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Hi! I'm Jina.♡
♡~about me
in my 30's!
Seokcheol biased (bless the sugar&spice duo)
Seventeen enthusiast but a bg multi-stan at heart (SHINee, EXO, NCT, ATEEZ, Stray Kids, TXT and many, many more). I have been into kpop for 20+ years soooo that makes me a v senior kpopper ahaha.
I write for fun and because ovulation makes me obsessed with Choi Seungcheol, I guess?
Currently on hiatus
♡~networks: none right now
♡~asks are: closed
♡~intellectual property: Writings found in this blog are my original works and I ask that they are not reposted/modified/translated. This blog is AI-free. Do not put any of my writing into any AI models.
♡~Masterlist. I always appreciate reblogs/likes/comments and constructive criticism--please don't be a stranger :)
Pairing: Wonwoo x Fem!reader x Mingyu
Tags: 10.8k, Roommate AU, Close friends to VERY close friends, friends to lovers, fluff, humor, self-indulgence, SMUT. [Part 1 of 3]
Summary: As it turns out, you could learn a few things about yourself from your roomies who are far more attuned to your needs than you thought.
Warnings: *nervous laughter* language, unprotected sex (mxf), threesome (mxfxm), oral (m/f), fingering (f), voyeurism, kink talk, dom/sub themes, dom!wonwoo, pet names, praise, choking (f), breast play, marking, biting, crying kink, teasing/chastising, manhandling, subspace, aftercare. That should cover it.
“She won’t come out of her room…”
“No, no. I tried that already. She hasn’t eaten anything since yesterday but she refused breakfast. No, she won’t talk to me. She just kinda grumbled about leaving her alone.”
Your roommate, Mingyu, wearily eyes your bedroom door from where he’s pacing in the kitchen on the phone with your other housemate, Wonwoo.
“Yeah, I left a bottle of water and a snack by the bed. I haven’t checked to see if she’s touched them though, hold on,” Mingyu silently pads across the floor to peek through your door again, holding the phone to his ear as Wonwoo waits patiently in the cereal aisle of the grocery store a few minutes away.
Your body is still completely hidden underneath the comforter but Mingyu’s gaze catches on the tiny black and red octopus plushie on your bedside table in place of the things he’d left for you. Instead of the cute smiling face it usually offers, you’ve flipped it inside out to show the opposite expression indicating to Mingyu that you did not want his company. At least you took the water and snack he left.
He closes the door as quietly as possible and steps back toward the kitchen. “Code red bro. She’s got the plushie out and it’s in rage mode.”
Summary: When her boyfriend cheats, what's a girl to do? Sleep with the super hot neighbour from across the hall, who just happens to be her secret gym crush, of course.
Pairing: neighbour!jihoon x fem!reader
Genre/themes: romance, neighbours to lovers, gym crush Jihoon
Word count: 8.7k
Content advisory: swearing, mentions of previous partners cheating, pet names (hers: sweetheart [like probably too much, like sweetheart every other sentence], baby, good girl), unprotected piv sex (pls don't be silly, wrap the willy), oral (m. receiving), little bit of manhandling, Woozi CONSENT KING (we stan)
Hi cuties. I missed y'all. I started writing this in April and then….life happened. I finished it off recently and I hope you enjoy! As usual, it started with the idea of casual sex but somehow ended up with them being super sappy for each other. This is apparently my niche now 💀Comments are much appreciated. <3
Dedication: This was inspired by Nana Tour Woozi brainrot and the parasite that was planted in my brain by my beloved Ro @shinysobi.
This one's for you, baby.
This is a bad idea, you think to yourself, shivering as an icy breeze winds itself around your exposed thighs. Still, your stride doesn't falter as you punch in the front door code and make your way to the elevator of the lavish apartment building you once lived in with your ex. You press the button and tug nervously at the hem of your dress as you watch the numbers on the display count down, signalling the elevator’s arrival to the lobby.
It’s only been six weeks since you and Minho broke up, although somehow it feels like an eternity compared to the two years you spent together. Rearranging your life without him has been not only difficult, but…annoyingly inconvenient.
We could have kept on with our nice little life but nooooo, you snark to yourself. SOMEONE couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.
All the little comforts of daily life had been taken from you, and held just out of reach. Things like drinking coffee from your favourite mug in the morning or snuggling into Egyptian cotton bedsheets at the end of a long day–bedsheets which you’d saved up for two months to buy. You’d left in a flurry of emotion after you found out he’d cheated, grabbing things in a blind rage and stuffing them into your suitcase haphazardly. To top it all off, he’d changed the code to the apartment door and blocked your number, so you couldn’t come back for the rest of your things.
Tonight, in the midst of getting ready for what was supposed to be your grand return to the singles scene, you realized he still had your favourite going out dress. So you’d thrown on the next best thing but it felt wrong and the whole evening felt wrong and now… you’re angry–furiously, fumingly angry–and here to give him a piece of your mind.
“MINHO!” you yell, running to the door of your former apartment and banging on the door, “Minho, come the fuck out here and talk to me, you fucking COWARD!”
Your fist meets the heavy door again, bang-bang-bang, and then you listen for a moment. No sound emerges from the apartment. You take a deep breath and pound on the door again, yelling, “MINHO, you fucking CHEATING, LYING, STEALING SCUM, if you don’t come out here RIGHT NOW so help me God, I’ll–...I’ll–”
“Hey!” A voice barks from behind you. “What the fuck are you yelling about this late at night?”
You spin on your heel, pressing your back to the apartment door. Your palms press flat into the wood by your thighs and your shoulders hike up defensively. Spotting the owner of the voice, you let out a shaky breath. Just Jihoon. Not Minho.
The next door neighbour, Jihoon, has always been kind to you. More of an acquaintance than a friend, he mostly kept to himself, but he’d always given a friendly nod and held the door open when you crossed paths. But he doesn't look happy to see you right now. He looks furious, actually.
His long, dark hair is disheveled and sticking out every which way. A pair of athletic shorts hangs low on his hips, and he's not wearing a shirt, putting the hard, muscular planes of his chest on display. He'd clearly been sleeping and been woken up by your yelling.
You wince. Yeah, I’d be mad at me, too.
Jihoon shifts, rubbing groggily at his eyes and giving you an expectant look as he waits for your reply. You try to form words, but nothing comes out. Instead, you find yourself fixating on the bulge of his biceps as he crosses his arms over his well-defined pectorals.
You frown. He's huge. Your mind flashes to seeing him in the building’s first-floor gym on several occasions, easily lifting more than twice your body weight. Your mouth goes a little dry. I should not have pissed him off.
“Well?” He prompts impatiently. “Were you planning to yell out here all night?”
“Uhhh…” You look towards the ceiling, unable to meet his eye, mouth twisting to the side in embarrassment. “Well…”
He lets out a slow, controlled breath, running a hand through his hair, smoothing back the tangled mess atop his head, which promptly springs back up. Finally taking in your flushed face, too-short dress, and red-rimmed eyes, he seems to register the situation more clearly. His demeanour softens. He steps towards you gingerly. “Are you ok, y/n? And why are you banging on the door of your own apartment? Did you forget your key code? Should I call Minho?”
“Uhhhh,” a nervous chuckle bubbles up your throat before you can stop it. “I don't live here anymore, actually,” you whisper, tugging awkwardly at the hem of your dress. “Not since a few weeks ago…”
His brow furrows. “Ah. So you finally broke up with this asshole.” It's more of a statement, but you nod in confirmation anyways. He nods back, as if in approval, although he's frowning. “Always thought you were too good for that sleazy motherfucker. Please tell me you're not here for some kind of…booty call reconciliation attempt.” He waves a hand in the air as if to swat the idea away.
You shudder. “No. God no. I just…uh…” You shuffle your feet uncomfortably, staring at the floor. “He cheated on me,” you whisper, face growing hot with embarrassment at the admission.
There. Now Jihoon knew the truth. Minho had cheated. You hadn't been enough for him. He found what he needed elsewhere. The knowledge sits in the pit of your stomach like a rock.
“Then he blocked me and changed the door code, but he still has some of my things…” You pause to take a staccato breath. “And I'm still upset about it, obviously, so…I showed up to get them and yell at him some more. Which, admittedly, was a bad idea…but anyways,” you gesture at the hallway, “here I am, yelling like an asshole and waking everyone up, apparently.”
Jihoon lets out another long breath, muttering to himself under his breath before addressing you again. “I hadn't seen you at the gym in a while so…kinda figured something happened. There were other women around up here, too, so…” He cuts off abruptly when he sees the tears well up in your eyes.
He clears his throat and looks away, shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts and shrinking back towards his own door. “Nevermind. He's a fucking idiot anyways…”
You nod, biting into your lower lip in an attempt to stop it from quivering, and the next thing you know, you’re slumped on the floor, sobbing. Jihoon looks alarmed by this development as he moves to kneel in front of you. His voice is soft and soothing as he tentatively reaches out to pat your arm. “Hey…it’s ok. You’re gonna be ok. I’m sorry I mentioned it.”
You shake your head, trying to clear away unpleasant thoughts of women parading through your once-shared apartment with Minho. Women who were likely sleeping in the bedsheets you’d picked out. Drinking coffee from the mugs you’d painted with your friends in a pottery class. Other women. Jihoon had unintentionally confirmed your worst fear. After two years with Minho, not only had he cheated, but he'd taken your breakup without remorse, immediately moving on to fuck a long line of other women. Meanwhile, you were struggling to put the pieces of your life back together. Bastard.
“Fuck…I’m not even sad anymore, you know?” you gasp between sobs, “I’m just angry…so fucking angry all the time. I gave him two years of my life and he threw it away. Fucking bastard.”
“Yeah…actually, I do know.” Jihoon sits beside you, back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. He’d come outside without even putting on his slippers, you realize, watching him absentmindedly flex and point his toes like a little kid stretching in gym class.
He takes a deep breath, running a hand through the nest atop his head once more. “My girlfriend cheated on me, too. We broke up six months ago and we didn’t even live together, but I still get pissed off about it sometimes. I understand.”
He massages the back of his own neck, staring up at the ceiling. Studying his face, you see the ghost of your own pain. A little more healed, perhaps, but still hurt–still angry.
“You do,” you whisper, nodding. “You definitely get it.”
He laughs once–a short, sharp sound that echoes down the hallway. “Yeah. I do.”
The two of you sit there in silence for a minute or two, lost in your respective thoughts.
“Jihoon?” Your whisper feels much too loud in the empty hallway. The only other sound is the faint electric buzz of the overhead lighting, and the steady, calming sound of Jihoon's breathing.
“Hmm?”
“Why do you think people cheat?”
He runs a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “Honestly? I've thought about it a lot in the past six months and I think it comes down to selfishness. Whatever other reasons they might think there are, the bottom line is that they have a complete lack of respect for their partner. They can't even communicate, so they lie. It's a cowardly thing.”
You nod wordlessly, humming in agreement. He's right.
Another long pause follows as you roll his words around in your head. “I’m sorry for, uh, all the yelling. And for waking you so rudely…I should get home.”
Jihoon nods, standing and stretching out a hand to pull you to your feet. His palm is warm against yours and your gaze trails from his long, slender fingers to the prominent blue-green veins that run across his muscled forearm. A flicker of heat pulses in the pit of your stomach. You should probably pull your hand back, but it feels so good resting in his, and you realize he's not pulling back either.
When you look up at Jihoon, you find his gaze squarely fixed on your intertwined hands, with the same faraway look in his eyes. Something unspoken crackles in the air between you–an irrefutable, magnetic pull. Your eyes lock, and suddenly his lips are on yours. There’s equal hunger in it, and equal desire–a heated pull that neither of you can deny, no matter how suddenly it arose. Later, you would try to remember who had moved first, who had kissed whom, but you could never puzzle it out.
Jihoon’s lips are warm and firm, as is the press of his body against yours as he takes a step forward, guiding you towards the wall. He keeps your fingers twined with his, pressing them to the door by your head, while his other hand caresses the nape of your neck. He uses his thumb to gently tilt your chin, gaining better access as he runs his tongue against the seam of your lips. You part them for him, inviting more of his warmth as you pull him closer, hand threaded through his hair.
The heat of his body is all-encompassing, wrapping around you and melting away any apprehension. He reaches down, effortlessly lifting you off your feet, pinning you to the wall with his hips. You lock your ankles behind his back and rock against him, whimpering his name. He groans quietly, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours. “Would it be completely inappropriate if I asked you to come in?”
“No,” you blurt, barely thinking before you reply. “I’d like that.”
“Hang on tight.” He offers you a wry smile, pulling your body against his chest as he turns to open the door to his apartment with a flourish.
You barely register the apartment beyond the fact that it's a mirror image of your old one across the hall. Jihoon sweeps you through his home effortlessly and sets you down at the edge of his bed, pressing a tingling kiss to your hands.
“I know inviting you in here was kind of sudden, but we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You could stay in the guest room and I’ll make you breakfast in the morning. We could talk about how much our exes suck, if you want.” He shrugs.
The nonchalant tone of it all makes you laugh. “Jihoon,” you chide, “Would I have let you carry me in here if I wasn’t interested?”
He shrugs again. “It’s just…no pressure. I wanted you to know that.”
“Thank you,” you offer him a little smile. “I’m sure of what I want, though.”
You reach your arms out to him in invitation, and he accepts, taking your hands once more and brushing his thumbs back and forth over the inside of your wrists. The sensation makes your stomach clench in anticipation, and perhaps a little bit of apprehension. It’s been years since you’ve been with anyone besides Minho, and towards the end, as he’d pulled away, you hadn’t even been intimate with him.
“I’ve always been loyal, unlike some people, but I have eyes…” You pause, licking your lips, gripping his hands a little tighter and staring at the ground. Were you seriously about to admit this to him?
“Whenever I saw you at the gym, I…I always wondered what it’d be like, you know? To be with you. Someone as strong as you.”
You flick your eyes up for a moment to see a wicked smile spreading across his face. You blush, mortified at the words coming out of your mouth, but needing to get them out.
“Before we, uh, do this…” You clench your eyes shut, unable to look even at the ground this time. “You should know that I can’t always…get there…with a partner. And it really has nothing to do with you–it’s just, uhh, how I’ve always been, and…anyways, just please don’t get upset if it doesn’t happen.”
You trail off, opening one eye slowly to see Jihoon with an incredulous expression on his face, one eyebrow arched. “Fancy way of saying that fuckhead,” he jerks a thumb towards the hallway, “didn’t know how to get you off.”
“No, it wasn’t that–” you start, but Jihoon cuts you off with a wave of his hand, bending down and placing his hands on the bed to either side of you. l
His eyes, now level with yours, sparkle with something akin to mischief as he says, “Tell you what, sweetheart…I’m going to spend the rest of the night figuring you out, and then we’ll see about that. And like I said…no pressure. If it happens, it happens, and if not, we'll have had fun trying.” He shrugs again. “All you have to do is be honest with me about whether you like something or not. Deal?”
You purse your lips, squirming uncomfortably under his gaze. “Deal.”
He smiles, brushing his lips to the inside of your wrists, one after the other. The gesture makes goosebumps bloom up along your arms. As if this simple kiss activated some kind of chain reaction, your body lights up at his touch–your heart pounds a little quicker and your breath comes a little faster.
“And not to be all business but I'm clean. Got tested after…all that.” He makes a circling gesture with one hand, shaking his head.
“Me, too,” you add quickly. “And I have an IUD so…anyways, it's up to you.”
He bites his lip, hands flexing against yours, and exhales a puff of air through his nose. “I wouldn't be opposed. But if we get there, it'll be up to you. Yes?”
“Yeah, ok…”
He nods with finality, as if this settles the matter before seating himself against the headboard, legs laid out in front of him. “Now,” he starts, hands outstretched towards you, “Come sit with me?”
You take his hand, moving to straddle him, but he pulls you into his chest with a smirk, taking hold of your waist with both hands. With one smooth motion, he maneuvers you effortlessly, flipping you and slotting you between his legs, your back flush to his chest. The motion knocks the breath from your lungs and sparks a throbbing sensation between your legs.
Jihoon sweeps your hair from your neck and kisses up the column of your throat. “So? Did you like that? Be honest.”
You nod, a little breathless, and he exhales a little laugh in response. “Good girl.”
The ragged breath you let out and the way your thighs press together must give you away, because this time, he doesn’t ask if you like the pet name. He merely continues kissing along your neck, occasionally nipping at your collarbone, and roaming his hands along your body until you’re wiggling impatiently and grinding back into him. He laughs, the sensation vibrating into your skin through his lips. He tightens an arm around your waist, holding you still, despite your whiny half-protests. “Impatient already?”
“Jihoon,” you whisper, pleading. “Touch me.”
“I am touching you,” he soothes, rubbing your inner thigh in small circles, kneading with just enough pressure to make you want more. You can't see his infuriatingly sexy smirk, but you feel it against your neck. “What’s the rush? If you're sure I can't make you come, we should enjoy the journey…Good things take time, right?”
He inches his fingertips upwards along your thigh, taking a meandering path to where you need him. The rough texture of the pads of his fingers, thick and calloused, is hypnotic as it moves against the smooth expanse of your inner thigh. You allow your eyes to flutter shut and lean back into him, breathing quickly.
“That's it. Relax for me.” His voice is low and soft. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”
You whimper in reply, nodding weakly.
He hums approvingly, breath hot in your ear as he murmurs, “That's right. You brought this needy little pussy to my doorstep and now you're gonna let me take care of you. And I mean properly.”
The words send a shiver down your spine. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “I…like it when you say things like that.”
He hums in approval, finally reaching the seam of your panties and tracing it with a single fingertip, brushing across the top of your thigh. He mirrors the motion with his nose against your shoulder, tickling ever so slightly. “Yeah? Would you like to hear what I have planned for you, sweetheart?”
You shiver at his words. “Tell me…”
“Mmm, so many ideas, so little time…First, I think you’ll come just like this. I want you dripping all over my fingers.”
His fingers stroke over your core, then, barely there–brushing up and down, up and down over the now damp fabric of your panties. You whimper, squirming and trying to chase his hand, but his hold is firm against your waist.
“And then, I think I’d like to bury my face right here. Put my mouth on you and tease you until your legs are shaking.” He cups his entire hand over your sex and squeezes. It's gentle but sudden. You arch your back with a gasp, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip in a futile effort to suppress another whimper. “And then, if you still want me to, I’ll fill you up with my fat cock. Make you feel so good. Fuck you until you're a mess.”
Struck by the thought of being stuffed full of him, you can't help the undignified groan that escapes your lips.
“Does that sound good?” He coos as you nod frantically, head pressed back against his shoulder.
“Can I take these off?” He thumbs at the waistband of your panties.
You nod emphatically. “Please.”
As soon as your confirmation comes, he’s dragging your panties down your legs. You lift your hips to help, taking the opportunity to pull your dress off, too. The low neckline of the dress didn’t allow for a bra, and you don’t miss Jihoon’s little stream of expletives as he takes in your naked body with hungry eyes. He pulls you back towards him, this time pinning you beneath the solid muscle of his body as he claims your mouth again with a bruising kiss, deep and desperate.
“Fuck, look at you. Fucking perfect,” he rasps, running his hands up and down your sides, stroking your skin as if he can't bear the miniscule space separating your bodies any longer. The evidence of his desire presses into your hip, rivalling the hardness of his chest, but it doesn’t seem to concern him. His attention remains fixed on you as he diligently resumes his ministrations between your legs. Without the fabric in the way, your wetness coats his fingers, allowing them to glide easily as he runs his fingers up and down against your outer folds. He parts his fingers, spreading you open, and begins to circle ever closer to your clit with a single finger, pulling gently at the surrounding skin, sending little jolts of electricity up your spine.
“You’re such a tease,” you chastise him, spreading your legs wider, as if that will coerce him into giving you the friction you so desperately need.
“Mmm, but I kinda think you like it?” he teases, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. But God, he looks so hot when he does that. You pull him down into another series of kisses, tongues tangling hotly as his finger finally–finally meets the top edge of your clit, stroking with the barest hint of pressure. If you were thinking straight, you might be embarrassed at the needy sound that escapes, but at this moment, it feels like an out-of-body experience. Tangling a hand in his hair, you pull his mouth down to your neck. He takes the cue, kissing and biting and sucking at the tender junction where your clavicle meets the base of your neck as he finally pushes one of those perfect fingers deep into your pussy.
With a desperate moan, you arch against him, as he adds a second finger almost immediately. His fingers slide easily against your wetness as he pumps into you with solid, steady motions of his wrist, pressing the heel of his hand against your clit.
“So soft and wet and perfect, fuck. Look at you,” he breathes into your ear.
Glancing down, you watch his fingers disappear into you, slick and shiny, mesmerized by the motion and the stark contrast of the veins on his forearms against the pallor of his skin. He seems equally enraptured by the motion, eyes fixed on the spot where your bodies meet.
“Please, Jihoon, fuck–please, please. I need–” you gasp, hands scrambling for purchase in his hair, against his bulging biceps. Your skin feels incredibly warm as heat pools and coils low in your belly. “Make me–I need to–please.”
“You don't have to beg, sweetheart,” he croons. “I'll spoil this pussy however you want me to. You just have to keep telling me what you like. What you need.” He continues pistoning his fingers into you, slow and steady.
“Feels so good,” you breathe, hips chasing his hand. “A little faster.”
“So good for me,” he praises, picking up his pace. “So honest. You like my fingers in this tight little pussy? Needy little thing, sucking me in so tight. Wanna feel you suffocating my cock later, fuck. Can you come for me like this?”
“Yes,” you nod furiously, panting hard. “I can. Just like that. Don't stop. Please don't stop.”
“Not gonna stop, sweetheart,” he murmurs soothingly against your skin. “Gonna give you everything you need and see how beautiful you look when you come. And you will come for me. Now let me feel this pretty pussy squeezing my fingers.”
He’s got you wound up so tightly, it’s a miracle you don’t combust on the spot as your orgasm washes over you. You gasp, body alight with pleasure as it hits, thighs quivering with the strength of it. You moan, tugging him down and crashing your lips together in a mess of teeth and tongues, panting incoherently into his mouth. Through it all, Jihoon continues that steady, unfaltering rhythm, working his fingers into you until he feels the last tides of your orgasm ebb away.
As your breathing slows, you melt back into his pillows, eyes half-closed in pleasure. “Fuck, that was…”
“Perfect,” he beams, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean as you watch, enraptured. “You’re fucking perfect.”
You take his face in both hands for a long, slow kiss. He doesn't rush you, just kisses you like he's happy to be here with you, like he's got all the time in the world for this–like you didn't just wake him up in the middle of the night with your obnoxious screaming and then end up naked in his bed.
His touch is greedy, demanding, as he smooths his hands over your body, pulling you closer. Your hands, however, are even greedier. Perhaps your eyes had wandered to your former neighbor’s physique more than you wanted to admit, even to yourself. Jihoon is all soft, smooth skin over rock-hard muscle and you can't get enough of the feel of him under your hands, swooning over his thick shoulders and biceps, rock-hard chest, and powerful thighs.
When you finally break the kiss, panting hard, he gives you a lopsided smirk that makes your heart flutter a little.
His brow furrows as he looks down and sees your breasts pressed to his chest, as if he'd only just realized they were there. His hands gravitate towards them, nearly moving with a mind of their own, to caress and pinch at your stiffened nipples. Bending down, he sucks one into his mouth, laving his tongue over it before nibbling softly.
“Would it be presumptuous of me to assume you enjoyed that as much as I did?” he asks between mouthfuls of breast.
“Not presumptuous at all.” You sigh, arching into the warmth of his mouth.
He trails kisses up along your clavicle to your ear before pulling back to meet your gaze. “You're sure? If you want to stop, we stop. But if you want to keep going…” He gives you a wry smile. “Let’s just say there’s plenty more where that came from, and I'm more than happy to demonstrate.”
You squirm, very cognizant of the huge erection pressed into your inner thigh. As much as you’d like to rip his shorts off and sink down onto it, curiosity gets the better of you. “Like what?
His smile widens. “Like now that I’ve gotten a taste of you, I can’t stop thinking about how I need you to sit on my fucking face.”
“Oh?” You blink, not quite comprehending.
He tips his head back and taps his lower lip with two fingers. “Sit you right here and eat that pretty pussy until you soak my face.”
You cheeks heat at the suggestion. Filthy. Enticing. You bite your lip, thinking. ‘What if I just ask you to fuck me?”
He shrugs, smiling. “Then I'll fuck you however you like, for as long as you want me to.”
“Oh.” Your mouth drops open, still in awe that he's letting you take the lead. “And if I want to taste you first?”
“Fuck,” he breathes, palming his erection through his shorts. “Then I'm all yours to taste, sweetheart. Whatever you want. You're the boss.”
“I’m the boss…” you repeat in a whisper, rolling the words around in your mouth. What do I want? You ponder. Sex with Minho had always been routine–a rotation of the same three positions, always at his whim–so it takes you a moment to think of what it is you'd actually like to do to the utterly beautiful man in front of you.
You clear your throat, eyes roving hungrily over his body. “Um, first, I think…I think I want you to be naked, too.”
“As you wish,” comes his reply. He stands and slowly pulls his shorts off. His erection, long neglected, springs free, slapping up against his toned stomach. A curved, silver barbell glints at the underside, piercing through the frenum.
You bolt upright, eyes wide. “Holy fuck…you’re…”
“Pierced?” he finishes. “Yeah.”
“Actually, I was gonna say thick. But that, too.” You give an awkward laugh despite yourself, eyes still fixed on his erection. He maintains his distance still, and you can tell he's trying to be respectful, but you want him–want him as close as two people can physically get.
Licking your lips, you reach out a hand, beckoning him back to the bed. He takes your hand and you lay facing each other, each propped up on one elbow. “You weren't kidding when you said fat cock.”
He laughs, and it's such a deep, husky sound compared to before.
The length is, perhaps, average. But the girth? With slow, calculated motions, you reach out and wrap a hand around him, unable to resist. The tips of your fingers just barely meet around the circumference. Here, too, he's hard as steel wrapped in the softest velvety skin, with the tip flushed a deep, dusky pink. You give an experimental stroke, rubbing your thumb over the head to spread the glistening drop of pre-cum there.
Jihoon hisses out a long breath as you stroke him, watching with half-lidded eyes. The halo of dark, messy hair has only gotten worse from the way you’d tugged on it, and his pupils are blown wide with desire, cheeks tinged pink. He looks edible.
Don't mind if I do…
“So thick…” you repeat, in awe.
“Wouldn't lie to you, sweetheart,” he musters, voice strained under your touch. The muscles of his thighs flexing deliciously with the effort of not moving. “Would never lie to you.”
You give him a small smile, catching the implication. Stroking him languidly, you watch the precum pool at the tip before you flick your thumb over it again, eliciting a soft moan. It's a heady feeling, having him react to your touch like this.
“Can I…?” you query, lips parting as your gaze flicks from his face to his erection and back.
“Fuck, as if I could deny you anything.” He falls back against the bed in surrender when you push against his shoulders lightly. Making your way down his body is its own pleasure. The softness of his skin beneath your lips is contrasted by the firmness of the muscle beneath. And there is quite a bit of muscle, you note again, finally letting your mouth and hands claim what they desire, sucking and nipping until Jihoon makes the most erotic little sounds of desire. His open need only spurs you on, makes you feel powerful.
When you reach his throbbing cock, you stroke it once more, enjoying the way Jihoon’s body tenses in the anticipation of your touch, and the way his breath hitches ever so slightly.
You lick a stripe up the underside, pausing to trace the piercing with your tongue, exploring its contours. Then you pull back and blow cool air along the same path, delighting in the way Jihoon shudders and groans. His hands find their way into your hair–not pushing nor pulling, simply resting, needing to touch you.
Lips stretched wide around his thickness, you take the head into your mouth and suck gently. You continue to stroke him as you begin to bob your head up and down, massaging your tongue across the piercing with each pass. You take him deeper, sucking greedily as the metal hits the back of your throat. Jihoon lets out a stream of expletives that would make a sailor blush, abs taught with pleasure.
“Shit, you're too good at that,” he swears, gently tipping your face up. You blink at him, lips still wrapped around his cock, and release it with a soft pop. Jihoon groans at the sight, swearing again under his breath.
“Did I do something wrong?” You tilt your head in query, concerned.
“Wrong? No,” he frowns, a confused look crossing his face. He cradles your face between his hands, thumbs brushing back and forth over your cheeks.
“Fuck no. You're so fucking good at that. Too good. And it's been a while since I, well…” He trails off, offering you a sheepish smile as your head tilts in further confusion.
His thumb tugs at your lower lip, his pupils dark and hungry. “What I'm trying to say is that your mouth is the sweetest, most torturous pleasure. If you keep doing that, I'll come too fast to fuck you properly.”
Your mouth drops open in a soft oh.
“And I really would love to fuck you properly, if that's what you still want.”
You give a shy smile, nodding, beginning to move back up his body. The journey in reverse is equally enjoyable to the way down. You trail your tongue down the center of his abs, kissing each one before moving to nip at his pecs. “Your body is insane, Jihoon, has anyone ever told you that?”
“Nobody who mattered until just now,” he jokes. He presses his lips to yours as you settle over his hips, straddling him. You let out matching sighs as his hardness presses against the heat of your core and you begin to gently rock against him as you kiss.
“Fuck me now, Jihoon,” you whisper against his lips.
He wastes no time, flipping and pressing you into the mattress once more.
“Condom?” he queries, reaching for the nightstand.
You shake your head. “No. Wanna feel you.”
“Fuck. Okay.” He reaches back towards the nightstand anyways and draws a bottle of lube from the top drawer. “Still gonna need this, though. Want you to feel good.” He plants a kiss on your jawline before pulling back momentarily, kneeling to spread his cock with the thick, glistening gel. If you hadn’t already been laying flat on your back, the sight of him kneeling between your legs, fisting his cock with those beautiful hands would have done it. It's all too much–the veins in his forearm as he works his hand over matching veins in his cock, the muscle of his thighs, the way his hair falls over his eyes–it's overwhelming in the best way.
He braces himself on one elbow and notches the head of his cock at your entrance. The warm metal of the piercing causes you to shiver as he drags the tip up and around your clit, rubbing it against you until you whine and tilt your hips up in entreaty. “Please…”
He kisses you, soft and slow, as he pushes inwards, giving you a mere inch. He's so thick that even that small amount has you whimpering against his lips, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. He pulls out, dragging the piercing over your clit once again, tracing a circle before pushing back in a little more. The metal is pleasantly warm against your skin, slippery from the combination of the lube and your unbearable wetness.
Your hips chase his, but he splays a hand against your stomach and holds you there–gives you just the tip, just the promise of the delicious stretch. And then he pulls out. and teases your clit again. And again, sinking into you ever so slightly more each time. You're panting against his lips, whimpering and squirming against his hold, but he's strong and that somehow makes it even hotter.
“Jihoon, please…”
He's enjoying teasing you, you realize, when he exhales an amused breath against your neck.
“Doesn’t this feel good, sweetheart?”
You bite your lower lip, nodding. “But I need more.”
“Just making sure you're good and ready for me, beautiful, and then I'll give it to you. You still want me?”
“Not to be dramatic, but if you don't fuck me right the fuck now, I may die of need.”
He chuckles and kisses a path up your neck, still teasing the head of his cock at your entrance.
“Then watch,” he prompts, pulling back a bit, then sinking deeper than before. Your eyes snap to the place where your bodies meet and you let out an unintelligible sound at the sight. It's so lewd, seeing how wide you’re stretching to take his girth. Your face heats, whether in desire or something akin to embarrassment at the sight, you're not sure.
“See how you suck me in? Can you feel that?” He pulls out an inch and you feel your body fight it, an undulating wave of muscle trying to pull him deeper.
You swallow thickly, nodding, eyes glued to the spot. He gives you more, nearly all of him, and the pleasurable stretch intensifies.
“Fuck, you feel like a dream. So soft here. So warm.”
“More.” Your voice is hoarse with desire, barely above a whisper.
He pushes in the rest of the way and you let out a shuddering breath in unison.
“Jihoon,” you whine, tossing your head against the pillow, overwhelmed. “Feel so full.”
“I know, baby. You're doing so well. Taking this cock like you were fucking made for it.” He peppers your face with kisses, giving you a moment to adjust before continuing, “Can I move?”
“I genuinely might die if you don't.”
He breathes another rough laugh before pulling back and thrusting into you once, hard and deep.
“Fuck,” you cry out, clutching at his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex beneath your hands as he holds himself up. “Jihoon. You feel so good.”
“That's it, sweetheart, fucking take it all.” His voice is deeper than before, darker, filled with desire. “Let me fill you up. Look so pretty stretched around my cock. See?”
You look down again and whimper, lower lip trapped between your teeth, completely struck by the way your body accommodates his girth. When he begins to move in slow, soul-devouring thrusts, you're unable to contain the needy sounds he pulls from your body. He tests a couple of angles until you cry out in pleasure–and from then on his motions are calculated, precise in their endeavour to drag you over the edge.
One of his hands grips tightly at your hip, kneading and grasping hungrily, pulling you closer. “Look at you. So fucking perfect. You're the tightest fucking thing, pulling me in like a dream. This sweet little pussy doesn't wanna let go of me for even a second.”
And you feel it, too. Every. Devastating. Inch. All of him, wrapped in your heat as it ripples, sucking him deeper. You lose yourself in him, in his motions, in the pleasure of his body. Sounds spill uninhibited from your lips, whimpers and moans, and more, deeper, harder, please, Jihoon. He complies every time, giving you just what you need, both spoken and unspoken, reading the signs you didn't even know your body was sending him.
“Fuck, sweetheart, you're close, aren't you? You're getting even tighter. Tell me what you need. Let me help you.”
“More, need more.” It's a whimpered, incoherent plea, but he understands.
“I’m gonna turn you around so you can grab the headboard, ok? Then hang on tight so I can get nice and deep and make you feel good, hmm?”
You give a weak nod before he scoops your limp form into his arms and turns you over effortlessly. Your stomach swoops at the sensation, gentle as it is. Moments later, he presses his lips to your ear from behind, nibbling at your earlobe. “Liked that, too, didn't you?”
In response, you arch your body back into his, silently asking for more. He brackets his body around yours and runs his hands delicately up and down your sides, grabbing your hips and readying himself at your entrance once more.
“Oh my god,” you shiver, arching further as he presses into you, slotting your bodies together again. There is the return of the sensation of being impossibly full, now with the warmth of his body pressed into your back, his lips warm against your ear, and it's all so much.
Jihoon lets out a hissed breath. “Fuck, you're even tighter from this angle. Hot and wet and perfect. Fuck. Made to take my cock, weren't you, sweetheart?”
You're too far gone to reply as he thrusts shallowly into you, adjusting his angle until you're whining his name again. “That's it, that's my good girl. Hang on tight and let me make you feel good, hmm?”
You'd asked for more, and he was obliging, hips snapping hard and fast. His piercing drags across your walls and into your most sensitive spot, making stars bloom in your vision. The warmth in your belly pools, hot and insistent, coiling tighter with each stroke of his hips.
“I'm–oh, fuck–I’m so close, Jihoon, please,” you pant.
He nips at your neck, breathing hard. “I know, you're suffocating my cock. Feels so damn good to be wrapped up in you like this. Don't think too hard, hmm? Relax and let me take care of you.”
He brings his hand to your core, swiping at the wetness there and using it to glide around your swollen, aching clit. Your body convulses at the motion, legs going shaky. A few more quick swipes of his thumb and you feel yourself tumbling, falling headfirst into the kind of pleasure you’d only ever dreamt about.
“Fuck…oh God…fuck, Jihoon. I'm–” Squeezing your eyes shut, you slump forward, waves of liquid fire radiating up your spine and into each limb, consuming your entire conscience. There's nothing else–just you, Jihoon, and the warm pleasure of your bodies twined together like this.
“There you go, sweetheart, that’s it...” He groans, burying himself to the hilt as you squeeze and ripple impossibly tighter around him. Your orgasm rolls on, wave after wave of pleasure consuming you. Jihoon bites softly at the curve of your neck, stifling his own cries of pleasure. His length thickens and pulses as he spills inside you with a muffled groan.
Pulling your body against his, he eases you both down onto your sides, staying buried inside you. When you finally float back down to your body, you register the soft caress of his hands over your body, and the tender press of his lips against your head. He's still breathing hard, the soft huff of his breath ruffling your hair on every exhale.
“Hi,” you venture.
He laughs, “Good evening. Morning? It's late.”
You wince. “Sorry about that. Again.”
He shrugs and presses his lips to your neck. “I'm not. Told you Minho was a loser. Give me 20 minutes and I'll give you two more.”
You sputter, uncomprehending, “T-two more? I can't. Not possible.”
He nips at your ear and groans quietly when you flutter around him again. “That's not what your perfect body’s telling me, sweetheart. You can. And if we had more time together, I'd learn you inside and out…show you just how many ways I could make you come. You'd be at risk of dehydration with the way I'd keep you soaking wet.”
“D-dehydration? That's ridiculous.” Your mouth hangs open. “You're exaggerating.”
“Not even a little. How about you come back next weekend? Give me a whole night and some time to prep. We'll get you a sports drink and find out just how many you can give me.”
You peer over your shoulder at him, incredulous. “More than four? That's not possible.”
Amusement dances in his eyes. “You didn't even think one was possible, so I'm at least 200% up on impossible. Couldn't hurt to try, if you're up for it.”
You're doubtful but…he hasn't been wrong or misleading so far. The very thought of being here again, letting him take care of you and teach you things you didn't even know about your own body has you squirming. The motion emphasizes the way your bodies are still linked together, and you feel him beginning to harden again. Fuck. He really wasn't kidding. The idea is alluring. You really should say no, but being tangled up with him like this feels too damn good.
Oh, fucking fuck it all.
You let go of your inhibitions and grind back on him in reply. Jihoon breathes in sharply, his length thickening inside your body. “Is that a yes, sweetheart?”
“Yes.”
That wickedly sexy smile spreads across his face. “Then let's get to work.”
A few hours later, a tiny, rough tongue scrapes across the tip of your nose, startling you awake. You nearly squeal in surprise before realizing it's….a cat? As you move to sit up, you find another cat curled up near the foot of the bed, tucked against your legs.
“Hi, kitty,” you whisper to the little tabby who groomed your nose. The cat yawns and stretches in reply. “Let's go find your dad, ok?” The cat jumps from the bed and looks over its shoulder, as if to encourage you to follow.
You find Jihoon in the kitchen, still in those same athletic shorts, making breakfast over the stove. He gives you a lopsided smile and your stomach swoops. Fuck. After another round last night, he had, true to his word, pulled two more orgasms from your body. Your face heats thinking about it. Afterwards, he'd been so gentle, carrying you into the shower to clean up and caressing the soap over your body with those strong hands. You shift on your feet and tug at the hem of the oversized shirt he'd lent you.
“Good morning, Jihoon,” you mumble, suddenly embarrassed as memories of the ways you'd panted and begged for him last night flood your brain.
“Good morning.” He's still smiling. “Breakfast? You must be hungry after all that.” He winks and you blush.
“Sure. Thank you.”
