention shifting entirely back to Y/N, his posture instantly softening. "You weren't alone too long, were you?"
She smiled, feeling the lingering tension in her own shoulders ease. "I had company."
"So he didn't scare you off?"
"Is he supposed to?"
"Give me another hour," Beomgyu muttered into his champagne glass.
A collective ripple passed through the crowd as guests began drifting down the stone pathways toward a sprawling, glass-domed conservatory glowing at the far end of the estate.
Soobin reached for Y/N's hand without a second thought, his fingers lacing comfortably through hers. "Come on."
Inside the greenhouse was breathlessly warm, glowing under the amber light of hundreds of suspended paper lanterns. The sharp, humid scent of damp earth mingled with the heady fragrance of blooming flora. White orchids and cascading camellias climbed the high glass walls, framing the night sky above.
At the very center of the room stood an elderly woman in a rich, silken garment. She was surrounded by a constellation of children, grandchildren, and attentive guests who all seemed to orbit around her like planets.
Even without an introduction Y/N knew immediately who she was.
"Soobin-ah."
The woman's voice was quiet, almost gentle, yet the entire room instinctively parted to make a path.
"My boy."
Soobin's expression melted into something entirely tender. "Halmeoni."
He stepped forward, bending his tall frame to embrace her with careful affection, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "I've missed you."
"And yet you still don't visit enough," she chided gently, though her hand lingered lovingly on his arm.
"I know."
She hummed, clicking her tongue. Then her gaze drifted past his shoulder, fixing directly on the young woman standing just behind him.
Her expression brightened instantly. "So."
A small, sharp smile touched the elder’s lips. "This must be the young lady who's made my grandson impossible to get ahold of."
A sudden wave of heat rushed to Y/N's face.
Soobin laughed under his breath, a faint flush touching his own ears. "Halmeoni..." He shifted slightly, drawing Y/N beside him with a subtle nudge of his hand. "I'd like you to meet Y/N."
Y/N bowed deeply, keeping her voice steady and respectful. "It's an honor to meet you, Mrs. Choi."
"Oh, come here, child."
The break in formal etiquette surprised her. Y/N hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping forward.
Instead of a distant greeting, the older woman reached out and clasped both of Y/N's hands in her own. Her skin was warm, paper-thin, and remarkably gentle. She looked Y/N over—not with the sharp, clinical judgment of the guests in the ballroom, but with a keen, quiet curiosity.
"You're pretty," Halmeoni murmured softly.
Y/N was momentarily caught off guard. "...Thank you."
"And have lovely manners, too." Halmeoni cut a playful glance back up at her grandson. "You've chosen well."
Soobin smiled, a silent, profound wave of relief flickering across his features. "I think so too."
Halmeoni promptly ignored him, focusing entirely on Y/N. "Where are you from, dear?"
"Hong Kong," Y/N answered smoothly.
"Oh?"
"My mother still lives there."
"And you traveled all this way for this troublemaker?" Halmeoni asked, using her delicate silk fan to give Soobin’s hand a light, playful swat.
A genuine laugh escaped Y/N before she could catch herself. "I wanted to meet the people who matter most to him."
The older woman's eyes lingered on her for a long moment, reading the quiet sincerity behind the words. Then, her face broke into an affectionate genuine smile that softened every sharp line of her authority.
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okay… so tyun noticed this started even before you arrived at the beach, skimpy ass bikini set he never saw you buy or show him before, but he doesn’t say anything and just eyes you through his sunglasses because it really doesn’t bother him. he only comments when you give him a twirl and ask him how you look, flinging your packed out beach bag over his shoulder and planting a kiss on your forehead. “i like it,” he murmurs before he’s gently nudging you to continue getting ready with a pat on your overly exposed ass.
“mhm, you look good baby, c’mon..” it’s hard to tell his true expression with the dark shades covering half his face but you’re not one to back down, onto the next method of teasing with a grin on your face as you’re practically skipping out the door.
in the car ride to the beach, you’re shifting around in the passenger seat as he’s pulling into an empty slot in the public parking lot. he’s silent but he’s watching you from his peripheral as you raise your hips and shift down your jean shorts in such a slow manner, kicking them off and throwing them in the backseat. he doesn’t say anything but he catches the small glimpse of a smile on your face to realize right then and there that this was all on purpose, that you’re planning something. yet, he stays quiet as you both demount all the beach stuff, waiting for you to just pull off your (his) loose t-shirt from your body and throw it into the car before he locks it.
and it doesn’t stop there, even after he finished setting up your post near the crashing waves and securing the beach umbrella for you, freezing to watch you untie the stringed knot of your bikini top and ask with the softest voice for help, handing him the sunscreen bottle with a small pout on your lips. tyun never denies your needs, getting closer when you’re done settling stomach down on the blanket, open back facing the sun and his wondering eyes. his hands feel so slippery with sunscreen and perfect and heavy against your entire back, not even pressing as harsh as they would for you to be making those noises. or for you to elongate your entire torso as if you were a stretching cat, squirming underneath his passing touch. “mmhhh, thank you, baby.” your muffled voice is dripping with a teasing tone, amusement and fluttery after he swipes the last of the sunscreen on his hands over the back of your thighs.
even when you drag him into the water with you after a while of just sunbathing, clinging onto him with your arms wrapped around his neck as the waves roll your bodies together. your fingers swipe off water droplets from the side of his neck as your legs easily wrap around his waist underneath the water.
