thefudgypapaya

resident vegetable and delicous if proded nicely.

[fudgypapaya]

The feminine urge to remind people that its ur birthday, so that you dont have to feel disappointed just in case

[spookyji]

soobin’s obsessed with cockwarming. 18+

i have never been summoned so fast by a set of soobin photos

soobin has a minor major… problem. a little urge to cockwarm that shoves aside all of his other thoughts, always there, teasing, tantalizing, demanding attention to the point he’s not sure how else to fix it. except to give in. or try.

soobin, ‘m a little busy, you giggle a little, turning around to your tall, pouting boyfriend, who looks like he’s going to die of desperation any second now, peering at you through long, messy bangs, his tie undone and hanging around his neck, barely home for 2 seconds and he’s already trailing you like a lost puppy. and it’s not just a welcome home kiss he wants… not with the bulge in his pants. but it’s not his fault, not when he comes home after a long day and you’re cleaning your shared apartment, looking so perfectly pretty and domestic, oh fuck, soobin’s weak.

soobin couldn’t hide a boner if his life depended on it as you turn around, leaning the broom against a wall before leaning towards him on your tip toes, one quick kiss and soobin’s hands already find your waist, tugging you into him,, not even trying to hide how he’s already half hard in his pressed slacks, cute, awkward smile when you pull back, a little whine from him ‘cause one kiss isn’t enough! angel, please, his big hands not so subtly slipping under the waistband of your pajama pants, lazily trying to tug them down. ‘m not done cleaning yet, trying to be stern, but soobin’s disarming your weak defenses quickly, your hands pulling his out of your pants, making him whine in complaint.

i missed you so much, he mumbles, you’re killing me, baby. bringing your hand up to his heart shaped lips, sucking on the tip of your finger, lazy, half lidded eyes gazing down, just for a little bit? one hand on your waist, pressing you up against his bulge, god, he’s irresistible and he knows it.. so easy to always have his way, the corner of his lip tilting up. just cockwarming, okay?

mmph— n-needed this s’ much, doll, soobin’s breathy moan muffled by your hair, face buried in the crook of your neck, his breathing uneven and panting, warm, wet folds sinking slowly ‘round his heavy cock, soobin’s so big, leaking tip drooling all over your insides, clenched around him tight. manspread on the couch as you straddle his lap, legs trembling at the stretch, he’s too impatient for foreplay when all he wants is to cockwarm!

and it feels like his personal heaven, slacks not even off and just unzipped, boxers shoved down clumsily enough to free his heavy cock, neat dress shirt crumpled beneath your fingers, tie dropped somewhere on the floor, poor big dick boyfriend couldn’t wait at all, could he? your arousal dripping all over his crotch, feeling him so deep inside of you, filled so full to the brim it makes you lose your senses, dizzy with the sweet, pleasuring sensation only soobin can give, arms wrapped around his neck. and it’s pure intimacy, his need to be buried in your sweet pussy, warm and it feels like love, stress evaporating as he settles, bottomed out and pressing sleepy kisses to your neck, breathing in your scent

—

oh, he’s so fucked. soobin’s not sure how long has passed, except that you’ve fallen asleep, somewhat drowsy from the comfort… and his dick is aching, heavy and leaking. his hands slipping beneath your thighs, breathily moaning as he thrusts in a little, wet, slick squelch of your juices soaking his crotch, pussy sucking him in deeper as he sloppily fucks your hole, so desperate for release, pure need for sweet relief… and its a little embarrassing how fast he cums, hot, milky seed filling you up inside as you whine at the sudden fullness, tummy bulging a little with his cum and cock, barely awake and milking him of every drop as he moans, hands clumsily pushing your hips down, sticky cum seeping out from your cunt all over his boxers… surely you don’t mind..?

girl i need to sleep fml this is so messy sorry lol will write smth better when i have brain cells

[fudgypapaya]

I love sai so much but there is so much hate against him in cricket circles when all he does is try his best and consistently score runs. :(

[fudgypapaya]

Bad mein? Bad mein dosto ko doosri dost mil jaati hein aur saare hangout plans khatam ho jaate hein

[fudgypapaya]

The greed to be loved is like an itch carved down to ur bone

[bangchangbinnie]