He nods and motions to the other side of the kitchen island, opposite to where he's cooking. As you attempt to settle at the high stool, you're suddenly very cognizant of the fact that you're not wearing panties. You tug awkwardly at the hem of the t-shirt, arranging it to gain some semblance of modesty. You give yourself a mental shake, muttering under your breath. Calm the fuck down. As if he hasn't already seen everything up close and personal.
When you look up, Jihoon is beside you, holding a blanket. You let out a little squeak and nearly startle out of your seat. He laughs, smoothly placing the blanket over your lap with a flourish.
“Don't get cold,” he says simply, before moving back to his cooking.
As you settle into Jihoon’s apartment, you’re struck by the decor. Last night, when he'd whisked you through in his (very large) arms, you'd been too busy clinging to him to get a proper look. Although it’s a mirror image of your former home across the hall, the vibe is completely different. It's minimally but comfortably furnished, and bathed in inviting, golden-warm light from various lamps. For some reason, you'd always assumed this put-together man would have a clinically cold, grey apartment–a mancave full of sharp edges and industrial, functional pieces. Instead, what greets you is an oversized cream-coloured couch, laden with cushions and fluffy blankets. Open shelving hangs above, with little plants and trinkets adorning the shelf, including photos of Jihoon with people you assume are his loved ones.
Through an open door, you spy a gaming computer sitting on a desk full of trinkets, and a red electric guitar, sitting shiny and polished on its stand. Across the living room, tucked into a corner, is an enormous cat tree. The pair of tabby cats have relocated and lay curled around each other on one of its many perches. They blink at you curiously, ears flicking back and forth.
Jihoon returns with a glass of water and a plate of food, both of which he places in front of you.
“Eat,” he instructs. You comply absentmindedly, nodding. But fuck was he good at everything? Why was his cooking so damn good, too?
He moves to the cat tree, pressing kisses against the foreheads of the two cats and scratching affectionately at their little chins. “I know, I know, you hate strangers,” he whispers to them, clearly not intending you to overhear. “But she’s nice, I promise. You’ll like her.” The cats seemingly accept his judgement and close their eyes, paying you no further attention.
You stifle a giggle. You’d never dared to imagine your ostensibly cold, stoic neighbour as a doting father of two. “Didn’t know you were a cat dad,” you muse. “It suits you.”
“We’re all homebodies, so it works out.” He smiles, flicking a stray lock of dark hair from his eyes. God, you so wanted to sink your hands into it again. “They usually sleep in the bed so they were probably put out by our–uh–activities.”
“My sincerest apologies to your children,” you say solemnly.
“They'll get over it,” he replies, watching you adjust the blanket around your legs with open hunger in his eyes. “I meant what I said last night, you know.”
Your mind immediately goes to the myriad filthy things he’d said in bed and your face heats, stomach fluttering. Clearing your throat, you venture, “Which, umm, things, exactly?”
That insufferable smirk returns to his face. “Well, all of them. But specifically?”
He walks over and slowly swivels the barstool, bracketing your body with his. A shiver runs up your spine. Looking into your eyes, he places his hands on your knees. His expression is soft and unguarded, sincere. “Last night, I wanted to show you what it's like when someone prioritizes your pleasure. You deserve that every time. If you want to go home and never talk about this again, I'll understand. But I'd also be lying if I said I won't dream of the way we fit together. It was…” he trails off.
“Pretty much perfect?” You finish for him, nodding. “Yeah.”
He nods, too, and takes your hands in his, presses his lips to your knuckles, and pauses. It's a good thing you're already seated, you think to yourself, because the gentle intimacy of the gesture has turned your knees to jelly.
“And…I think I'd very much like to take you on a date…one that ends with my head between your thighs, if you find that agreeable.” His smile is disarming, blinding, overwhelming.
You swallow hard, looking down at your lap. “Like a real date?”
He cups your face gently, thumb brushing over your cheek. “A real date.”
“What if…what if I'm not ready?” Your voice is a whisper.
You want to be ready. Want to forget everything Minho has put you through. But you can't shake off the last two years as if it were meaningless. Healing takes time. Were you really ready after only six weeks? At the same time, you remember the parade of women Jihoon had mentioned. Two years of memories hadn't stopped Minho from moving on. Why should it stop you? Especially when you hadn’t been the one to do anything wrong.
Your body is so tense, Jihoon can probably feel it. He doesn't even flinch at the theoretical rejection, just runs a hand soothingly down your back and nods in understanding. “Then it's not a real date until you want it to be. You're the boss, remember? We can be casual, if that's what you need for now.”
Your stomach twists at that, too. Casual. You hate the sound of it. “What does casual entail? Would we see other people?”
He shakes his head. “I'm a one woman kind of man. Maybe casual is the wrong word. I just meant…no labels until you want them. You come over…I'll make you dinner, we'll watch a movie...cuddle…and then I eat you for dessert.” He grins that devastating grin and your stomach flutters. “Or we can go out for dinner. Or to the gym. Or wherever. Dessert can stay the same, though."
You laugh despite yourself. “Ah, I see. That kind of casual.”
“Whatever kind you want.” He repeats. “You make the rules.”
You mull over it for a moment. Despite your apprehension, you know with bone-deep certainty that Jihoon isn't like Minho. He's shown himself to be honest. Reliable. And then there was the mind-blowing sex to consider. Much to gain, and very little to lose.
“Jihoon?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
You meet his eyes. Give a little smirk of your own. “Does breakfast come with dessert, too?”
Now, we love a well written filthy fic with lot of plot. Specially when in the plot I have my favorite prompt; ex is horrible to reader, reader gets a man who deserves her and proves her she was used to the bare minimum. I LOVE THIS SHIT!
If anyone has Woozi as a bias or bias wrecker, my girl,....or guy, this is your fic!
(I really wished there were more fics like this out there and about Woozi or my other biases)
—synopsis: lights, camera, action. both jihoon and you live this life, just on the other side of the camera. university, then workplace, everything seems to have fallen just out of place for the two of you. so when your actors, mirae and mingyu, decide to take a leap of faith, the two of you start wondering if you should take notes from them. after all, what's the harm in trying?
—genres: friends to lovers (i am a f2l warrior atp), comedy, fluff. angst if you squint realllyyyy hard.
—warnings: smoking, drinking, 18+ content. (a lot of filth here im sorry) (penetrative sex, breeding kink, uhhh lactation kink too guys, protected unprotected sex, dirty talk, lots of it, theyre freaks and in love so it's FINE guys. it's fine.)
—word count: 25k.
—author's note: written as a love letter to all my followers (i now have 500!! i'm being perceived en masse!) and hopefully, it's a gentle reminder to everyone that dreams come in all forms and shapes and sizes, and they always, always, wait for you. and there's a lot of smut, so whatever, guys.
dedicated to the wonderful @seungkw1, for whom i was supposed to write a short holiday fic, but then halfway through writing it, i thought of this fucking plot. thank you to the incredible @mylovesstuffs, as always, for beta-ing my stories and screaming at me always. thank you to everyone at svtstudio for putting up with me in general, and thank you to all my readers for loving my works far more than what they deserve. i love you. thank you. this ended me.
tagging the peanut gallery: @nerdycheol, @jakedustry, @belovedgyu, @lunaxgyu, @lovelylonelinesssvt
a/n 2: i'm going to hell. DEEP HELL. tell me how you like it, otherwise i'm gonna cry.
join the tag here
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let me know how you like!
Time is a funny thing. It passes one by fast enough to blindside, and on most days, it runs slow as molasses, because there’s so little to do, that passing time becomes important. Or at least, the act of it. More often than not, it is a waiting game. Waiting endlessly for something to happen, or someone to do something. Becoming a manager is like a waiting game. My seniors said on my first day that I would have to wait around for my star to do something, and even then, it might not be exciting. If there’s any excitement, there’s something extremely wrong. Someone, somewhere, has fucked up.
I’d taken all of that to heart faster than anyone else in my cohort. This is just a job to tide me over until I get my dream job, that was what I told myself, just a moment in time that will pass you by, sooner than later. I’ll be out there, doing what I want to do.
It has been five years to that day, and I still haven’t managed to get out of this job. Was it complacency, or was it fear? I kept telling myself it was neither; that I was merely waiting it out, looking to get a better opportunity elsewhere, a place where my skills were better appreciated. Except when you’re the manager of a Hallyu star, with enough money to get an apartment of your own, the shine of the money gets too much, and pretty soon, you’re stuck with nowhere else to go.
“The script for the new movie was supposed to arrive yesterday,” I say, half-threateningly, and the person on the other side of the phone audibly moans, “I’m sure I don’t have to repeat myself again, ma’am. She’s got at least three other projects lined up. If you don’t send it in, how am I supposed to guarantee her participation?”
That, of course, is a lie. Mirae doesn’t really have anything going on at the moment, despite her stellar reputation and her acting credits. Not that she doesn’t have offers. She just doesn’t like any one of them. Which is why I have to lie to the people on the phone, because if someone is competing with another person, even in their dreams, they’re bound to act on it.
“Sunbae,” the new recruit, also Mirae’s road manager, walks from his desk to mine, shaking in his boots, “The CEO wants to meet with you.”
“The CEO can wait until they send the script,” I mutter, checking my phone. Sure enough, there are about three missed calls from her, and a bunch of messages, ranging from I miss you to is the script finalized yet.
A notification sound from my desktop alerts me to the script landing in my inbox, and I stand up, narrowly missing my coffee spilling all over my blouse. The things I do for her. “Why does the CEO want to meet me?” I ask, with more force than necessary, because the recruit whimpers once before shaking his head to signal I don’t know.
“Of course you don’t.” I scowl, setting off towards the CEO’s office, “No one here knows anything. Why the fuck am I doing all this all by myself? I’m a head manager, not a fucking roadie.”
I don’t even announce myself when walking into the CEO’s office, just close the door behind me with a bang that alerts everyone else in a ten-meter radius, “What do you want now?”
The CEO makes a face, “God knows how you managed to get such a large social circle with those manners. Ever heard of knocking?”
“I was working,” I reply, “something that you have no idea about, given how you’ve delegated all your work to three managers who pull up all the workload.”
“That’s why I became CEO,” He grins, “just so I could order people around.”
I scowl, “And why did you call me today? I was finalizing Mirae’s script with the production house.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” he replies, “why is Mirae so hell-bent on this particular script? She has a lot of offers to choose from.”
“She doesn’t like any of them,” I say, “And you know her. She’s not going to do any random show just to get the money. She wants a good script.”
“And is this that ‘good script’ she wants?” the CEO asks, eyes narrowed, “there are a lot of people circling around us at the moment. I would hate for it—”
“Circling around Mirae, you mean,” I cut him off, checking my watch, “she’s the one with a Blue Dragon under her belt with five years of acting experience. She’s the golden goose we are all banking on right now.”
He sighs, “You make me sound like an asshole.”
“Unless you let us manage our artists the way they need, you’ll be kind of an asshole in my eyes, sorry,” I shrug, “I heard Kim Mingyu is also interested in the script. His agency received it yesterday, and he’s pretty interested to come on board.”
“Kim Mingyu? The one with three back-to-back hits?” The CEO’s eyes widen, and honestly, I can’t even hate him for being a materialistic asshole, because fuck if Mingyu’s name is not a bankable one, “and they sent us the script? For Mirae?”
“Yes,” I nod, “I just received it.”
With an exaggerated sigh, he falls back onto his chair, “no matter how much of a bitch you are, your results are always stellar. Go on, tell her that we have the script ready for her. The director is great, and with Mingyu in there, it’s sure to be a million-seller.”
“Mirae is also a bankable star, sir,” I reply, “Mingyu might have popular appeal, but she has always been the critic’s choice. A darling of the reviewers, if you will.”
“Well, you’re as good as always.” He smiles, “I dread the day you’re going to leave and make your own agency.”
“I don’t have the money for it.” I nod, walking out of the room. What an asshole. Ruined my morning.
My phone rings, and I press it to my ear, “Mirae, I’m sending you the script over email. They just confirmed it, you’re the first person they’re offering it to. You’ve always liked the director, so just have a read and tell me—”
“Is Kim Mingyu in it?” she yells.
—
Calm down, Sowon. You’ve got this. I repeated this sentence to myself three times before sitting myself back in the chair, looking at the script the production company had sent to us. It made sense why they wanted to cast both Mirae and Mingyu. Mingyu’s first starring role was a breakout hit—the film had moviegoers lined up in theatres to see him on the screen, had people screaming his name and a fan-voted award at one of the most prestigious award ceremonies in Korea. Getting Mingyu onboard would mean recouping the costs of the film, something that directors were desperate for at the moment. Mingyu meant a box office hit, and if I was being honest, I think we all need a box office hit right now. The film industry was suffering, and apart from zombie flicks and horror movies, nothing had worked on the public in the past year. Which is why they wanted Mingyu, whose reputation was enough to recoup costs. On the other hand, they wanted Mirae because she was the only one who had a Blue Dragon for her first supporting role. Critic’s Darling, they’d called her in the newspapers, and everyone was clamoring for a piece of the once-in-a-lifetime acting talent. Putting them both in the same film meant a guaranteed critical and box-office success, something that not even the best directors can pass up.
This is the reason why I’m confused because Mirae just lost her shit in my ear, about Mingyu being a part of the cast. Why the fuck would anyone pass up a chance to work with Mingyu? I take out my phone, and dial the only number I know would pick up. Sure enough, Jihoon is on the other line within three rings, “Hello?”
“Did I wake you up?” I ask, getting at least three strange stares from the people around me, what do you mean Kim Sowon is asking about someone’s health, “Just had a few things to go over with you.”
“Yeah, I just woke up, Mingyu got too excited over being offered the script for the film, so he decided to crash at my place and drink till four in the morning,” Jihoon says, yawning, “I heard they offered it to Mirae too? Or did I hear wrong?”
“Heh, I got that by the powers of persuasion, my guy, no superpowers needed.” I smile, and the rookie gasps, dribbling water onto his lap. “Anyway, I’ll make sure she accepts it, so just—don’t let Mingyu fuck this one up, okay?”
“Wait, is Mirae saying she doesn’t want to do it?”
I sigh, “She just—lost her shit, and hung up on me. I’ll go over and see what’s wrong.”
“You better, Kim Sowon,” Jihoon’s voice is groggy, laced with sleep, “Mingyu only agreed because he heard they were offering it to her. He’s got about five other people begging for him to take up their projects.”
“Now why would he do that?” I grimace, “Anyway, make sure Mingyu accepts it, and tell him to not fuck this up. This might be the only shot we have this year of getting a ten-million sales mark.”
“Ten million sales?” Jihoon’s voice is no longer laced with sleep, he’s wide awake now, voice clear in my ears, “Are you sure. Don’t fucking kid me, Sowon. Don’t pull my leg, it’s already short as is.”
I snort, “When have I ever made a joke, Jihoon? You know as well as I do, that putting those two in a film together, guarantees not just money, but also critical reception. And believe it or not, we are in dire need of both right now.”
“Mirae does have a Blue Dragon,” Jihoon muses, “But are you sure you want me to convince Mingyu to be in the film? He’s quite excited right now, but once he figures out that Mirae does not want to work with him for whatever reason, he’s also going to drop everything.”
“Is that not strange?”
“You tell me,” he sighs, “every time someone brings up her name, he either starts waxing lyrical, or he starts drinking. There’s no middle ground, it’s almost as if I’m babysitting a toddler with no impulse control.”
I sigh, “Mirae starts losing her shit. Either that or starts moping around, both of which are equally bad for her. Completely throws off her skincare routine.”
On the other side, Jihoon sighs, as if being personally victimized by our stars’ actions, “They should start paying us more. I don’t think we’re paid enough to deal with as much shit as we do, do we? I’m taking care of the biggest baby in the damn industry.”
“Speak for yourself,” I shrug, “I get paid a lot more than people think I do. Which isn’t much, but at least I’m not stuck at being a road manager anymore.”
“Yeah, remember when we thought we would never get out of that?” Jihoon snorts, “apparently those were the good times.”
“I prefer my full bank account right now, thank you very much,” I smile, which sends all my onlooking coworkers into another flight of conniptions, because Sowon sunbae is smiling at a phone call, “anyway, tell your star to not fuck this up, and I’ll go and figure out what the fuck exactly is Mirae’s problem.”
“Will do.” Jihoon cuts the call, and I stand up from my chair, clapping my hands to bring everyone else to attention.
“Who was it on the other line, sunbae?” Haewon looks at me, expectant, “your boyfriend?”
I glare at her.
“Right, we’ve got all the press releases we needed for the morning, and I’m going to go figure out what’s wrong with—never mind, just don’t fuck things up for us, okay?” I point at the rookie, “and you—triple-check every article that goes through. I do not want to be dealing with spelling mistakes on a daily basis.”
“But, Manager—” I cut him off with a gesture, “never mind.”
“Please use your common sense, everyone,” I say, loud enough that Manager Yoon Jeonghan in Legal, who was making himself a cup of tea in the breakroom, looks over at us, “and if you still cannot make head or tail of the situation, ask your superior. And if your superior is me, just leave it on my desk, I will be back in a couple of hours.”
I start walking away, then circle back to the space, “Just remember, our primary task is to protect our artists, and make sure they’re able to work properly. If what you’re dealing with makes you think you can’t fulfil that part of the promise, then chuck it.”
“Chuck it?” The rookie has his hands raised, “What if it’s a scandal that needs reporting?”
“Then we say ‘no comment’, like every other firm,” I scowl, “do your job properly for once.”
—
“Yes, Director Lee,” I say politely, exiting the building, “you want to meet them today?”
“Yes, Manager, you know how it is,” He laughs, “just for a chemistry read, to see how well they fit together. It is a romance film after all.”
“Ah, yes, but we just received the script this morning, so I doubt how much Mirae will be able to pick up on things—”
“Today?” his tone is incredulous, which tells me one thing; someone else had fucked up, not us. And for once, I was happy to not be on the receiving end of that scolding, “you were supposed to get it half a week ago.”
“Well, I’ll make sure Mirae gets to the office in time, Director,” I hang up, muttering ‘fuck’ under my breath. Now I have to get her to the office for a damn table read. Just great.
—
To her credit, Mirae does not whine about getting into the car to go for a chemistry read, but as soon as I mention Kim Mingyu, she throws up her hands, and refuses to meet my eyes. Every time. Every time someone mentions that man’s name, this is the exact reaction. I say nothing, focused on the road ahead of me, but at the third sigh, I’m forced to turn around and throw a pointed look at her.
“I’m going to throw up,” Mirae says, pinching down on her brow.
I sigh, “Who is Kim Mingyu, and why does he have you acting like a nervous teenager?” Wait. Don’t tell me. “Is he your celebrity crush?”
“No!” She refuses to meet my eyes, which is another red alert that tells me there is something Very Wrong™ with Mirae, “I’m just nervous. This is a huge project, after all.”
The red light changes, and I turn back around, focusing on the road, but her words are so funny that I’ve got to focus in order to not laugh out loud, nervous before a table read? As if. There’s something else that she isn’t telling me. And a table read is not enough to make her nervous.
“That’s a complete lie,” I say, looking straight at her through the rearview mirror, “First fact: You’ve worked with Director Lee before; he knows you well enough to love you more than his own daughter. You can’t possibly be nervous to work with him. Second fact: You’re never nervous before table reads, except for your first gig back when you were starting out. Third fact: Your tone is too defensive. You definitely have something to hide.”
Mirae scoffs, strike one. “Damn, the nineteenth century called, they want Sherlock Holmes back. What reasons would I have for lying to you? Kim Mingyu means nothing to me, I’m serious.”
I say nothing, but if her behaviour over the past three years has taught me anything, it’s that Kim Mingyu means something entirely different to Mirae than a mere workplace rivalry. Why else would she get that defensive over a man she hasn’t even met? Unless of course, there was something she was hiding from me.
“Fact four: you only make sarcastic jokes when you’re trying to cover something up. You may have won the Best New Actor award, but I can see through everything, yeah?”
Mirae says nothing. Strike two, I guess. Maybe later she’ll open up to me about what exactly it is that she’s hiding from me.
—
Director Lee has someone get Mirae the usual drink order, and I stand behind her, bowing to everyone who passes. An assistant pushes a cup of coffee into my hands, and I give them a smile, which turns out to be more like a grimace, and they’re off again, whispering about the scary manager. Fuck, there are going to be articles about this, right?
Kim Mingyu walks through the doors right behind us, and there’s—Lee Jihoon, scowling as usual, not even bothering to put up a facade of pleasant graces as he makes his introductions. I turn to my side, and Mirae is staring. Staring, mouth gaping, like she’s Scrooge and Mingyu is the ghost of Christmas Past.
“Staring, are we?” I whisper, “Either it’s a crush, or you’re hiding something from me. You ain’t slick, doll.”
“Quit the detective act,” Mirae replies, “Now please, be a nice manager for once, and stop trying to conjure magical connections between Mingyu and me.”
“Darling, I’m always a nice manager,” I nod, before walking off to where the other managers are standing, huddling together to gossip over whatever the hell the industry was getting up to in the past week.
“Ah, Kim Sowon-ssi,” one of the managers of another actor—the second lead’s, if I’m remembering correctly, “the woman behind Jung Mirae’s success!”
“Mirae would have been successful on her own, Manager-nim,” I say, respectfully, “even if I was not at her side, she would have done extremely well herself.”
“But it’s a fact that you helped get her to her level of fame,” he needles, and all of a sudden, I want to take a swing at him, “Take the praise, take the praise.”
“Mirae is an actress, sir,” I smile, “I’m merely an observer. I’m lucky she chose me to be with her by her side.”
“You sound suspiciously like a lover right now,” another manager giggles, “is there something we should know about?”
“It’s none of your business,” Jihoon interrupts, voice gruff from an obvious lack of sleep, “let’s all let the cast and crew do their job, eh? We’re here as observers.”
He stops, gaping at the two of us, before turning away to mutter something like ‘rude little brat’ under his breath. I turned to Jihoon, shaking his hand, “I could have handled that, you know.”
“I couldn’t stand there amidst all that cringe.” He replies, holding out his hand, “that suit looks very uncomfortable.”
“I wasn’t prepared for a table read this suddenly,” I say, shrugging off my outer layer to hand it to him, “at least they’re making nice.”
“I thought you’d have to drag her here kicking and screaming,” He smiles, “safe to say, I’ve put the fear of God in Mingyu. He’s going to be the picture of grace at this table read.”
Loud bickering ensues, and Mirae is talking about—debut dates? “Well, about that,” I gesture to the pair, still talking about who should be addressed as sunbae, “you know what, leave them. We cannot be hand holding them every step of the way.”
“I told him to play nice.” Jihoon grits out, “god knows he needs this for his reputation. A fight at a table read with Jung Mirae is not going to help anyone.”
“We’ll call it a spirited discussion amongst industry professionals,” I reply, loud enough for all the idiots typing away on their phones to take notice, “and any other narrative would be false reporting, and as such, subject to legal action.”
They all stop at that. Jihoon stares at me, impressed, “do you always do all that?”
“Do what?”
He waves a hand, “I don’t know, vaguely threaten a group of fifteen people to protect your artist?”
I shrug, “It’s what I’m supposed to do, remember?”
—
Fortunately, there are no more incidents after that, and they begin the table read without any difficulty. The roles are well thought out, and the director has been a reliable one. After her last film, it’s a good step, in a good direction. I’m slightly proud of myself.
“Is this supposed to be a college romance?” Jihoon whispers in my ear, “why are they making them act like college kids?”
“It’s a melo movie, Jihoon, they’re acting pretty well, I would say. For someone who’s had the script for only two hours, Mirae is doing a bang-up job of it.”
We’re seated against the wall, away from the camera lenses that are recording the whole thing, and well, he’s right. Is this a college romance? The two characters are bickering over fries now. “I don’t remember doing anything like this in university,” I mutter, “we were not this stupid, were we?”
“You were just as terrifying in university as you are now,” Jihoon smirks, “I remember when we started out as road managers, and you swore to the heavens that you would not be doing this fuckass job for more than a year.”
“I didn’t say fuckass.”
“Yes you did.”
I groan, “well, the money got good, and I don’t know, I just stopped thinking about moving to another career.” Turning to Jihoon, I poke an accusatory finger at him, “you said the same thing too, you know.”
“Yes well,” he sighs, “then I got stuck with Mingyu, and realised that I’d feel responsible for him my whole life. Imagine someone whose livelihood depends on you. Would you leave them that easily?”
I nod, “Yeah, they put a rookie like me in charge of a rookie actress, hoping we’d fail. But look at her now. She’s come so far.”
“See, you’ll feel responsible for them your entire life,” he smiles slightly, looking at Kim Mingyu, “even when he’s being annoying and insufferable, I cannot help but feel responsible for him.”
“Is this how our parents feel?”
“Probably.”
The table read is now done, and I walk over to Mirae, who has a particular glazed look in her eyes that I cannot decipher. She’s there physically, but mentally? She’s far away. Where exactly? I cannot say.
“Do you want me to get you your favourite order?” I ask, bundling her into comfortable clothes in the van, “and what happened back there?”
“What happened?” She stares at me, “nothing happened.’
I sigh. Yeah, better leave it for tonight. “I’ll drop you off and get an order to your place,” I say, kicking the car into gear, “call me tomorrow morning, yeah?”
“Yeah, Sowon,” she replies, eyes still far away, “I’m going to take a nap right now.”
“Yeah, do that, it’s been a tiring day for you,” I mutter, and her eyes are already closed. What the hell happened?
Her apartment is close enough to the studio that we don’t need to drive for more than an hour, and she waves a tired goodbye to me as soon as the car stops, running into the building at top speed. Yeah, sleeping, my foot.
My phone beeps as soon as I turn the car towards my own house, and it’s a text from the department, confirming the schedule for the next day. And underneath the slew of emails and notifications, is a text from Lee Jihoon, as curt as he is in real life.
Dinner? [Location attached] The pho is good here.
I smile as I turn the car in the opposite direction.
—
Usually in the entertainment sector, people tend to remain silent about their university days, as much as they can. I know about a handful of people who willingly talk about their university days, save in the context of wild drinking parties that definitely happened. The CEO once bragged to me about doing a double keg stand, which is both scientifically and physiologically impossible. I nodded and said yes of course. Like a good employee.
Jihoon sits in a shadowy corner booth of the pho restaurant, and gives me a tired smile as I slide into a seat, “I ordered for you. Garnish on the side, just as you like.”
“You know me entirely too well, Lee Jihoon,” I grin, pouring him a glass of water, “no drinks, I presume?”
“Yeah, none for me, I’m driving,” he sighs. “Today was not good.”
I frown, “what do you mean? We got the table read done, there were no scandalous actions, and best of all, no one started a fistfight. It’s a win in my book.”
“A fistfight—Sowon, this is not university. You cannot fight your way out of everything,” he laughs, a drastic change from the stoic, gruff Jihoon of the morning, “god, I still remember the way you’d pick fights in university.”
“I did not spend four years just picking fights. You’re exaggerating,” I mutter, “imagine how many lawsuits I would get into if I just spent my career fighting everyone.”
“You would go bankrupt,” Jihoon replies, wry smile fixed on his face, “although, I did not expect to see you at the table read today.”
“Why? Is it because I’ve been promoted to head manager now?” I grin, “the rookie was supposed to take her, but she—you know what happened, why am I repeating myself? Sending the rookie in that situation would make Mirae even more nervous. She wouldn’t be able to focus on the work at hand.”
“I don’t understand why the hell you would take on the work of a rookie when you’re so clearly overworked,” Jihoon says, “anyone could take a look at you and know you haven’t had a proper night’s sleep in days.”
“That’s how work is, Jihoonie,” I smile, “also, you’re one to talk about doing rookie work, when I saw you accompany Kim Mingyu to the table read. Isn’t that a rookie’s job too?”
“Mingyu refuses to go anywhere unless it is with me,” He shakes his head, clearing our things from the table as the waiter comes in with food, “Do you still work on those scenarios? I asked you to send me some of them last week, man. I've been asking since university.”
I stare. “Do you still work on your music?”
“Touche,” he laughs, “hey, at least we have some proximity to what we wanted to do.”
“True, many people don’t have that,” I smile, “the soup is actually delicious. I’m surprised.”
“Surprised that the soup is delicious or surprised that I gave you a good recommendation for a restaurant?”
“Both,” I reply, “it is strange to imagine you eating anything other than plain rice with a little bit of seaweed for taste.”
“Rice has its own charm, you know.” he’s tucking into it fast, “at least there are no articles to come out of today’s incident.”
“The one with the debut?” I groaned, “oh god, Mirae completely clammed up when I asked her for details about that. And she’s not usually someone to hold a debut date over someone’s head. No matter how much fame she gains. She’s never been someone to do that.”
“And Mingyu, despite how much of an annoyance he is at times, does not go out of his way to antagonise anyone the way he did Mirae this afternoon,” Jihoon muses, “maybe the gossip websites were onto something.”
“Gossip websites publish whatever they think can make a quick buck,” I scowl, “the number of people from our company alone, who have had to go to therapy because the gossip blogs would not leave them alone—it has been a shitshow, actually.”
“A shitshow that you have had to take care of,” Jihoon replies, “no, actually what I was talking about, was the whole speculation they did a while back, when they were digging up notes about Mirae and Mingyu and their college days. They think those two have some sort of long standing beef.”
“Long-standing beef?” I snort, “Mirae was a trainee actress at the company even before she graduated college. She didn’t have time for beef, and especially not with Kim Mingyu.”
“Hey, are you dissing my artist?” Jihoon scowls, though there is no real malice behind it, “I’ll have you know Mingyu is a highly-sought after actor. He’s had three back-to-back hits. What do you mean not with Kim Mingyu? He’s great!”
“You sound like a dad defending their child,” I laugh, “but no, there has got to be something else going on between them. If it’s not an argument, and I know for a fact it's nothing like a lover’s spat, then—”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Jihoon raises an eyebrow, “they fucked.”
“Lee Jihoon!” I squawk. “Take that back this instant.”
“That's the only explanation, Sowonie,” he smiles, “that’s why they’re so awkward around each other.”
“No, no.” I put my hands over my ears, “I’d rather lose my hearing than listen to such slander about my artist.”
Jihoon laughs, and I join in too, laughing so loudly that the other patrons of the restaurant look strangely at us, two career professionals laughing like little children, “well, as long as they’re not doing anything right now, I don’t care about the history,” I wheeze, “hey, they could be like us.”
Jihoon gives me a look, “Uni batchmates who are now stuck in the same fuckass job?”
That sobers me right up, “it’s a job, that’s what it is, but hey, it’s a good job. Where else would we get the satisfaction of watching someone grow into the best version of themselves, from this close up?”
“If you got married and had a child, you’d be doing the same thing,” he grumbles, “except this is getting paid, and you are watching a grown adult make the stupidest mistakes of his life.”
“Hey,” I smile, “speak for yourself. We’re getting paid good money for this.”
Jihoon sighs, “Is that why we decided to give up this easily?”
I squint, “what do you mean?”
He sighs, “you know what I mean. We had so many plans for the future, back in university. At least, I know you did. And now, we’re here, stuck in a job that—it pays well, but are we contributing to society in any way?”
“What do you mean? We’re working behind the scenes, with people who create art.” I replied, food finished, “at least tell me why you think this way.”
“It’s—it’s nothing, really,” he mutters, setting aside his chopsticks, “we really thought that we were going to do something important and meaningful, you know? And now, we’ve hit thirties. People our age are supposed to be doing something with their lives, and we’re managers. Not exactly what people think when someone says ‘pursue your dreams’. More like what someone would say, if we had to make them draw up a sketch of ‘dreary office life’.”
“Well, it’s not all bad,” I think, “we get to see the actors we manage, grow into wonderful individuals. It feels slightly like a thankless job at times, but we aren’t looking for recognition, are we? We’re looking to get people like Mirae and Mingyu established in this industry.”
“Still feels like shit, most days,” Jihoon grumbles, hand held out for me to stand up, “at least I’m not dealing with Hoshi. He’s asked for a room decked out in tiger-print merchandise.”
I laugh, allowing him to drape my blazer on my shoulders, “Soonyoung is one of the few genuine people in this industry. He’s actually close to Mirae, too. They hang out on a regular basis.”
Jihoon snorts, “I’ll just tell Mingyu. He’s going to lose his shit so bad when he realizes Hoshi hangs out with Mirae, and he does not.”
“Still sticking with the fucking angle, are you?” We’re both standing in the middle of an empty Gangnam street. “I still think that’s bullshit.”
“You’re not going to think it’s bullshit when I’m proven correct in about three months from now,” Jihoon says, smug in his confidence, “go on, I’ll even do a wager. Hundred thousand.”
I raise my eyebrows, pulling out a cigarette and lighter, “done, Jihoonie. Hundred thousand won says they just have some normal misunderstanding going on.”
He laughs, holding out his hand, “done.” He then scrunches his eyebrows again. “You’re still on those cancer sticks? I thought you were meaning to quit.”
“I was, then my CEO started getting on my ass about the amount of work to be assigned to people,” I mutter, “now I’m unfortunately, back on the bandwagon.”
“Well, if it is that, then give me one,” he reaches out, plucking it from my hands, and takes a drag, as smoothly as I remember him back in university, and makes a face, “you still smoke these menthol cigarettes.”
“You never really dropped the smoking habit, you fucking liar,” I snort, “no one who's actually quit smoking, takes a drag that easily. Give it back.”
He holds it over his head, smiles locked into place, and I remember another scene, a long time ago, from the early days of our university, and scowl, “Give it back, Lee Jihoon. You hate menthols.”
He grins in response, taking another drag and giggling, “it’s just funny to see you so flustered all of a sudden.”
“Not funny.” I’m fighting to keep the smile off my face. “You used to do this all the time back in university too. You still haven’t gotten rid of that habit.”
“Old habits die hard, my dear,” he hands it back to me, “Well, back to the question at hand. You’re still on for the wager? Hundred thousand won on the fact that those two fucked?”
I groan, “ugh, fine. Fine. But if Mirae asks, I knew nothing, I did nothing. I have not taken part in your wager.”
We shake on it, and I remember something, “Wait, don’t you hate eating hot foods? I remember you putting ice cubes in your ramen one time. Why are you eating pho all of a sudden?”
He smiles, “Well, that way you really cannot complain when I make reservations for naengmyeon next week.”
“Bold of you to assume I’m having dinner with you again.”
He shrugs, “I was your closest friend in university, and we work in the same field. Who else will you grab a meal with?”
“Excuse you, I have other friends too!” I say, half-indignant, but even then the sentence seems grossly untrue, and I stop for a second, “What the hell, sure.”
He shrugs, “told you I was your only friend.”
“Hey!”
“Fine, I’m your oldest friend,” he amends, “but at least I should get some benefits for being the one to stick with you for so long.”
“You get a cookie that says ‘congrats’.”
“Not even the whole word, I’m impressed.” he shakes his head, walking off to his own car, waving goodbye as he goes.
“See you at the next read!” I call out, slipping into my own car, driving it out onto the semi-clear main roads. He doesn’t even say anything, merely drives off in the opposite direction. Jerk.
Mirae had asked me once, who my closest friend in the industry (apart from her) was. I’d kept quiet then, saying something irrelevant, but looking back, throughout all these years, the only person who has consistently remained at my side has been Jihoon. Funny, how life turns out to be. We were virtual strangers all our lives, and by some weird twist of fate, have spent the last eight years beside each other.
My house is on one of Seoul’s much quieter streets, away from the usual bustle of the city. I park the car and open the door as quietly as I can, pressing the code into the keypad and slipping inside. Only one more hurdle to cross, and then—
“You’re late.”
I turn around to see my mother, sitting on the old sofa, nursing a cup of coffee. “You shouldn’t be up so late,” I say calmly, “the doctor’s told you to keep a proper schedule.”
“How do you expect me to go to sleep, when my only daughter is out working, at all times of the night?” her voice comes out as sharp as usual, “and all you are doing, is driving Mirae around to sets.”
“I used to do that, mom, now I’m a head manager,” I say, settling down beside her, “did you eat dinner, at least?”
“Yes, I did.” She nods, “out of all the things you could have done, you chose to do this. Becoming a manager. Was this why I raised you with so much difficulty? Every day you come back at an ungodly hour, working to the bone in that company where no one values you! And you smell like cigarettes too, all the damn time.”
“Mom,” my voice is lower than usual, “Let’s just go to sleep, okay? It’s already late.”
“Yeah, you’d say that,” she sighs, standing up, “your father did that too. You’re the same as him, you know. Just the same.”
And she leaves, leaving me behind, still seated on the sofa. I sigh, standing up and making my way to my room. Nothing good will come out of picking a fight with your mother, Kim Sowon, I tell myself, falling backwards into my bed. I still have to wash up and brush my teeth, but the day has seeped into my bones, to the point where I don’t think I can even argue with my mother about my job anymore. And seriously, what was I doing? Laughing with a colleague after hours, just to reminisce about the good old days? Jihoon was right, on a level. We were both stuck in jobs that paid well, but sucked the soul out of us, reduced us to shells of our previous selves.
We used to be so fun, I think, brushing my teeth, thinking back to the first time I met Jihoon, at the freshmen orientation, where the upperclassmen forced us to pair up and do a ridiculous couple dance that no one really wanted to. They seemed to get great fun out of pairing the two of us together, the confirmed outcasts of their respective departments. The joke kind of backfired when we started hanging out together. He was always one of the more serious guys, not prone to cracking jokes until he got closer to someone. He’d always been beautiful, too. I did sometimes wonder what he was doing, being a manager when he had the potential to be an actor.
“Time to go to sleep,” I murmur, crawling into bed, and my phone lights up with another notification.
Naengmyeon next time. [Location attached].
—
“The whole thing is a scam,” I mutter, throwing down the magazine proposal onto my desk, “who the hell brought this to me without any corrections?”
The rookie trembles. Haewon stands up, “who do I need to bring?”
“Just bring me the person who looked at this contract and approved it,” I seethe, “now!”
The volume of my voice is enough to send the rookie running to Legal, and after a moment, someone pops up their head over the walls of my office separators, “you asked for me?”
“Yes?” I look up, and Sooae from the legal department pops her head in, “Seungho did it, but he’s out on break today. What’s wrong with the proposal?”
“The compensation is much too low,” I sigh, “look, they’re gonna offer us a lot less than Mirae deserves, so it’s up to us to renegotiate the terms they give us. Also, who negotiated this? I was not present for the meeting.”
“Ah,” Sooae looks flustered, looking around, “the CEO made this call himself, saying he had cleared it all with you.”
The great sages have all told us to practise the virtue of patience. It's not even her fault, I repeat over and over in my mind, taking deep breaths, “The CEO told you this, did he?”
Sooae nods, and I sigh, for what feels like the tenth time this morning. Patience, patience. They all told us to be patient. “Let me speak to the CEO myself,” I smile at her, handing her another sheet of papers, “this is the compensation we received for Mirae during her previous photoshoot, and it was before she got her Blue Dragon. Have someone in the PR department adjust the demands, or you can wait a few minutes for me to come help you.”
Haewon thinks for a moment, “I’ll wait for you, sunbae. And we can fix the compensation issue after you talk to the CEO.”