in typical tyun fashion, he stays quiet, not once changing his mannerism or allowing his mood to show on his face, even after the eventful day in the beach and when you’re already on the way back home. he agrees with you when you say to leave everything in the car, to deal with it later, because you’re incredibly tired to unpack anything and you wanna just shower off the salt. it’s so subtle, it has you thinking nonetheless but his mind is already made up with a plan he conjured on the drive back..
you don’t know how you got here, clutching around his neck for dear life and moans echoing loud within the bathroom as he snaps his hips harder into you, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. it’s slippery, head tipped back against the shower tiles, body sliding effortlessly against the wall with each audible plap. you wonder why he decided to wait until he closes the bathroom door to push you in the shower (after your little show of bending down in front of him to open the water faucet). maybe because taehyun is a man of restraint, until it fucking snaps. he didn’t even wait when he turned you around and pressed you against the wall, pulling the thin strings of your so called bathing suit apart to reveal your perked nipples, grabbing your thigh and pushing them further apart to slot himself in. not a care in his world about the water trickling off his body and spraying onto yours as he pushes the thin fabric of your bottoms aside, landing a rough smack onto your exposed pussy as your claws dig into his thick biceps for support. the small yelp that squeezes passed your lips was comical.
“you fucking minx, you wanted this from the very beginning and thought i wouldn’t notice?” he murmurs, tone not rough and apathetic, but leaving no room for any bratty retort. “no, but you knew i would notice. you wanted me to notice.”
you whimper when taehyun suddenly, and roughly, shoves his fingers into your mouth after they swiped over your drooling slit, yanking them back out before you could even try sucking on them. they trail low like his voice as he continues, “you wouldn’t have cared if i fucked you right there at the beach, you wanted me to like the desperate slut you are, right? is that what you wanted?”
he’s right, and he knows how much you hate to say it, so he’ll press it out of you.
he takes your whimper as a yes, even if it was a pair with a shake of your head, sinking his lithe fingers even if you were a clenching mess. the stretch burns so good, hand clutching his wrist but he yanks it away and pins it on the wall next to your head.
a gasp, “tyun—”
“tyun??” he mocks, same tone, same pitch and it has heat curling in your belly. “what do you want your tyunnie to do, hm?” his fingers curl and you’re raising on your tippy toes from how accurate they punch, right on that gummy spot, found so easily. “to fuck you? i think you want tyun to fuck this brattiness shit out of you, right?” his sharp teeth nibble at your earlobe, you have no choice but to nod quickly this time when he pulls away to stare at you with expectation.
okay so that’s how you got here, hands pulling his face into your neck from the grip you had on his wet locks, feeling his teeth sink into your shoulder and the stupid gusset of your bath suit bottoms dig into your thigh. at some point does his hand reach back from the wall to clasp around your lips and muffle your moans, you’re on cloud nine, eyes rolling back as your body freezes from the toe curling orgasm he pulls out of you, him not following too far behind after.
his hand slides off your mouth, and as you’re both catching your breaths, he presses you firmly against the wall knowing you’ll fall limp on your own if he doesn’t hold you up for the first few seconds. cock throbbing deep within your tight walls, he nudges impossibly deeper as he pulls away his upper body, to assess your state. you’re an absolute mess but he doesn’t miss the the lazy, cocky smile that settles on your raw lips. full of nothing but pure satisfaction and smugness. a scoff huffs from his mouth as you lick your lips, hooded eyes still staring at him. tyun shakes his head, carefully moving you underneath the spraying water to get properly washed, thinking about how he’ll deal with you again later with a soft smile. and you’re giggling, still basking in your post glow relief.
he ended up falling for your trick, and you got exactly what you wanted. :)
a/n- i took this from an old account of mine and am just reposting
imagine being a manager for ot5 txt, but not any normal manager, no, a manager who stays in their dorm 24/7 unless guided out by one of the members.
you were txt’s free use manager, ready for anything they wanted from you. you had your own room but you rarely stayed in there, usually sleeping with one of the guys inside of you.
when yeonjun would come home stressed from all of the management disputes he would go straight to you and fuck into you until all of his stress faded out and into you in the form of his hot white cum. he usually had you face down ass up wherever he found you. you lived it rough and yeonjun knew that- making sure you always felt a release
soobin was very touchy and always wants to cuddle or play. he’s usually curled up beside you with his hands all over you while his mouth sucks gently on your boobs as if it comforted him. often he would be in that position and he would get so turned on just from touching you that he would start grinding up into you until he came in his pants.
in the evenings after a long dance practice or vocal run beomgyu would seek you out to help him relax and fall asleep since he had worked so hard that day. he would often have you on your knees between his thighs, one hand on the back on your head pushing your throat further down his long length. he’d be so tense for so long until he got to come home and use your face like a fuck toy.
one person who got off on giving you pleasure was taehyun. he’d never be harder than when he was nose deep in your pussy. juices covering his face, he’d slurp you down until you were squirting on his tongue. he got off listening to your whimpers and moans. he loved the taste of your sweetness and couldn’t get enough.
weekends were usually saved for huening kai because he liked to take his time. during the week he was focused on work and whatever else he needed to get done, but on the weekends he was free to use you the way management intended. friday nights you would go to sleep in his room so that he could wake up fucking into you. the day would start with you waking up to slow sex but by the time dinner came around your hole would be pulsating from overstimulation and dripping so much cum you were suprised at how much he could give