In session (2) | C.SB

Here is the long awaited second part for in session, you little freaks.

pairings ꕤ soobin x shy!reader (f)

- failing math and desperate for help, you ask your sweet, gorgeous classmate soobin to tutor you—offering something… filthier than cash in return.

g ; smut · college au · tutor x student · slow burn → rough dom!soobin · bestfriend!beomgyu · campus setting

- warnings ꕤ smut · explicit sexual content · oral sex (f→m) · dom!soobin · shy!reader · big cock!soobin (size kink) · face/chest ejaculation · degradation + praise · piv · breeding kink 🫢 · biting/marking · overstim · possessive behavior · rough handling · power dynamic (tutor/student, consensual) · aftercare · soft dom to rough dom switch · lots of swearing/dirty talk · comfort/care · soobin being sweet again

✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི

The air in Soobin’s room is heavy with the lingering scent of sweat. Your skin is sticky and your heart is fluttering. You feel impossibly light, like you’re floating. There’s a light chance you might just start giggling and never stop. Soobin’s hands, still a little shaky, press a soft, warm towel to your cheek as he wipes away the last traces of his cum. He’s biting his lip, looking anywhere but your eyes, and when he finally meets your gaze, he’s so earnest you want to melt.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, thumb gentle on your jaw. “I didn’t mean to… go so hard. Did you… like it?”

You nod, grinning, eyes bright. “I liked it. You were… amazing. I’ve never seen you like that.”

His cheeks flush deep pink, and he ducks his head, lips twitching with a shy smile. “I don’t know what came over me,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “You just- you looked so pretty, I lost my mind a little.”

You laugh, and it’s the warmest, happiest sound you’ve made all month. “You should lose your mind more often,” you tease, squeezing his wrist. He looks up at you, utterly enchanted, and for a second, you’re both suspended in a bubble of sweet, breathless possibility.

He steps back, swallowing hard, his eyes still wide. He seems like he wants to say more, but instead he just rubs the back of his neck, that awkward Soobin energy returning. “I, um… I’ll walk you to the door. Just so… you know. You get back okay.”

You nod, still dazed, gathering your jacket and slipping it over your shoulders, feeling the sticky patches of dried spit and cum on your chest and cheeks, and you can’t stop smiling. He opens the door for you, peering into the hallway, making sure it’s empty like he’s suddenly shy about anyone seeing you together. (Or seeing you all wrecked and post-blowjob, your hair wild and your lips still swollen with gloss.)

Heeseung’s door is cracked open, but he doesn’t appear. Though you do hear the faint, teasing cackle of someone watching a basketball game and a voice yelling, “That’s my boy, Bin!” before Soobin slams the door shut with his foot and glares over his shoulder.

You both stifle laughter, shoulders bumping as you walk side by side to the exit. The hallway is empty, the buzz of campus life only a distant echo. You catch glimpses of your reflection in the stairwell window—eyes glazed, cheeks pink, mouth bitten and glossy—and you have to fight to keep from grinning like a complete idiot.

Soobin stops in front of the lobby doors, hands fidgeting at his sides. He shifts from foot to foot, his shoes squeaking softly on the linoleum. “So… um. I had a really great time. I mean, I’m glad you… came over. For tutoring. And… you know.”

You bite your lip, every nerve buzzing with leftover adrenaline and affection. “Me too. You were… really sweet. And, uh. Really hot. I can’t believe that actually happened.”

His face goes redder, and he looks at the floor, voice stumbling. “I… really like you. I don’t want you to think that’s all I wanted or anything. I just—if you ever want to hang out again. Or study. Or just… talk. Or do anything, really…”

You reach out, touching his wrist, squeezing gently. “I’d like that. Really.”

He glances up, and for a second, there’s so much hope and wonder in his eyes it almost knocks the breath out of you. He opens the door, lets the chilly night air in, and watches as you step onto the sidewalk. “Text me when you get home?” he asks, sheepish and sweet, already missing you.

You nod. “Promise. Goodnight, soobin”.

He raises a hand, waving awkwardly, his smile soft and shy. “Goodnight.”

You walk away, feeling his eyes on your back the whole way down the path. Every step you take is lighter, the world around you strangely sharp and sparkling. You breathe in the cool air, touch the tacky spots on your chest where his cum is drying, and let out a wild, breathless laugh.