I nod, walking down the corridor into the CEO’s office. He’s on his phone as usual, laughing to himself, and sits up to attention as soon as I let the doors bang closed.
“Is this the compensation we should be receiving for Mirae?” I hold up the printout of the email, “this is almost a thirty percent pay cut, what the hell were you thinking, approving this without my knowledge?”
He stares at me, “Kim Sowon, why the hell are you making such a fuss over nothing? It’s a simple pay cut, nothing that serious.”
“Are you going to pay her out of your own pocket?” I shake the paper in my hand, half-incredulous that this has been allowed to go this far, “you’re helping your friends again, aren’t you? You’re setting a bad precedent for Mirae in the industry.”
“Bad precedent?” He scoffs, “and what the hell is wrong if I want to help some of my friends? What’s wrong with that? This industry is run on connections, you know that!”
“Then she’s going to be taking a pay cut every time you decide to help out your friends, right?” I seethe, “then the whole industry is going to look down on her! Everyone will know that it's easy to get Jung Mirae to take a pay cut, because her bloody CEO doesn’t give a shit!”
He looks like he wants to slap me across the face. Do it, I think, I dare you to. He doesn’t, though. Either he’s learnt some restraint, or he knows exactly the amount of power I hold in this damn company. The moment he hits me, I’m out of here, along with Mirae, Taesan, Ms. Yun, Mr. Lee—the four primary actors of this company. Not to mention the actual employees, who would be all too happy to be part of an LLC instead of working under him. Not to mention the lawsuit would be enough to make him shut up shop.
“We’re sending an updated demand notice,” I announce, holding the door open so that everyone on the floor gets to hear it, “Tell your friends to start paying actors their proper dues.”
He hates me because he’s afraid of me, I repeat to myself, walking back to the desk, he hates me because he is scared of me.
He hates you because he’s scared, Ms. Yun had once told me, as I had been walking back from the CEO’s office after another failed attempt at getting Mirae a proper brand ambassadorship, he knows you’re the one with the power here, not him. Sincerity always trumps money, my dear. Sure, she had one of the pickiest palates known to man, but she gave good advice when she meant it.
—
“Sunbae,” The rookie asks me in the middle of eating samgyetang, “why do you pick fights with the CEO so often?”
I stare, and Yoona hits him on the back of his head. “She’s not doing it just for fun, you idiot,” she barks, “sorry, sunbae.”
“No, it’s fine,” I smile, “if they have questions, they should come to me, right?”
“Not if they’re stupid questions,” Yoona grumbles, “don’t ask sunbae all that.”
“No, I’ll answer,” I smile, dipping my rice into soup, “I pick my fights with people who I think I need to pick fights with. Have you ever seen me start an argument with the head of legal?”
He shakes his head no, “but you always seem so angry when you go meet the CEO.”
I smile, “you’ll understand too, kid. Give it a few months, you’ll understand too.”
There’s really no reason for me to tell them everything about the CEO so early in their career. If they stick with this company, they’d get to know eventually. “Eat up,” I grin, “your team leader is paying, and all you guys wanted to eat was samgyetang. At least, you should have gone for beef, if you wanted meat. Who eats samgyetang in the middle of summer?”
They all laugh, and I turn to the rookie, “Why did you join the entertainment industry?”
He looks at me, confused; so I explain, “everyone here has a reason why they wanted to join this place. Or this company. Some people came here for the money, some came here to get close to the industry they like. What about you?”
“Um,” he pauses for a minute, “I was told this was a good sector, you know.”
“Bread and circuses?” I grin, and Yoona laughs, “good for you, maknae, good for you.”
I get up to pay for the food, and Yoona follows close behind, “Why didn’t you tell him about the CEO and his usual antics? Everyone who stays here for more than a month starts hating on the CEO for doing his absolute best to ruin the whole company? You and three other managers run the whole company, and one of those managers is in legal, for heaven's sake. You need to tell him.”
“Let him be in his bubble for at least a little while,” I smile, “he’ll get to know eventually, within a few months. Let him be innocent about this, for at least a little while.”
“Look at you, sunbae, being so nice to your juniors,” Yoona smiles, “I remember when I joined in under you.”
“Yes, I put you all through a lot, didn’t I?”
“More like you were tough, but fair,” she grins, “at least I knew I was working under someone who really cared about the company, and the people who worked there. If you ever started your own company, we'd all follow you. Every single manager. No questions asked.”
“Don’t say such things. That’s what happens when you get too attached,” I stuff the card back into my wallet, “I have a meeting with a production company after this, so you guys can go ahead, right?”
“You’ve been in so many meetings today, I’m surprised you don’t drop out of exhaustion,” Yoona grins, pushing a digestive drink into my hand, “it’s for the new movie, right?”
“Hmm, they called Jihoon and me for a meeting,” I reply, and the rookie’s face drops, “Jihoon is not as scary as you guys think, really.”
“He gives off those super-grumpy guy vibes, really.” Yoona shudders, “and you talk to him this freely?”
“We’re university batchmates, Yoona,” I smile, “and he’s really nice once you get to know him. Well, the getting to know part is the problem, in most cases.”
The team nods, and I say my goodbyes. Jihoon is difficult to get through, but once you’ve become close to him, he’s perhaps the best person anyone could ask for as a friend. When you think about all this, his reputation in the industry as the “angry manager” seems funny. He’s always been caring, just not in the way people recognized.
—
“Are you sitting all by yourself, again, Kim Sowon?” someone says, poking my shoulder. I give a little grunt of disapproval, jerking away from it. Nothing good came out of entertaining the conversation of dumb seniors who only got us freshmen drunk to make us look like absolute idiots, or worse, to take advantage of our inebriated states.
“Don’t be a spoilsport, Sowonie,” another person says, making me stand up, stumbling a little to gather my footing on even ground.
“I’m not capable of holding a proper conversation right now, sunbae,” I reply, voice as measured as I can possibly make it, “I think you’ll find any kind of conversation with me extremely boring.”
The two men, seniors in another department, but all part of the same club, snicker, probably at my formal tone, and one of them says, “Really, Kim Sowon, you know exactly how to make a man feel good about himself, right?”
I seethe. Why the fuck do I have to care about making another person feel better about himself, when I’m already dealing with so much on my plate? There are assignments to think about, my tuition to think about, and most of all, I still need to figure out a way to talk to people without being labelled as a weirdo. High school was different, a place where all I needed to do was put my head down and study, and where my good marks and extracurriculars (all individual) determined my self-worth, but here, in university, it all seems like a different ballgame. I stay silent, staring at the ground, silently looking at my second-hand and the seniors’ luxury sneakers. Levels are already defined here, and the most I can do is shut up, and hope I am not picked on.
My silence is taken as consent, and the larger of the two steps closer to me, “Really, Kim Sowon? Do you think as a freshman, you can just ignore your seniors?”
I glare, and they’re sent off into peals of laughter. Fuck, I can’t even take a swing at them if I wanted to.
“Sunbaes,” another voice pipes up, and it's the kid they paired me with at the general orientation, from another department, but his heavy Busan accent made him one of the outcasts, just like me. He’s pale, but broad, with well-defined arm muscles that made him look intimidating enough to put a couple seniors in their place. If he was coming over to join them in harassing me, though, I’d have to make a run for it, “I think I heard Yoojung-sunbae was doing karaoke in the main room.”
Yoojung-sunbae, the university’s goddess, declared by the magazine a year ago, was a dance major, and the two men perk up, clapping the boy on the shoulders for this ‘wonderful piece of information’, presumably to go hoot at Yoo Jung-sunbae. I frown, “you really shouldn’t have thrown her under the bus like that.”
“Yoo Jung-sunbae is fast asleep, in the girls’ room,” he holds onto my hand, and I realise, both of us are slightly tipsy right now, having been plied with enormous amounts of alcohol since the beginning of the session, “we should leave.”
I nod, and let him lead me away, back on the main path, lit up by string lights. They did put in a lot of effort into this. He hands me a hangover drink, and opens his own, “They gave you a lot to drink, I saw. You’re gonna have a horrible hangover tomorrow, if you don’t drink that right now.”
I give him a grateful smile, before cracking open the lid of the drink. He’s still staring at me, “are you from the literature department?”
“Hmm,” I nod, “music theory, right?”
“Yes,” he grins, “I do remember you, from the orientation.”
I scowl in a response, “ugh, they kept insisting on making you dance with me. I’m sorry, I must have stepped on your foot about ten times.”
“Actually, it was only seven,” he clarifies, “and it’s not as though I was so much better, right? I missed the beat at least six times, even though I’m from the Music department.”
“Imagine that,” I smile, wry and self-effacing, “Kim Sowon, if you remember my name.”
“Lee Jihoon,” he offers his hands, and we shake on it. A beat passes, and I realize, I’m staring at him. His pale skin looks even paler under the lone streetlight, and all I can think of is how ridiculous this whole situation is, the two of us, tipsy, standing underneath a sodium vapor lamp that casts more shadows than it illuminates.
The moment passes, and I turn away, “Did you come for a walk?”
He nods, coughing slightly, “I wanted to give you the drink, but people kept saying you had gone off on a walk to cool your head.”
“Yeah,” I smile, giving him my hand, “I kind of forgot my way to the sleeping quarters.”
—
Jihoon has good taste in restaurants. The naengmyeon place is just the same as the pho one, understated, with the exact vibe as before. We slide into one of the booths, and he orders for both of us while I check my emails, making a list of all the things I need to do once I get into the office the following week.
“It’s as if all you do is work, goddamn,” he makes a face, “here you are on dinner with a very handsome man, and all you can think of is work.”
I raise an eyebrow, “funny, I don’t see Mingyu here. And don’t even speak to me about working too much, you were on the phone all throughout the ride here. I was driving your car, and you didn’t even make conversation.”
Jihoon snorts, “as if you’d even find him attractive. He’ll make you want to tear your hair right out of your scalp.”
“I sense jealousy, Jihoonie,” I grin, accepting the glass of water, “for confirmed singles like the both of us, I doubt we can even hold a proper conversation with a person of romantic interest.”
“So, you’ve given up on it, entirely?” Jihoon asks, “It’s unlike you to be so decidedly against something.”
“I just don’t find it worthwhile anymore,” I reply, “with all the preparations for the movie, and the photoshoots, I’m realizing that a partner would just be annoying and I would hate it.”
“So, friends with benefits, that’s what I’m gathering from this.” he laughs, clearing the table for the food to be served, “have you ever considered anyone?”
“Since university? No, and even in university, I think I only talked to you during those days.”
Jihoon sighs, muttering, “you’re still the same,” and proceeds to cut up my cold noodles for me. He’s silent while he’s doing it, razor-focused, which gives me the time to look at him properly. Ah fuck, he’s really beautiful. It was apparent in university, too, but more so now, when I can see the straight line of his brow, preparing the food for me. He’s out of his usual oversized hoodies today, dressed up for a meeting, and the shirt fits him entirely too well, and when the hell did he get even broader? He used to work out during his free time, when he was not writing assignments or working on music, even ditching every invitation to a group date to just—hit his goals. Back then, I thought it was funny, made jokes about it a couple times, even sent him a meme about the contrast between his face, which had not lost its baby fat, and his arms. Now—all of a sudden, all I can think about is how his arm felt against my back, leading me into the diner. Now imagine how those hands would feel against your—
I sit up, electrified. Jihoon is staring at me, holding out the bowl of cut noodles with a strange expression on his face, halfway between adoring and smug, “Were you fantasizing about my muscles?”
The amount of self-control it takes for me to get my expression back in place is worthy of getting a Nobel Prize, “I was wondering why it was taking you this long to cut my noodles.”
“Geez, calm down, babe,” he smiles, and the inside of my mouth goes dry. He knows, fuck.
“Have you not had your fill of working out?” I accuse him, pouring soy sauce all over the noodles, “is there a contest going on for Broadest Man in the World I need to be on the lookout for?”
“Shut up,” he laughs, “it keeps the women interested, you know.”
“Women?” I raise an eyebrow, “The women who have an interest in you might be disappointed to know that you’re having dinner with me, instead of them. It’s a good night to be out on a date, you know.”
“Yes, I’m aware,” he mutters, “anyway, have Mirae and Mingyu sorted their mess out, or are we still banking on the power of film and cinema?”
“I heard they were told to fix their chemistry issues,” I poured more soy sauce over my noodles, and he looked at it disgustedly, “I hope they worked some of them out, at least. Mirae told me it was fine, but I haven’t heard about it from her afterwards, so I don’t know about the ‘fine’ bit.”
“Mirae is lying,” Jihoon nods, “or at least, Mingyu is, because they’ve not been working on it at all. I’m worried about what happens later on, when the shoot actually starts. All they’re doing right now is chemistry and table reads, and one rehearsal scene. When they get to the real stuff, if you don’t have anything to work on, it’s going to show on screen.”
“And our hopes of getting a ten-million sale—” I sigh.
“Gone.” He makes a swiping motion, “not to mention no bonuses for you, for me, or the entire department that we work with.”
“They’re gonna hate me even more,” I moan, “my CEO already hates my ass.”
Jihoon snorts, “Deok-Cheol? He’s just scared of you. He knows you’re the one with the most connections after Manager Hong, at least in his company.”
“And what does that mean?” I quirk an eyebrow, “he’s still on my ass all the fucking time, and this feud puts Mirae at a disadvantage. Did you know, he tried to pull a fast one on me today?”
“Fast one on you?”
“Made a contract for a photoshoot, giving Mirae a thirty percent pay cut,” I shake my head, “all because it was a favor to a friend.”
“Wow,” Jihoon sits back, drinking slowly out of the glass of water, “imagine sabotaging your own actor to get profits.”
“And he started acting as though I was the crazy one, when I said I was going to tell them to increase Mirae’s compensation,” I grumble, “imagine doing all that for your friends.”
Jihoon shakes his head, “He’s scared. He’s terrified of the day when you leave the company and start your own company, because all the heavyweights of the company will leave right alongside you.”
“Fat chance,” I mutter, “Not like I have never thought of it, but realistically, I don’t have the money to start a business.”
“Take a loan,” he shrugs, “any bank will be happy to let you have their money if you ask. You’re a head manager, with only five years of experience. And you managed that while working within a company, not freelancing midway, like I did.”
“Banks want collateral, Jihoonie,” I make a face, “who is dumb enough to sign on a loan for me?”
“I’ll sign,” he shrugs again, placing pickled ginger on my plate, “put my name on the dotted line. Call me to the bank for a meeting, I’ll be your collateral.”
I stare at him, and scoff, “yeah, as if. You’re the same as me, Jihoon.”
“No, you don’t get it,” He reaches out, holding my hand, “Call me when you go to the bank, Sowon. There’s no one I would sign up as collateral for, if not you.”
“Jihoon, that’s also called marriage,” I smile, “are you telling me you’d like to get married to me?”
I laugh at my own joke, focusing on the food in front, but Jihoon doesn’t say anything. Ten seconds pass, and even through eating, I can feel his gaze on mine, not really saying anything. I look up, and he’s still staring, dark brown eyes peering at me as though he wants me to understand the gravity of my statement.
It’s now that I realise, it’s unseasonably warm. Despite the cold noodles, there’s a line of sweat trickling down my back, and a feeling that grows more and more needling, as I keep looking at him. Under these lights, his eyes seem almost black, or is it my imagination? I tug at my collar, “it’s warm in here, don’t you think?”
He squints, “Dude, it’s the middle of May, of course it’s going to be warm.”
He goes back to eating, and I find this situation irrationally funny. Here I am, eating dinner with a man who I’ve known since the first week of university, a man who, by all senses of the world, was highly attractive, and competent. To feel nothing would make me into a robot, wouldn’t it?
I shake my head, finishing the last of my food, and Jihoon pays at the counter. “It’s still too warm for May,” I murmur, as he helps with my suit jacket, “imagine how much worse it will get in June.”
He snorts, and the lady at the counter smiles at us, saying to her husband, also beside her, “It’s always so nice to see young couples, isn’t it?”
Beside me, Jihoon freezes, but I just nod, smiling, as I pull him out of the diner.
“They—did they just think we are a couple?” He shrieks, running a hand over his face, “this is highly embarrassing.”
“Anyone else would think you didn’t want to be seen with me,” I grumble, “and to think we have to share a car now.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to be seen with you,” He groans, “Ah fuck, I’m going about this all wrong, right?”
I freeze. He sees it too, and in a split second, both of us realise the exact meaning behind those words.
—
[Seven years earlier]
Eun-hee, although the most stuck-up of all the girls in the department, knew how to throw a good party. Her parties, when she deigned to invite the poor suckers beneath her social class, were always good, at least in my experience. This time, it was her birthday, and the whole class was invited to a club in Itaewon. She’s flitting from table to table, grinning beatifically, and I keep downing drinks like it’s none of my business.
“Sowon!” she yells, hugging me, “I’m so glad to see you here!” Some of the champagne in her glass spills right onto my shirt, and I try not to grimace, as I shake her hand to wish her a happy birthday. There are about five of us, all wearing decidedly shabby clothes, seated as far away from the guest of honor as possible. Happy birthday indeed, I think, if I had this much money, I’d show it off, too.
Free alcohol is much easier to drink, as they say, and before even my standard party time of three hours have passed, I’m halfway into being drunk, my smiles a bit more free as I force myself to drink shots and shots of semi-expensive whiskey. There are whispers as I pick up glass after glass, but on a night like this, I cannot seem to care.
“Did you spend the last hour downing shots after shots?” The voice next to me is familiar, and I look up to see Jihoon, of the Music department, somehow equally sloshed, an easy smile plastered on his face. I clap a hand on his shoulder, and he lets me drag him to my table, where the rest of them have fucked off to pursue other interests. He sits next to me, knees knocking into mine, and I pour him a shot of whiskey.
“This should not be as good as it sounds,” Jihoon mutters, taking the glass from my hands, “drinking with a beautiful woman always means I’m going to make some real bad decisions.”
“I suppose this might be a regular occurrence for you,” I grin, clinking my glass with his, “but not for me, so let’s make this as fun as possible, right?”
Jihoon laughs, and it’s unseasonably warm. His hands are on my thigh, and he’s smiling at me with a specific look in his eyes. I don’t know exactly what it is, but the feeling of it burrows underneath my skin, waiting to break free. The summer has been terribly warm until then, and the afternoon marked with a sudden shower, but right now, I think my skin is a hundred degrees Celsius. Boiling point, steam point. His hands are moving slowly upwards, and if he goes any further, the rest of the people here will understand exactly what the fuck is going on. His hair is shorter than on the retreat, shorn close on his sides. And on top of that, he’s still got his hands on my leg. And wait—did he have to wear glasses before? If I manage to reach over, his shirt is open slightly at the lapels—his skin is probably just as pale everywhere else.
I stand up, stumbling over the sofa legs, mumble “sorry”, and walk out of the floor, stumbling into the bathroom, where my reflection is a mess; eyes blown wide, the first two buttons on my shirt undone. Anyone would think I’m a mess. And besides, what the hell was I doing with Jihoon? He was a friend of mine, someone who regularly saved me a seat during lunchtime and hung out with me outside of his strict gym schedule. Here I was, throwing it all away on a damn whim. Besides, we’re both sloshed, on our way to becoming more drunk. What if I violate his consent?
I splash water on my face, wiping it off with a paper towel. Outside the washroom, the steady thrum of music is loud enough to rid me of all my distractions, until I see Jihoon standing, leaning against the wall. His profile is bathed in a sharp dark neon red. My mouth goes dry. He’s standing here.
“You didn’t look all that good,” he says, half in my ear, “so I kind of followed you here.”
“You did follow me here,” I laugh, “do you really want to go back to the floor? They’re forcing people to dance again.”
“And?” I raise an eyebrow.
“And everyone is flat out drunk,” he says, smiling, “there you go.”
I stare at him, face soft and pale, the bright lights throwing off harsh shadows. We’re standing in a corridor just beside the bathrooms, and for once in my life, it’s empty. No drunk clubgoers, no random bouncers. Empty. He’s staring at me too, I realise, sharp and perceptive, through the glasses that he has put on to test my sanity, apparently.
“I’m not drunk,” he announces, much too loud for the space. Two people walking outside, catch him and stare.
“Neither am I, right now,” I reply, smiling, “neither of us are very drunk, and we’re in a club right now, huh.”
He nods, and I follow suit, and a beat passes before he shakes his head, laughing, “Ah fuck, I’m going about this all wrong, right?”
Being drunk makes you do a lot of stupid things. Being not-drunk? Even more. My hands blindly grab onto Jihoon’s collar as he crashes into me, hand behind my head to cushion the impact.
His mouth is softer than I realise, pressing insistently against mine, his other hand sneaking up my shirt. Its funny, how I had sworn that this would never happen, between me and Jihoon, had given myself a pep talk in the bathroom three minutes ago, but right now, all I can think about as I press up into him, is more more more—punctuated with sharp gasps as he manages to untuck my shirt from my trousers. My fingers work on his shirt, white cotton button-down whose top two buttons I manage to rip right off, in my rush to get my hands on his skin.
It’s as smooth as I had thought it would be, and the way he moans into my mouth is also real, tangible in my hands, pressing closer into my hands. Ah, fuck, I think, he really works out a lot, my hands in his hair, nails scraping against the scalp just for the hell of it.
His hands are hot against my skin, pulling down on my bra, and fuck it, I’m about to fuck him right here in the middle of this club corridor—
Someone whistles. Both of us jump, Jihoon running halfway into the opposite wall. They’re regular clubbers, none of our classmates, but they’re staring at the two of us, barely hidden glee on their faces.
“Getting some, huh?” they shriek in glee, as I move past them, Jihoon slipping into the nearest men’s bathroom. I’ll have to explain all this to someone after the weekend, I think, grabbing my bag and stepping out of the club.
—
I stare at Jihoon, who apparently remembered the events of that night at the same moment as me, “No way.”
Jihoon, to his credit, has busied himself with the ends of his coat, “Don’t know what you’re thinking about.”
I groan, “Did we really do all that? In a club washroom?”
“Hey, it was a corridor beside the club washroom,” he mutters, “at least we had the sense to not do it in the middle of a washroom.”
“Potato, poh-ta-to,” I wave a hand, “I remember skipping university the next monday.”
Jihoon laughs, “I skipped university, too.”
I snorted, “and you just sent me a text on Tuesday, asking if I wanted to get ramen with you.”
“And that was it,” Jihoon sighs, “man, all I remember from university was talking to you every day. I was not about to give that up for a decision that neither of us really wanted to remember..”
“Huh.”
He peers at me, intrigued, “what do you mean ‘huh’? You don’t have anything to say about that?”
“No, not really,” I reply, pulling out my cigarette case. I've got a new brand of cigarettes today, something that's not menthol. Stronger. “I imagine we both had our reasons to not go back to that night. University was not particularly good for me, and I suppose you had your own share of problems. To bring in a relationship at that stage would not be entirely advisable, right?”
Jihoon nods, and accepts a proffered cigarette, “You remember my brand, huh.”
“Call it a force of habit. I know more about your preferences than I would like to admit.” I laugh, “remember when we used to talk about debuting? As a screenwriter and composer?”
“You were convinced we would work on a project together, and get famous,” Jihoon smiles, “and now, look at us.”
I shake my head, “Sometimes I do find myself thinking, what the hell am I doing? It’s a job where I am respected, yes, but I had dreams of doing something else. We had dreams of doing something else. Being a manager is financially satisfying, but I cannot seem to get rid of the thought that maybe, I’m meant to do something else.”
“The trappings of adulthood,” Jihoon still smokes the way he did in university, furtively, as though there was a professor around the corner, waiting to throw disapproving looks at us. In some ways, neither of us really grew up, never learnt to let go of the childish imagination that shaped us in more ways than one, never really knew how to be an adult, in the true sense of that word.
“How’s your mom?” he asks, still staring anywhere except at me, “I don’t think she took to the news of you being a manager very well. She always told you to do what you wanted.”
“Well, the real world didn’t listen to that, “ I laugh, sitting down on the corner pavement, “she still doesn’t understand why I’m still at this job, when I’ve saved up enough to do my own thing. It’s a—maybe it’s a good thing, I don’t know.”
“My mom keeps asking me about my plans to become a songwriter,” Jihoon laughs, his Busan accent slipping out, “difficult for me to explain to her that becoming a songwriter isn’t easy when they all know you as Kim Mingyu’s manager.”
I sigh, and Jihoon sits down beside me, “Yeah, we’ve got everything we need, apparently. But there is so much want inside of me, and I don’t really know where to put it. There’s so much I want to do, and no time for me to do it.”
“Do you still make scenarios?”
I turn to find him staring at me, “do you still make your songs?”
He laughs, “hey, if we get a script and an OST album, do you think we could convince those two to act in our movie?”
“All to have it bomb at the box-office?” I reply, “no, man, I’m trying to have a pension fund by the time I’m fifty.”
The ride back home is silent, if not downright morose, and Jihoon drives the car as fast as he can, dropping me off at my home like he's always done. I want to ask him how he knows the way to my house. I open my mouth to make a comment about it, and he just raises his eyebrows and points to a piece of paper stuck to the windshield, with a couple addresses on it, including mine. I laugh, loud enough for a nosy neighbour to throw an apprehensive look at me from their verandah, before making my way back to my house.
My mother is sitting up for me, as usual. I run into her as soon as I step into the living room, quietly observing my general state. I’m the same as how I was when I left, maybe a little worse for wear, and the cigarette smoke has all but gone from my clothes, courtesy of the liberal car air freshener. I stand at the edge of the living room, waiting for her to speak.
“Jihoon dropped you off, didn’t he?” She asks, eyes narrowed, “I remember him from university. It's been eight years of you both being friends.”
“Yes, he did,” I reply, “we’re working on a production together.”
“I still don’t understand why you didn’t do what you wanted to,” She shakes her head, already disappointed in me, “you and him both. Wasting all that potential, and for what? Running behind other people and helping them make their decisions? Being a footnote in the history of the world? I didn’t raise you to be like that, did I?”
“No, mom,” I say, dropping down to the sofa beside her, “but I like my job.”
She shakes her head, “No, no, do you not remember how hard it was after your father passed? All we had were this house and loans in our name, and yet, I managed to raise you so well, all for what? For you to be a manager?”
“I don’t want you to understand, mom, it’s alright if you don’t.” I sigh, looking at her, “I just need you to acknowledge that I have happiness in my life too. It’s not the life you saw for me, but it’s a fine life. I have happiness too, in my life.”
She stays silent for a long time. An uncomfortably long time, during which, I stare at my fingernails, half-chewed, half well-maintained. A paradox of self-harm and self-restraint. “And your dreams?” She asks, “what about all that I sacrificed to raise you for? What about all that you sacrificed? Are you just going to let all that go?”
“Life’s different, mom,” I help her up, “maybe in another life I’m following my dreams and making the best of it. Right now, I’m doing what I can.”
She sighs, shaking off my hand as soon as she gains her footing, “you’ve always been so good with words, I sometimes forget you’re my daughter.”
I walk back to my room, hanging up my suit jacket in a corner of my room. It’s fine, I’ll wash it tomorrow, or over the weekend—there are plenty of opportunities to do my chores. I have all my life to wash my dirty clothes and make my bed and watch that movie I really wanted to, a lifetime of indolence stretching out its arms for me—a pleasant thought, really.
My mother has always been someone who wanted me to have the thing she did not. Being stuck at an office job where the end goal was to get by just well enough to send me to a good school and save up for retirement, that wasn’t the end goal for her at all. She wanted me to follow my dreams, become someone of significance, someone respected. In the end, I suppose, I took on her dreams too, the ones she could not realise, simply because of her gender. I took my mother’s dreams on my shoulders, and only now did I realise—it was so heavy. Heavy enough that I couldn’t tell her a very simple thing, I’m happy too, mom.
In the end, perhaps children are all the same—we want to be acknowledged by our parents, but we miss the mark, and this life is spent waiting, wanting. For what, I cannot say.
Jihoon texts me while I’m getting changed for bed, the notification lighting up my phone screen. I pick it up at a speed which would have embarrassed me before, checking his message as another one comes in.
Lee Jihoon Hankuk: I have a hunch you still have my name saved as ‘Lee Jihoon Hankuk’. Even after all these years and a hundred thousand messages. I'm still ‘Lee Jihoon Hankuk’.
Sowon: Maybe?
Lee Jihoon Hankuk: so, Mingyu gets ‘Kim Mingyu’, but I have a signifier attached to my name?
Lee Jihoon Hankuk: feeling like I’m in a semiotics experiment. A field study, if you will.
I laugh, lowering the temperature of the air conditioner, getting into bed with my phone in my hand like some idiotic, lovesick teenager. Wait, is this who I am now? Someone who giggles over messages and texts underneath the covers? My phone pings again, and it’s Mirae this time.
Mirae: Unnie, do you want to go to a cafe with me tomorrow?
Sowon: aren’t you supposed to be at your parent’s house, Mirae-ssi
Mirae: how’d you know
Sowon: because I make your schedule, child
Mirae: ugh fine
Mirae: I’m going to go visit my parent’s house tomorrow
Mirae: I’ll take a cab, no need to get anyone out of their homes on a weekend
Sowon: I’ll get a cab at eleven?
Mirae: works, good night, love you
Sowon: Good night, Mirae.
I book a cab for the next day, making sure Mirae has enough reminders set in her calendar, and swipe back to Jihoon’s chat, still an unreplied message sitting in wait.
Lee Jihoon Hankuk: feeling like I’m in a semiotics experiment. A field study, if you will.
Sowon: What am I saved as?
Lee Jihoon Hankuk: ‘Kim Sowon’. Full legal name, of course.
Sowon: I feel like this conversation was a way for you to change your name in my phone
Lee Jihoon Hankuk: Will you blame me if it was? No one wants to remain associated with their alma mater five years after graduation.
Sowon: fine, fine. I’m changing it.
Lee Jihoon Hankuk: to what?
Sowon: ‘Lee Jihoon’. Full legal name, just like mine.
Lee Jihoon: You know, I’ll take it. What are you doing tomorrow?
Sowon: laundry, also making sure I don’t die of this heat T_T
Lee Jihoon: bingsu? There’s a new parlor right around where you live
Sowon: How the hell do you have all the locations of good restaurants?
Lee Jihoon: Mingyu
Sowon: makes sense, he is a huge foodie after all
Lee Jihoon: idk why but I feel jealous of this
Lee Jihoon: ANYWAY
Lee Jihoon: four p.m bingsu run?
I snort, who has heard of having bingsu at four p.m? For a gym rat like him, it probably meant he was on his cheat day.
Sowon: You know where I live.
—
The next morning, I woke up before my mother, and finished the week’s laundry. I’ve had to wrestle this duty from my mother, who still thinks it’s up to her to keep me fed and properly clothed, and in her absence, I’ll be unable to properly function. She’s not wrong. I make a late lunch for us, and we eat in complete silence.
Weekends are sometimes difficult. I’m sure my mother hates the idea of me spending a day in bed, not up at the crack of dawn to start working. She also hates the fact that the company sometimes forces me to come in over the weekend, making me work overtime for someone else’s mistakes. From time to time, I wonder if my mother has ever approved of my career choices. Ah, this shame. My mother’s life has been hard: without my father’s support, she had to raise me in a society where widows were treated as nothing but a burden.
It’s the shame of it all, I had explained to Jihoon once, back in freshman year when he had made an offhand comment about my mother being too overbearing at times, it’s the shame of being a single mom for most of her life. She doesn’t want to be in a universe where her daughter is not the best.
The summer heat is unbearable when I walk to the bingsu parlor, and Jihoon is already there, waiting for me to make my appearance. He’s dressed even more casually today, t-shirt over shorts, glasses perched on his nose. Even in the state of general disheveledness, he grabs attention, from people walking by, to the cashier in the parlor, who sends both of us an interesting look as we take our seats.
“Chocolate?” He asks, “you still like chocolate, right?”
“It’s a timeless flavor, of course I like it,” I snort. Orders placed, he takes the seat opposite of mine, “any reason for getting me to come out to eat bingsu today?”
“Can’t a guy just call his best friend to eat a delicious summertime dessert? Must there be some sort of work purpose there as well?”
I roll my eyes, “This is all because Mirae and Mingyu haven’t gotten their chemistry right, yeah? Nothing we can do about that, I’m afraid. They will need to do a couple photoshoots soon enough, I’m dreading it already.”
“Couple shoot?” he raises one eyebrow, “Shouldn’t they be doing it during promotions?”
“The buzz around it is already insane,” I mutter, pulling up one of twenty articles released since the announcement of the movie, “They need to capitalize on it as much as they can. And if we know one thing about the reporters, it’s that they never miss any opportunity to make a good story. The more clicks, the better.”
Jihoon sighs, “Remember last year? When they wrote at least three hundred articles for that actress, just because she smoked a cigarette? One of my worst fears is that Mingyu will be subject to articles like that, even if he’s done nothing egregious.”
“Mirae almost had them last year, when she said something about the industry’s hiring practices. The office was in an uproar. God knows how many favors I had to pull in that week.”
“Reporters must hate you now,” Jihoon smiles, “did you at least bribe them with something nice?”
“I sent in a package of fruits to ten of them, out of my own pocket,” I shrug, “I had to give up on getting lunch outside for a whole three weeks.”
“Imagine that,” He laughs, “How do you normally spend your weekends?”
“Doing chores. I fixed the grout in the bathroom before taking a shower today.”
The bingsu comes, with two spoons for sharing, and we both start tucking in, making for five minutes of silence, broken when Jihoon stops eating, “We should take one for your mom.”
“She does not like bingsu,” I reply, eating the shaved ice, “she catches a cold easily, especially in summer. I can get her egg tarts, though. They have egg tarts here, too.”
“The egg tarts are better in the store down the block,” Jihoon counters, “I’ve been coming here for the past couple of years, I know almost every nook and cranny of the shops in this neighborhood.”
“You make it sound as though you’ve moved here,” I mutter, “the bingsu is gonna melt all over the table.”
The sun is relentless as we leave the cafe, and Jihoon insists we need to go to the convenience store, because he’s run out of snacks, and if Mingyu doesn’t get his zero-calorie shrimp chip fix at midnight, he remains cranky for the next twelve hours. While he hunts for his snacks, I debate on whether I should stick to my usual menthols or get a new flavor of cigarette, just to try. I end up getting the menthols as usual, settling down at one of the tables outside the store with a can of cider. Jihoon emerges a few minutes later, victorious, holding up the shrimp chips as though he’s won a war. He frowns as soon as he sees the pack of cigarettes in my hands.
“Aren't you tired of smoking the same flavour of cigarettes? Shouldn't you try something else for a change, something like strawberry-flavored cigarettes?” He asks, settling down, “You’ve been smoking those cigarettes since the first year of university.”
“How do you even remember stuff from five years ago?” I shake my head, “never thought you had the capacity for anything other than music or your work.”
“This is work,” he counters, “I can’t help remembering the exact brand you smoked in college. I don’t even think I saw you without one in between your fingers, like a French New Wave cinema reproduction.”
“Very funny,” I laugh, and the sardonic nature of it is not lost on him, “I should have never hung out with you after second year. All you did, apparently, was track my smoking habits and make me get threatening posts on social media sites.”
He squints, “Threatening posts? Who was threatening you?”
I stare, is he really this stupid, or is he doing it on purpose? There’s no way he isn’t aware, or wasn’t aware, right? “You have no idea who was threatening me, right?”
Jihoon shakes his head, clearly stupid, and I get the sudden urge to throttle him in the middle of the road, reaching over the plastic table. Instead, I scowl, before releasing a puff of smoke right into his face, “You had no clue back then, and you have no clue right now? Why were people making shady posts about me on community sites and talking shit behind my back?”
“I kinda assumed they were ragging on you for no reason. I even wrote a post defending your ass.” Jihoon replies, “You’re telling me it had nothing to do with what I thought it was about?”
“No, it wasn’t,” I rub my hand over my face, “it was because you used to hang out with me all the time.”
“Huh?” The confusion on his face is genuine, as far as I can see, “Why would anyone hate you just because you used to hang out with me regularly?”
I sigh, there’s no saving him at all, is there? “Are all men this clueless, or are you the problem here?” I scroll through what seems like years worth of old Instagram photos—some people I refused to talk to now, others who merely dropped out of touch—and land on the one photo that got me into trouble. “Look at this and tell me that it was a normal photo.”
Jihoon takes my phone, and examines the photo currently on display. It’s an innocuous enough photo—him, sitting in front of composing equipment, chips in mouth. Close-up, taken on an expensive film camera. The silver wire frames of his glasses, perched casually on the back of his neck, glitter, catching on a stray beam of sunlight. “It’s a good picture,” he says, after three minutes of careful study, “I don’t understand why anyone would get in trouble for this.”
I groan, yanking my phone back from him, “Seriously? Do you have any idea? No idea why this particular photo might have gotten me in trouble?”
He shakes his head.
“It looks like it was taken by your girlfriend!” I half-yell, resisting the urge to shake him properly, “The picture, it looks like I’m dating you!”
“This does not look that way,” he mutters, “seriously? People gave you grief over that picture? I’m wearing my glasses on my neck, Sowon. It’s silly.”
“According to the women of Hankuk, it was a big deal,” I mutter, “and I was the one getting hate comments on my instagram for months, not you.”
Jihoon sighs, “And we mostly fell out of touch with all of them after graduation, too busy with our own lives. Imagine doing all that for a person you lose contact with after your designated months in academic hell are over.”
“One of the people in our club has a wedding coming up,” I say, and his face is just as confused, “did you really not keep contact with anyone after you graduated?”
“I was too busy driving Mingyu all around, so yeah, a bit too busy,” Jihoon says, but clearly he’s interested, “who is it?”
“Eun-sook,” I showed him the virtual wedding card, a date set for next month, “She’s marrying some manager of an investment company. They were talking about it in the last reunion.”
“You still go to reunions?” He says, half-amused, half-incredulous, “If they treated you like shit over a stupid picture, then why do you keep going to the stupid reunions?”
“Why indeed?” I light up another cigarette, and Jihoon throws a disapproving look at me, “I guess I just want to feel included in things, somehow—even after how good university was, or my grades were, it all remains a semi-bitter memory for me—and I’d like to change how I feel about those people, even for a little while. When I hang out with them for an overpriced lunch, I’m reimagining how university should have been for me, about ten years after the fact.”
“That is somehow very heartwarming and at the same time, incredibly sad,” Jihoon laughs, “why the hell did you not include me in this project?”
“What, ask you to get overpriced lunch with me once every six months?” I reply, “You’d hate it, and I’m happier getting bingsu and shrimp crackers with you on a weekend.”
“Maybe,” He shrugs, “but at least they get to have a proper expensive meal with you. Next time, let’s get steaks.”
“They’re gonna serve steaks at dinner, you know.” I tell him, smile in place, “At the wedding. They’ll have steaks on the menu. That venue always does the same catering.”
He raises an eyebrow, “Come on, don’t make me—”
“I already said I’d bring a plus one,” I wheedle, completely aware it sounds whiny as fuck, “Come on, it’ll be fun! You don’t even have to give them money, I’ll do it for the both of us.”
He still looks unconvinced, “I really don’t want to go to Eun-Sook’s wedding, of all people. Imagine being married to Eun-Sook. Should I give the groom congratulatory money or condolence money?”
“Neither,” I scowl, “I’ll text you the address, pick me up. It’s in two weeks, so get a proper jacket.”
“Are you going to wear a dress?”
“I’ll wear a normal dress, like every other woman at the party,” I reply, “black color scheme, make sure you match with me.”
“It’s called twinning, you fool,” he mutters, “you know what, fine. I’ll go with you to Eun-sook’s wedding. But if she makes a single comment about us in university, I’m walking out of there.”
“Will you be walking out of the wedding in thirty minutes?” I laugh, “There’s no way Eun-sook, or any of her friends would be really subtle about making any references to our friendship. Whether in university, or otherwise.”
“Really?” His eyes are sharp now, “What did she say in university?”
I roll my eyes, setting off towards my house. Jihoon runs up behind me, hand clutched around the pack of shrimp chips, “You’re avoiding the question.”
“I’m not,” I quicken my pace, and he speeds up to keep my pace, “I just don’t want to make a big deal out of things than what they already are.”
“And what are they?” He asks, keeping pace with me, “Is it about us being friends? Or is it about the fact that we’re still in touch and don’t hate each other through the years of adulthood?”
“It’s all that, and probably more,” I mutter, as we pass the bingsu parlor, “imagine always being subject to questions about you and your friendships with other people, specifically, the one person in university who was always on your side.”
“So, it’s a matter of pride,” Jihoon muses, “I thought you were a very complicated woman, Kim Sowon. Maybe not.”
“I’m the same as everyone,” I reply, turning left into the street where I live, “the fact that I’m a bit more complex than the rest of the people around me, is nothing bad, is it?”
“Not at all,” He pauses in front of my house, “not unless you’re making it a defining personality trait, Sowon.”
“You wish,” I snort, pushing open the gate, “I’ll text you the date okay?”
“I’ll be there.” Jihoon’s staring at me. His eyes have that unreadable look in them that only happens when he sees something particularly egregious, but all I can think of right now is how unfair of him. To look at me with concern in those eyes, and that look on his face, all coupled with those features—Jihoon seems to have been made in a lab for the express purpose of ruining my life. It’s always been like this, even in university. He’s always been like this, pushing my boundaries, showing up concerned for me in situations where my heart had no other options but to stutter. Just like right now.
“Cat got your tongue, Sowon?” He's laughing at me. I frown, then walk up the steps and disappear into my house.
As I slip underneath the covers that night, I can’t help but think this is all going to blow up in my face somehow. And yet, I can’t help it—to be in a room with so many people from university, who have all been a witness to my most embarrassing years, seems counterproductive. Because, if we are being real here, it gets tiring. To be part of a group where almost everyone looks down on you for doing a job that does not align with your initial goals and aspirations. To this day, I can’t forget the expression Eun-Sook had made when hearing about my job, straight out of university, “You’re a roadie?” She’d been recruited into the same company her father worked at, while I had to navigate an economy where my degree was rapidly losing relevance, and every company who held recruitment drives shook their heads at my resume, as soon as they realised I was not the kind of candidate they wanted. So, in a way, me showing up to Eun-sook’s wedding, with the person she had always incited rumors about me with, was a kind of revenge, the one that’s subtle and in your face at the same time.
—
We’re sitting on the sofa. The two of us, Mirae and I.
Under normal circumstances, of course, it wouldn’t be a problem, but the circumstances have been exacerbated slightly, given the events of the past hour.
“You blew me off to get bingsu with Lee Jihoon?” Mirae shrieks, “And I had to hear of it from Mingyu, of all people!”
“Are we going to discuss what we witnessed in your apartment half an hour ago?” I raise an eyebrow, “Or are you harping on me getting a summer dessert with someone I’ve known from university, in order to defer attention from yourself?”
“And you’re also changing the topic!” Mirae points a finger at me, “I saw you two holding hands today!”
“Maybe we were both so shocked at what we saw, that we needed to take a moment to ourselves,” I reason, “You were kissing—”
Mirae yells, cutting off my line of thought, “That was unnecessary.” I murmur, tapping my ears. She probably yelled the hearing out of me.
“Why did you have to come into the house at that moment?” She wails again, and I consider the pros and cons of moving to Jeju Island permanently, “I was handling it!”
“Yeah, by attaching yourself to his mouth, as we both saw.”
“That!” Mirae holds up a finger, “That was one time. One time. Nothing more than that.”
“Mirae,” I turn to her, “you’ve been avoiding Kim Mingyu all your life. Every time I brought up him or Jihoon in a conversation, you seemed to run in an entirely opposite direction. You refused to emcee an event once, because he was supposed to attend. Hell, you barely agreed to this film, even though it’s directed by Director Lee, all because Mingyu was going to be part of it. So, forgive me, but I think both Jihoon and I are allowed to be a little surprised when we enter your house to find the two of you kissing.”
“Ugh,” Mirae groans, “stop reminding me of the fact that I have responsibilities, and that I fucked up.”
“Jihoon is probably giving Mingyu the same lecture too.” I gesture vaguely, “If you to fuck up, the responsibility is on us—as managers, we are supposed to know what the hell is best for our actors. Sharing clandestine kisses without any supervision is probably not an ideal outcome. For any of us.”
“Look, it just happened, okay?” Mirae throws up her hands, frustrated, “Hell, I’m wondering what the fuck possessed me to do that, too. One moment we were rehearsing scenes from the script, the next we were talking about kissing, and suddenly, we were doing the deed.”
“God,” I pinch my eyebrow, “at least what happened was the best-case scenario. You were in your house, rehearsing lines,and it was me and Jihoon who stumbled in, because it could have been way worse.”
“How is it worse?” She gives me a shrewd look, “You’re not typically one to do risk analysis and say ‘it could have been worse’.”
I rattle off the factors, “It could have been a public place, there could have been spectators, you could have had someone like an assistant director or a production assistant interrupt the two of you, or the worst of all scenarios; you could have actual feelings for him.”
I resist the urge to smile, because for how good she is at acting, she is a pretty bad liar. “And you don’t have any feelings for Kim Mingyu, right. Hence, not the worst case scenario, and we’re saved, for now, at least.”
“But you’re not letting this go.”
“But I’m not letting this go,” I nod, “you will have even more eyes on you, after the Blue Dragon win the previous year. If you fuck up, it’s not just you, but a whole company that will suffer.”
Mirae scowls. She hates it, the idea of being responsible for another person’s life and death, but I can’t help it. She needs to be at least slightly aware of what’s at stake here, “Look, I don’t like this either, but you kind of have to do it. In whatever way possible.”
“It’s a good thing that I don’t have any feelings for Mingyu, then.” She smiles, “No chances of me causing a scandal.”
“Maybe in a couple more years,” I shrug, “I’ll send you on three dates in a week, for your birthday next year.”
“With separate people?”
“With separate people,” I nod, “You’ll have as much fun as you want, but this film is far too crucial.”
“One chaebol, at least,” Mirae says, after a minute, “Anyway, why were you and Jihoon here?”
“Ah yes,” I clap my hands, reaching into my bag and getting a file, “Here is your schedule for the next week. Mingyu has one that’s probably identical to yours, but he’s not doing the pictorial shoot. That’s solo. The next one will be a shoot for the two of you, so be prepared for it.”
“Wait, the pictorial is on a Saturday, right?” Mirae points at the paper, “Why are you not taking part in this?”
“What?” I peer over her shoulder, “Ah, yes, I’m off that day.”
“You always insist on being with me at pictorials.”
“I have a wedding to go to, Mirae,” I shrug, “I’ll be back for the next one. We both will have to coordinate, really.”
“A wedding?” Mirae sits up, eyes gleaming, “whose is it?”
“A friend from university,” I replied, “Do you want to pick out my outfit for the event?”
“You’ll probably end up with a business suit anyway,” She grumbles, “at least borrow my black tweed.”
“Maybe I will,” I reply, “I’ll ask Jihoon to coordinate.”
“Lee Jihoon? Is he also a guest?”
I shake my head, “He’s going as my plus one.”
“Your plus one?” Mirae stands up, “Lee Jihoon, as your plus one? Are you dating him?”
“Huh?” I scowl, “What the hell are you talking about? Going to a wedding together is not the same thing as dating. You must be aware of this, right?”
“No, but making a statement by going to one’s old university enemy’s wedding, with the same guy that they made rumors about you for three years, is definitely a power move, if not nothing,” Mirae smiles, devious intentions coming out in full play, “Do you want a hairstylist for this wedding? Should we call the makeup artists?”
“Don’t make a big deal about it, I’m going to a wedding, not the Oscars,” I mutter, “why the hell would I dress to the nines for a university batchmate’s wedding? She’s getting married to a hedge fund manager, for fuck’s sake.”
“I thought you said he was an investment manager.”
“He’s a hedge fund manager,” I shrug, “I didn’t know until someone else commented in a chatroom about her husband. God, they hate each other too, apparently.”
“And what about you?”
“I hate myself, so it’s slightly different, I think,” I shake my head, picking a glass out from her impressive collection of tableware, “don’t divert the topic at hand, Mirae. What happened today—”
“Cannot happen again,” she mutters, “I know, I know.”
“I did not say that,” I pull a face, “all I was going to say is that if something like that were to happen again, I would like you to at least give us a bit of warning about your feelings, before going in headfirst.”
“Are you—did you just give me permission to date Kim Mingyu?”
“The things I have to do as a mother,” I sigh, pulling out my phone, “Jihoon, where are you?” It doesn’t even faze me anymore when he picks up within two rings.
“Right outside the building,” he replies, voice tired, “And to think we were going to eat soba noodles after dropping Mingyu off.”
There’s a slight shuffle in the background, and Mingyu’s voice floats through, “Noona! He’s keeping me hostage, noona! I’m going to die, my dad is going to kill me—”
“As you can see, he’s dramatic,” Jihoon mutters, “Do you want me to come up, or do you want the two of us to leave?”
“You know what, let’s make it a proper dinner, Jihoon,” I say, and Mirae looks over at me, confused, “We’re both leaving in a minute. The soba noodle place has private rooms, right?”
“Yes, should I change the reservation?”
“Thanks, you get it,” I reply, hanging up.
“What the hell was that?”
“Group intervention.” I say, hauling her up, “come on, Mom and Dad have to say something to you kids.”
—
As predicted, the drive is mostly quiet, with all the conversation coming from Jihoon and me, planning the next week’s schedules out, cross-referencing with each other about the events Mingyu and Mirae have to attend together. In the back seat, the two of them are silent, only communicating in glances. At this rate, even if we stuck them into a closed room, they’re going to take years to get to the point of the matter.
“About this afternoon,” Jihoon prefaces, sitting down next to me on the floor, “I assume we were not supposed to see that happen?”
Both Mingyu and Mirae start talking at the same time, and I hold up my hand, “One at a time, the both of you.”
“Look,” Mirae goes first, “It wasn’t a big deal, right? We can both agree it was a mistake, and we can move on—”
“Mistake?” Mingyu screeches, “Once is a mistake. Once means it was nothing, and it will probably be nothing, you kissed me twice!”
“Shut up!” Mirae hisses, at the same time as Jihoon, who’s also yelling, “Twice?”
“What the hell do you mean twice?” I ask, pouring myself wine, “Don’t drink, Jihoon, you’re driving.”
To their credit, both of them look guilty as hell.
“You’re both adults, grown-ass adults, might I add,” I sigh, “I don’t understand why the hell did you think it was necessary to keep this development a secret from us.”
“Because you’d judge.” Mingyu replies.
“And that would affect you how?” Jihoon, who gets sarcastic when angry, “Like Sowon said, you’re both grown-ass adults. Why the hell do you want to be validated by us? It’s normal to date, you know. We’re not going to put you on a relationship ban and expect you to act like normal, because that is never possible.”
“So, what you’re telling us, is that we need to be as discreet as possible,” Mirae says, not impressed at all, “strange, coming from the two people who should be against us dating.”
“We’re not idiots,” Jihoon replies, “people should not be controlled, if that is what you want us to say.”
“Just don’t do ridiculous things, like sending each other huge bouquets of flowers,” I reply, “and we’ll be fine. And don’t do anything without telling us first, please.”
“This sounds suspiciously like a shakedown,” Mingyu mutters, “I don’t like this at all.”
“You’re gonna hate it even more when the press starts banging on your doors,” Jihoon replies, “And Sowon is perfectly capable of giving you a shakedown when necessary.”
“I liked it more when you were just mom and dad,” Mingyu says, sad now, “This all feels very complicated and tough.”
“Eat your soba, both of you.” I reply, passing water to Jihoon, “No alcohol for you, you’re driving.”
After the dinner, the two of us drop off Mirae and Mingyu at their homes, and Jihoon drives the extra ten minutes to my house, ignoring all my protestations. I reach over to unhook my seatbelt, and he stops me, “Sowon, I need to tell you something.”
I sigh, “look, I’ll deal with Mirae. If they’re discreet enough about it, then I think we can navigate this without getting into a public scandal. A public scandal would be the worst thing for both Mirae and Mingyu right now.”
“It’s not about—” Jihoon replies, pinching his brow, “can we stop talking about work for five minutes? I don’t want to constantly talk about work.”
“Jihoon, we need to talk about work if there’s a potential scandal waiting to blow up in our faces,” I make a face, “what else can we talk about?”
“I don’t know, about the two of us? When have we ever had a conversation that did not go into Mirae-Mingyu territory within ten minutes?” He looks frustrated, “it’s been years, Kim Sowon, years. We’ve been friends for years, and all we can talk about are our actors. It’s fucking stupid.”
“There’s nothing about the two of us that we can talk about, Jihoon,” I correct him gently, “you told it yourself, remember? Two years ago, when I was promoted to senior manager, you told me, ‘now we’re really never going to have anything for ourselves, huh.”
“And I hate that we never have time for ourselves,” Jihoon says, “at the wedding, can we stop thinking about Mirae and Mingyu for a single day, and enjoy ourselves?”
“I’ll try my best, Lee Jihoon.” I reply, climbing out of the car. Jihoon runs over to my side, holding the door open for me, “you look very sad right now.”
“I am very sad.”
“Not a lot I can do about it, I’m sorry,” I attempt a smile, holding out my arms, “hug?”
Jihoon rolls his eyes, but smiles anyway, and he wraps his arms around my waist to pick me clean off the ground. My sound of surprise comes out as muffled laughter against his shoulder, and when he settles me down on the ground, I can feel his chest against mine. Jihoon’s solid, unwavering. I still don’t know his heart. His hands are strong and warm against my back, and I don’t want to let him go. I want to invite him in, drag him back to my bed and feel that warmth against my skin. Not just for tonight.
What?
Jihoon’s staring at me, his nose touching mine, and he smiles, placing a warm kiss against my cheek, “see you on Saturday.”
—
I hate weddings. It’s a proven fact, given that my earlier two experiences at weddings were both shitty and I had to leave the venue at least an hour before, and I’d been on the receiving end of people saying things about me that were, well, not good. But this time, it’ll be different. This time, I’m going to be going with Jihoon, who’s objectively a proper choice to bring to a wedding. And my mother has been off my back about it, blissfully so.
Mirae has a photoshoot today, which means my phone has been inundated with messages from the stylists all morning, showing me pictures of her on the set. Mirae had also offered to get me to a makeup and hairstylist for today, which I had to decline. She had not taken well to the rejection.
Lee Jihoon: gonna be there in ten minutes.
Lee Jihoon: who let them have an afternoon wedding? OUTSIDE?
Sowon: don’t text and drive
Lee Jihoon: omg advice from lewis hamilton himself.
Lee Jihoon: it took you three tries to pass your driving tests, dummy.
Sowon: and i am eternally thankful to your majesty for helping me pass the practical test.
Sowon: but i mean it.
Lee Jihoon: whatever.
“You clean up well,” Jihoon says simply, as he parks the car in front of my house, “never thought I’d see you in anything but a pantsuit, but here we are.”
“Same goes for you too,” I reply, walking up to him, “at least this got you to wear a suit instead of a shirt at all times.”
“Only for you, apparently,” he mutters, pulling me into a hug. “I would rather jump in front of a moving train than wear a suit. It’s already so stuffy.”
“Yeah, they shouldn’t have had a summer wedding,” I concede, “They’re rushing this wedding a bit, I think.”
“Oh, so she’s pregnant.”
“What—no, she’s not!” I sputter, even as Jihoon drives out of the lane, driving faster than he should be, “She would have told someone at least, if she was pregnant!”
“She wouldn’t. Who are her best friends?”
“Jihyun and Seah.”
“Those two cannot keep a secret to save their lives.”
“There’s a reason why they’re good friends,” I sigh, “look, just drive us there in one piece. I’m not prepared to die this soon.”
“Understandable.”
The two of us sit in companionable silence, as Jihoon drives through city traffic, and I keep looking at him. He’s gotten out of his usual shirts and opted to wear a plain black suit, with a blue shirt that looked so good on him it felt awkward.
I was not lying. Jihoon cleaned up really nice. The planes of his cheekbones accentuated by the high collar of the shirt and coat, the nonchalant look on his face as he drove us to the wedding venue, everything contributed to the look. I suddenly feel slightly hot under the collar of my no-nonsense black tweed dress, borrowed from Mirae’s wardrobe for this very occasion. Jihoon looks good today, and it’s taking all my self-control to not ruin my only nontransactional relationship in the industry.
“You do look very sexy in that dress,” he says, as the car comes to a halt at a traffic light, “the black tweed and the thigh-high stockings. Very sexy.”
I laugh at him, “what?”
Jihoon shrugs, grinning, “relax, I’m not gonna put any moves on you. But even so, there’s no rule against appreciating the—forms of a friend. Especially one that looks so good.”
I narrow my eyes, “the flirting is new.”
Jihoon laughs at that, “I’ve always been flirting with you, you dumbass. This time it’s just explicit.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I turn away. Harmless flirtation? My ass. The little shit knew what he wanted to say, and he knew exactly what his words meant. I laugh. The clouds outside are dispersing slowly, and I know if I reach out to hold his hand, Jihoon will not let go. He never does.
I don’t reach out.
—
The venue is beautiful. Even me, as her number one hater, I had to concede that Eun-sook knew how to throw a party. Everything, from the details on the table decoration to the soft lights hanging over the wedding guests as they stand witness to Eun-sook and her hedge-fund manager fiance walk down the aisle to Pachelbel’s Canon in D.
“They’re playing Canon in D, you know.” I whisper in Jihoon’s ears. He shifts closer to me, the line of his leg pressing against mine, and I try not to think about it. I’ve been trying not to hear about a lot of things lately.
“More like Canon in deez—” Jihoon mutters in response, shutting up when I glare at him, “sorry. But they’re really bad. Canon in D? It’s a cliche.”
“Then shut up!” I hiss, “don't make deez nuts jokes in the middle of a wedding service.”
Jihoon sulks, “hey, you used to think they were funny.”
“They are, just not while I’m trying to congratulate Eun-sook on her marriage to a hedge-fund manager.” I sigh, before turning around and catching Seah’s eye, who still looks at me like I personally victimised her dog or something. This is of course, not true, as Seah would never be caught dead with a dog. I shake my head, before turning to the ceremony, still in full swing, and try to concentrate. Life never really got easier, huh?
“Here with Jihoon?” Seah exclaims as I take my third dessert at the reception, tucking into salted caramel icecream, “wait, what brand is that two-piece?”
“Uhh, Chanel, I think?” I try to think back to the photoshoot Mirae wore in this outfit, “I don’t know the collection, but yes, Chanel.”
Seah stares at me for a minute, then frowns, as if not really believing that I would have the fashion sense to buy something from Chanel, “anyway, you’re here with Jihoon?”
“We’ve been friends for a long time, Seah, of course we’d come together,” I reply, smiling at her, “why, you don’t think that’s plausible?”
“I don’t think a lot of things are plausible, but who cares what I think,” Seah grumbles, “I told Eunsook to throw the bouquet to me. But apparently Jihyun should get it, since ‘she has a boyfriend’. Bullshit.”
“Ah, really? I did not know that,” I laugh, discreetly texting underneath the table.
Sowon: please get me out of Seah’s clutches.
Lee Jihoon: what’s she doing
Sowon: telling me why she should have been the one to get the bouquet from Eunsook.
Lee Jihoon: sounds riveting.
Lee Jihoon: i’m talking to Jihyuk btw. He’s big into crypto. Very big.
Sowon: i’m gonna commit some crimes if you don’t get me out of here right now please i’ll do anything
Lee Jihoon: anything?
Sowon: yeah
Approximately thirty seconds later, a solid arm slides round my waist, and before I can even turn around, Jihoon places a small kiss on my cheek, “everything all right?”
Seah’s eyes are practically bursting out of their sockets right now, “you two—”
“Nothing permanent, don’t worry,” I laugh, glaring at Jihoon and whispering, “let me go.”
He doesn’t, instead tightens his hold on me, whispering in my ear, “This is more fun. We can scandalise them, you can have your revenge, and I get to flirt with you as much as I want to.”
I pull a face, looking at Seah for a way to stop this line of conversation, but she’s gone, and instead of her, five other pairs of eyes seem to be looking at us. Specifically, at Jihoon’s leg, shoved in between mine, very indecently. I shut my eyes, trying not to think about how his arms feel around my waist. Brain working overtime to purify my mind of all the obscene and vulgar thoughts I’m having about his hands and fingers at this very moment, I grab a hold of his arm, “you idiot. We can’t stay here anymore.”
“But I thought you wanted to have a bit of revenge on them?” he raises an eyebrow, “are you seriously going to tell me this isn’t funny?”
“Jihoon.” I reply, “we’re friends.”
“And friends can do this much for each other, can’t they?” he grins, removing his hands from my waist. But before I can have any sort of relief, he holds my hand, smacks an extra wet kiss on my cheek, and turns to the rapidly growing audience, “we should go from here.”
“Jihoon, please.” I try to reason, “I still need to sample the tiramisu.”
He laughs, “don’t worry, you can get that later.” and proceeds to walk out of the reception hall with me in two, and about fifty pairs of eyes following our every move.
—
“Really? You had to do that?” I snap at him as soon as we get into the car, “everyone else thought we were leaving to fuck!”
Jihoon raises both his eyebrows, “and who’s being indecent now?”
I roll my eyes, glaring at him as he starts the car, “Jihyuk slapped you on the shoulder while we were leaving, and he was laughing.”
“Jihyuk is a degenerate,” Jihoon shrugs, “and besides, you and I got our revenge. They’re never gonna go after either of us now.”
“Because they now think we’re idiots who fuck like rabbits!” I want to yell at him, “they think we’re fuck buddies or something like that.”
“Fuck buddies?” He looks aghast, “they should just make me your mistress instead. That would be better that ‘fuck buddies’.”
Even in the middle of the argument, I can’t help but laugh, “you would be a kept man?”
Jihoon nods, “I’d be great at it, too.”
“You and I have been single since university ended because work would not let us have normal lives,” I laugh, “what makes you think you’re gonna be any good as a kept man?”
Jihoon looks at me, expression now unreadable, “you forget, my dear, that the fact that I have been without a girlfriend for the past five years, is a point in my favour.”
“Why?”
“What do you think I’ve been doing? Without a girlfriend?”
I shrug, “Learning how to bake?”
He shakes his head, holding out his hands, “I’ve watched porn.”
That makes me laugh out loud, “what?”
“I’m being serious! I’ve watched so much porn, I think if I apply that knowledge well, I can be a sex god. Just you wait.”
I roll my eyes, “yes, yes, Mr Sex God. please drive with your eyes on the road.”
“Remember the guy who once told everyone in university that he was the second coming of Christ?" Jihoon changes the subject after a while, taking a sudden turn on the road, “he was there too.”
I nod in reply. Before the cursed conversation with Seah, the reception had been normal enough—as normal as one could expect from a reception hosted by one of the most notorious party animals of their university. Right now, we are both in Jihoon’s car, my heels abandoned somewhere in the backseat in favour of comfortable slippers Jihoon had bought from the convenience store. He’s sitting next to me, and we just ate ice-cream together. Is this domestic?
“Really did not think we would still be in a wedding so long after we've graduated university, and no one has changed very much. We're all the same. Childish, annoying, slightly stuck-up.”
“Change is relative, my dear,” he smiles at me, “look at us. Anyone else would say that we’ve changed, but have we? We still are the same you and me that we were back in university, just older. Look at us. Do you think we’ve changed a lot?”
“No,” I concur, “but maybe, we don’t need to change that much. We're no longer the same immature people we were in university, but we have changed, have we not?”
Jihoon sighs, “we’ve just learnt to give up on our dreams a lot easier than the rest of the people we went to university with, that’s for one.”
I shake my head. Every alternate conversation with Jihoon comes to this point, inevitably. Dreams. “I don’t know if you resent me for not pursuing my dream, or if you resent yourself for never pursuing yours,” I say, looking out of the window, “you need to figure that out first. Otherwise, it makes no sense for you to constantly bring up our dreams, especially when we can do nothing about it.”
Jihoon brings the car to a halt, “come on, Sowon, you’re telling me you’ve never once thought of it?”
I raise an eyebrow, “thought of what?”
He makes a frustrated noise, “leaving behind the company, and starting over. You know you have the talent to become big in the industry. You’re just sitting here, and for what?”
“Because I have a job, Jihoon,” I’m still turned away from him, “I have a job, and I’m responsible for a lot of people under my leadership, Jihoon. You, of all people, should not be unfamiliar with this. You’re in the same position as me.”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?” I turn my head to look at him, and oh. He looks so forlorn, so beautiful it makes my heart stutter just a tiny bit, “did you honestly think I was going to give up my work and go off on a whim just to follow my dreams? Jihoon, you have people depending on you. Mingyu depends on you. Mirae depends on me. We cannot let them down, not right now.”
Jihoon sighs, hands clenched around the steering wheel, “you’re right, as always, huh?”
“I’m right because I know the stakes right now, and they are high as hell,” I laugh, reaching for his hand, “let’s go.”
Jihoon’s house is closer to the wedding hall than mine, which means I get to ignore all his protestations and walk out of the car and grin at him while he chases after me, “I can take the subway from here on out.”
“Really?” Jihoon raises an eyebrow, “you’re gonna be fine? I can drop you off at your house. It’s not that long of a drive.”
“It’s fine,” I shake my head, “I need to read through the script they sent to the company.”
“I knew your workaholic ass would not stick to the promise of a holiday. And you want me to believe that you haven’t read the script at least ten times since the moment they sent it to the agency?” Jihoon raises an eyebrow at me, “who’s read it more, you or Mirae?”
“Probably Mirae, but I have multicoloured sticky tabs on my side,” I laugh, and Jihoon laughs too, the two of us at the gates of his house, “Mirae and Mingyu’s film starts shooting two weeks from now. They need us to be there.”
“You mean they need the two of us to act as their chaperones while they struggle to keep their hands off of each other, you mean,” Jihoon grumbles, “they’re going to get themselves in trouble one of these days, and we're gonna have to fix their scandal.”
I laugh, because Jihoon looks so gorgeous in the early evening light, and I’m suddenly consumed by the irrational desire to run my hands through his hair. I stop myself. I don’t know if he wants anything, and above all, I don’t want to overstep.
“You’ve been thinking about shit, huh?” Jihoon looks at me, “was the wedding bad for you?”
The wedding? I want to laugh. I don’t care about the wedding. The wedding was something I had to tick off of a list, so I went. Jihoon was there with me, so Jihoon was roped alongside me in a stupid attempt to come off as normal. The wedding was immaterial.
“No, the wedding was fine,” I reply, “your flirting was really bad, though.”
Jihoon’s face changes, cycling through three emotions too fast for me to discern, before settling on anticipatory, “you hated the flirting?”
“I did.” I lie.
He shakes his head, “no, I don’t think you did.”
I shake my head. Jihoon’s disarming me as usual, “no, I didn’t.”
He cocks his head, pulling me close. I close my eyes. One of his hands is on my waist, the other held around his suit jacket. Jihoon’s cologne envelops my senses as he pulls me to him, “look at me.”
I open my eyes. Jihoon’s looking at me, pupils blown wide open, “what do you want right now, Sowon?”
I sigh, my hands bracing against his arms, “we’re friends, Jihoon.”
Jihoon blinks, “yes, but—” he moves to remove his hands from my waist, and I tighten my grip, “I’m sorry.”
“You should take me home, Lee Jihoon,” I whisper, reaching to loosen his tie, “right now, in fact.”
Jihoon smiles, before holding out his hand for me, leading me up the steps of his house.
—
Jihoon holds my hand till the moment the door to his house clicks shut behind me, and then he looks at me, “are you regretting this?”
I narrow my eyes, “I’m fairly terrified that I’m going to fuck this up, and ruin any relationship I pursue with you, and in doing that, I’m going to ruin my longest friendship and lose my best friend. I’m not regretting this, I’m just scared.”
Jihoon looks down to the point where our hands are still joined, and runs his thumb over the back of my hand, “I don’t want to ruin the relationship by saying that I’ve had feelings for you since the beginning of our friendship, but I don’t want to tell you that this is a passing fling either.”
“I understand,” I reply, detaching my hand from his grip and walking over to the sofa, “I spent quite a bit of time contemplating whether or not I should do anything about this. It’s been a long time coming, truly.”
“Since that moment in Itaewon?” Jihoon laughs, standing close to me, his cologne fresh and sweet on my nose, and I can see his pupils slowly growing larger and larger until I can barely see any part of his iris. “When you and I made out in the bathroom and we pretended none of it happened the following week?”
“Don’t remind me,” I roll my eyes, wrapping my arms around his neck, “I’ve wondered for all these years, what it would be like, if we had not chosen to ignore it in the following week.”
Jihoon responds by wrapping his arm around my waist, “want to find out?”
I do. I really do.
Kissing Jihoon, like everything else involving him, is easy. He leans right and I lean right, and his mouth feels soft on mine, his tongue insistent against mine. He’s broader than what he was in university, and I arch into his touch, a moan escaping my mouth as I want more, more, more.
“You need to stop doing that,” Jihoon gasps, stopping the kiss, “I’m going to have a problem if you do that.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Moan?”
“Yes, that.” Jihoon reaches down and picks me clean off the floor and into his arms, his palms bracing against the backs of my thighs in a manner that makes me fairly sure that he does rowing as a hobby, “stop fucking moaning, Sowon.”
The two of us stumble into his bedroom, a space I haven’t been in for a long time, and Jihoon deposits me on the edge of the bed, clean and easy even though we have just walked in relative darkness, “I need you to tell me what you want me to do.”
I frown, “like, kinks?”
Jihoon sighs heavily, “right now? You want to have the kink talk right now?”
“Jihoon, I’m sorry, but BDSM isn’t my thing,” I reply, hands on his shoulder, “we need to stop this right now if you’re into whips and flogs and stuff like that.”
“Whips and flogs—” Jihoon sputters, “where the fuck would you even get that idea? And where would I keep whips and flogs in this tiny house?”
“You might have a basement,” I whisper, “no BDSM. And I’m sorry, but I don’t know what my kinks are.”
Jihoon looks like he’d rather die, “I’m sorry, man. You just killed my boner.”
I laugh, falling back on the bed and dragging him along with me, “tell me about your kinks.”
His eyes grow darker, but his expression remains playful, “you sure you want to know about the dark and depraved thoughts of my mind? Sure you’re not going to run away?”
“Jihoon, you told me you watched a lot of porn over the better half of a decade. If you don’t have kinks, I’m going to run away.”
He laughs, suddenly pushing my legs up to put them around his waist, “I want to leave marks. And I want you to leave marks.”
I raise my eyebrows, “where they cannot be seen.”
“Agreed. What else?”
He shrugs. Nothing.
“Nothing? You told me like you had a whole sex dungeon in your basement, and all the while your worst kink is wanting to leave marks?” I sit up, “I probably have worse kinks than you!”
“Well, forgive me for wanting to be a gentleman for a woman I have feelings for!”
“So, that’s why you’re holding back?”
Jihoon pauses for a while, and leans down to kiss me, and I press up against him, feeling his length against my core, and from the way Jihoon is shaking, he’s just as affected by this as I am. I tug at his shirt, opening his buttons far more eagerly than normal, and Jihoon seems to return that fervour, because his hands are right under my undershirt, unhooking my bra and massaging my left breast as his tongue licks into my mouth with a passion that seems to border on devotion.
“I’ve always thought this,” He gasps, “your tits are perfect. Just perfect for my hands.” His hands open the button on my trousers, and I whine as his fingers brush against my panties, “you’re so fucking wet. I think I can slide in without any preparation. You’d just let me slide right in.”
That makes me roll my eyes and laugh, and my hands move to his pants instead, “condom?”
“Condom?” Jihoon’s eyes grow wide, “oh shit.”
I’m disappointed. “No condom? None at all?”
“Sowon, darling,” he does his best impression of a posh aristocrat, “haven’t had a lot of opportunities to fuck over these past few years, really.”
I gulp. On one hand, I really should use protection. On the other hand, I don’t really want to. I’ve wanted him for some time now, and I don’t want to wait for the time that it would take to go out to a convenience store and get a pack of condoms. I want him right now.
“It’s fine,” I say, “I’m clean. And I’m on the pill.”
“On the pill?” Jihoon looks confused, “you didn’t tell me.”
“It’s been a thing for months now, you ass,” I laugh, “it’s fine.”
He smiles, then pushes me back into the bed, hands making short work of my clothes. “You’re absolutely gorgeous.”
“Very funny,” I laugh, “how positively droll. Come here and fuck me, Lee Jihoon.”
Jihoon laughs, and for a split second, his face hovers over mine, before his mouth covers mine again, and I can feel his length pressing against my stomach, hard and hot. I want to hold him forever, absorb him into my bloodstream until he and I are the same. His erection is pressing against my crotch, and I shift against him experimentally, my pussy sliding against his erection. My underwear is damp, and when I press a little further, it makes an obscene sort of noise. Jihoon’s tongue is in my mouth, sliding across my lips, so messy, so messy. I want to do this forever.
“Take the shirt off, Sowon,” he gasps into my mouth, rutting against my clothed cunt, “right now.”
I nod, stupidly eager, and sit up to take off all my clothes. Jihoon whistles as I slip off my bra, hands immediately coming up to brush against my breasts, “damn.”
I roll my eyes, “take off your shirt, too.”
Jihoon nods, complying with my order, and I want to lay down and die. Jihoon is, for the lack of a better word, hot. He’s so hot, muscles lean and defined, overt strength running underneath his muscles, “Now I realise why you were in the gym all the time,” I smile, “who knew you were hiding all that under your clothes?’
Jihoon laughs, then sobers himself, “hold on, we need to get some condoms for this. The convenience store is only five minutes from here, I can go and get the—”
“I told you to fuck me,” I grab a hold of his face, kissing him deeply, “I mean that, Lee Jihoon.”
Jihoon pauses for a second, and realises what I’m telling him, “wait, you’re sure about this?”
My response is to press up into his hands, “I’m sure.”
After that, it’s all a little bit of a blur. All I can feel are his hands on my skin, scorching hot, bringing to mind that one moment in a nightclub in Itaewon. Boiling point, steam point. Jihoon stops for a moment before pressing inside of me, looking me in the eye, and I just hook my legs behind him as a response.
“Cannot believe we never did this,” he groans into my ear, “you feel so perfect around me. So wet, so tight. God, Sowon. You’re so tight.”
I moan in response. Jihoon’s dick feels like molten lava inside of me, and I want to scream, more, more, more. He feels so good inside of me. I need to feel him more. Fuck it, I want him to cum inside of me. Is it stupid? Yes. but I want him. I want this.
“Your tits are so gorgeous,” Jihoon moans, fingers pinching a nipple, “you’re so gorgeous. I want to keep you like this, yeah?”
“Fuck me harder,” I moan into his ear, fingers grabbing his hair, “fuck it, I don’t care, bite me.”
Jihoon gives a particularly hard thrust inside of me, teeth and lips closing against my neck, “fuck, your pussy is so soft, it feels so—so good.”
“Faster,” I whine, even as Jihoon speeds up his thrusts, “please, Jihoonie, please.”
“Jihoonie—” his eyes widen for a split second, “I’m not gonna last if you start calling me by—hah, by pet names.”
“I don’t care,” I practically scream, pulling harshly on the ends of his hair, “cum inside of me, I don’t care.”
Are most people the same? The idea of spilling inside me makes Jihoon even more aroused, if possible, “you want that, yeah? You like the idea, baby?”
“Shut up,” I growl, “talk to me.”
That gets him going. Jihoon seems to understand what I want from him, and he stops momentarily to suck on my right breast. I look down to see him sucking on my nipple, his other hand kneading my other breast, “fuck, you like that?”
He releases my breast, the wetness of his saliva making a pop sound, “you’re so beautiful, baby. I could fuck you forever.”
“You—hah, you should,” I gasp, “I want more.”
Jihoon pauses his thrusting, but before I can protest, he lifts me up in another position, one that makes my eyes roll to the back of my head, because his stupid fucking gorgeous dick is now hitting a point inside of me that I had not realised existed before, “you’re so fucking—annoying.”
Jihoon moans, mouth moving against my neck, “I want to see you pleasure yourself on me, Sowon. Move on my dick. I want to see you cum on my dick.”
“Fuck it.” I lift myself and fall onto him, head falling back as his dick keeps hitting that particular spot inside of me that makes me see stars, “talk dirty to me, Jihoonie. I want you to talk dirty to me.”
He breathes in deep, whispering low into my ears as I continue to pleasure myself on him, “you want me to cum inside of you, Sowonie? You’d like that, huh?”
“Fuck, yes, I want it,” I moan, thighs burning as I chase my peak, “cum inside of me, please.”
“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’re gonna see stars, Sowonie,” he whispers, “did you know, you’re so wet around me? You keep leaking all over my thighs. My sheets are soaked.”
“Just—hah,” I moan, clenching around him, nails raking down his back, “just for you.”
“All for me?” He raises an eyebrow, “you want me to touch you? Just me?”
“Yes, yes, just you, no one else,” I moan, “for god’s sake, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop—”
Jihoon laughs, but doesn’t do anything, instead letting out a stream of explicit words and imagery in my ears that has me shaking and sobbing, you’re so gorgeous around me, Sowonie. I want to keep fucking you all the time. Hell, I’m gonna cum inside of you as many times as you want me to, I don’t care. I’ll marry you, and I’m gonna get you pregnant. You’re gonna look so good when you’re pregnant, baby. Round and heavy with my child. I’d fuck you throughout your pregnancy…. Your tits are gonna grow big and round, heavy with milk, and I’m gonna fuck your tits. I’ll fuck you against every wall of this house, every surface. We can fuck in the shower, standing up. I want to fuck you in the bath, my mouth full of your breast every moment of every day. Your breasts look so gorgeous in this light, baby. I love you. I love you. I love you—
I cum with a gasp, sparks bursting under my eyelids, limbs seizing up, and Jihoon laughs, “you like that? You liked fucking yourself silly on my dick while I fantasised about getting you pregnant?”
I catch my breath, whimpering when he takes one of my breasts in his mouth, “make good on your promise, Lee Jihoon.”