The moment your dorm door closes behind you, you drop your bag on the floor and all but collapse onto your bed, giddy and exhausted and suddenly desperate to tell someone.

There’s only one person you could ever call for this.

✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི

Your fingers fly across the screen, FaceTiming Beomgyu without thinking. He picks up instantly, his face filling the screen, hair mussed, eyes bright with mischief and curiosity. “Ayo! Is my girl calling to gloat, or did you chicken out and need comfort?”

You burst out laughing, shaking your head, and Beomgyu grins wider. “Wait. Wait, you did it. You fucking did it, didn’t you?!”

You nod, cheeks aching from smiling so hard. “Gyu. I did it. I did everything. And… oh my god. I can’t believe it.”

He shrieks, punching the air. “Tell me everything! Was it awkward? Was his dick as big as you thought? Did you actually use the gloss or were you too nervous? Did he cum? Did you swallow? How was he? Give me DETAILS, woman!”

You flop back on your pillows, still catching your breath. “Okay, okay, first of all—yes, I wore the gloss. And yes, he’s huge, Gyu. Like, huge. I almost couldn’t fit it in my mouth at first. He was so nervous and sweet at the start but then… I don’t know, something snapped and he just—took over. He was talking so filthy, Gyu. Like, the shit that came out of his mouth, I almost died.”

Beomgyu cackles, rolling on his bed, clutching his chest. “Shy boys always have the biggest freak streaks, I’m telling you! Wait, did he pull your hair? Did he like… actually fuck your face?”

You blush, covering your eyes. “Yes. He was so gentle at first, but once I really got going, he just… manhandled me. Hands in my hair, pushing my head down, telling me how good I was. At one point he called me his ‘messy little slut’ and said he wanted to mark me up. I think I blacked out for a second.”

He howls, nearly falling off his bed. “That’s my girl! God, you’re living the dream. Was it hot? Did you like it?”

You nod, unable to stop smiling. “I loved it. He kept looking at my chest the whole time—like, couldn’t stop staring. And then, when he came, he just—fucking lost it, Gyu. All over my face and tits. It was so much, I felt like a pornstar.”

Beomgyu fans himself with his hand, dramatically swooning. “Icon behavior. I’m proud of you. So, what happened after? Did he just leave you there, or did he…?”

You shake your head, warmth blooming in your chest at the memory. “No, he was so sweet. Immediately started apologizing, checking if I was okay, grabbing tissues, asking if he went too rough. He kept calling me beautiful, Gyu. I almost cried.”

Beomgyu sobers, his grin softening into something gentler. “Good. You deserve a guy who worships you—especially after you worship him, damn. Are you okay? Do you feel safe? Not too overwhelmed?”

You nod, rolling onto your side, hugging your pillow close. “Yeah. Honestly? I feel amazing. Like, I can’t believe I actually did that. He was so sweet. I think he wants to see me again. I hope he does.”

Beomgyu smiles, fond and proud, the best kind of friend. “Of course he does. You just rocked his whole world. Trust me—shy boys never recover from girls like you.”

You laugh, letting the comfort settle over you like a blanket. “Thank you, Gyu. For talking me into this. For making me believe I could do it.”

He grins, holding up his hand for a virtual high-five. “Anytime, queen. Just promise you’ll give me all the details next time, too. Maybe you’ll even let him fuck you next time, huh?”

You groan, shoving your face into the pillow. “Don’t get ahead of yourself!”

He cackles, voice full of pride and mischief. “Just saying. You’re on a roll, babe. Ride that wave. And text me when you wake up—I want to know every last detail. And next time, you better FaceTime me before you leave for backup.”

You promise, heart full, cheeks aching from smiling. You chat a little longer, talking about everything and nothing—memes, snack recommendations, how he’d die for a video of Soobin’s face when he came, what you should do if Soobin asks you on a real date. Eventually, you hang up, still giddy, floating in the afterglow.

As you crawl into bed, sticky skin and all, your phone buzzes with a message from Soobin:

 [soobin] — you home safe? :)

         can i see you again soon?