There’s a pause. Then he tips the two of us back onto the bed, lifting my legs and putting them in a mating press, “you’re sure?”
“Yes,” I sigh, pulling him closer, “cum inside of me.”
Jihoon thrusts himself inside of me over and over, long, languid thrusts that has tears flowing out of my eyes, “I want to keep fucking you, baby. I want to feel your tits against me every morning, god. You feel so good around me.”
“Don’t stop, please.” I sob, shuddering, and suddenly, his head falls onto the crook of my shoulder. Jihoon’s shaking too, I can feel it, one hand grabbing at my skin like it’s a lifeline, mouth desperately sucking bruises into my skin, the other hand squeezing and kneading my breasts like he’s a man crazed.
“Talk dirty to me, Sowonie, please,” he whimpers, lifting my hips up so that he can hit that one particular spot inside of me again and again, wet squelching sounds filling the room, “I want to hear you in my ear. I want to know if I’m making you feel good.”
Jihoon sobs, hips pounding against my skin, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with the wetness squelching and sloshing at our point of joining creating an obscene symphony, reverberating inside the room. I raise my hands to wrap around his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. I want to talk to him. I want to make him feel as good as he makes me feel. Fuck me, Jihoon. I don’t care if you cum inside of me. You can cum inside as many times as you want. Over and over again. I don’t care. You feel so good inside of me, fuck. You’re filling me up, so, so well. Fuck me harder, Jihoonie. Leave marks on my skin. Mark me as yours. I want to marry you. I want to make love to you. Over and over again. We can make love everywhere inside this house, every surface. We’re going to be as filthy as possible. You and I can take time off work just to fuck. Six times, seven times. I don’t care. Get me pregnant, I don’t care either. I’d like that. You can fuck me throughout the nine months. Fuck my tits. Put your mouth on my nipples and suck when I’m heavy and leaking. You’d like that, huh? Stuff me full of your cum. I want it leaking and dripping down my legs while I take a shower tomorrow. We can fuck in the shower too. You think this is going to take? If you keep stuffing me full, it can take, fuck me harder, baby. I’m gonna cum right now, so cum inside me. I love you. I love you. I love you.
Jihoon comes inside me with a gasp, hands gripping my skin hard enough to bruise, and I can feel the sparks behind my eyes as I orgasm right along with him.
“I love you, Jihoonie,” I whisper, and I hear him mumble a reply before we both drift off to sleep.
—
Shooting, Day 1.
The alarm blares right beside my face, forcing me to open my eyes and stare at the blinking numbers on its LCD screen, five in the morning. We weren't scheduled to be on set until noon, which means I've been woken up some two hours before I'm actually supposed to be up.
“Get up, Jihoon, you sick fuck,” I elbow the man sleeping next to me, features smooth in blissful sleep, “who sets an alarm at five in the morning?”
Jihoon groans in his sleep, then reaches over my lap to hit the snooze button, “someone who hasn't had sex in the last twelve hours.”
I roll my eyes, moving to get off the bed, but Jihoon is faster, tucking his face into my shoulders, “it's not funny, Jihoon. Get off me. I need to get ready for the day.”
That gets him awake, and he opens his eyes to shoot me an unimpressed glare, “funny. I don't recall you saying that last night.”
“Crass.”
“Hmm, you say that now, but—” he yawns, pulling me closer, “I don't think you've minded the crass behaviour over the past two weeks.”
“You're so annoying,” I say, but sink into the embrace anyway, “you still haven't changed the alarm? I've been sleeping here for so long.”
“Mm, I'm generally otherwise occupied,” he grins, “we should be getting up soon enough.”
“It's five in the morning, Jihoon,” I sigh, as he places kisses on my neck, “we still need to pick up the two of them from their homes, go to set, and take promotional photos.”
Jihoon grunts in response, “I can think of much more fun things to keep you occupied. Instead of going to the set as always.”
“You're an idiot,” I laugh, then whine as his fingers reach between my legs to press against my clit, “right now?”
“We’ve waited a long time, baby,” he grins, “wanna fuck in the shower?”
I roll my eyes, “do you want to roleplay?”
His eyes widen, “in the morning? I thought we had our fill of it last night.”
“Hmm,” I wrap my legs around him, switching our positions so that I’m sitting on top of him, “fuck me with your fingers first, baby.”
Jihoon nods, wasting no time to plunge his fingers inside of me over and over again. I’m still sore from the previous night, but he knows my body well enough to make me come close to orgasm with a few minutes of rapid pumping of his fingers. I shudder as I cum on his fingers, grabbing at his mouth to kiss him. Jihoon doesn’t wait, shoving his tongue inside my mouth with an urgency that doesn’t surprise me anymore. I reach between us to find him, heavy and erect already. He gasps when I run my hands over the tip, the sensitive skin hot, almost feverish on my skin.
“Fuck me,” Jihoon whimpers, and I comply, grinning, sinking down on him with a sigh. The stretch of him is a bit much sometimes, and I whine at the slight twinge of pain, grasping a hold of his wrist to bring him level to my face. Jihoon moans, mouth moving immediately to my neck, biting and sucking bruises into my skin. I shiver, feeling the sensitive skin growing even more sensitive as he slowly fucks into me, lazy and languid.
“You’re so pretty in the morning light, Sowonie,” Jihoon smiles, as I can feel the tip of his dick smacking against my g-spot, “it should be illegal to be this beautiful in the morning.”
“You’re gorgeous Jihoon,” I moan, pressing his hand to my chest, “so lovely.”
He is, I think to myself, he’s so gorgeous. Straight nose, cheeks flushed, mouth open and gasping every time he fucks into me, he’s so gorgeous.
“I love you,” I smile, kissing him as his hands busy themselves with kneading my breasts like a man possessed, “you’re so lovely.”
“I’ve loved you for so long that I don’t even know when I began loving you,” Jihoon says, smiling, “my lovely Sowon. Loveliest of them all.”
Finally spent, he holds me against him, “I love you, you know.”
I laugh, “I love you too.”
—
“Holy shit,” Mirae points to the large hickey on my neck, partially hidden by my shirt, “Lee Jihoon did that?”
I sigh, gripping my clipboard, “this is not for public discussion.”
The two of us are in the middle of her makeup trailer, and the makeup artists are all looking at my neck. I want to kill Jihoon. He’d spent the moments before we left fucking me against the kitchen island. A whole hour was spent eating me out before that. Fucking me against the bathroom wall as we took a shower. I feel sore in places I had never felt sore before, and I’m torn between beating Jihoon bloody with my bare hands, or jumping him in one of the makeup vans. Leaning towards the latter right now.
“I’m going to tell Mingyu right now,” Mirae giggles, whipping her phone out, “he’s gonna be so mad.”
“Tell your boyfriend to stop behaving like an overgrown puppy,” I held my phone up, “Jihoon just texted. He’s waiting outside the door.”
Mirae claps her hands, standing up, “do I look pretty?”
I laugh. She’s never been this happy. Not for any of her old relationships. Mirae practically skips to the door of the trailer, throwing the door open, and Mingyu stands outside, waiting for her, “Mingyu!”
The two of them hug, and I catch Jihoon’s eye. He rolls his eyes, pointing to Mingyu and mouthing the words he’s crazy. I smile, and follow the two of them as they walk onto the set, greeting everyone. Jihoon and I stand back, his hands holding onto mine as we see the set coming into its own with the arrival of its lead actors.
“How long until the scandal breaks?” Jihoon whispers into my ear.
“I’m giving it a month after filming wraps,” I whisper back, “they’re besotted.”
He laughs, low, directly into my ear, and a shiver runs down my spine, “is Mirae going to catch the bouquet at our wedding?”
I grin. This is nice. The promise of a flowery future with Jihoon, with Mirae and Mingyu beside us—all this is lovely. I want this. More of this.
“Her contract is coming to an end,” I say, as the set becomes preoccupied with filming, “I don’t think Mirae wants to stay with the company anymore.”
“Then find her a good enough agency,” he replies, “you’re the one person who can. If you want, you can leave the company and establish an agency of your own.”
I think it over for a moment. My own agency. All my actors, all my colleagues, in a place where I can take care of them. “It’s not going to be easy.”
Jihoon kisses my hand, smiling at me, “you’re the only person I know, who can do it. And you can always depend on me.”
I laugh, turning back to the warm late summer afternoon, where Mirae and Mingyu are acting out their college love story, "I'm going to think about it.”
“I have full faith in you,” Jihoon pulls me closer, kissing me lightly, “I love you.”
I break out into a smile, blinding and brilliant, “I love you too, Lee Jihoon.”
hi everyone! on this first day of 2026 i bring to you—
shinysobi's 2025 favourites!
i'm going to tell u all about my favorite fics of 2025, and the people who wrote them! (90% of these are woozi fics, tho. hehe)
let's take the long way home by @haologram: this fucking gamjatang fic. i cried so much while reading this, because it's just so full of love. everyone loves each other and it's so, so lovely. i'm taking a shit as i write this, otherwise i would cry now, too.
per se by @mylovesstuffs: AAAAAAAAAAHHHH this is so lovely and so beautiful i cried so much you know (i'm a crybaby) the mutual pining. the yearning. everything is chef's kiss.
northern attitude by @miniseokminnies: another fucking chef's kiss. you'd think they're gonna be toxic but boom it's all sad and glorious and i love this so much. truly a love letter to growing up, and unfortunately growing up is grieving.
denial isn't just a river by @starlightkyeom: the tension. lip-smackingly juicy. i love this fic so, so much.
good to me by @facethesunflower: HAHAHAH I GAVE U UJI BRAINROT LMAOOOOOOOOOO
a seat across from you by @nerdycheol: strangers to lovers done very annoyingly well. how do u write so nice. gimme ur talent.
wedding songs and carillons by @hannieoftheyear: jihoon is so disgustingly in love here im stupidly in love with him hehe
while i have read many more fics in the year, i don't have the space to write about them all, so please do check out their masterlists!
Author's note: This one literally came to me in a dream and I woke up thinking, yeah, I’m writing that. It’s been sitting in my head all day so here we are — soft, filthy, needy Wonwoo for your reading pleasure. I’d love to hear your thoughts or feral reactions, so feel free to scream at me. Enjoy~ Bye-um~
Description: You were supposed to be resting — project finally done, exhaustion pulling you under. But when Wonwoo comes home and slips into bed behind you, his patience snaps. Soft touches turn into slow, filthy strokes until you’re trembling, and he’s buried deep, keeping you full all night.
Warnings: Smut (18+), soft but filthy sex, mix of praise kink and possessive/dirty talk, fingering, side-position sex, unprotected penetrative sex (wrap it up in real life!), creampie, sleepy sex, intimacy kink, deep penetration, clit stimulation during penetration, slow and intimate pace, post-sex cockwarming, heavy praise, affectionate aftercare.
Masterlist for my page: Lies Lost In Silence
The laptop’s click was the most satisfying sound you’d heard in weeks. Done. Finally done. Your project had eaten every spare moment — every late night, every weekend — and while you’d survived on caffeine and determination, you were running on fumes.
Wonwoo had been nothing but patient. Night after night, he’d set a hot drink on your desk without asking, draped a blanket over your shoulders, brushed soft kisses over your hairline as he told you to “just focus, baby, I’ve got you.” But you weren’t blind. You’d noticed the way his gaze lingered sometimes, the faint clench of his jaw when you shuffled past him toward your desk instead of the bedroom. He missed you — all of you.
You caught the faintest whiff of his cologne when he left for dinner with the members, after making sure you’d eaten first. A long soak in the bath left your skin warm and scented with lavender, and by the time you slipped into your nightdress and collapsed on the bed, exhaustion was a physical weight pulling you under.
You didn’t hear the door open when he came home. Didn’t hear the soft footsteps as he crossed the apartment. You only felt the brief press of lips to your forehead, the brush of his thumb against your temple.
Your eyes fluttered open for just a moment. He smiled down at you, all warmth and fondness, and you hummed a sleepy greeting before sinking back into darkness.
He lingered there, watching you. The nightdress you’d chosen was soft and thin, the fabric barely covering the tops of your thighs. The dim lighting made your skin glow. And when he came out of the shower in nothing but sweatpants, hair damp, chest still warm from the water, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to keep his hands to himself.
He slid into bed behind you, chest flush to your back. One arm draped over your waist, heavy and protective. It could’ve stopped there — a cuddle, a kiss to your shoulder, the comfort of your breathing in sync.
But then his palm began to move. Slow strokes over the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip. The pads of his fingers grazing your thigh.
A quiet sound slipped from you — soft, almost involuntary.
His lips found your neck. “Couldn’t stay away,” he murmured, the confession more to himself than you.
His hand slipped between your thighs. Your body reacted instinctively, knees parting just enough to invite him closer.
“Oh, baby…” His voice dropped into a low, needy rasp. “So responsive even when you’re half-asleep. My good girl.”
He hooked a finger into the side of your panties, sliding the fabric aside. His touch skimmed your folds — and his breath caught when he found you warm and already damp.
“Fuck,” he groaned into your hair. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”
He started slow, dragging his fingertips over your clit in lazy circles before easing a finger inside. The wet sound of him moving in you was quiet, intimate in the stillness.
Your hips gave a small roll back toward him. He added a second finger, stretching you gently, curling deep until the pads brushed against the spot that made your muscles twitch.
You stirred with a faint whimper, eyelids fluttering open. “W–Wonwoo?”
“Shhh.” His lips pressed to your temple. “It’s okay, baby. Let me take care of you. You’ve been working so hard… just feel me.”
His hand was steady, fingers pumping in slow, deliberate strokes. His palm dragged against your clit on every thrust, sending sparks through your nerves. Your breathing picked up, thighs tensing, the rest of you still boneless in his hold.
“That’s it,” he murmured, voice heavy with praise. “You’re already squeezing me so tight. Imagine if it was my cock instead of my fingers…”
The thought alone had you wetter, and his jaw flexed as he felt it.
“You like that? The thought of me filling you up? Yeah, you do… I can feel it.”
Your moan was muffled against the pillow, your body trembling as he worked you toward the edge. He knew exactly when you were close — your thighs pressing together, your walls clenching desperately around him.
“Come for me, sweetheart,” he coaxed, thumb pressing firmer to your clit. “Let go.”
Your orgasm hit in a wave, your hips jerking, breath catching as pleasure pulsed through you. He didn’t pull away immediately, stroking you gently until the aftershocks made you shiver.
“Good girl,” he praised again, pulling his fingers free and watching the slick glisten on them. “Always so perfect for me.”
His self-control snapped. He shoved his sweats down just enough to free his cock, thick and flushed, the tip already leaking. Lining himself up against your entrance, he shifted closer, pressing his chest to your back, curling an arm under your head so he could hold you tight.
The first push inside had you gasping softly, your body still sensitive from your orgasm. The stretch was deep in this position — his hips snug to your ass, his cock dragging along every inch of you in one slow, steady slide.
“Relax, baby,” he whispered against your ear. “Let me in… just like that. Fuck, you’re so warm.”
When he bottomed out, his groan was low and rough, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck. “God, I missed this. Missed you.”
He started to move — slow, heavy thrusts that kept you full, the motion making your breath hitch with every roll of his hips. The angle had him brushing deep, his pelvis grinding against your ass as his hand slipped back down between your legs.
“Feel that?” His voice was almost reverent. “That’s all me, baby. Filling you completely.”
You whimpered, your hand gripping his forearm. He kissed the side of your neck sloppily, murmuring praise between each thrust.
“My perfect girl…” kiss
“So tight for me…” kiss
“Taking me so well.” kiss
The rhythm was unhurried but deliberate, each movement pushing him deep and pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in. The sound of your slick around him filled the room, mixing with his low groans every time your walls clenched.
“You’re gonna come again for me,” he breathed, rubbing your clit in slow, tight circles that matched the pace of his thrusts. “I can feel you — already so close.”
You could only nod, the words caught in your throat as pleasure coiled tighter. The combination of his cock stroking deep and his fingers on your clit was too much.
Your climax tore through you, your whole body tensing before melting against him. Your walls pulsed around him, milking him, and his pace stuttered.
“Fuck, baby… just like that…” His thrusts grew shorter, sharper, his breath hitching as he pressed deep one final time. His groan broke into your name as heat spilled inside you, filling you until it dripped around the base of his cock.
He stayed there, buried to the hilt, chest pressed to your back, his arm locked around your waist. His lips brushed your shoulder in soft, lazy kisses.
“Not moving,” he mumbled against your skin. “Not after missing you this long.”
You hummed, too sated to argue, the steady beat of his heart against your spine grounding you. His cock softened slowly inside you, but he stayed, content just to hold you.
By the time sleep pulled you under again, you were still connected, wrapped entirely in his warmth and the faint scent of his shampoo — his quiet, possessive “mine” the last thing you heard.
Summary: When her boyfriend cheats, what's a girl to do? Sleep with the super hot neighbour from across the hall, who just happens to be her secret gym crush, of course.
Pairing: neighbour!jihoon x fem!reader
Genre/themes: romance, neighbours to lovers, gym crush Jihoon
Word count: 8.7k
Content advisory: swearing, mentions of previous partners cheating, pet names (hers: sweetheart [like probably too much, like sweetheart every other sentence], baby, good girl), unprotected piv sex (pls don't be silly, wrap the willy), oral (m. receiving), little bit of manhandling, Woozi CONSENT KING (we stan)
Hi cuties. I missed y'all. I started writing this in April and then….life happened. I finished it off recently and I hope you enjoy! As usual, it started with the idea of casual sex but somehow ended up with them being super sappy for each other. This is apparently my niche now 💀Comments are much appreciated. <3
Dedication: This was inspired by Nana Tour Woozi brainrot and the parasite that was planted in my brain by my beloved Ro @shinysobi.
This one's for you, baby.
This is a bad idea, you think to yourself, shivering as an icy breeze winds itself around your exposed thighs. Still, your stride doesn't falter as you punch in the front door code and make your way to the elevator of the lavish apartment building you once lived in with your ex. You press the button and tug nervously at the hem of your dress as you watch the numbers on the display count down, signalling the elevator’s arrival to the lobby.
It’s only been six weeks since you and Minho broke up, although somehow it feels like an eternity compared to the two years you spent together. Rearranging your life without him has been not only difficult, but…annoyingly inconvenient.
We could have kept on with our nice little life but nooooo, you snark to yourself. SOMEONE couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.
All the little comforts of daily life had been taken from you, and held just out of reach. Things like drinking coffee from your favourite mug in the morning or snuggling into Egyptian cotton bedsheets at the end of a long day–bedsheets which you’d saved up for two months to buy. You’d left in a flurry of emotion after you found out he’d cheated, grabbing things in a blind rage and stuffing them into your suitcase haphazardly. To top it all off, he’d changed the code to the apartment door and blocked your number, so you couldn’t come back for the rest of your things.
Tonight, in the midst of getting ready for what was supposed to be your grand return to the singles scene, you realized he still had your favourite going out dress. So you’d thrown on the next best thing but it felt wrong and the whole evening felt wrong and now… you’re angry–furiously, fumingly angry–and here to give him a piece of your mind.
“MINHO!” you yell, running to the door of your former apartment and banging on the door, “Minho, come the fuck out here and talk to me, you fucking COWARD!”
Your fist meets the heavy door again, bang-bang-bang, and then you listen for a moment. No sound emerges from the apartment. You take a deep breath and pound on the door again, yelling, “MINHO, you fucking CHEATING, LYING, STEALING SCUM, if you don’t come out here RIGHT NOW so help me God, I’ll–...I’ll–”
“Hey!” A voice barks from behind you. “What the fuck are you yelling about this late at night?”
You spin on your heel, pressing your back to the apartment door. Your palms press flat into the wood by your thighs and your shoulders hike up defensively. Spotting the owner of the voice, you let out a shaky breath. Just Jihoon. Not Minho.
The next door neighbour, Jihoon, has always been kind to you. More of an acquaintance than a friend, he mostly kept to himself, but he’d always given a friendly nod and held the door open when you crossed paths. But he doesn't look happy to see you right now. He looks furious, actually.
His long, dark hair is disheveled and sticking out every which way. A pair of athletic shorts hangs low on his hips, and he's not wearing a shirt, putting the hard, muscular planes of his chest on display. He'd clearly been sleeping and been woken up by your yelling.
You wince. Yeah, I’d be mad at me, too.
Jihoon shifts, rubbing groggily at his eyes and giving you an expectant look as he waits for your reply. You try to form words, but nothing comes out. Instead, you find yourself fixating on the bulge of his biceps as he crosses his arms over his well-defined pectorals.
You frown. He's huge. Your mind flashes to seeing him in the building’s first-floor gym on several occasions, easily lifting more than twice your body weight. Your mouth goes a little dry. I should not have pissed him off.
“Well?” He prompts impatiently. “Were you planning to yell out here all night?”
“Uhhh…” You look towards the ceiling, unable to meet his eye, mouth twisting to the side in embarrassment. “Well…”
He lets out a slow, controlled breath, running a hand through his hair, smoothing back the tangled mess atop his head, which promptly springs back up. Finally taking in your flushed face, too-short dress, and red-rimmed eyes, he seems to register the situation more clearly. His demeanour softens. He steps towards you gingerly. “Are you ok, y/n? And why are you banging on the door of your own apartment? Did you forget your key code? Should I call Minho?”
“Uhhhh,” a nervous chuckle bubbles up your throat before you can stop it. “I don't live here anymore, actually,” you whisper, tugging awkwardly at the hem of your dress. “Not since a few weeks ago…”
His brow furrows. “Ah. So you finally broke up with this asshole.” It's more of a statement, but you nod in confirmation anyways. He nods back, as if in approval, although he's frowning. “Always thought you were too good for that sleazy motherfucker. Please tell me you're not here for some kind of…booty call reconciliation attempt.” He waves a hand in the air as if to swat the idea away.
You shudder. “No. God no. I just…uh…” You shuffle your feet uncomfortably, staring at the floor. “He cheated on me,” you whisper, face growing hot with embarrassment at the admission.
There. Now Jihoon knew the truth. Minho had cheated. You hadn't been enough for him. He found what he needed elsewhere. The knowledge sits in the pit of your stomach like a rock.
“Then he blocked me and changed the door code, but he still has some of my things…” You pause to take a staccato breath. “And I'm still upset about it, obviously, so…I showed up to get them and yell at him some more. Which, admittedly, was a bad idea…but anyways,” you gesture at the hallway, “here I am, yelling like an asshole and waking everyone up, apparently.”
Jihoon lets out another long breath, muttering to himself under his breath before addressing you again. “I hadn't seen you at the gym in a while so…kinda figured something happened. There were other women around up here, too, so…” He cuts off abruptly when he sees the tears well up in your eyes.
He clears his throat and looks away, shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts and shrinking back towards his own door. “Nevermind. He's a fucking idiot anyways…”
You nod, biting into your lower lip in an attempt to stop it from quivering, and the next thing you know, you’re slumped on the floor, sobbing. Jihoon looks alarmed by this development as he moves to kneel in front of you. His voice is soft and soothing as he tentatively reaches out to pat your arm. “Hey…it’s ok. You’re gonna be ok. I’m sorry I mentioned it.”
You shake your head, trying to clear away unpleasant thoughts of women parading through your once-shared apartment with Minho. Women who were likely sleeping in the bedsheets you’d picked out. Drinking coffee from the mugs you’d painted with your friends in a pottery class. Other women. Jihoon had unintentionally confirmed your worst fear. After two years with Minho, not only had he cheated, but he'd taken your breakup without remorse, immediately moving on to fuck a long line of other women. Meanwhile, you were struggling to put the pieces of your life back together. Bastard.
“Fuck…I’m not even sad anymore, you know?” you gasp between sobs, “I’m just angry…so fucking angry all the time. I gave him two years of my life and he threw it away. Fucking bastard.”
“Yeah…actually, I do know.” Jihoon sits beside you, back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. He’d come outside without even putting on his slippers, you realize, watching him absentmindedly flex and point his toes like a little kid stretching in gym class.
He takes a deep breath, running a hand through the nest atop his head once more. “My girlfriend cheated on me, too. We broke up six months ago and we didn’t even live together, but I still get pissed off about it sometimes. I understand.”
He massages the back of his own neck, staring up at the ceiling. Studying his face, you see the ghost of your own pain. A little more healed, perhaps, but still hurt–still angry.
“You do,” you whisper, nodding. “You definitely get it.”
He laughs once–a short, sharp sound that echoes down the hallway. “Yeah. I do.”
The two of you sit there in silence for a minute or two, lost in your respective thoughts.
“Jihoon?” Your whisper feels much too loud in the empty hallway. The only other sound is the faint electric buzz of the overhead lighting, and the steady, calming sound of Jihoon's breathing.
“Hmm?”
“Why do you think people cheat?”
He runs a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “Honestly? I've thought about it a lot in the past six months and I think it comes down to selfishness. Whatever other reasons they might think there are, the bottom line is that they have a complete lack of respect for their partner. They can't even communicate, so they lie. It's a cowardly thing.”
You nod wordlessly, humming in agreement. He's right.
Another long pause follows as you roll his words around in your head. “I’m sorry for, uh, all the yelling. And for waking you so rudely…I should get home.”
Jihoon nods, standing and stretching out a hand to pull you to your feet. His palm is warm against yours and your gaze trails from his long, slender fingers to the prominent blue-green veins that run across his muscled forearm. A flicker of heat pulses in the pit of your stomach. You should probably pull your hand back, but it feels so good resting in his, and you realize he's not pulling back either.
When you look up at Jihoon, you find his gaze squarely fixed on your intertwined hands, with the same faraway look in his eyes. Something unspoken crackles in the air between you–an irrefutable, magnetic pull. Your eyes lock, and suddenly his lips are on yours. There’s equal hunger in it, and equal desire–a heated pull that neither of you can deny, no matter how suddenly it arose. Later, you would try to remember who had moved first, who had kissed whom, but you could never puzzle it out.
Jihoon’s lips are warm and firm, as is the press of his body against yours as he takes a step forward, guiding you towards the wall. He keeps your fingers twined with his, pressing them to the door by your head, while his other hand caresses the nape of your neck. He uses his thumb to gently tilt your chin, gaining better access as he runs his tongue against the seam of your lips. You part them for him, inviting more of his warmth as you pull him closer, hand threaded through his hair.
The heat of his body is all-encompassing, wrapping around you and melting away any apprehension. He reaches down, effortlessly lifting you off your feet, pinning you to the wall with his hips. You lock your ankles behind his back and rock against him, whimpering his name. He groans quietly, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours. “Would it be completely inappropriate if I asked you to come in?”
“No,” you blurt, barely thinking before you reply. “I’d like that.”
“Hang on tight.” He offers you a wry smile, pulling your body against his chest as he turns to open the door to his apartment with a flourish.
You barely register the apartment beyond the fact that it's a mirror image of your old one across the hall. Jihoon sweeps you through his home effortlessly and sets you down at the edge of his bed, pressing a tingling kiss to your hands.
“I know inviting you in here was kind of sudden, but we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You could stay in the guest room and I’ll make you breakfast in the morning. We could talk about how much our exes suck, if you want.” He shrugs.
The nonchalant tone of it all makes you laugh. “Jihoon,” you chide, “Would I have let you carry me in here if I wasn’t interested?”
He shrugs again. “It’s just…no pressure. I wanted you to know that.”
“Thank you,” you offer him a little smile. “I’m sure of what I want, though.”
You reach your arms out to him in invitation, and he accepts, taking your hands once more and brushing his thumbs back and forth over the inside of your wrists. The sensation makes your stomach clench in anticipation, and perhaps a little bit of apprehension. It’s been years since you’ve been with anyone besides Minho, and towards the end, as he’d pulled away, you hadn’t even been intimate with him.
“I’ve always been loyal, unlike some people, but I have eyes…” You pause, licking your lips, gripping his hands a little tighter and staring at the ground. Were you seriously about to admit this to him?
“Whenever I saw you at the gym, I…I always wondered what it’d be like, you know? To be with you. Someone as strong as you.”
You flick your eyes up for a moment to see a wicked smile spreading across his face. You blush, mortified at the words coming out of your mouth, but needing to get them out.
“Before we, uh, do this…” You clench your eyes shut, unable to look even at the ground this time. “You should know that I can’t always…get there…with a partner. And it really has nothing to do with you–it’s just, uhh, how I’ve always been, and…anyways, just please don’t get upset if it doesn’t happen.”
You trail off, opening one eye slowly to see Jihoon with an incredulous expression on his face, one eyebrow arched. “Fancy way of saying that fuckhead,” he jerks a thumb towards the hallway, “didn’t know how to get you off.”
“No, it wasn’t that–” you start, but Jihoon cuts you off with a wave of his hand, bending down and placing his hands on the bed to either side of you. l
His eyes, now level with yours, sparkle with something akin to mischief as he says, “Tell you what, sweetheart…I’m going to spend the rest of the night figuring you out, and then we’ll see about that. And like I said…no pressure. If it happens, it happens, and if not, we'll have had fun trying.” He shrugs again. “All you have to do is be honest with me about whether you like something or not. Deal?”
You purse your lips, squirming uncomfortably under his gaze. “Deal.”
He smiles, brushing his lips to the inside of your wrists, one after the other. The gesture makes goosebumps bloom up along your arms. As if this simple kiss activated some kind of chain reaction, your body lights up at his touch–your heart pounds a little quicker and your breath comes a little faster.
“And not to be all business but I'm clean. Got tested after…all that.” He makes a circling gesture with one hand, shaking his head.
“Me, too,” you add quickly. “And I have an IUD so…anyways, it's up to you.”
He bites his lip, hands flexing against yours, and exhales a puff of air through his nose. “I wouldn't be opposed. But if we get there, it'll be up to you. Yes?”
“Yeah, ok…”
He nods with finality, as if this settles the matter before seating himself against the headboard, legs laid out in front of him. “Now,” he starts, hands outstretched towards you, “Come sit with me?”
You take his hand, moving to straddle him, but he pulls you into his chest with a smirk, taking hold of your waist with both hands. With one smooth motion, he maneuvers you effortlessly, flipping you and slotting you between his legs, your back flush to his chest. The motion knocks the breath from your lungs and sparks a throbbing sensation between your legs.
Jihoon sweeps your hair from your neck and kisses up the column of your throat. “So? Did you like that? Be honest.”
You nod, a little breathless, and he exhales a little laugh in response. “Good girl.”
The ragged breath you let out and the way your thighs press together must give you away, because this time, he doesn’t ask if you like the pet name. He merely continues kissing along your neck, occasionally nipping at your collarbone, and roaming his hands along your body until you’re wiggling impatiently and grinding back into him. He laughs, the sensation vibrating into your skin through his lips. He tightens an arm around your waist, holding you still, despite your whiny half-protests. “Impatient already?”
“Jihoon,” you whisper, pleading. “Touch me.”
“I am touching you,” he soothes, rubbing your inner thigh in small circles, kneading with just enough pressure to make you want more. You can't see his infuriatingly sexy smirk, but you feel it against your neck. “What’s the rush? If you're sure I can't make you come, we should enjoy the journey…Good things take time, right?”
He inches his fingertips upwards along your thigh, taking a meandering path to where you need him. The rough texture of the pads of his fingers, thick and calloused, is hypnotic as it moves against the smooth expanse of your inner thigh. You allow your eyes to flutter shut and lean back into him, breathing quickly.
“That's it. Relax for me.” His voice is low and soft. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”
You whimper in reply, nodding weakly.
He hums approvingly, breath hot in your ear as he murmurs, “That's right. You brought this needy little pussy to my doorstep and now you're gonna let me take care of you. And I mean properly.”
The words send a shiver down your spine. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “I…like it when you say things like that.”
He hums in approval, finally reaching the seam of your panties and tracing it with a single fingertip, brushing across the top of your thigh. He mirrors the motion with his nose against your shoulder, tickling ever so slightly. “Yeah? Would you like to hear what I have planned for you, sweetheart?”
You shiver at his words. “Tell me…”
“Mmm, so many ideas, so little time…First, I think you’ll come just like this. I want you dripping all over my fingers.”
His fingers stroke over your core, then, barely there–brushing up and down, up and down over the now damp fabric of your panties. You whimper, squirming and trying to chase his hand, but his hold is firm against your waist.
“And then, I think I’d like to bury my face right here. Put my mouth on you and tease you until your legs are shaking.” He cups his entire hand over your sex and squeezes. It's gentle but sudden. You arch your back with a gasp, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip in a futile effort to suppress another whimper. “And then, if you still want me to, I’ll fill you up with my fat cock. Make you feel so good. Fuck you until you're a mess.”
Struck by the thought of being stuffed full of him, you can't help the undignified groan that escapes your lips.
“Does that sound good?” He coos as you nod frantically, head pressed back against his shoulder.
“Can I take these off?” He thumbs at the waistband of your panties.
You nod emphatically. “Please.”
As soon as your confirmation comes, he’s dragging your panties down your legs. You lift your hips to help, taking the opportunity to pull your dress off, too. The low neckline of the dress didn’t allow for a bra, and you don’t miss Jihoon’s little stream of expletives as he takes in your naked body with hungry eyes. He pulls you back towards him, this time pinning you beneath the solid muscle of his body as he claims your mouth again with a bruising kiss, deep and desperate.
“Fuck, look at you. Fucking perfect,” he rasps, running his hands up and down your sides, stroking your skin as if he can't bear the miniscule space separating your bodies any longer. The evidence of his desire presses into your hip, rivalling the hardness of his chest, but it doesn’t seem to concern him. His attention remains fixed on you as he diligently resumes his ministrations between your legs. Without the fabric in the way, your wetness coats his fingers, allowing them to glide easily as he runs his fingers up and down against your outer folds. He parts his fingers, spreading you open, and begins to circle ever closer to your clit with a single finger, pulling gently at the surrounding skin, sending little jolts of electricity up your spine.
“You’re such a tease,” you chastise him, spreading your legs wider, as if that will coerce him into giving you the friction you so desperately need.
“Mmm, but I kinda think you like it?” he teases, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. But God, he looks so hot when he does that. You pull him down into another series of kisses, tongues tangling hotly as his finger finally–finally meets the top edge of your clit, stroking with the barest hint of pressure. If you were thinking straight, you might be embarrassed at the needy sound that escapes, but at this moment, it feels like an out-of-body experience. Tangling a hand in his hair, you pull his mouth down to your neck. He takes the cue, kissing and biting and sucking at the tender junction where your clavicle meets the base of your neck as he finally pushes one of those perfect fingers deep into your pussy.
With a desperate moan, you arch against him, as he adds a second finger almost immediately. His fingers slide easily against your wetness as he pumps into you with solid, steady motions of his wrist, pressing the heel of his hand against your clit.
“So soft and wet and perfect, fuck. Look at you,” he breathes into your ear.
Glancing down, you watch his fingers disappear into you, slick and shiny, mesmerized by the motion and the stark contrast of the veins on his forearms against the pallor of his skin. He seems equally enraptured by the motion, eyes fixed on the spot where your bodies meet.
“Please, Jihoon, fuck–please, please. I need–” you gasp, hands scrambling for purchase in his hair, against his bulging biceps. Your skin feels incredibly warm as heat pools and coils low in your belly. “Make me–I need to–please.”
“You don't have to beg, sweetheart,” he croons. “I'll spoil this pussy however you want me to. You just have to keep telling me what you like. What you need.” He continues pistoning his fingers into you, slow and steady.
“Feels so good,” you breathe, hips chasing his hand. “A little faster.”
“So good for me,” he praises, picking up his pace. “So honest. You like my fingers in this tight little pussy? Needy little thing, sucking me in so tight. Wanna feel you suffocating my cock later, fuck. Can you come for me like this?”
“Yes,” you nod furiously, panting hard. “I can. Just like that. Don't stop. Please don't stop.”
“Not gonna stop, sweetheart,” he murmurs soothingly against your skin. “Gonna give you everything you need and see how beautiful you look when you come. And you will come for me. Now let me feel this pretty pussy squeezing my fingers.”
He’s got you wound up so tightly, it’s a miracle you don’t combust on the spot as your orgasm washes over you. You gasp, body alight with pleasure as it hits, thighs quivering with the strength of it. You moan, tugging him down and crashing your lips together in a mess of teeth and tongues, panting incoherently into his mouth. Through it all, Jihoon continues that steady, unfaltering rhythm, working his fingers into you until he feels the last tides of your orgasm ebb away.
As your breathing slows, you melt back into his pillows, eyes half-closed in pleasure. “Fuck, that was…”
“Perfect,” he beams, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean as you watch, enraptured. “You’re fucking perfect.”
You take his face in both hands for a long, slow kiss. He doesn't rush you, just kisses you like he's happy to be here with you, like he's got all the time in the world for this–like you didn't just wake him up in the middle of the night with your obnoxious screaming and then end up naked in his bed.
His touch is greedy, demanding, as he smooths his hands over your body, pulling you closer. Your hands, however, are even greedier. Perhaps your eyes had wandered to your former neighbor’s physique more than you wanted to admit, even to yourself. Jihoon is all soft, smooth skin over rock-hard muscle and you can't get enough of the feel of him under your hands, swooning over his thick shoulders and biceps, rock-hard chest, and powerful thighs.
When you finally break the kiss, panting hard, he gives you a lopsided smirk that makes your heart flutter a little.
His brow furrows as he looks down and sees your breasts pressed to his chest, as if he'd only just realized they were there. His hands gravitate towards them, nearly moving with a mind of their own, to caress and pinch at your stiffened nipples. Bending down, he sucks one into his mouth, laving his tongue over it before nibbling softly.
“Would it be presumptuous of me to assume you enjoyed that as much as I did?” he asks between mouthfuls of breast.
“Not presumptuous at all.” You sigh, arching into the warmth of his mouth.
He trails kisses up along your clavicle to your ear before pulling back to meet your gaze. “You're sure? If you want to stop, we stop. But if you want to keep going…” He gives you a wry smile. “Let’s just say there’s plenty more where that came from, and I'm more than happy to demonstrate.”
You squirm, very cognizant of the huge erection pressed into your inner thigh. As much as you’d like to rip his shorts off and sink down onto it, curiosity gets the better of you. “Like what?
His smile widens. “Like now that I’ve gotten a taste of you, I can’t stop thinking about how I need you to sit on my fucking face.”
“Oh?” You blink, not quite comprehending.
He tips his head back and taps his lower lip with two fingers. “Sit you right here and eat that pretty pussy until you soak my face.”
You cheeks heat at the suggestion. Filthy. Enticing. You bite your lip, thinking. ‘What if I just ask you to fuck me?”
He shrugs, smiling. “Then I'll fuck you however you like, for as long as you want me to.”
“Oh.” Your mouth drops open, still in awe that he's letting you take the lead. “And if I want to taste you first?”
“Fuck,” he breathes, palming his erection through his shorts. “Then I'm all yours to taste, sweetheart. Whatever you want. You're the boss.”
“I’m the boss…” you repeat in a whisper, rolling the words around in your mouth. What do I want? You ponder. Sex with Minho had always been routine–a rotation of the same three positions, always at his whim–so it takes you a moment to think of what it is you'd actually like to do to the utterly beautiful man in front of you.
You clear your throat, eyes roving hungrily over his body. “Um, first, I think…I think I want you to be naked, too.”
“As you wish,” comes his reply. He stands and slowly pulls his shorts off. His erection, long neglected, springs free, slapping up against his toned stomach. A curved, silver barbell glints at the underside, piercing through the frenum.
You bolt upright, eyes wide. “Holy fuck…you’re…”
“Pierced?” he finishes. “Yeah.”
“Actually, I was gonna say thick. But that, too.” You give an awkward laugh despite yourself, eyes still fixed on his erection. He maintains his distance still, and you can tell he's trying to be respectful, but you want him–want him as close as two people can physically get.
Licking your lips, you reach out a hand, beckoning him back to the bed. He takes your hand and you lay facing each other, each propped up on one elbow. “You weren't kidding when you said fat cock.”
He laughs, and it's such a deep, husky sound compared to before.
The length is, perhaps, average. But the girth? With slow, calculated motions, you reach out and wrap a hand around him, unable to resist. The tips of your fingers just barely meet around the circumference. Here, too, he's hard as steel wrapped in the softest velvety skin, with the tip flushed a deep, dusky pink. You give an experimental stroke, rubbing your thumb over the head to spread the glistening drop of pre-cum there.
Jihoon hisses out a long breath as you stroke him, watching with half-lidded eyes. The halo of dark, messy hair has only gotten worse from the way you’d tugged on it, and his pupils are blown wide with desire, cheeks tinged pink. He looks edible.
Don't mind if I do…
“So thick…” you repeat, in awe.
“Wouldn't lie to you, sweetheart,” he musters, voice strained under your touch. The muscles of his thighs flexing deliciously with the effort of not moving. “Would never lie to you.”
You give him a small smile, catching the implication. Stroking him languidly, you watch the precum pool at the tip before you flick your thumb over it again, eliciting a soft moan. It's a heady feeling, having him react to your touch like this.
“Can I…?” you query, lips parting as your gaze flicks from his face to his erection and back.
“Fuck, as if I could deny you anything.” He falls back against the bed in surrender when you push against his shoulders lightly. Making your way down his body is its own pleasure. The softness of his skin beneath your lips is contrasted by the firmness of the muscle beneath. And there is quite a bit of muscle, you note again, finally letting your mouth and hands claim what they desire, sucking and nipping until Jihoon makes the most erotic little sounds of desire. His open need only spurs you on, makes you feel powerful.
When you reach his throbbing cock, you stroke it once more, enjoying the way Jihoon’s body tenses in the anticipation of your touch, and the way his breath hitches ever so slightly.
You lick a stripe up the underside, pausing to trace the piercing with your tongue, exploring its contours. Then you pull back and blow cool air along the same path, delighting in the way Jihoon shudders and groans. His hands find their way into your hair–not pushing nor pulling, simply resting, needing to touch you.
Lips stretched wide around his thickness, you take the head into your mouth and suck gently. You continue to stroke him as you begin to bob your head up and down, massaging your tongue across the piercing with each pass. You take him deeper, sucking greedily as the metal hits the back of your throat. Jihoon lets out a stream of expletives that would make a sailor blush, abs taught with pleasure.
“Shit, you're too good at that,” he swears, gently tipping your face up. You blink at him, lips still wrapped around his cock, and release it with a soft pop. Jihoon groans at the sight, swearing again under his breath.
“Did I do something wrong?” You tilt your head in query, concerned.
“Wrong? No,” he frowns, a confused look crossing his face. He cradles your face between his hands, thumbs brushing back and forth over your cheeks.
“Fuck no. You're so fucking good at that. Too good. And it's been a while since I, well…” He trails off, offering you a sheepish smile as your head tilts in further confusion.
His thumb tugs at your lower lip, his pupils dark and hungry. “What I'm trying to say is that your mouth is the sweetest, most torturous pleasure. If you keep doing that, I'll come too fast to fuck you properly.”
Your mouth drops open in a soft oh.
“And I really would love to fuck you properly, if that's what you still want.”
You give a shy smile, nodding, beginning to move back up his body. The journey in reverse is equally enjoyable to the way down. You trail your tongue down the center of his abs, kissing each one before moving to nip at his pecs. “Your body is insane, Jihoon, has anyone ever told you that?”
“Nobody who mattered until just now,” he jokes. He presses his lips to yours as you settle over his hips, straddling him. You let out matching sighs as his hardness presses against the heat of your core and you begin to gently rock against him as you kiss.
“Fuck me now, Jihoon,” you whisper against his lips.
He wastes no time, flipping and pressing you into the mattress once more.
“Condom?” he queries, reaching for the nightstand.
You shake your head. “No. Wanna feel you.”
“Fuck. Okay.” He reaches back towards the nightstand anyways and draws a bottle of lube from the top drawer. “Still gonna need this, though. Want you to feel good.” He plants a kiss on your jawline before pulling back momentarily, kneeling to spread his cock with the thick, glistening gel. If you hadn’t already been laying flat on your back, the sight of him kneeling between your legs, fisting his cock with those beautiful hands would have done it. It's all too much–the veins in his forearm as he works his hand over matching veins in his cock, the muscle of his thighs, the way his hair falls over his eyes–it's overwhelming in the best way.
He braces himself on one elbow and notches the head of his cock at your entrance. The warm metal of the piercing causes you to shiver as he drags the tip up and around your clit, rubbing it against you until you whine and tilt your hips up in entreaty. “Please…”
He kisses you, soft and slow, as he pushes inwards, giving you a mere inch. He's so thick that even that small amount has you whimpering against his lips, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. He pulls out, dragging the piercing over your clit once again, tracing a circle before pushing back in a little more. The metal is pleasantly warm against your skin, slippery from the combination of the lube and your unbearable wetness.
Your hips chase his, but he splays a hand against your stomach and holds you there–gives you just the tip, just the promise of the delicious stretch. And then he pulls out. and teases your clit again. And again, sinking into you ever so slightly more each time. You're panting against his lips, whimpering and squirming against his hold, but he's strong and that somehow makes it even hotter.
“Jihoon, please…”
He's enjoying teasing you, you realize, when he exhales an amused breath against your neck.
“Doesn’t this feel good, sweetheart?”
You bite your lower lip, nodding. “But I need more.”
“Just making sure you're good and ready for me, beautiful, and then I'll give it to you. You still want me?”
“Not to be dramatic, but if you don't fuck me right the fuck now, I may die of need.”
He chuckles and kisses a path up your neck, still teasing the head of his cock at your entrance.
“Then watch,” he prompts, pulling back a bit, then sinking deeper than before. Your eyes snap to the place where your bodies meet and you let out an unintelligible sound at the sight. It's so lewd, seeing how wide you’re stretching to take his girth. Your face heats, whether in desire or something akin to embarrassment at the sight, you're not sure.
“See how you suck me in? Can you feel that?” He pulls out an inch and you feel your body fight it, an undulating wave of muscle trying to pull him deeper.
You swallow thickly, nodding, eyes glued to the spot. He gives you more, nearly all of him, and the pleasurable stretch intensifies.
“Fuck, you feel like a dream. So soft here. So warm.”
“More.” Your voice is hoarse with desire, barely above a whisper.
He pushes in the rest of the way and you let out a shuddering breath in unison.
“Jihoon,” you whine, tossing your head against the pillow, overwhelmed. “Feel so full.”
“I know, baby. You're doing so well. Taking this cock like you were fucking made for it.” He peppers your face with kisses, giving you a moment to adjust before continuing, “Can I move?”
“I genuinely might die if you don't.”
He breathes another rough laugh before pulling back and thrusting into you once, hard and deep.
“Fuck,” you cry out, clutching at his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex beneath your hands as he holds himself up. “Jihoon. You feel so good.”
“That's it, sweetheart, fucking take it all.” His voice is deeper than before, darker, filled with desire. “Let me fill you up. Look so pretty stretched around my cock. See?”
You look down again and whimper, lower lip trapped between your teeth, completely struck by the way your body accommodates his girth. When he begins to move in slow, soul-devouring thrusts, you're unable to contain the needy sounds he pulls from your body. He tests a couple of angles until you cry out in pleasure–and from then on his motions are calculated, precise in their endeavour to drag you over the edge.
One of his hands grips tightly at your hip, kneading and grasping hungrily, pulling you closer. “Look at you. So fucking perfect. You're the tightest fucking thing, pulling me in like a dream. This sweet little pussy doesn't wanna let go of me for even a second.”
And you feel it, too. Every. Devastating. Inch. All of him, wrapped in your heat as it ripples, sucking him deeper. You lose yourself in him, in his motions, in the pleasure of his body. Sounds spill uninhibited from your lips, whimpers and moans, and more, deeper, harder, please, Jihoon. He complies every time, giving you just what you need, both spoken and unspoken, reading the signs you didn't even know your body was sending him.
“Fuck, sweetheart, you're close, aren't you? You're getting even tighter. Tell me what you need. Let me help you.”
“More, need more.” It's a whimpered, incoherent plea, but he understands.
“I’m gonna turn you around so you can grab the headboard, ok? Then hang on tight so I can get nice and deep and make you feel good, hmm?”
You give a weak nod before he scoops your limp form into his arms and turns you over effortlessly. Your stomach swoops at the sensation, gentle as it is. Moments later, he presses his lips to your ear from behind, nibbling at your earlobe. “Liked that, too, didn't you?”
In response, you arch your body back into his, silently asking for more. He brackets his body around yours and runs his hands delicately up and down your sides, grabbing your hips and readying himself at your entrance once more.
“Oh my god,” you shiver, arching further as he presses into you, slotting your bodies together again. There is the return of the sensation of being impossibly full, now with the warmth of his body pressed into your back, his lips warm against your ear, and it's all so much.
Jihoon lets out a hissed breath. “Fuck, you're even tighter from this angle. Hot and wet and perfect. Fuck. Made to take my cock, weren't you, sweetheart?”
You're too far gone to reply as he thrusts shallowly into you, adjusting his angle until you're whining his name again. “That's it, that's my good girl. Hang on tight and let me make you feel good, hmm?”
You'd asked for more, and he was obliging, hips snapping hard and fast. His piercing drags across your walls and into your most sensitive spot, making stars bloom in your vision. The warmth in your belly pools, hot and insistent, coiling tighter with each stroke of his hips.
“I'm–oh, fuck–I’m so close, Jihoon, please,” you pant.
He nips at your neck, breathing hard. “I know, you're suffocating my cock. Feels so damn good to be wrapped up in you like this. Don't think too hard, hmm? Relax and let me take care of you.”
He brings his hand to your core, swiping at the wetness there and using it to glide around your swollen, aching clit. Your body convulses at the motion, legs going shaky. A few more quick swipes of his thumb and you feel yourself tumbling, falling headfirst into the kind of pleasure you’d only ever dreamt about.
“Fuck…oh God…fuck, Jihoon. I'm–” Squeezing your eyes shut, you slump forward, waves of liquid fire radiating up your spine and into each limb, consuming your entire conscience. There's nothing else–just you, Jihoon, and the warm pleasure of your bodies twined together like this.
“There you go, sweetheart, that’s it...” He groans, burying himself to the hilt as you squeeze and ripple impossibly tighter around him. Your orgasm rolls on, wave after wave of pleasure consuming you. Jihoon bites softly at the curve of your neck, stifling his own cries of pleasure. His length thickens and pulses as he spills inside you with a muffled groan.
Pulling your body against his, he eases you both down onto your sides, staying buried inside you. When you finally float back down to your body, you register the soft caress of his hands over your body, and the tender press of his lips against your head. He's still breathing hard, the soft huff of his breath ruffling your hair on every exhale.
“Hi,” you venture.
He laughs, “Good evening. Morning? It's late.”
You wince. “Sorry about that. Again.”
He shrugs and presses his lips to your neck. “I'm not. Told you Minho was a loser. Give me 20 minutes and I'll give you two more.”
You sputter, uncomprehending, “T-two more? I can't. Not possible.”
He nips at your ear and groans quietly when you flutter around him again. “That's not what your perfect body’s telling me, sweetheart. You can. And if we had more time together, I'd learn you inside and out…show you just how many ways I could make you come. You'd be at risk of dehydration with the way I'd keep you soaking wet.”
“D-dehydration? That's ridiculous.” Your mouth hangs open. “You're exaggerating.”
“Not even a little. How about you come back next weekend? Give me a whole night and some time to prep. We'll get you a sports drink and find out just how many you can give me.”
You peer over your shoulder at him, incredulous. “More than four? That's not possible.”
Amusement dances in his eyes. “You didn't even think one was possible, so I'm at least 200% up on impossible. Couldn't hurt to try, if you're up for it.”
You're doubtful but…he hasn't been wrong or misleading so far. The very thought of being here again, letting him take care of you and teach you things you didn't even know about your own body has you squirming. The motion emphasizes the way your bodies are still linked together, and you feel him beginning to harden again. Fuck. He really wasn't kidding. The idea is alluring. You really should say no, but being tangled up with him like this feels too damn good.
Oh, fucking fuck it all.
You let go of your inhibitions and grind back on him in reply. Jihoon breathes in sharply, his length thickening inside your body. “Is that a yes, sweetheart?”
“Yes.”
That wickedly sexy smile spreads across his face. “Then let's get to work.”
A few hours later, a tiny, rough tongue scrapes across the tip of your nose, startling you awake. You nearly squeal in surprise before realizing it's….a cat? As you move to sit up, you find another cat curled up near the foot of the bed, tucked against your legs.
“Hi, kitty,” you whisper to the little tabby who groomed your nose. The cat yawns and stretches in reply. “Let's go find your dad, ok?” The cat jumps from the bed and looks over its shoulder, as if to encourage you to follow.
You find Jihoon in the kitchen, still in those same athletic shorts, making breakfast over the stove. He gives you a lopsided smile and your stomach swoops. Fuck. After another round last night, he had, true to his word, pulled two more orgasms from your body. Your face heats thinking about it. Afterwards, he'd been so gentle, carrying you into the shower to clean up and caressing the soap over your body with those strong hands. You shift on your feet and tug at the hem of the oversized shirt he'd lent you.
“Good morning, Jihoon,” you mumble, suddenly embarrassed as memories of the ways you'd panted and begged for him last night flood your brain.
“Good morning.” He's still smiling. “Breakfast? You must be hungry after all that.” He winks and you blush.
“Sure. Thank you.”
He nods and motions to the other side of the kitchen island, opposite to where he's cooking. As you attempt to settle at the high stool, you're suddenly very cognizant of the fact that you're not wearing panties. You tug awkwardly at the hem of the t-shirt, arranging it to gain some semblance of modesty. You give yourself a mental shake, muttering under your breath. Calm the fuck down. As if he hasn't already seen everything up close and personal.
When you look up, Jihoon is beside you, holding a blanket. You let out a little squeak and nearly startle out of your seat. He laughs, smoothly placing the blanket over your lap with a flourish.
“Don't get cold,” he says simply, before moving back to his cooking.
As you settle into Jihoon’s apartment, you’re struck by the decor. Last night, when he'd whisked you through in his (very large) arms, you'd been too busy clinging to him to get a proper look. Although it’s a mirror image of your former home across the hall, the vibe is completely different. It's minimally but comfortably furnished, and bathed in inviting, golden-warm light from various lamps. For some reason, you'd always assumed this put-together man would have a clinically cold, grey apartment–a mancave full of sharp edges and industrial, functional pieces. Instead, what greets you is an oversized cream-coloured couch, laden with cushions and fluffy blankets. Open shelving hangs above, with little plants and trinkets adorning the shelf, including photos of Jihoon with people you assume are his loved ones.
Through an open door, you spy a gaming computer sitting on a desk full of trinkets, and a red electric guitar, sitting shiny and polished on its stand. Across the living room, tucked into a corner, is an enormous cat tree. The pair of tabby cats have relocated and lay curled around each other on one of its many perches. They blink at you curiously, ears flicking back and forth.
Jihoon returns with a glass of water and a plate of food, both of which he places in front of you.
“Eat,” he instructs. You comply absentmindedly, nodding. But fuck was he good at everything? Why was his cooking so damn good, too?
He moves to the cat tree, pressing kisses against the foreheads of the two cats and scratching affectionately at their little chins. “I know, I know, you hate strangers,” he whispers to them, clearly not intending you to overhear. “But she’s nice, I promise. You’ll like her.” The cats seemingly accept his judgement and close their eyes, paying you no further attention.
You stifle a giggle. You’d never dared to imagine your ostensibly cold, stoic neighbour as a doting father of two. “Didn’t know you were a cat dad,” you muse. “It suits you.”
“We’re all homebodies, so it works out.” He smiles, flicking a stray lock of dark hair from his eyes. God, you so wanted to sink your hands into it again. “They usually sleep in the bed so they were probably put out by our–uh–activities.”
“My sincerest apologies to your children,” you say solemnly.
“They'll get over it,” he replies, watching you adjust the blanket around your legs with open hunger in his eyes. “I meant what I said last night, you know.”
Your mind immediately goes to the myriad filthy things he’d said in bed and your face heats, stomach fluttering. Clearing your throat, you venture, “Which, umm, things, exactly?”
That insufferable smirk returns to his face. “Well, all of them. But specifically?”
He walks over and slowly swivels the barstool, bracketing your body with his. A shiver runs up your spine. Looking into your eyes, he places his hands on your knees. His expression is soft and unguarded, sincere. “Last night, I wanted to show you what it's like when someone prioritizes your pleasure. You deserve that every time. If you want to go home and never talk about this again, I'll understand. But I'd also be lying if I said I won't dream of the way we fit together. It was…” he trails off.
“Pretty much perfect?” You finish for him, nodding. “Yeah.”
He nods, too, and takes your hands in his, presses his lips to your knuckles, and pauses. It's a good thing you're already seated, you think to yourself, because the gentle intimacy of the gesture has turned your knees to jelly.
“And…I think I'd very much like to take you on a date…one that ends with my head between your thighs, if you find that agreeable.” His smile is disarming, blinding, overwhelming.
You swallow hard, looking down at your lap. “Like a real date?”
He cups your face gently, thumb brushing over your cheek. “A real date.”
“What if…what if I'm not ready?” Your voice is a whisper.
You want to be ready. Want to forget everything Minho has put you through. But you can't shake off the last two years as if it were meaningless. Healing takes time. Were you really ready after only six weeks? At the same time, you remember the parade of women Jihoon had mentioned. Two years of memories hadn't stopped Minho from moving on. Why should it stop you? Especially when you hadn’t been the one to do anything wrong.
Your body is so tense, Jihoon can probably feel it. He doesn't even flinch at the theoretical rejection, just runs a hand soothingly down your back and nods in understanding. “Then it's not a real date until you want it to be. You're the boss, remember? We can be casual, if that's what you need for now.”
Your stomach twists at that, too. Casual. You hate the sound of it. “What does casual entail? Would we see other people?”
He shakes his head. “I'm a one woman kind of man. Maybe casual is the wrong word. I just meant…no labels until you want them. You come over…I'll make you dinner, we'll watch a movie...cuddle…and then I eat you for dessert.” He grins that devastating grin and your stomach flutters. “Or we can go out for dinner. Or to the gym. Or wherever. Dessert can stay the same, though."
You laugh despite yourself. “Ah, I see. That kind of casual.”
“Whatever kind you want.” He repeats. “You make the rules.”
You mull over it for a moment. Despite your apprehension, you know with bone-deep certainty that Jihoon isn't like Minho. He's shown himself to be honest. Reliable. And then there was the mind-blowing sex to consider. Much to gain, and very little to lose.
“Jihoon?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
You meet his eyes. Give a little smirk of your own. “Does breakfast come with dessert, too?”
summary — your husband gets home late from work, tired and stressed. luckily, he has an idea for how to decompress.
wc — 1.5k
warnings — nsfw. minors dni. established marriage, parents au, non-idol au, fluff, smut, nipple/breastplay, creampie
author’s note — i have dilf cheol brainrot.
It's not until almost ten p.m. that Seungcheol finally slips through the front door.
Your husband thinks he's being quiet as he shrugs off his coat and toes off his shoes, but being a mother has given you superhuman hearing, so when he shuffles into the sitting room thinking you still don't know he's home, he's shocked to find you staring at him.
"Hi, love," you say, smiling sweetly at him, watching his face morph from mischief into dejection.
"You heard me get in?" he asks, pouting as he saunters over and plops himself down right on top of you as you lounge on the sofa. Like instinct, you bury your fingers in his thick, dark locks, flipping between combing through them softly and scratching at his scalp.
"I always do," you say. "How was work?"
He just groans, nuzzling his face into your neck. "I need to fire half of my team. They're fucking incompetent."
You laugh— considering he's the CEO of his company, there's always a chance that he's not entirely joking. You're prepared to play therapist for the night, the way you always have whenever Seungcheol's job becomes headache-inducing for him, but before you can ask your next question, he speaks again.
"Is baby in bed already?"
"Mhm. Poor thing came home from daycare beat," you chuckle, gazing down at your husband. "Just like her appa."
"God, I wish I was beat from playing games all day," he quips. He peels his eyes open, then, peering right up at you with an idea simmering in them. "You know what would help me de-stress, baby?"
"Hmm… Going to bed?" you offer, but there's something suggestive in his tone that tells you exactly what he's thinking.
"Not yet," he says, then his warm hands slide underneath your sweatshirt, landing on your bra-less chest. "Playing with these…"
You sigh when he grabs softly at your breasts, squeezing them gently a few times, rolling them around with his fingers. It's innocent, chaste— just another extension of his touchy tendencies. A way of releasing the tension in his fingers. He's always been a sucker for your boobs, but for obvious reasons his appreciation for them increased tenfold after your had your daughter, and he was absolutely not afraid to show it.
"Such a pest," you say, even though his touch right now is equally beneficial for you— you'll still tease him about it. Even as he starts to knead them in circles and your head falls back against the sofa.
"Hey, I let you play with my pecs too," he whines, eyeing you cautiously as he takes his chances and pushes your sweatshirt up your torso until your breasts are exposed to him.
You give him a vaguely unimpressed look, but you don't stop him when he pinches your nipples softly and watches with stars in his eyes as they stiffen. He rolls them between the tips of his fingers, tugging gingerly, cognizant of how sensitive they are.
Slowly, with his eyes locked on your face, he leans forward and laps his tongue at one of the nubs. Your sigh of relief gives him the permission he needs to continue, and he's no longer hesitant in the way he mouths at your tits, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples and sucking while his hand massages your other mound. He pays attention to one, then switches to the other, and it doesn't take for him to become indulgent, for his movements to turn hungry.
"Feels nice, Cheol," you murmur, hands still buried in his hair.
He responds with a soft moan, practically purring as he suckles at your breast. His eyes flicker shut and you watch him give in to the relief you bring him. There's something particularly endearing about the image of your huge, buff man being rendered entirely dependent on you to remedy his troubles, of him letting go of all sensibility.
Heat starts to build in your abdomen at the wet, smacking sounds your husband makes as he laps and sucks. Likewise, his own hips start to grind against the sofa ever so slightly.
"Fuck," he rasps, pulling off of your nipple with a wet pop. "I'm getting hard."
You huff out a laugh. It was only a matter of time. "Insatiable man."
"Sue me for being obsessed with my wife," he retorts. There's a pause. Then, with a small voice, he dares to ask: "can I put it in? Please?"
Seungcheol pushes himself back to kneel between your legs, his eyes begging. They're a little sunken, the circles under them a little darker than usual. It makes him look all the more pathetic.
You want to tease him, make him work for it a bit like you always do, but he's been so stressed lately that pity makes you give in to his wishes.
"Yeah, Cheol, fill me up."
He springs to action, helping you lift your hips so he can tug your sweatpants and panties down your legs, then working his belt open and pushing his slacks about halfway down his thighs, just enough to free his aching cock. You bite your lip as he spits in his palm and pumps at his length a few times, dragging the tip through your dripping folds a few times, grinning as you squirm.
"Sure you don't want my fingers first, baby?" he asks, squeezing at the fat of your thigh.
"I'm sure," you breathe. "I can take it."
He groans at your words, lining himself up with your entrance, grabbing hold of your hips, then pushing inside of you slowly as his thumb draws circles on your clit. Your moans are a harmony as he sinks inch after thick inch into your slick walls, your hands flying to grasp at his biceps as he starts to drag his cock in and out of you at an almost tantalising pace.
"God, just what I needed," he grits out, the air punched out of his lungs just from being inside you, from being squeezed by you, from you being wrapped around him so well it's like you were made just for him.
You only whine, digging your nails into his thick arms while he takes what he needs in the form of leisurely, deep strokes. Both fatherhood and his endlessly tiring job have taught him to take things slow and while it's partly from the lack of stamina he's had since your daughter was born, it's also from a newfound appreciation for taking his time with you, to truly worship you and relish having you.
He's been a lover from the very first time you had sex, always putting you first even when he gave it to you rough. Recently, though, there's been something far more intimate in the way he fucked you. He wasn't as rough anymore, there was that, but also his dirty talk was dirtier yet sweeter; he held you closer; his hands were so much more tender with you. And the orgasms he gave you now? Those were unlike anything you had ever experienced before you became parents.
He collapses forward, nuzzling his face in your neck, nipping at your flesh tenderly and kissing at your jaw, his plump lips spilling hot, breathy whispers of "taking me so well, baby," and "love this pussy so much, so tight and warm for me," against your skin. Meanwhile, his hips rut against you, sloppy and debauched, and he's so thick that he still manages to grind against your sweet spot effortlessly with each thrust.
His mouth moves to your tits again, his tongue flicking over your nipples one by one, and he grunts as you clench hard around his cock. Your hand settles on the back of his neck, holding him close, whimpering softly in his ear as he fucks you both closer and closer to your highs.
"Gonna cum, Cheollie," you mewl as that familiar tightness wells up in your belly, the kind that has you clinging to him a little harder and rutting your hips forward against him.
"Yeah? Me too, honey," he mumbles, adjusting his hips a little so he can fuck into you with a little more vigour and a little more desperation, grinning when you let out a near-sob at the change in angle. He's moving with purpose now, determined to make you finish, no longer just indulging in your tight, wet heat.
He pulls back suddenly, pushing himself back up to his knees, slowing his pace again when his release starts looming a little too quickly, opting to work your clit in circles again until your pussy clamps down on him and you cum with a sob of his name. Of course, your release triggers Seungcheol's own, the tightness of your cunt too much for him to handle any longer. With a broken moan, he buries himself inside you as deep as he can possibly go, filling you with his release until he's milked dry, and finally slumping forward against you.
For a while, he lays on top of you like that while you both heave for air. You're unfazed by his weight squashing you into the sofa, your brain full of cotton while a tender affection seeps into your bones at having him this close. With his softening cock still inside you, too, you could easily fall asleep.
Apparently, Seungcheol has the same idea— your thoughts get swiftly cut off by a soft snore from him, and the only thing you can do is laugh.
thank you for reading! reblogs and feedback are much appreciated <3
♡ pairing: lee jihoon x f!reader
♡ theme: smut [18+mdni]
♡ wc: 1.5k
♡ warnings: sexting/phone sex, dirty talk, semi-public, masturbation, cum eating
♡ a/n: happy birthday woozi i hope u like this filth i thought of at like 1am the other night love u <3
SYNOPSIS: You send a scandalous voice message to your boyfriend while he’s at work.
Jihoon is about to pull his hair out.
He stares dully at his laptop, rereading the email on his screen for the third time. The email asking him a question he already covered in the meeting this morning. Irritating.
With a deep sigh he hits the reply button and begins typing.
As discussed in this morning's team meeting, the Q3 revenue reports won't be available until next week due to a delay in invoicing on Finance's end.
-Jihoon
A much more polite response than is deserved, but whatever. He's about to return to his spreadsheets when a small flash in his periphery catches his attention. He reaches for his phone, the screen lit up with a notification from you. He opens his messages to see a nearly 10-minute long voice memo, followed by a text that says Don't listen without headphones 😘.
He has about a thousand things to do, but he figures he can listen to your message like a podcast while he works. Grabbing his AirPods, he pops the left one into his ear and hits play as he resumes typing formulas into Excel.
"Hey baby," your voice croons into his ear. "I really miss you right now."
He freezes. You like to send voice messages pretty often, usually if you're on the go or you want to tell him a story that would be too long to type out. Jihoon is a fairly quiet person — a stark contrast to your bubbly personality — and though you haven't been dating too long he really really likes you. So he's always happy to listen to you yap about anything and everything.
But your tone here is different.
"I've been thinking about you," you mutter sultrily, and like a dumbass it finally hits him that this is no ordinary voice memo.
"Been thinking about the way your hands feel on me," you say. He hears a soft swishing noise, immediately picturing your hand sliding down your body. "Thinking about the way you touch me…"
You let out a soft moan. Jihoon's cheeks start to burn hot at the realization that you're touching yourself. You're jerking off to the thought of him and recording it, and now he's sitting here in his stupid office listening to it. He's extremely glad he heeded your headphone warning, but he simply cannot having you moaning in his ear while he's supposed to be working. He glances at the clock: 4:32pm. So fucking close to the end of the day. He just has to make it another 30 minutes…
knock knock knock
Jihoon nearly jumps out of his skin at the rapping on his office door. He quickly locks his phone and tosses it in his bag as the door swings open.
"Got a minute?" the company VP asks chipperly as she pokes her head in.
"Sure," he answers reluctantly. As she steps into the office he realizes, to his horror, that the voice memo is still playing.
"I'm so wet, baby," you whimper in his ear as the VP starts asking him about some missing invoices. Apparently, locking his phone was not enough to pause the voice message; he glances over to his backpack on the floor, hoping to see his phone at the top, but a faint glow from the bottom of the open compartment tells him it has fallen deep within the bag. He knows he should just quickly retreive the phone so he can stop the audio, but the VP is notorious for scolding employees for being on their phones on the clock — and he does not want her to ask questions.
"Fuckkkk, feels so good," you groan as you slip your fingers into your cunt. "Wish it was your hands though…"
Jihoon's feels his ears turning ruby red, silently praying his longer-than-usual hair is enough to conceal his flustered state. He wants more than anything to yank the AirPod out of his ear and throw it into the bag with his phone. But what if the AirPod disconnects and it starts playing out loud? says a little anxious voice in the back of his mind. That would be infinitely worse, and — if he had to guess — probably a fireable offence.
He musters all of his brain power to focus on what the VP is asking him, somehow answering her questions well enough despite you moaning incessantly in his ear. She appears to be satisfied with his response, and turns to exit the office.
"Oh, by the way," she says spinning back around on her heel. "About the client meeting tomorrow…"
Jihoon shifts in his seat, scooting his chair closer into his desk, praying to god that it's enough to conceal the obvious bulge developing in his khakis.
"I miss your cock, wish I was choking on it right now," you whine as the VP goes on and on about meeting details Jihoon is already well aware of. He wonders what he did to deserve this kind of personal torture.
"I want to feel it deep in my throat. Wanna choke on you until you're about to cum, then I wanna ride you until I cum on your fat cock," you continue relentlessly as you fuck yourself with your fingers. "I want you to fill me up with your cum…"
"Are you alright?" the VP suddenly asks, launching Jihoon back to reality. "You look like you're going to be sick."
"Oh, um, I'm not feeling too great," he lies. "But I'll be okay." He glances at the clock: 4:37pm. He's only been here five minutes, but it's been the longest five minutes of his fucking life.
"Ohhh," you moan in his ear, growing louder as you become more and more aroused. He imagines sitting in front of you, watching you stroke your clit as he jerks his cock in his hand. He tries to shove the thought back into the recesses of his mind, but his mouth is watering at the thought of your pussy, wet and warm and delicious—
"You should go home," he hears the VP say to him from a million miles away. "The day's almost over anyway, and I don't want you throwing up at your desk."
"Um, yeah," he agrees. "I think I'll do that."
"Oh, by the way, I'm moving our afternoon meeting tomorrow to 8am," she says as she walks out of the door, seemingly unfazed by Jihoon's miserable state. "See you bright and early!"
The moment the door shuts behind her Jihoon flops back into his seat, letting out a deep exhale as he rubs his eyes in distress. He looks down at the thick protrusion of his fully-hard cock, straining to be contained in his pants.
"I'm gonna cum soon, baby," you whimper. He thinks for a moment, knowing he should just turn it off and go home — but then decides, fuck it. He gets up and quickly locks his office door, plopping back in his seat as he finally retrieves his damn phone from his bag. He sees there's about three and a half minutes left to your voice memo, but at this point, that's more time than he even needs.
"I'm so close," your voice wavers. Jihoon unzips his pants, reaching in and wrapping his hand around his stiffened length. He strokes himself slowly, his tip leaking as his cock throbs in his grip. Your cries grow louder, and he knows he's not going to last much longer. He stops for half a second to open the front camera and take a quick photo, sending the blurry picture of his lap with his cock in his fist to you.
Look what you did to me, he types.
A few strokes more and he's on the verge of busting already. No time to find a tissue, he cups his free hand over the head of his cock, cumming into his palm as his orgasm takes over. His eyes roll back, his bottom lip between his teeth as he struggles to remain quiet, a few pathetic whimpers escaping from his throat as he listens to your symphony of moans in his ear. His head spins as he slowly comes back down to earth, listening to your heavy breaths as you too recover from your high. He releases his grip on his spent cock, bringing the hand filled with his release up to his mouth, slowly licking his own cum off his palm.
"Come over after work baby, I love you."
Your diabolical voice memo finally ends, leaving Jihoon with only the sound of his own heavy breaths. He quickly tucks his dick back into his pants, gathering his things in preparation to sprint out of the office before anyone can stop him. He pauses at the door, typing out a quick text to you.
Summary: When her boyfriend cheats, what's a girl to do? Sleep with the super hot neighbour from across the hall, who just happens to be her secret gym crush, of course.
Pairing: neighbour!jihoon x fem!reader
Genre/themes: romance, neighbours to lovers, gym crush Jihoon
Word count: 8.7k
Content advisory: swearing, mentions of previous partners cheating, pet names (hers: sweetheart [like probably too much, like sweetheart every other sentence], baby, good girl), unprotected piv sex (pls don't be silly, wrap the willy), oral (m. receiving), little bit of manhandling, Woozi CONSENT KING (we stan)
Hi cuties. I missed y'all. I started writing this in April and then….life happened. I finished it off recently and I hope you enjoy! As usual, it started with the idea of casual sex but somehow ended up with them being super sappy for each other. This is apparently my niche now 💀Comments are much appreciated. <3
Dedication: This was inspired by Nana Tour Woozi brainrot and the parasite that was planted in my brain by my beloved Ro @shinysobi.
This one's for you, baby.
This is a bad idea, you think to yourself, shivering as an icy breeze winds itself around your exposed thighs. Still, your stride doesn't falter as you punch in the front door code and make your way to the elevator of the lavish apartment building you once lived in with your ex. You press the button and tug nervously at the hem of your dress as you watch the numbers on the display count down, signalling the elevator’s arrival to the lobby.
It’s only been six weeks since you and Minho broke up, although somehow it feels like an eternity compared to the two years you spent together. Rearranging your life without him has been not only difficult, but…annoyingly inconvenient.
We could have kept on with our nice little life but nooooo, you snark to yourself. SOMEONE couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.
All the little comforts of daily life had been taken from you, and held just out of reach. Things like drinking coffee from your favourite mug in the morning or snuggling into Egyptian cotton bedsheets at the end of a long day–bedsheets which you’d saved up for two months to buy. You’d left in a flurry of emotion after you found out he’d cheated, grabbing things in a blind rage and stuffing them into your suitcase haphazardly. To top it all off, he’d changed the code to the apartment door and blocked your number, so you couldn’t come back for the rest of your things.
Tonight, in the midst of getting ready for what was supposed to be your grand return to the singles scene, you realized he still had your favourite going out dress. So you’d thrown on the next best thing but it felt wrong and the whole evening felt wrong and now… you’re angry–furiously, fumingly angry–and here to give him a piece of your mind.
“MINHO!” you yell, running to the door of your former apartment and banging on the door, “Minho, come the fuck out here and talk to me, you fucking COWARD!”
Your fist meets the heavy door again, bang-bang-bang, and then you listen for a moment. No sound emerges from the apartment. You take a deep breath and pound on the door again, yelling, “MINHO, you fucking CHEATING, LYING, STEALING SCUM, if you don’t come out here RIGHT NOW so help me God, I’ll–...I’ll–”
“Hey!” A voice barks from behind you. “What the fuck are you yelling about this late at night?”
You spin on your heel, pressing your back to the apartment door. Your palms press flat into the wood by your thighs and your shoulders hike up defensively. Spotting the owner of the voice, you let out a shaky breath. Just Jihoon. Not Minho.
The next door neighbour, Jihoon, has always been kind to you. More of an acquaintance than a friend, he mostly kept to himself, but he’d always given a friendly nod and held the door open when you crossed paths. But he doesn't look happy to see you right now. He looks furious, actually.
His long, dark hair is disheveled and sticking out every which way. A pair of athletic shorts hangs low on his hips, and he's not wearing a shirt, putting the hard, muscular planes of his chest on display. He'd clearly been sleeping and been woken up by your yelling.
You wince. Yeah, I’d be mad at me, too.
Jihoon shifts, rubbing groggily at his eyes and giving you an expectant look as he waits for your reply. You try to form words, but nothing comes out. Instead, you find yourself fixating on the bulge of his biceps as he crosses his arms over his well-defined pectorals.
You frown. He's huge. Your mind flashes to seeing him in the building’s first-floor gym on several occasions, easily lifting more than twice your body weight. Your mouth goes a little dry. I should not have pissed him off.
“Well?” He prompts impatiently. “Were you planning to yell out here all night?”
“Uhhh…” You look towards the ceiling, unable to meet his eye, mouth twisting to the side in embarrassment. “Well…”
He lets out a slow, controlled breath, running a hand through his hair, smoothing back the tangled mess atop his head, which promptly springs back up. Finally taking in your flushed face, too-short dress, and red-rimmed eyes, he seems to register the situation more clearly. His demeanour softens. He steps towards you gingerly. “Are you ok, y/n? And why are you banging on the door of your own apartment? Did you forget your key code? Should I call Minho?”
“Uhhhh,” a nervous chuckle bubbles up your throat before you can stop it. “I don't live here anymore, actually,” you whisper, tugging awkwardly at the hem of your dress. “Not since a few weeks ago…”
His brow furrows. “Ah. So you finally broke up with this asshole.” It's more of a statement, but you nod in confirmation anyways. He nods back, as if in approval, although he's frowning. “Always thought you were too good for that sleazy motherfucker. Please tell me you're not here for some kind of…booty call reconciliation attempt.” He waves a hand in the air as if to swat the idea away.
You shudder. “No. God no. I just…uh…” You shuffle your feet uncomfortably, staring at the floor. “He cheated on me,” you whisper, face growing hot with embarrassment at the admission.
There. Now Jihoon knew the truth. Minho had cheated. You hadn't been enough for him. He found what he needed elsewhere. The knowledge sits in the pit of your stomach like a rock.
“Then he blocked me and changed the door code, but he still has some of my things…” You pause to take a staccato breath. “And I'm still upset about it, obviously, so…I showed up to get them and yell at him some more. Which, admittedly, was a bad idea…but anyways,” you gesture at the hallway, “here I am, yelling like an asshole and waking everyone up, apparently.”