You clutch your phone to your chest, smile so wide it hurts, and reply with a soft, hopeful:

 [you] — i’m home <3 and yes, i want to see you again too

And for the first time in forever, you fall asleep happy—safe in the knowledge that you were brave, you were bold, and you have a boy (and a best friend) who think you’re everything.

✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི

The next morning you wake up with a smile still stuck on your face, your cheeks aching as you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. You replay every second of last night, every filthy word, every gentle touch, the way Soobin had looked at you afterward. Soft and adoring, as if you’d handed him something sacred. For a while, you just soak in it: the afterglow, the little flares of confidence, the awareness that something about you has changed, even if only you can feel it.

Eventually, the day intrudes. Your alarms buzzing, the hallways outside your dorm room waking up with shouts and footsteps. You groan, rolling over, feeling the stickiness still clinging to your chest and neck. You make a beeline for the shower, letting the hot water wash away the evidence of last night, running your fingers over your lips and wondering if Soobin will notice how swollen they still are. By the time you’re toweling off, your phone vibrates with a message from Beomgyu— ‘did you sleep or did you just lie there like a Disney princess replaying your filthy little porno in your head?’ —and you fire back a string of emojis, grinning into your reflection.

You pull on your favorite pair of shorts—high-waisted, frayed at the bottom, the kind that hug your hips but don’t squeeze, and a big, comfy hoodie. You want to look casual, effortless, but you can’t help spending an extra five minutes in front of the mirror, dabbing on a bit of that now-famous gloss and fluffing your hair so it falls just right.

You head out with a backpack slung over one shoulder, earbuds in, the morning sun sharp and bright and the air buzzing with the low-grade anxiety of another weekday on campus.

As you cut across the quad toward your building, you see him. Soobin, tall and gentle, shoulders hunched just a little, walking slowly and reading something on his phone as he makes his way toward the science building. Your heart leaps—ridiculous, traitorous—and you slow your steps just a little, tucking your hair behind your ear, trying to act like you didn’t spot him from a mile away.

You’re not ready. You are absolutely not ready for this level of awkward.

You keep walking, boots crunching on the concrete, telling yourself you’ll just say hi, nothing more, but your stomach swoops as you get closer. The sun catches the frames of his glasses, the way his hair falls soft over his brow. He looks tired, but in that cute way—like maybe he stayed up late thinking about you too.

You’re so deep in your own head, you barely realize how close you are until you literally bump into him—his arm brushing yours, his backpack swinging and knocking against your thigh. He startles, fumbling his phone, then looks up at you, eyes wide.

“Oh—hey!” His voice comes out half a yelp, half a laugh, and he jams his phone into his pocket, hands flailing for a second before he shoves them deep in the front pocket of his hoodie. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Didn’t see you there.”

You flush, heat blooming in your cheeks, but manage a smile. “It’s okay, I wasn’t looking either. Good morning, Soobin.”

He rocks back on his heels, shoulders hunched, eyes darting everywhere—your lips, your shorts, the patch of bare thigh peeking out, then quickly away, pretending to look at the leaves scattered on the sidewalk. “Morning. Uh, how- how are you?”

You hesitate, not sure how honest to be, your heart beating loud in your chest. “I’m good. Kinda tired. Didn’t sleep much.” You risk a sideways glance, lips quirking. “You?”

Soobin’s mouth twitches, and his ears go pink. “Yeah. Same. Had a lot on my mind, I guess.”

For a moment, you both just stand there, the world around you bustling and busy, but you’re caught in this slow, quiet space, everything fuzzy and sweet. He’s so tall, so gentle, and for a second all you want to do is lean in and bury your face in his hoodie, breathe him in, let him wrap his arms around you and tell you it’s okay to feel this nervous, this excited.

You catch him sneaking a look at your legs, the way the shorts ride up when you shift your weight, the way your hand hitches your backpack higher. You want to tease him, want to see if you can make him blush harder, but all you manage is a shy little smile, your tongue flicking over your glossed lips.

He clears his throat, shuffling his feet, like he’s building up to something big. “Hey, um, I was- uh- I was wondering. Do you, um, maybe want to go to the library with me? Later? Not for… I mean, not just for, uh, last night stuff, I mean, unless you want to- shit! sorry. I meant for studying. I mean, like, actually studying. Math, or anything. Or just hanging out. If you want. No pressure.”