Jihoon lets out another long breath, muttering to himself under his breath before addressing you again. “I hadn't seen you at the gym in a while so…kinda figured something happened. There were other women around up here, too, so…” He cuts off abruptly when he sees the tears well up in your eyes.
He clears his throat and looks away, shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts and shrinking back towards his own door. “Nevermind. He's a fucking idiot anyways…”
You nod, biting into your lower lip in an attempt to stop it from quivering, and the next thing you know, you’re slumped on the floor, sobbing. Jihoon looks alarmed by this development as he moves to kneel in front of you. His voice is soft and soothing as he tentatively reaches out to pat your arm. “Hey…it’s ok. You’re gonna be ok. I’m sorry I mentioned it.”
You shake your head, trying to clear away unpleasant thoughts of women parading through your once-shared apartment with Minho. Women who were likely sleeping in the bedsheets you’d picked out. Drinking coffee from the mugs you’d painted with your friends in a pottery class. Other women. Jihoon had unintentionally confirmed your worst fear. After two years with Minho, not only had he cheated, but he'd taken your breakup without remorse, immediately moving on to fuck a long line of other women. Meanwhile, you were struggling to put the pieces of your life back together. Bastard.
“Fuck…I’m not even sad anymore, you know?” you gasp between sobs, “I’m just angry…so fucking angry all the time. I gave him two years of my life and he threw it away. Fucking bastard.”
“Yeah…actually, I do know.” Jihoon sits beside you, back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. He’d come outside without even putting on his slippers, you realize, watching him absentmindedly flex and point his toes like a little kid stretching in gym class.
He takes a deep breath, running a hand through the nest atop his head once more. “My girlfriend cheated on me, too. We broke up six months ago and we didn’t even live together, but I still get pissed off about it sometimes. I understand.”
He massages the back of his own neck, staring up at the ceiling. Studying his face, you see the ghost of your own pain. A little more healed, perhaps, but still hurt–still angry.
“You do,” you whisper, nodding. “You definitely get it.”
He laughs once–a short, sharp sound that echoes down the hallway. “Yeah. I do.”
The two of you sit there in silence for a minute or two, lost in your respective thoughts.
“Jihoon?” Your whisper feels much too loud in the empty hallway. The only other sound is the faint electric buzz of the overhead lighting, and the steady, calming sound of Jihoon's breathing.
“Hmm?”
“Why do you think people cheat?”
He runs a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “Honestly? I've thought about it a lot in the past six months and I think it comes down to selfishness. Whatever other reasons they might think there are, the bottom line is that they have a complete lack of respect for their partner. They can't even communicate, so they lie. It's a cowardly thing.”
You nod wordlessly, humming in agreement. He's right.
Another long pause follows as you roll his words around in your head. “I’m sorry for, uh, all the yelling. And for waking you so rudely…I should get home.”
Jihoon nods, standing and stretching out a hand to pull you to your feet. His palm is warm against yours and your gaze trails from his long, slender fingers to the prominent blue-green veins that run across his muscled forearm. A flicker of heat pulses in the pit of your stomach. You should probably pull your hand back, but it feels so good resting in his, and you realize he's not pulling back either.
When you look up at Jihoon, you find his gaze squarely fixed on your intertwined hands, with the same faraway look in his eyes. Something unspoken crackles in the air between you–an irrefutable, magnetic pull. Your eyes lock, and suddenly his lips are on yours. There’s equal hunger in it, and equal desire–a heated pull that neither of you can deny, no matter how suddenly it arose. Later, you would try to remember who had moved first, who had kissed whom, but you could never puzzle it out.
Jihoon’s lips are warm and firm, as is the press of his body against yours as he takes a step forward, guiding you towards the wall. He keeps your fingers twined with his, pressing them to the door by your head, while his other hand caresses the nape of your neck. He uses his thumb to gently tilt your chin, gaining better access as he runs his tongue against the seam of your lips. You part them for him, inviting more of his warmth as you pull him closer, hand threaded through his hair.
The heat of his body is all-encompassing, wrapping around you and melting away any apprehension. He reaches down, effortlessly lifting you off your feet, pinning you to the wall with his hips. You lock your ankles behind his back and rock against him, whimpering his name. He groans quietly, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours. “Would it be completely inappropriate if I asked you to come in?”
“No,” you blurt, barely thinking before you reply. “I’d like that.”
“Hang on tight.” He offers you a wry smile, pulling your body against his chest as he turns to open the door to his apartment with a flourish.
You barely register the apartment beyond the fact that it's a mirror image of your old one across the hall. Jihoon sweeps you through his home effortlessly and sets you down at the edge of his bed, pressing a tingling kiss to your hands.
“I know inviting you in here was kind of sudden, but we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You could stay in the guest room and I’ll make you breakfast in the morning. We could talk about how much our exes suck, if you want.” He shrugs.
The nonchalant tone of it all makes you laugh. “Jihoon,” you chide, “Would I have let you carry me in here if I wasn’t interested?”
He shrugs again. “It’s just…no pressure. I wanted you to know that.”
“Thank you,” you offer him a little smile. “I’m sure of what I want, though.”
You reach your arms out to him in invitation, and he accepts, taking your hands once more and brushing his thumbs back and forth over the inside of your wrists. The sensation makes your stomach clench in anticipation, and perhaps a little bit of apprehension. It’s been years since you’ve been with anyone besides Minho, and towards the end, as he’d pulled away, you hadn’t even been intimate with him.
“I’ve always been loyal, unlike some people, but I have eyes…” You pause, licking your lips, gripping his hands a little tighter and staring at the ground. Were you seriously about to admit this to him?
“Whenever I saw you at the gym, I…I always wondered what it’d be like, you know? To be with you. Someone as strong as you.”
You flick your eyes up for a moment to see a wicked smile spreading across his face. You blush, mortified at the words coming out of your mouth, but needing to get them out.
“Before we, uh, do this…” You clench your eyes shut, unable to look even at the ground this time. “You should know that I can’t always…get there…with a partner. And it really has nothing to do with you–it’s just, uhh, how I’ve always been, and…anyways, just please don’t get upset if it doesn’t happen.”
You trail off, opening one eye slowly to see Jihoon with an incredulous expression on his face, one eyebrow arched. “Fancy way of saying that fuckhead,” he jerks a thumb towards the hallway, “didn’t know how to get you off.”
“No, it wasn’t that–” you start, but Jihoon cuts you off with a wave of his hand, bending down and placing his hands on the bed to either side of you. l
His eyes, now level with yours, sparkle with something akin to mischief as he says, “Tell you what, sweetheart…I’m going to spend the rest of the night figuring you out, and then we’ll see about that. And like I said…no pressure. If it happens, it happens, and if not, we'll have had fun trying.” He shrugs again. “All you have to do is be honest with me about whether you like something or not. Deal?”
You purse your lips, squirming uncomfortably under his gaze. “Deal.”
He smiles, brushing his lips to the inside of your wrists, one after the other. The gesture makes goosebumps bloom up along your arms. As if this simple kiss activated some kind of chain reaction, your body lights up at his touch–your heart pounds a little quicker and your breath comes a little faster.
“And not to be all business but I'm clean. Got tested after…all that.” He makes a circling gesture with one hand, shaking his head.
“Me, too,” you add quickly. “And I have an IUD so…anyways, it's up to you.”
He bites his lip, hands flexing against yours, and exhales a puff of air through his nose. “I wouldn't be opposed. But if we get there, it'll be up to you. Yes?”
“Yeah, ok…”
He nods with finality, as if this settles the matter before seating himself against the headboard, legs laid out in front of him. “Now,” he starts, hands outstretched towards you, “Come sit with me?”
You take his hand, moving to straddle him, but he pulls you into his chest with a smirk, taking hold of your waist with both hands. With one smooth motion, he maneuvers you effortlessly, flipping you and slotting you between his legs, your back flush to his chest. The motion knocks the breath from your lungs and sparks a throbbing sensation between your legs.
Jihoon sweeps your hair from your neck and kisses up the column of your throat. “So? Did you like that? Be honest.”
You nod, a little breathless, and he exhales a little laugh in response. “Good girl.”
The ragged breath you let out and the way your thighs press together must give you away, because this time, he doesn’t ask if you like the pet name. He merely continues kissing along your neck, occasionally nipping at your collarbone, and roaming his hands along your body until you’re wiggling impatiently and grinding back into him. He laughs, the sensation vibrating into your skin through his lips. He tightens an arm around your waist, holding you still, despite your whiny half-protests. “Impatient already?”
“Jihoon,” you whisper, pleading. “Touch me.”
“I am touching you,” he soothes, rubbing your inner thigh in small circles, kneading with just enough pressure to make you want more. You can't see his infuriatingly sexy smirk, but you feel it against your neck. “What’s the rush? If you're sure I can't make you come, we should enjoy the journey…Good things take time, right?”
He inches his fingertips upwards along your thigh, taking a meandering path to where you need him. The rough texture of the pads of his fingers, thick and calloused, is hypnotic as it moves against the smooth expanse of your inner thigh. You allow your eyes to flutter shut and lean back into him, breathing quickly.
“That's it. Relax for me.” His voice is low and soft. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”
You whimper in reply, nodding weakly.
He hums approvingly, breath hot in your ear as he murmurs, “That's right. You brought this needy little pussy to my doorstep and now you're gonna let me take care of you. And I mean properly.”
The words send a shiver down your spine. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “I…like it when you say things like that.”
He hums in approval, finally reaching the seam of your panties and tracing it with a single fingertip, brushing across the top of your thigh. He mirrors the motion with his nose against your shoulder, tickling ever so slightly. “Yeah? Would you like to hear what I have planned for you, sweetheart?”
You shiver at his words. “Tell me…”
“Mmm, so many ideas, so little time…First, I think you’ll come just like this. I want you dripping all over my fingers.”
His fingers stroke over your core, then, barely there–brushing up and down, up and down over the now damp fabric of your panties. You whimper, squirming and trying to chase his hand, but his hold is firm against your waist.
“And then, I think I’d like to bury my face right here. Put my mouth on you and tease you until your legs are shaking.” He cups his entire hand over your sex and squeezes. It's gentle but sudden. You arch your back with a gasp, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip in a futile effort to suppress another whimper. “And then, if you still want me to, I’ll fill you up with my fat cock. Make you feel so good. Fuck you until you're a mess.”
Struck by the thought of being stuffed full of him, you can't help the undignified groan that escapes your lips.
“Does that sound good?” He coos as you nod frantically, head pressed back against his shoulder.
“Can I take these off?” He thumbs at the waistband of your panties.
You nod emphatically. “Please.”
As soon as your confirmation comes, he’s dragging your panties down your legs. You lift your hips to help, taking the opportunity to pull your dress off, too. The low neckline of the dress didn’t allow for a bra, and you don’t miss Jihoon’s little stream of expletives as he takes in your naked body with hungry eyes. He pulls you back towards him, this time pinning you beneath the solid muscle of his body as he claims your mouth again with a bruising kiss, deep and desperate.
“Fuck, look at you. Fucking perfect,” he rasps, running his hands up and down your sides, stroking your skin as if he can't bear the miniscule space separating your bodies any longer. The evidence of his desire presses into your hip, rivalling the hardness of his chest, but it doesn’t seem to concern him. His attention remains fixed on you as he diligently resumes his ministrations between your legs. Without the fabric in the way, your wetness coats his fingers, allowing them to glide easily as he runs his fingers up and down against your outer folds. He parts his fingers, spreading you open, and begins to circle ever closer to your clit with a single finger, pulling gently at the surrounding skin, sending little jolts of electricity up your spine.
“You’re such a tease,” you chastise him, spreading your legs wider, as if that will coerce him into giving you the friction you so desperately need.
“Mmm, but I kinda think you like it?” he teases, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. But God, he looks so hot when he does that. You pull him down into another series of kisses, tongues tangling hotly as his finger finally–finally meets the top edge of your clit, stroking with the barest hint of pressure. If you were thinking straight, you might be embarrassed at the needy sound that escapes, but at this moment, it feels like an out-of-body experience. Tangling a hand in his hair, you pull his mouth down to your neck. He takes the cue, kissing and biting and sucking at the tender junction where your clavicle meets the base of your neck as he finally pushes one of those perfect fingers deep into your pussy.
With a desperate moan, you arch against him, as he adds a second finger almost immediately. His fingers slide easily against your wetness as he pumps into you with solid, steady motions of his wrist, pressing the heel of his hand against your clit.
“So soft and wet and perfect, fuck. Look at you,” he breathes into your ear.
Glancing down, you watch his fingers disappear into you, slick and shiny, mesmerized by the motion and the stark contrast of the veins on his forearms against the pallor of his skin. He seems equally enraptured by the motion, eyes fixed on the spot where your bodies meet.
“Please, Jihoon, fuck–please, please. I need–” you gasp, hands scrambling for purchase in his hair, against his bulging biceps. Your skin feels incredibly warm as heat pools and coils low in your belly. “Make me–I need to–please.”
“You don't have to beg, sweetheart,” he croons. “I'll spoil this pussy however you want me to. You just have to keep telling me what you like. What you need.” He continues pistoning his fingers into you, slow and steady.
“Feels so good,” you breathe, hips chasing his hand. “A little faster.”
“So good for me,” he praises, picking up his pace. “So honest. You like my fingers in this tight little pussy? Needy little thing, sucking me in so tight. Wanna feel you suffocating my cock later, fuck. Can you come for me like this?”
“Yes,” you nod furiously, panting hard. “I can. Just like that. Don't stop. Please don't stop.”
“Not gonna stop, sweetheart,” he murmurs soothingly against your skin. “Gonna give you everything you need and see how beautiful you look when you come. And you will come for me. Now let me feel this pretty pussy squeezing my fingers.”
He’s got you wound up so tightly, it’s a miracle you don’t combust on the spot as your orgasm washes over you. You gasp, body alight with pleasure as it hits, thighs quivering with the strength of it. You moan, tugging him down and crashing your lips together in a mess of teeth and tongues, panting incoherently into his mouth. Through it all, Jihoon continues that steady, unfaltering rhythm, working his fingers into you until he feels the last tides of your orgasm ebb away.
As your breathing slows, you melt back into his pillows, eyes half-closed in pleasure. “Fuck, that was…”
“Perfect,” he beams, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean as you watch, enraptured. “You’re fucking perfect.”
You take his face in both hands for a long, slow kiss. He doesn't rush you, just kisses you like he's happy to be here with you, like he's got all the time in the world for this–like you didn't just wake him up in the middle of the night with your obnoxious screaming and then end up naked in his bed.
His touch is greedy, demanding, as he smooths his hands over your body, pulling you closer. Your hands, however, are even greedier. Perhaps your eyes had wandered to your former neighbor’s physique more than you wanted to admit, even to yourself. Jihoon is all soft, smooth skin over rock-hard muscle and you can't get enough of the feel of him under your hands, swooning over his thick shoulders and biceps, rock-hard chest, and powerful thighs.
When you finally break the kiss, panting hard, he gives you a lopsided smirk that makes your heart flutter a little.
His brow furrows as he looks down and sees your breasts pressed to his chest, as if he'd only just realized they were there. His hands gravitate towards them, nearly moving with a mind of their own, to caress and pinch at your stiffened nipples. Bending down, he sucks one into his mouth, laving his tongue over it before nibbling softly.
“Would it be presumptuous of me to assume you enjoyed that as much as I did?” he asks between mouthfuls of breast.
“Not presumptuous at all.” You sigh, arching into the warmth of his mouth.
He trails kisses up along your clavicle to your ear before pulling back to meet your gaze. “You're sure? If you want to stop, we stop. But if you want to keep going…” He gives you a wry smile. “Let’s just say there’s plenty more where that came from, and I'm more than happy to demonstrate.”
You squirm, very cognizant of the huge erection pressed into your inner thigh. As much as you’d like to rip his shorts off and sink down onto it, curiosity gets the better of you. “Like what?
His smile widens. “Like now that I’ve gotten a taste of you, I can’t stop thinking about how I need you to sit on my fucking face.”
“Oh?” You blink, not quite comprehending.
He tips his head back and taps his lower lip with two fingers. “Sit you right here and eat that pretty pussy until you soak my face.”
You cheeks heat at the suggestion. Filthy. Enticing. You bite your lip, thinking. ‘What if I just ask you to fuck me?”
He shrugs, smiling. “Then I'll fuck you however you like, for as long as you want me to.”
“Oh.” Your mouth drops open, still in awe that he's letting you take the lead. “And if I want to taste you first?”
“Fuck,” he breathes, palming his erection through his shorts. “Then I'm all yours to taste, sweetheart. Whatever you want. You're the boss.”
“I’m the boss…” you repeat in a whisper, rolling the words around in your mouth. What do I want? You ponder. Sex with Minho had always been routine–a rotation of the same three positions, always at his whim–so it takes you a moment to think of what it is you'd actually like to do to the utterly beautiful man in front of you.
You clear your throat, eyes roving hungrily over his body. “Um, first, I think…I think I want you to be naked, too.”
“As you wish,” comes his reply. He stands and slowly pulls his shorts off. His erection, long neglected, springs free, slapping up against his toned stomach. A curved, silver barbell glints at the underside, piercing through the frenum.
You bolt upright, eyes wide. “Holy fuck…you’re…”
“Pierced?” he finishes. “Yeah.”
“Actually, I was gonna say thick. But that, too.” You give an awkward laugh despite yourself, eyes still fixed on his erection. He maintains his distance still, and you can tell he's trying to be respectful, but you want him–want him as close as two people can physically get.
Licking your lips, you reach out a hand, beckoning him back to the bed. He takes your hand and you lay facing each other, each propped up on one elbow. “You weren't kidding when you said fat cock.”
He laughs, and it's such a deep, husky sound compared to before.
The length is, perhaps, average. But the girth? With slow, calculated motions, you reach out and wrap a hand around him, unable to resist. The tips of your fingers just barely meet around the circumference. Here, too, he's hard as steel wrapped in the softest velvety skin, with the tip flushed a deep, dusky pink. You give an experimental stroke, rubbing your thumb over the head to spread the glistening drop of pre-cum there.
Jihoon hisses out a long breath as you stroke him, watching with half-lidded eyes. The halo of dark, messy hair has only gotten worse from the way you’d tugged on it, and his pupils are blown wide with desire, cheeks tinged pink. He looks edible.
Don't mind if I do…
“So thick…” you repeat, in awe.
“Wouldn't lie to you, sweetheart,” he musters, voice strained under your touch. The muscles of his thighs flexing deliciously with the effort of not moving. “Would never lie to you.”
You give him a small smile, catching the implication. Stroking him languidly, you watch the precum pool at the tip before you flick your thumb over it again, eliciting a soft moan. It's a heady feeling, having him react to your touch like this.
“Can I…?” you query, lips parting as your gaze flicks from his face to his erection and back.
“Fuck, as if I could deny you anything.” He falls back against the bed in surrender when you push against his shoulders lightly. Making your way down his body is its own pleasure. The softness of his skin beneath your lips is contrasted by the firmness of the muscle beneath. And there is quite a bit of muscle, you note again, finally letting your mouth and hands claim what they desire, sucking and nipping until Jihoon makes the most erotic little sounds of desire. His open need only spurs you on, makes you feel powerful.
When you reach his throbbing cock, you stroke it once more, enjoying the way Jihoon’s body tenses in the anticipation of your touch, and the way his breath hitches ever so slightly.
You lick a stripe up the underside, pausing to trace the piercing with your tongue, exploring its contours. Then you pull back and blow cool air along the same path, delighting in the way Jihoon shudders and groans. His hands find their way into your hair–not pushing nor pulling, simply resting, needing to touch you.
Lips stretched wide around his thickness, you take the head into your mouth and suck gently. You continue to stroke him as you begin to bob your head up and down, massaging your tongue across the piercing with each pass. You take him deeper, sucking greedily as the metal hits the back of your throat. Jihoon lets out a stream of expletives that would make a sailor blush, abs taught with pleasure.
“Shit, you're too good at that,” he swears, gently tipping your face up. You blink at him, lips still wrapped around his cock, and release it with a soft pop. Jihoon groans at the sight, swearing again under his breath.
“Did I do something wrong?” You tilt your head in query, concerned.
“Wrong? No,” he frowns, a confused look crossing his face. He cradles your face between his hands, thumbs brushing back and forth over your cheeks.
“Fuck no. You're so fucking good at that. Too good. And it's been a while since I, well…” He trails off, offering you a sheepish smile as your head tilts in further confusion.
His thumb tugs at your lower lip, his pupils dark and hungry. “What I'm trying to say is that your mouth is the sweetest, most torturous pleasure. If you keep doing that, I'll come too fast to fuck you properly.”
Your mouth drops open in a soft oh.
“And I really would love to fuck you properly, if that's what you still want.”
You give a shy smile, nodding, beginning to move back up his body. The journey in reverse is equally enjoyable to the way down. You trail your tongue down the center of his abs, kissing each one before moving to nip at his pecs. “Your body is insane, Jihoon, has anyone ever told you that?”
“Nobody who mattered until just now,” he jokes. He presses his lips to yours as you settle over his hips, straddling him. You let out matching sighs as his hardness presses against the heat of your core and you begin to gently rock against him as you kiss.
“Fuck me now, Jihoon,” you whisper against his lips.
He wastes no time, flipping and pressing you into the mattress once more.
“Condom?” he queries, reaching for the nightstand.
You shake your head. “No. Wanna feel you.”
“Fuck. Okay.” He reaches back towards the nightstand anyways and draws a bottle of lube from the top drawer. “Still gonna need this, though. Want you to feel good.” He plants a kiss on your jawline before pulling back momentarily, kneeling to spread his cock with the thick, glistening gel. If you hadn’t already been laying flat on your back, the sight of him kneeling between your legs, fisting his cock with those beautiful hands would have done it. It's all too much–the veins in his forearm as he works his hand over matching veins in his cock, the muscle of his thighs, the way his hair falls over his eyes–it's overwhelming in the best way.
He braces himself on one elbow and notches the head of his cock at your entrance. The warm metal of the piercing causes you to shiver as he drags the tip up and around your clit, rubbing it against you until you whine and tilt your hips up in entreaty. “Please…”
He kisses you, soft and slow, as he pushes inwards, giving you a mere inch. He's so thick that even that small amount has you whimpering against his lips, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. He pulls out, dragging the piercing over your clit once again, tracing a circle before pushing back in a little more. The metal is pleasantly warm against your skin, slippery from the combination of the lube and your unbearable wetness.
Your hips chase his, but he splays a hand against your stomach and holds you there–gives you just the tip, just the promise of the delicious stretch. And then he pulls out. and teases your clit again. And again, sinking into you ever so slightly more each time. You're panting against his lips, whimpering and squirming against his hold, but he's strong and that somehow makes it even hotter.
“Jihoon, please…”
He's enjoying teasing you, you realize, when he exhales an amused breath against your neck.
“Doesn’t this feel good, sweetheart?”
You bite your lower lip, nodding. “But I need more.”
“Just making sure you're good and ready for me, beautiful, and then I'll give it to you. You still want me?”
“Not to be dramatic, but if you don't fuck me right the fuck now, I may die of need.”
He chuckles and kisses a path up your neck, still teasing the head of his cock at your entrance.
“Then watch,” he prompts, pulling back a bit, then sinking deeper than before. Your eyes snap to the place where your bodies meet and you let out an unintelligible sound at the sight. It's so lewd, seeing how wide you’re stretching to take his girth. Your face heats, whether in desire or something akin to embarrassment at the sight, you're not sure.
“See how you suck me in? Can you feel that?” He pulls out an inch and you feel your body fight it, an undulating wave of muscle trying to pull him deeper.
You swallow thickly, nodding, eyes glued to the spot. He gives you more, nearly all of him, and the pleasurable stretch intensifies.
“Fuck, you feel like a dream. So soft here. So warm.”
“More.” Your voice is hoarse with desire, barely above a whisper.
He pushes in the rest of the way and you let out a shuddering breath in unison.
“Jihoon,” you whine, tossing your head against the pillow, overwhelmed. “Feel so full.”
“I know, baby. You're doing so well. Taking this cock like you were fucking made for it.” He peppers your face with kisses, giving you a moment to adjust before continuing, “Can I move?”
“I genuinely might die if you don't.”
He breathes another rough laugh before pulling back and thrusting into you once, hard and deep.
“Fuck,” you cry out, clutching at his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex beneath your hands as he holds himself up. “Jihoon. You feel so good.”
“That's it, sweetheart, fucking take it all.” His voice is deeper than before, darker, filled with desire. “Let me fill you up. Look so pretty stretched around my cock. See?”
You look down again and whimper, lower lip trapped between your teeth, completely struck by the way your body accommodates his girth. When he begins to move in slow, soul-devouring thrusts, you're unable to contain the needy sounds he pulls from your body. He tests a couple of angles until you cry out in pleasure–and from then on his motions are calculated, precise in their endeavour to drag you over the edge.
One of his hands grips tightly at your hip, kneading and grasping hungrily, pulling you closer. “Look at you. So fucking perfect. You're the tightest fucking thing, pulling me in like a dream. This sweet little pussy doesn't wanna let go of me for even a second.”
And you feel it, too. Every. Devastating. Inch. All of him, wrapped in your heat as it ripples, sucking him deeper. You lose yourself in him, in his motions, in the pleasure of his body. Sounds spill uninhibited from your lips, whimpers and moans, and more, deeper, harder, please, Jihoon. He complies every time, giving you just what you need, both spoken and unspoken, reading the signs you didn't even know your body was sending him.
“Fuck, sweetheart, you're close, aren't you? You're getting even tighter. Tell me what you need. Let me help you.”
“More, need more.” It's a whimpered, incoherent plea, but he understands.
“I’m gonna turn you around so you can grab the headboard, ok? Then hang on tight so I can get nice and deep and make you feel good, hmm?”
You give a weak nod before he scoops your limp form into his arms and turns you over effortlessly. Your stomach swoops at the sensation, gentle as it is. Moments later, he presses his lips to your ear from behind, nibbling at your earlobe. “Liked that, too, didn't you?”
In response, you arch your body back into his, silently asking for more. He brackets his body around yours and runs his hands delicately up and down your sides, grabbing your hips and readying himself at your entrance once more.
“Oh my god,” you shiver, arching further as he presses into you, slotting your bodies together again. There is the return of the sensation of being impossibly full, now with the warmth of his body pressed into your back, his lips warm against your ear, and it's all so much.
Jihoon lets out a hissed breath. “Fuck, you're even tighter from this angle. Hot and wet and perfect. Fuck. Made to take my cock, weren't you, sweetheart?”
You're too far gone to reply as he thrusts shallowly into you, adjusting his angle until you're whining his name again. “That's it, that's my good girl. Hang on tight and let me make you feel good, hmm?”
You'd asked for more, and he was obliging, hips snapping hard and fast. His piercing drags across your walls and into your most sensitive spot, making stars bloom in your vision. The warmth in your belly pools, hot and insistent, coiling tighter with each stroke of his hips.
“I'm–oh, fuck–I’m so close, Jihoon, please,” you pant.
He nips at your neck, breathing hard. “I know, you're suffocating my cock. Feels so damn good to be wrapped up in you like this. Don't think too hard, hmm? Relax and let me take care of you.”
He brings his hand to your core, swiping at the wetness there and using it to glide around your swollen, aching clit. Your body convulses at the motion, legs going shaky. A few more quick swipes of his thumb and you feel yourself tumbling, falling headfirst into the kind of pleasure you’d only ever dreamt about.
“Fuck…oh God…fuck, Jihoon. I'm–” Squeezing your eyes shut, you slump forward, waves of liquid fire radiating up your spine and into each limb, consuming your entire conscience. There's nothing else–just you, Jihoon, and the warm pleasure of your bodies twined together like this.
“There you go, sweetheart, that’s it...” He groans, burying himself to the hilt as you squeeze and ripple impossibly tighter around him. Your orgasm rolls on, wave after wave of pleasure consuming you. Jihoon bites softly at the curve of your neck, stifling his own cries of pleasure. His length thickens and pulses as he spills inside you with a muffled groan.
Pulling your body against his, he eases you both down onto your sides, staying buried inside you. When you finally float back down to your body, you register the soft caress of his hands over your body, and the tender press of his lips against your head. He's still breathing hard, the soft huff of his breath ruffling your hair on every exhale.
“Hi,” you venture.
He laughs, “Good evening. Morning? It's late.”
You wince. “Sorry about that. Again.”
He shrugs and presses his lips to your neck. “I'm not. Told you Minho was a loser. Give me 20 minutes and I'll give you two more.”
You sputter, uncomprehending, “T-two more? I can't. Not possible.”
He nips at your ear and groans quietly when you flutter around him again. “That's not what your perfect body’s telling me, sweetheart. You can. And if we had more time together, I'd learn you inside and out…show you just how many ways I could make you come. You'd be at risk of dehydration with the way I'd keep you soaking wet.”
“D-dehydration? That's ridiculous.” Your mouth hangs open. “You're exaggerating.”
“Not even a little. How about you come back next weekend? Give me a whole night and some time to prep. We'll get you a sports drink and find out just how many you can give me.”
You peer over your shoulder at him, incredulous. “More than four? That's not possible.”
Amusement dances in his eyes. “You didn't even think one was possible, so I'm at least 200% up on impossible. Couldn't hurt to try, if you're up for it.”
You're doubtful but…he hasn't been wrong or misleading so far. The very thought of being here again, letting him take care of you and teach you things you didn't even know about your own body has you squirming. The motion emphasizes the way your bodies are still linked together, and you feel him beginning to harden again. Fuck. He really wasn't kidding. The idea is alluring. You really should say no, but being tangled up with him like this feels too damn good.
Oh, fucking fuck it all.
You let go of your inhibitions and grind back on him in reply. Jihoon breathes in sharply, his length thickening inside your body. “Is that a yes, sweetheart?”
“Yes.”
That wickedly sexy smile spreads across his face. “Then let's get to work.”
A few hours later, a tiny, rough tongue scrapes across the tip of your nose, startling you awake. You nearly squeal in surprise before realizing it's….a cat? As you move to sit up, you find another cat curled up near the foot of the bed, tucked against your legs.
“Hi, kitty,” you whisper to the little tabby who groomed your nose. The cat yawns and stretches in reply. “Let's go find your dad, ok?” The cat jumps from the bed and looks over its shoulder, as if to encourage you to follow.
You find Jihoon in the kitchen, still in those same athletic shorts, making breakfast over the stove. He gives you a lopsided smile and your stomach swoops. Fuck. After another round last night, he had, true to his word, pulled two more orgasms from your body. Your face heats thinking about it. Afterwards, he'd been so gentle, carrying you into the shower to clean up and caressing the soap over your body with those strong hands. You shift on your feet and tug at the hem of the oversized shirt he'd lent you.
“Good morning, Jihoon,” you mumble, suddenly embarrassed as memories of the ways you'd panted and begged for him last night flood your brain.
“Good morning.” He's still smiling. “Breakfast? You must be hungry after all that.” He winks and you blush.
“Sure. Thank you.”
He nods and motions to the other side of the kitchen island, opposite to where he's cooking. As you attempt to settle at the high stool, you're suddenly very cognizant of the fact that you're not wearing panties. You tug awkwardly at the hem of the t-shirt, arranging it to gain some semblance of modesty. You give yourself a mental shake, muttering under your breath. Calm the fuck down. As if he hasn't already seen everything up close and personal.
When you look up, Jihoon is beside you, holding a blanket. You let out a little squeak and nearly startle out of your seat. He laughs, smoothly placing the blanket over your lap with a flourish.
“Don't get cold,” he says simply, before moving back to his cooking.
As you settle into Jihoon’s apartment, you’re struck by the decor. Last night, when he'd whisked you through in his (very large) arms, you'd been too busy clinging to him to get a proper look. Although it’s a mirror image of your former home across the hall, the vibe is completely different. It's minimally but comfortably furnished, and bathed in inviting, golden-warm light from various lamps. For some reason, you'd always assumed this put-together man would have a clinically cold, grey apartment–a mancave full of sharp edges and industrial, functional pieces. Instead, what greets you is an oversized cream-coloured couch, laden with cushions and fluffy blankets. Open shelving hangs above, with little plants and trinkets adorning the shelf, including photos of Jihoon with people you assume are his loved ones.
Through an open door, you spy a gaming computer sitting on a desk full of trinkets, and a red electric guitar, sitting shiny and polished on its stand. Across the living room, tucked into a corner, is an enormous cat tree. The pair of tabby cats have relocated and lay curled around each other on one of its many perches. They blink at you curiously, ears flicking back and forth.
Jihoon returns with a glass of water and a plate of food, both of which he places in front of you.
“Eat,” he instructs. You comply absentmindedly, nodding. But fuck was he good at everything? Why was his cooking so damn good, too?
He moves to the cat tree, pressing kisses against the foreheads of the two cats and scratching affectionately at their little chins. “I know, I know, you hate strangers,” he whispers to them, clearly not intending you to overhear. “But she’s nice, I promise. You’ll like her.” The cats seemingly accept his judgement and close their eyes, paying you no further attention.
You stifle a giggle. You’d never dared to imagine your ostensibly cold, stoic neighbour as a doting father of two. “Didn’t know you were a cat dad,” you muse. “It suits you.”
“We’re all homebodies, so it works out.” He smiles, flicking a stray lock of dark hair from his eyes. God, you so wanted to sink your hands into it again. “They usually sleep in the bed so they were probably put out by our–uh–activities.”
“My sincerest apologies to your children,” you say solemnly.
“They'll get over it,” he replies, watching you adjust the blanket around your legs with open hunger in his eyes. “I meant what I said last night, you know.”
Your mind immediately goes to the myriad filthy things he’d said in bed and your face heats, stomach fluttering. Clearing your throat, you venture, “Which, umm, things, exactly?”
That insufferable smirk returns to his face. “Well, all of them. But specifically?”
He walks over and slowly swivels the barstool, bracketing your body with his. A shiver runs up your spine. Looking into your eyes, he places his hands on your knees. His expression is soft and unguarded, sincere. “Last night, I wanted to show you what it's like when someone prioritizes your pleasure. You deserve that every time. If you want to go home and never talk about this again, I'll understand. But I'd also be lying if I said I won't dream of the way we fit together. It was…” he trails off.
“Pretty much perfect?” You finish for him, nodding. “Yeah.”
He nods, too, and takes your hands in his, presses his lips to your knuckles, and pauses. It's a good thing you're already seated, you think to yourself, because the gentle intimacy of the gesture has turned your knees to jelly.
“And…I think I'd very much like to take you on a date…one that ends with my head between your thighs, if you find that agreeable.” His smile is disarming, blinding, overwhelming.
You swallow hard, looking down at your lap. “Like a real date?”
He cups your face gently, thumb brushing over your cheek. “A real date.”
“What if…what if I'm not ready?” Your voice is a whisper.
You want to be ready. Want to forget everything Minho has put you through. But you can't shake off the last two years as if it were meaningless. Healing takes time. Were you really ready after only six weeks? At the same time, you remember the parade of women Jihoon had mentioned. Two years of memories hadn't stopped Minho from moving on. Why should it stop you? Especially when you hadn’t been the one to do anything wrong.
Your body is so tense, Jihoon can probably feel it. He doesn't even flinch at the theoretical rejection, just runs a hand soothingly down your back and nods in understanding. “Then it's not a real date until you want it to be. You're the boss, remember? We can be casual, if that's what you need for now.”
Your stomach twists at that, too. Casual. You hate the sound of it. “What does casual entail? Would we see other people?”
He shakes his head. “I'm a one woman kind of man. Maybe casual is the wrong word. I just meant…no labels until you want them. You come over…I'll make you dinner, we'll watch a movie...cuddle…and then I eat you for dessert.” He grins that devastating grin and your stomach flutters. “Or we can go out for dinner. Or to the gym. Or wherever. Dessert can stay the same, though."
You laugh despite yourself. “Ah, I see. That kind of casual.”
“Whatever kind you want.” He repeats. “You make the rules.”
You mull over it for a moment. Despite your apprehension, you know with bone-deep certainty that Jihoon isn't like Minho. He's shown himself to be honest. Reliable. And then there was the mind-blowing sex to consider. Much to gain, and very little to lose.
“Jihoon?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
You meet his eyes. Give a little smirk of your own. “Does breakfast come with dessert, too?”
Summary: When her boyfriend cheats, what's a girl to do? Sleep with the super hot neighbour from across the hall, who just happens to be her secret gym crush, of course.
Pairing: neighbour!jihoon x fem!reader
Genre/themes: romance, neighbours to lovers, gym crush Jihoon
Word count: 8.7k
Content advisory: swearing, mentions of previous partners cheating, pet names (hers: sweetheart [like probably too much, like sweetheart every other sentence], baby, good girl), unprotected piv sex (pls don't be silly, wrap the willy), oral (m. receiving), little bit of manhandling, Woozi CONSENT KING (we stan)
Hi cuties. I missed y'all. I started writing this in April and then….life happened. I finished it off recently and I hope you enjoy! As usual, it started with the idea of casual sex but somehow ended up with them being super sappy for each other. This is apparently my niche now 💀Comments are much appreciated. <3
Dedication: This was inspired by Nana Tour Woozi brainrot and the parasite that was planted in my brain by my beloved Ro @shinysobi.
This one's for you, baby.
This is a bad idea, you think to yourself, shivering as an icy breeze winds itself around your exposed thighs. Still, your stride doesn't falter as you punch in the front door code and make your way to the elevator of the lavish apartment building you once lived in with your ex. You press the button and tug nervously at the hem of your dress as you watch the numbers on the display count down, signalling the elevator’s arrival to the lobby.
It’s only been six weeks since you and Minho broke up, although somehow it feels like an eternity compared to the two years you spent together. Rearranging your life without him has been not only difficult, but…annoyingly inconvenient.
We could have kept on with our nice little life but nooooo, you snark to yourself. SOMEONE couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.
All the little comforts of daily life had been taken from you, and held just out of reach. Things like drinking coffee from your favourite mug in the morning or snuggling into Egyptian cotton bedsheets at the end of a long day–bedsheets which you’d saved up for two months to buy. You’d left in a flurry of emotion after you found out he’d cheated, grabbing things in a blind rage and stuffing them into your suitcase haphazardly. To top it all off, he’d changed the code to the apartment door and blocked your number, so you couldn’t come back for the rest of your things.
Tonight, in the midst of getting ready for what was supposed to be your grand return to the singles scene, you realized he still had your favourite going out dress. So you’d thrown on the next best thing but it felt wrong and the whole evening felt wrong and now… you’re angry–furiously, fumingly angry–and here to give him a piece of your mind.
“MINHO!” you yell, running to the door of your former apartment and banging on the door, “Minho, come the fuck out here and talk to me, you fucking COWARD!”
Your fist meets the heavy door again, bang-bang-bang, and then you listen for a moment. No sound emerges from the apartment. You take a deep breath and pound on the door again, yelling, “MINHO, you fucking CHEATING, LYING, STEALING SCUM, if you don’t come out here RIGHT NOW so help me God, I’ll–...I’ll–”
“Hey!” A voice barks from behind you. “What the fuck are you yelling about this late at night?”
You spin on your heel, pressing your back to the apartment door. Your palms press flat into the wood by your thighs and your shoulders hike up defensively. Spotting the owner of the voice, you let out a shaky breath. Just Jihoon. Not Minho.
The next door neighbour, Jihoon, has always been kind to you. More of an acquaintance than a friend, he mostly kept to himself, but he’d always given a friendly nod and held the door open when you crossed paths. But he doesn't look happy to see you right now. He looks furious, actually.
His long, dark hair is disheveled and sticking out every which way. A pair of athletic shorts hangs low on his hips, and he's not wearing a shirt, putting the hard, muscular planes of his chest on display. He'd clearly been sleeping and been woken up by your yelling.
You wince. Yeah, I’d be mad at me, too.
Jihoon shifts, rubbing groggily at his eyes and giving you an expectant look as he waits for your reply. You try to form words, but nothing comes out. Instead, you find yourself fixating on the bulge of his biceps as he crosses his arms over his well-defined pectorals.
You frown. He's huge. Your mind flashes to seeing him in the building’s first-floor gym on several occasions, easily lifting more than twice your body weight. Your mouth goes a little dry. I should not have pissed him off.
“Well?” He prompts impatiently. “Were you planning to yell out here all night?”
“Uhhh…” You look towards the ceiling, unable to meet his eye, mouth twisting to the side in embarrassment. “Well…”
He lets out a slow, controlled breath, running a hand through his hair, smoothing back the tangled mess atop his head, which promptly springs back up. Finally taking in your flushed face, too-short dress, and red-rimmed eyes, he seems to register the situation more clearly. His demeanour softens. He steps towards you gingerly. “Are you ok, y/n? And why are you banging on the door of your own apartment? Did you forget your key code? Should I call Minho?”
“Uhhhh,” a nervous chuckle bubbles up your throat before you can stop it. “I don't live here anymore, actually,” you whisper, tugging awkwardly at the hem of your dress. “Not since a few weeks ago…”
His brow furrows. “Ah. So you finally broke up with this asshole.” It's more of a statement, but you nod in confirmation anyways. He nods back, as if in approval, although he's frowning. “Always thought you were too good for that sleazy motherfucker. Please tell me you're not here for some kind of…booty call reconciliation attempt.” He waves a hand in the air as if to swat the idea away.
You shudder. “No. God no. I just…uh…” You shuffle your feet uncomfortably, staring at the floor. “He cheated on me,” you whisper, face growing hot with embarrassment at the admission.
There. Now Jihoon knew the truth. Minho had cheated. You hadn't been enough for him. He found what he needed elsewhere. The knowledge sits in the pit of your stomach like a rock.
“Then he blocked me and changed the door code, but he still has some of my things…” You pause to take a staccato breath. “And I'm still upset about it, obviously, so…I showed up to get them and yell at him some more. Which, admittedly, was a bad idea…but anyways,” you gesture at the hallway, “here I am, yelling like an asshole and waking everyone up, apparently.”
Jihoon lets out another long breath, muttering to himself under his breath before addressing you again. “I hadn't seen you at the gym in a while so…kinda figured something happened. There were other women around up here, too, so…” He cuts off abruptly when he sees the tears well up in your eyes.
He clears his throat and looks away, shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts and shrinking back towards his own door. “Nevermind. He's a fucking idiot anyways…”
You nod, biting into your lower lip in an attempt to stop it from quivering, and the next thing you know, you’re slumped on the floor, sobbing. Jihoon looks alarmed by this development as he moves to kneel in front of you. His voice is soft and soothing as he tentatively reaches out to pat your arm. “Hey…it’s ok. You’re gonna be ok. I’m sorry I mentioned it.”
You shake your head, trying to clear away unpleasant thoughts of women parading through your once-shared apartment with Minho. Women who were likely sleeping in the bedsheets you’d picked out. Drinking coffee from the mugs you’d painted with your friends in a pottery class. Other women. Jihoon had unintentionally confirmed your worst fear. After two years with Minho, not only had he cheated, but he'd taken your breakup without remorse, immediately moving on to fuck a long line of other women. Meanwhile, you were struggling to put the pieces of your life back together. Bastard.
“Fuck…I’m not even sad anymore, you know?” you gasp between sobs, “I’m just angry…so fucking angry all the time. I gave him two years of my life and he threw it away. Fucking bastard.”
“Yeah…actually, I do know.” Jihoon sits beside you, back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. He’d come outside without even putting on his slippers, you realize, watching him absentmindedly flex and point his toes like a little kid stretching in gym class.
He takes a deep breath, running a hand through the nest atop his head once more. “My girlfriend cheated on me, too. We broke up six months ago and we didn’t even live together, but I still get pissed off about it sometimes. I understand.”
He massages the back of his own neck, staring up at the ceiling. Studying his face, you see the ghost of your own pain. A little more healed, perhaps, but still hurt–still angry.
“You do,” you whisper, nodding. “You definitely get it.”
He laughs once–a short, sharp sound that echoes down the hallway. “Yeah. I do.”
The two of you sit there in silence for a minute or two, lost in your respective thoughts.
“Jihoon?” Your whisper feels much too loud in the empty hallway. The only other sound is the faint electric buzz of the overhead lighting, and the steady, calming sound of Jihoon's breathing.
“Hmm?”
“Why do you think people cheat?”
He runs a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “Honestly? I've thought about it a lot in the past six months and I think it comes down to selfishness. Whatever other reasons they might think there are, the bottom line is that they have a complete lack of respect for their partner. They can't even communicate, so they lie. It's a cowardly thing.”
You nod wordlessly, humming in agreement. He's right.
Another long pause follows as you roll his words around in your head. “I’m sorry for, uh, all the yelling. And for waking you so rudely…I should get home.”
Jihoon nods, standing and stretching out a hand to pull you to your feet. His palm is warm against yours and your gaze trails from his long, slender fingers to the prominent blue-green veins that run across his muscled forearm. A flicker of heat pulses in the pit of your stomach. You should probably pull your hand back, but it feels so good resting in his, and you realize he's not pulling back either.
When you look up at Jihoon, you find his gaze squarely fixed on your intertwined hands, with the same faraway look in his eyes. Something unspoken crackles in the air between you–an irrefutable, magnetic pull. Your eyes lock, and suddenly his lips are on yours. There’s equal hunger in it, and equal desire–a heated pull that neither of you can deny, no matter how suddenly it arose. Later, you would try to remember who had moved first, who had kissed whom, but you could never puzzle it out.
Jihoon’s lips are warm and firm, as is the press of his body against yours as he takes a step forward, guiding you towards the wall. He keeps your fingers twined with his, pressing them to the door by your head, while his other hand caresses the nape of your neck. He uses his thumb to gently tilt your chin, gaining better access as he runs his tongue against the seam of your lips. You part them for him, inviting more of his warmth as you pull him closer, hand threaded through his hair.
The heat of his body is all-encompassing, wrapping around you and melting away any apprehension. He reaches down, effortlessly lifting you off your feet, pinning you to the wall with his hips. You lock your ankles behind his back and rock against him, whimpering his name. He groans quietly, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours. “Would it be completely inappropriate if I asked you to come in?”
“No,” you blurt, barely thinking before you reply. “I’d like that.”
“Hang on tight.” He offers you a wry smile, pulling your body against his chest as he turns to open the door to his apartment with a flourish.
You barely register the apartment beyond the fact that it's a mirror image of your old one across the hall. Jihoon sweeps you through his home effortlessly and sets you down at the edge of his bed, pressing a tingling kiss to your hands.
“I know inviting you in here was kind of sudden, but we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You could stay in the guest room and I’ll make you breakfast in the morning. We could talk about how much our exes suck, if you want.” He shrugs.
The nonchalant tone of it all makes you laugh. “Jihoon,” you chide, “Would I have let you carry me in here if I wasn’t interested?”
He shrugs again. “It’s just…no pressure. I wanted you to know that.”
“Thank you,” you offer him a little smile. “I’m sure of what I want, though.”
You reach your arms out to him in invitation, and he accepts, taking your hands once more and brushing his thumbs back and forth over the inside of your wrists. The sensation makes your stomach clench in anticipation, and perhaps a little bit of apprehension. It’s been years since you’ve been with anyone besides Minho, and towards the end, as he’d pulled away, you hadn’t even been intimate with him.
“I’ve always been loyal, unlike some people, but I have eyes…” You pause, licking your lips, gripping his hands a little tighter and staring at the ground. Were you seriously about to admit this to him?
“Whenever I saw you at the gym, I…I always wondered what it’d be like, you know? To be with you. Someone as strong as you.”
You flick your eyes up for a moment to see a wicked smile spreading across his face. You blush, mortified at the words coming out of your mouth, but needing to get them out.
“Before we, uh, do this…” You clench your eyes shut, unable to look even at the ground this time. “You should know that I can’t always…get there…with a partner. And it really has nothing to do with you–it’s just, uhh, how I’ve always been, and…anyways, just please don’t get upset if it doesn’t happen.”
You trail off, opening one eye slowly to see Jihoon with an incredulous expression on his face, one eyebrow arched. “Fancy way of saying that fuckhead,” he jerks a thumb towards the hallway, “didn’t know how to get you off.”
“No, it wasn’t that–” you start, but Jihoon cuts you off with a wave of his hand, bending down and placing his hands on the bed to either side of you. l
His eyes, now level with yours, sparkle with something akin to mischief as he says, “Tell you what, sweetheart…I’m going to spend the rest of the night figuring you out, and then we’ll see about that. And like I said…no pressure. If it happens, it happens, and if not, we'll have had fun trying.” He shrugs again. “All you have to do is be honest with me about whether you like something or not. Deal?”
You purse your lips, squirming uncomfortably under his gaze. “Deal.”
He smiles, brushing his lips to the inside of your wrists, one after the other. The gesture makes goosebumps bloom up along your arms. As if this simple kiss activated some kind of chain reaction, your body lights up at his touch–your heart pounds a little quicker and your breath comes a little faster.
“And not to be all business but I'm clean. Got tested after…all that.” He makes a circling gesture with one hand, shaking his head.
“Me, too,” you add quickly. “And I have an IUD so…anyways, it's up to you.”
He bites his lip, hands flexing against yours, and exhales a puff of air through his nose. “I wouldn't be opposed. But if we get there, it'll be up to you. Yes?”
“Yeah, ok…”
He nods with finality, as if this settles the matter before seating himself against the headboard, legs laid out in front of him. “Now,” he starts, hands outstretched towards you, “Come sit with me?”
You take his hand, moving to straddle him, but he pulls you into his chest with a smirk, taking hold of your waist with both hands. With one smooth motion, he maneuvers you effortlessly, flipping you and slotting you between his legs, your back flush to his chest. The motion knocks the breath from your lungs and sparks a throbbing sensation between your legs.
Jihoon sweeps your hair from your neck and kisses up the column of your throat. “So? Did you like that? Be honest.”
You nod, a little breathless, and he exhales a little laugh in response. “Good girl.”
The ragged breath you let out and the way your thighs press together must give you away, because this time, he doesn’t ask if you like the pet name. He merely continues kissing along your neck, occasionally nipping at your collarbone, and roaming his hands along your body until you’re wiggling impatiently and grinding back into him. He laughs, the sensation vibrating into your skin through his lips. He tightens an arm around your waist, holding you still, despite your whiny half-protests. “Impatient already?”
“Jihoon,” you whisper, pleading. “Touch me.”
“I am touching you,” he soothes, rubbing your inner thigh in small circles, kneading with just enough pressure to make you want more. You can't see his infuriatingly sexy smirk, but you feel it against your neck. “What’s the rush? If you're sure I can't make you come, we should enjoy the journey…Good things take time, right?”
He inches his fingertips upwards along your thigh, taking a meandering path to where you need him. The rough texture of the pads of his fingers, thick and calloused, is hypnotic as it moves against the smooth expanse of your inner thigh. You allow your eyes to flutter shut and lean back into him, breathing quickly.
“That's it. Relax for me.” His voice is low and soft. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”
You whimper in reply, nodding weakly.
He hums approvingly, breath hot in your ear as he murmurs, “That's right. You brought this needy little pussy to my doorstep and now you're gonna let me take care of you. And I mean properly.”
The words send a shiver down your spine. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “I…like it when you say things like that.”
He hums in approval, finally reaching the seam of your panties and tracing it with a single fingertip, brushing across the top of your thigh. He mirrors the motion with his nose against your shoulder, tickling ever so slightly. “Yeah? Would you like to hear what I have planned for you, sweetheart?”
You shiver at his words. “Tell me…”
“Mmm, so many ideas, so little time…First, I think you’ll come just like this. I want you dripping all over my fingers.”
His fingers stroke over your core, then, barely there–brushing up and down, up and down over the now damp fabric of your panties. You whimper, squirming and trying to chase his hand, but his hold is firm against your waist.
“And then, I think I’d like to bury my face right here. Put my mouth on you and tease you until your legs are shaking.” He cups his entire hand over your sex and squeezes. It's gentle but sudden. You arch your back with a gasp, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip in a futile effort to suppress another whimper. “And then, if you still want me to, I’ll fill you up with my fat cock. Make you feel so good. Fuck you until you're a mess.”
Struck by the thought of being stuffed full of him, you can't help the undignified groan that escapes your lips.
“Does that sound good?” He coos as you nod frantically, head pressed back against his shoulder.
“Can I take these off?” He thumbs at the waistband of your panties.
You nod emphatically. “Please.”
As soon as your confirmation comes, he’s dragging your panties down your legs. You lift your hips to help, taking the opportunity to pull your dress off, too. The low neckline of the dress didn’t allow for a bra, and you don’t miss Jihoon’s little stream of expletives as he takes in your naked body with hungry eyes. He pulls you back towards him, this time pinning you beneath the solid muscle of his body as he claims your mouth again with a bruising kiss, deep and desperate.
“Fuck, look at you. Fucking perfect,” he rasps, running his hands up and down your sides, stroking your skin as if he can't bear the miniscule space separating your bodies any longer. The evidence of his desire presses into your hip, rivalling the hardness of his chest, but it doesn’t seem to concern him. His attention remains fixed on you as he diligently resumes his ministrations between your legs. Without the fabric in the way, your wetness coats his fingers, allowing them to glide easily as he runs his fingers up and down against your outer folds. He parts his fingers, spreading you open, and begins to circle ever closer to your clit with a single finger, pulling gently at the surrounding skin, sending little jolts of electricity up your spine.
“You’re such a tease,” you chastise him, spreading your legs wider, as if that will coerce him into giving you the friction you so desperately need.
“Mmm, but I kinda think you like it?” he teases, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. But God, he looks so hot when he does that. You pull him down into another series of kisses, tongues tangling hotly as his finger finally–finally meets the top edge of your clit, stroking with the barest hint of pressure. If you were thinking straight, you might be embarrassed at the needy sound that escapes, but at this moment, it feels like an out-of-body experience. Tangling a hand in his hair, you pull his mouth down to your neck. He takes the cue, kissing and biting and sucking at the tender junction where your clavicle meets the base of your neck as he finally pushes one of those perfect fingers deep into your pussy.
With a desperate moan, you arch against him, as he adds a second finger almost immediately. His fingers slide easily against your wetness as he pumps into you with solid, steady motions of his wrist, pressing the heel of his hand against your clit.
“So soft and wet and perfect, fuck. Look at you,” he breathes into your ear.
Glancing down, you watch his fingers disappear into you, slick and shiny, mesmerized by the motion and the stark contrast of the veins on his forearms against the pallor of his skin. He seems equally enraptured by the motion, eyes fixed on the spot where your bodies meet.
“Please, Jihoon, fuck–please, please. I need–” you gasp, hands scrambling for purchase in his hair, against his bulging biceps. Your skin feels incredibly warm as heat pools and coils low in your belly. “Make me–I need to–please.”
“You don't have to beg, sweetheart,” he croons. “I'll spoil this pussy however you want me to. You just have to keep telling me what you like. What you need.” He continues pistoning his fingers into you, slow and steady.
“Feels so good,” you breathe, hips chasing his hand. “A little faster.”
“So good for me,” he praises, picking up his pace. “So honest. You like my fingers in this tight little pussy? Needy little thing, sucking me in so tight. Wanna feel you suffocating my cock later, fuck. Can you come for me like this?”
“Yes,” you nod furiously, panting hard. “I can. Just like that. Don't stop. Please don't stop.”
“Not gonna stop, sweetheart,” he murmurs soothingly against your skin. “Gonna give you everything you need and see how beautiful you look when you come. And you will come for me. Now let me feel this pretty pussy squeezing my fingers.”
He’s got you wound up so tightly, it’s a miracle you don’t combust on the spot as your orgasm washes over you. You gasp, body alight with pleasure as it hits, thighs quivering with the strength of it. You moan, tugging him down and crashing your lips together in a mess of teeth and tongues, panting incoherently into his mouth. Through it all, Jihoon continues that steady, unfaltering rhythm, working his fingers into you until he feels the last tides of your orgasm ebb away.
As your breathing slows, you melt back into his pillows, eyes half-closed in pleasure. “Fuck, that was…”
“Perfect,” he beams, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean as you watch, enraptured. “You’re fucking perfect.”
You take his face in both hands for a long, slow kiss. He doesn't rush you, just kisses you like he's happy to be here with you, like he's got all the time in the world for this–like you didn't just wake him up in the middle of the night with your obnoxious screaming and then end up naked in his bed.
His touch is greedy, demanding, as he smooths his hands over your body, pulling you closer. Your hands, however, are even greedier. Perhaps your eyes had wandered to your former neighbor’s physique more than you wanted to admit, even to yourself. Jihoon is all soft, smooth skin over rock-hard muscle and you can't get enough of the feel of him under your hands, swooning over his thick shoulders and biceps, rock-hard chest, and powerful thighs.
When you finally break the kiss, panting hard, he gives you a lopsided smirk that makes your heart flutter a little.
His brow furrows as he looks down and sees your breasts pressed to his chest, as if he'd only just realized they were there. His hands gravitate towards them, nearly moving with a mind of their own, to caress and pinch at your stiffened nipples. Bending down, he sucks one into his mouth, laving his tongue over it before nibbling softly.
“Would it be presumptuous of me to assume you enjoyed that as much as I did?” he asks between mouthfuls of breast.
“Not presumptuous at all.” You sigh, arching into the warmth of his mouth.
He trails kisses up along your clavicle to your ear before pulling back to meet your gaze. “You're sure? If you want to stop, we stop. But if you want to keep going…” He gives you a wry smile. “Let’s just say there’s plenty more where that came from, and I'm more than happy to demonstrate.”
You squirm, very cognizant of the huge erection pressed into your inner thigh. As much as you’d like to rip his shorts off and sink down onto it, curiosity gets the better of you. “Like what?
His smile widens. “Like now that I’ve gotten a taste of you, I can’t stop thinking about how I need you to sit on my fucking face.”
“Oh?” You blink, not quite comprehending.
He tips his head back and taps his lower lip with two fingers. “Sit you right here and eat that pretty pussy until you soak my face.”
You cheeks heat at the suggestion. Filthy. Enticing. You bite your lip, thinking. ‘What if I just ask you to fuck me?”
He shrugs, smiling. “Then I'll fuck you however you like, for as long as you want me to.”
“Oh.” Your mouth drops open, still in awe that he's letting you take the lead. “And if I want to taste you first?”
“Fuck,” he breathes, palming his erection through his shorts. “Then I'm all yours to taste, sweetheart. Whatever you want. You're the boss.”
“I’m the boss…” you repeat in a whisper, rolling the words around in your mouth. What do I want? You ponder. Sex with Minho had always been routine–a rotation of the same three positions, always at his whim–so it takes you a moment to think of what it is you'd actually like to do to the utterly beautiful man in front of you.
You clear your throat, eyes roving hungrily over his body. “Um, first, I think…I think I want you to be naked, too.”
“As you wish,” comes his reply. He stands and slowly pulls his shorts off. His erection, long neglected, springs free, slapping up against his toned stomach. A curved, silver barbell glints at the underside, piercing through the frenum.
You bolt upright, eyes wide. “Holy fuck…you’re…”
“Pierced?” he finishes. “Yeah.”
“Actually, I was gonna say thick. But that, too.” You give an awkward laugh despite yourself, eyes still fixed on his erection. He maintains his distance still, and you can tell he's trying to be respectful, but you want him–want him as close as two people can physically get.
Licking your lips, you reach out a hand, beckoning him back to the bed. He takes your hand and you lay facing each other, each propped up on one elbow. “You weren't kidding when you said fat cock.”
He laughs, and it's such a deep, husky sound compared to before.
The length is, perhaps, average. But the girth? With slow, calculated motions, you reach out and wrap a hand around him, unable to resist. The tips of your fingers just barely meet around the circumference. Here, too, he's hard as steel wrapped in the softest velvety skin, with the tip flushed a deep, dusky pink. You give an experimental stroke, rubbing your thumb over the head to spread the glistening drop of pre-cum there.
Jihoon hisses out a long breath as you stroke him, watching with half-lidded eyes. The halo of dark, messy hair has only gotten worse from the way you’d tugged on it, and his pupils are blown wide with desire, cheeks tinged pink. He looks edible.
Don't mind if I do…
“So thick…” you repeat, in awe.
“Wouldn't lie to you, sweetheart,” he musters, voice strained under your touch. The muscles of his thighs flexing deliciously with the effort of not moving. “Would never lie to you.”
You give him a small smile, catching the implication. Stroking him languidly, you watch the precum pool at the tip before you flick your thumb over it again, eliciting a soft moan. It's a heady feeling, having him react to your touch like this.
“Can I…?” you query, lips parting as your gaze flicks from his face to his erection and back.
“Fuck, as if I could deny you anything.” He falls back against the bed in surrender when you push against his shoulders lightly. Making your way down his body is its own pleasure. The softness of his skin beneath your lips is contrasted by the firmness of the muscle beneath. And there is quite a bit of muscle, you note again, finally letting your mouth and hands claim what they desire, sucking and nipping until Jihoon makes the most erotic little sounds of desire. His open need only spurs you on, makes you feel powerful.
When you reach his throbbing cock, you stroke it once more, enjoying the way Jihoon’s body tenses in the anticipation of your touch, and the way his breath hitches ever so slightly.
You lick a stripe up the underside, pausing to trace the piercing with your tongue, exploring its contours. Then you pull back and blow cool air along the same path, delighting in the way Jihoon shudders and groans. His hands find their way into your hair–not pushing nor pulling, simply resting, needing to touch you.
Lips stretched wide around his thickness, you take the head into your mouth and suck gently. You continue to stroke him as you begin to bob your head up and down, massaging your tongue across the piercing with each pass. You take him deeper, sucking greedily as the metal hits the back of your throat. Jihoon lets out a stream of expletives that would make a sailor blush, abs taught with pleasure.
“Shit, you're too good at that,” he swears, gently tipping your face up. You blink at him, lips still wrapped around his cock, and release it with a soft pop. Jihoon groans at the sight, swearing again under his breath.
“Did I do something wrong?” You tilt your head in query, concerned.
“Wrong? No,” he frowns, a confused look crossing his face. He cradles your face between his hands, thumbs brushing back and forth over your cheeks.
“Fuck no. You're so fucking good at that. Too good. And it's been a while since I, well…” He trails off, offering you a sheepish smile as your head tilts in further confusion.
His thumb tugs at your lower lip, his pupils dark and hungry. “What I'm trying to say is that your mouth is the sweetest, most torturous pleasure. If you keep doing that, I'll come too fast to fuck you properly.”
Your mouth drops open in a soft oh.
“And I really would love to fuck you properly, if that's what you still want.”
You give a shy smile, nodding, beginning to move back up his body. The journey in reverse is equally enjoyable to the way down. You trail your tongue down the center of his abs, kissing each one before moving to nip at his pecs. “Your body is insane, Jihoon, has anyone ever told you that?”
“Nobody who mattered until just now,” he jokes. He presses his lips to yours as you settle over his hips, straddling him. You let out matching sighs as his hardness presses against the heat of your core and you begin to gently rock against him as you kiss.
“Fuck me now, Jihoon,” you whisper against his lips.
He wastes no time, flipping and pressing you into the mattress once more.
“Condom?” he queries, reaching for the nightstand.
You shake your head. “No. Wanna feel you.”
“Fuck. Okay.” He reaches back towards the nightstand anyways and draws a bottle of lube from the top drawer. “Still gonna need this, though. Want you to feel good.” He plants a kiss on your jawline before pulling back momentarily, kneeling to spread his cock with the thick, glistening gel. If you hadn’t already been laying flat on your back, the sight of him kneeling between your legs, fisting his cock with those beautiful hands would have done it. It's all too much–the veins in his forearm as he works his hand over matching veins in his cock, the muscle of his thighs, the way his hair falls over his eyes–it's overwhelming in the best way.
He braces himself on one elbow and notches the head of his cock at your entrance. The warm metal of the piercing causes you to shiver as he drags the tip up and around your clit, rubbing it against you until you whine and tilt your hips up in entreaty. “Please…”
He kisses you, soft and slow, as he pushes inwards, giving you a mere inch. He's so thick that even that small amount has you whimpering against his lips, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. He pulls out, dragging the piercing over your clit once again, tracing a circle before pushing back in a little more. The metal is pleasantly warm against your skin, slippery from the combination of the lube and your unbearable wetness.
Your hips chase his, but he splays a hand against your stomach and holds you there–gives you just the tip, just the promise of the delicious stretch. And then he pulls out. and teases your clit again. And again, sinking into you ever so slightly more each time. You're panting against his lips, whimpering and squirming against his hold, but he's strong and that somehow makes it even hotter.
“Jihoon, please…”
He's enjoying teasing you, you realize, when he exhales an amused breath against your neck.
“Doesn’t this feel good, sweetheart?”
You bite your lower lip, nodding. “But I need more.”
“Just making sure you're good and ready for me, beautiful, and then I'll give it to you. You still want me?”
“Not to be dramatic, but if you don't fuck me right the fuck now, I may die of need.”
He chuckles and kisses a path up your neck, still teasing the head of his cock at your entrance.
“Then watch,” he prompts, pulling back a bit, then sinking deeper than before. Your eyes snap to the place where your bodies meet and you let out an unintelligible sound at the sight. It's so lewd, seeing how wide you’re stretching to take his girth. Your face heats, whether in desire or something akin to embarrassment at the sight, you're not sure.
“See how you suck me in? Can you feel that?” He pulls out an inch and you feel your body fight it, an undulating wave of muscle trying to pull him deeper.
You swallow thickly, nodding, eyes glued to the spot. He gives you more, nearly all of him, and the pleasurable stretch intensifies.
“Fuck, you feel like a dream. So soft here. So warm.”
“More.” Your voice is hoarse with desire, barely above a whisper.
He pushes in the rest of the way and you let out a shuddering breath in unison.
“Jihoon,” you whine, tossing your head against the pillow, overwhelmed. “Feel so full.”
“I know, baby. You're doing so well. Taking this cock like you were fucking made for it.” He peppers your face with kisses, giving you a moment to adjust before continuing, “Can I move?”
“I genuinely might die if you don't.”
He breathes another rough laugh before pulling back and thrusting into you once, hard and deep.
“Fuck,” you cry out, clutching at his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex beneath your hands as he holds himself up. “Jihoon. You feel so good.”
“That's it, sweetheart, fucking take it all.” His voice is deeper than before, darker, filled with desire. “Let me fill you up. Look so pretty stretched around my cock. See?”
You look down again and whimper, lower lip trapped between your teeth, completely struck by the way your body accommodates his girth. When he begins to move in slow, soul-devouring thrusts, you're unable to contain the needy sounds he pulls from your body. He tests a couple of angles until you cry out in pleasure–and from then on his motions are calculated, precise in their endeavour to drag you over the edge.
One of his hands grips tightly at your hip, kneading and grasping hungrily, pulling you closer. “Look at you. So fucking perfect. You're the tightest fucking thing, pulling me in like a dream. This sweet little pussy doesn't wanna let go of me for even a second.”
And you feel it, too. Every. Devastating. Inch. All of him, wrapped in your heat as it ripples, sucking him deeper. You lose yourself in him, in his motions, in the pleasure of his body. Sounds spill uninhibited from your lips, whimpers and moans, and more, deeper, harder, please, Jihoon. He complies every time, giving you just what you need, both spoken and unspoken, reading the signs you didn't even know your body was sending him.
“Fuck, sweetheart, you're close, aren't you? You're getting even tighter. Tell me what you need. Let me help you.”
“More, need more.” It's a whimpered, incoherent plea, but he understands.
“I’m gonna turn you around so you can grab the headboard, ok? Then hang on tight so I can get nice and deep and make you feel good, hmm?”
You give a weak nod before he scoops your limp form into his arms and turns you over effortlessly. Your stomach swoops at the sensation, gentle as it is. Moments later, he presses his lips to your ear from behind, nibbling at your earlobe. “Liked that, too, didn't you?”
In response, you arch your body back into his, silently asking for more. He brackets his body around yours and runs his hands delicately up and down your sides, grabbing your hips and readying himself at your entrance once more.
“Oh my god,” you shiver, arching further as he presses into you, slotting your bodies together again. There is the return of the sensation of being impossibly full, now with the warmth of his body pressed into your back, his lips warm against your ear, and it's all so much.
Jihoon lets out a hissed breath. “Fuck, you're even tighter from this angle. Hot and wet and perfect. Fuck. Made to take my cock, weren't you, sweetheart?”
You're too far gone to reply as he thrusts shallowly into you, adjusting his angle until you're whining his name again. “That's it, that's my good girl. Hang on tight and let me make you feel good, hmm?”
You'd asked for more, and he was obliging, hips snapping hard and fast. His piercing drags across your walls and into your most sensitive spot, making stars bloom in your vision. The warmth in your belly pools, hot and insistent, coiling tighter with each stroke of his hips.
“I'm–oh, fuck–I’m so close, Jihoon, please,” you pant.
He nips at your neck, breathing hard. “I know, you're suffocating my cock. Feels so damn good to be wrapped up in you like this. Don't think too hard, hmm? Relax and let me take care of you.”
He brings his hand to your core, swiping at the wetness there and using it to glide around your swollen, aching clit. Your body convulses at the motion, legs going shaky. A few more quick swipes of his thumb and you feel yourself tumbling, falling headfirst into the kind of pleasure you’d only ever dreamt about.
“Fuck…oh God…fuck, Jihoon. I'm–” Squeezing your eyes shut, you slump forward, waves of liquid fire radiating up your spine and into each limb, consuming your entire conscience. There's nothing else–just you, Jihoon, and the warm pleasure of your bodies twined together like this.
“There you go, sweetheart, that’s it...” He groans, burying himself to the hilt as you squeeze and ripple impossibly tighter around him. Your orgasm rolls on, wave after wave of pleasure consuming you. Jihoon bites softly at the curve of your neck, stifling his own cries of pleasure. His length thickens and pulses as he spills inside you with a muffled groan.
Pulling your body against his, he eases you both down onto your sides, staying buried inside you. When you finally float back down to your body, you register the soft caress of his hands over your body, and the tender press of his lips against your head. He's still breathing hard, the soft huff of his breath ruffling your hair on every exhale.
“Hi,” you venture.
He laughs, “Good evening. Morning? It's late.”
You wince. “Sorry about that. Again.”
He shrugs and presses his lips to your neck. “I'm not. Told you Minho was a loser. Give me 20 minutes and I'll give you two more.”
You sputter, uncomprehending, “T-two more? I can't. Not possible.”
He nips at your ear and groans quietly when you flutter around him again. “That's not what your perfect body’s telling me, sweetheart. You can. And if we had more time together, I'd learn you inside and out…show you just how many ways I could make you come. You'd be at risk of dehydration with the way I'd keep you soaking wet.”
“D-dehydration? That's ridiculous.” Your mouth hangs open. “You're exaggerating.”
“Not even a little. How about you come back next weekend? Give me a whole night and some time to prep. We'll get you a sports drink and find out just how many you can give me.”
You peer over your shoulder at him, incredulous. “More than four? That's not possible.”
Amusement dances in his eyes. “You didn't even think one was possible, so I'm at least 200% up on impossible. Couldn't hurt to try, if you're up for it.”
You're doubtful but…he hasn't been wrong or misleading so far. The very thought of being here again, letting him take care of you and teach you things you didn't even know about your own body has you squirming. The motion emphasizes the way your bodies are still linked together, and you feel him beginning to harden again. Fuck. He really wasn't kidding. The idea is alluring. You really should say no, but being tangled up with him like this feels too damn good.
Oh, fucking fuck it all.
You let go of your inhibitions and grind back on him in reply. Jihoon breathes in sharply, his length thickening inside your body. “Is that a yes, sweetheart?”
“Yes.”
That wickedly sexy smile spreads across his face. “Then let's get to work.”
A few hours later, a tiny, rough tongue scrapes across the tip of your nose, startling you awake. You nearly squeal in surprise before realizing it's….a cat? As you move to sit up, you find another cat curled up near the foot of the bed, tucked against your legs.
“Hi, kitty,” you whisper to the little tabby who groomed your nose. The cat yawns and stretches in reply. “Let's go find your dad, ok?” The cat jumps from the bed and looks over its shoulder, as if to encourage you to follow.
You find Jihoon in the kitchen, still in those same athletic shorts, making breakfast over the stove. He gives you a lopsided smile and your stomach swoops. Fuck. After another round last night, he had, true to his word, pulled two more orgasms from your body. Your face heats thinking about it. Afterwards, he'd been so gentle, carrying you into the shower to clean up and caressing the soap over your body with those strong hands. You shift on your feet and tug at the hem of the oversized shirt he'd lent you.
“Good morning, Jihoon,” you mumble, suddenly embarrassed as memories of the ways you'd panted and begged for him last night flood your brain.
“Good morning.” He's still smiling. “Breakfast? You must be hungry after all that.” He winks and you blush.
“Sure. Thank you.”
He nods and motions to the other side of the kitchen island, opposite to where he's cooking. As you attempt to settle at the high stool, you're suddenly very cognizant of the fact that you're not wearing panties. You tug awkwardly at the hem of the t-shirt, arranging it to gain some semblance of modesty. You give yourself a mental shake, muttering under your breath. Calm the fuck down. As if he hasn't already seen everything up close and personal.
When you look up, Jihoon is beside you, holding a blanket. You let out a little squeak and nearly startle out of your seat. He laughs, smoothly placing the blanket over your lap with a flourish.
“Don't get cold,” he says simply, before moving back to his cooking.
As you settle into Jihoon’s apartment, you’re struck by the decor. Last night, when he'd whisked you through in his (very large) arms, you'd been too busy clinging to him to get a proper look. Although it’s a mirror image of your former home across the hall, the vibe is completely different. It's minimally but comfortably furnished, and bathed in inviting, golden-warm light from various lamps. For some reason, you'd always assumed this put-together man would have a clinically cold, grey apartment–a mancave full of sharp edges and industrial, functional pieces. Instead, what greets you is an oversized cream-coloured couch, laden with cushions and fluffy blankets. Open shelving hangs above, with little plants and trinkets adorning the shelf, including photos of Jihoon with people you assume are his loved ones.
Through an open door, you spy a gaming computer sitting on a desk full of trinkets, and a red electric guitar, sitting shiny and polished on its stand. Across the living room, tucked into a corner, is an enormous cat tree. The pair of tabby cats have relocated and lay curled around each other on one of its many perches. They blink at you curiously, ears flicking back and forth.
Jihoon returns with a glass of water and a plate of food, both of which he places in front of you.
“Eat,” he instructs. You comply absentmindedly, nodding. But fuck was he good at everything? Why was his cooking so damn good, too?
He moves to the cat tree, pressing kisses against the foreheads of the two cats and scratching affectionately at their little chins. “I know, I know, you hate strangers,” he whispers to them, clearly not intending you to overhear. “But she’s nice, I promise. You’ll like her.” The cats seemingly accept his judgement and close their eyes, paying you no further attention.
You stifle a giggle. You’d never dared to imagine your ostensibly cold, stoic neighbour as a doting father of two. “Didn’t know you were a cat dad,” you muse. “It suits you.”
“We’re all homebodies, so it works out.” He smiles, flicking a stray lock of dark hair from his eyes. God, you so wanted to sink your hands into it again. “They usually sleep in the bed so they were probably put out by our–uh–activities.”
“My sincerest apologies to your children,” you say solemnly.
“They'll get over it,” he replies, watching you adjust the blanket around your legs with open hunger in his eyes. “I meant what I said last night, you know.”
Your mind immediately goes to the myriad filthy things he’d said in bed and your face heats, stomach fluttering. Clearing your throat, you venture, “Which, umm, things, exactly?”
That insufferable smirk returns to his face. “Well, all of them. But specifically?”
He walks over and slowly swivels the barstool, bracketing your body with his. A shiver runs up your spine. Looking into your eyes, he places his hands on your knees. His expression is soft and unguarded, sincere. “Last night, I wanted to show you what it's like when someone prioritizes your pleasure. You deserve that every time. If you want to go home and never talk about this again, I'll understand. But I'd also be lying if I said I won't dream of the way we fit together. It was…” he trails off.
“Pretty much perfect?” You finish for him, nodding. “Yeah.”
He nods, too, and takes your hands in his, presses his lips to your knuckles, and pauses. It's a good thing you're already seated, you think to yourself, because the gentle intimacy of the gesture has turned your knees to jelly.
“And…I think I'd very much like to take you on a date…one that ends with my head between your thighs, if you find that agreeable.” His smile is disarming, blinding, overwhelming.
You swallow hard, looking down at your lap. “Like a real date?”
He cups your face gently, thumb brushing over your cheek. “A real date.”
“What if…what if I'm not ready?” Your voice is a whisper.
You want to be ready. Want to forget everything Minho has put you through. But you can't shake off the last two years as if it were meaningless. Healing takes time. Were you really ready after only six weeks? At the same time, you remember the parade of women Jihoon had mentioned. Two years of memories hadn't stopped Minho from moving on. Why should it stop you? Especially when you hadn’t been the one to do anything wrong.
Your body is so tense, Jihoon can probably feel it. He doesn't even flinch at the theoretical rejection, just runs a hand soothingly down your back and nods in understanding. “Then it's not a real date until you want it to be. You're the boss, remember? We can be casual, if that's what you need for now.”
Your stomach twists at that, too. Casual. You hate the sound of it. “What does casual entail? Would we see other people?”
He shakes his head. “I'm a one woman kind of man. Maybe casual is the wrong word. I just meant…no labels until you want them. You come over…I'll make you dinner, we'll watch a movie...cuddle…and then I eat you for dessert.” He grins that devastating grin and your stomach flutters. “Or we can go out for dinner. Or to the gym. Or wherever. Dessert can stay the same, though."
You laugh despite yourself. “Ah, I see. That kind of casual.”
“Whatever kind you want.” He repeats. “You make the rules.”
You mull over it for a moment. Despite your apprehension, you know with bone-deep certainty that Jihoon isn't like Minho. He's shown himself to be honest. Reliable. And then there was the mind-blowing sex to consider. Much to gain, and very little to lose.
“Jihoon?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
You meet his eyes. Give a little smirk of your own. “Does breakfast come with dessert, too?”