His hands twist together, his fingers picking at the hem of his sleeve, and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing—he’s so shy, so unsure, but you can see the hope in his eyes, the way he glances up and then down again, as if he’s terrified you’ll say no.

You nod, maybe a little too quickly, words tumbling out in a rush. “Yes! I’d really like that. Studying. Or hanging out. Both. Whatever you want.”

You want to sound chill, but you’re beaming, your cheeks hurting, and he notices—he has to. His shoulders relax a little, and he lets out a breath he’s clearly been holding.

“Cool,” he says, tucking his hands back into his pockets. “Um, when are you free? I have class until four, but after that I’m good.”

You scramble for your phone, fingers trembling as you open your calendar app. “I’m done at three. I could meet you in front of the library? Around four-thirty?”

He grins, shy and delighted, his eyes soft. “Yeah. That’s perfect. Four-thirty. I’ll, um, see you there?”

You nod again, your brain fizzing with excitement, your mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah. See you there.”

He starts to step away, then hesitates, turning back. “And- uh- thanks. For last night. I… really liked it.”

You feel your whole body flush, heat traveling all the way to your ears. “Me too, Soobin. I really did.”

He gives you one last, bashful smile, then hurries off, his sneakers squeaking on the path, hands jammed deep in his pockets. You watch him go, unable to stop the stupid, sappy smile spreading across your face.

You turn and head toward your own class, the world suddenly brighter, every step lighter. The moment you’re out of sight, your mind starts to race. Replaying every second, every awkward beat, every little touch. You keep picturing his hands on you, the way his voice had gone rough and filthy, the way he’d wiped your face clean afterward, soft and loving and impossibly sweet. You wonder if he’s thinking about it too—about the taste of you, the feel of your mouth, the sight of you on your knees.

You try to shake it off. Focus on class, be normal, don’t get lost in the fantasy, but your body is buzzing, your thighs pressed together as you remember the mess, the heat, the way he’d sounded when he lost control. It’s almost enough to make you late, your mind half in the clouds as you wander through the halls, lost in memory and want.

You slip into your lecture just as the professor starts talking, sinking into your seat, unable to focus on anything except the promise of this afternoon. Soobin’s eyes, his hands, his voice in your ear, saying your name like a secret.

You glance at the clock. Four-thirty can’t come soon enough.

✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི

You have an hour to get ready, but it feels like you’re running late the moment you shut the door behind you. Your hands are shaky as you toss your backpack onto your bed, toe off your shoes, and immediately pace in front of your closet, staring at the hangers like they’re part of some impossible puzzle. This is just a library study date—it’s not even a date, not really! so why do you feel like you’re about to meet your crush at prom?

The memory of last night is everywhere, clinging to your skin: Soobin’s hands in your hair, the sound of his breath, the gentleness in his eyes as he helped clean you up. You can still feel the ghost of his lips on your forehead, the wild heat of his voice when he’d lost control. The thought makes your thighs squeeze together and your cheeks burn.

You’re still in your shorts and oversized hoodie from this morning, but they suddenly feel all wrong. Too plain, too safe, too unmemorable for whatever this is supposed to be.

You pull out three different pairs of jeans and two pairs of leggings before throwing them all in a pile on your bed. “It’s just studying,” you mutter, trying to convince yourself. “Just math. You don’t need to look hot.”

Still, you grab your phone, thumb hovering over Beomgyu’s contact. Normally, he’d pick out an outfit for you and then roast you for looking “like you’re about to ask the professor for extra credit with your mouth.” The thought makes you snort, nerves easing for a split second.

You text:

 [you]: u up? outfit emergency

 [gyu]: can’t answer rn im busy (with a tongue emoji, a peach, and three water droplets)

You roll your eyes, fighting a laugh. Knowing Beomgyu, “busy” definitely means “balls-deep.” You text back a row of vomit emojis and set your phone down, left alone with your messy bed and your nervous, racing thoughts.

You cycle through tops. Crop tops, sweaters, tanks, a little black shirt with a subtle scoop neck you’ve never worn out because you’re convinced your boobs look too big in it. You try it on out of desperation, tugging it down over your bra, then look in the mirror.

It hugs your curves a little more than you’d planned, the neckline dipping just enough to hint at cleavage. Paired with a soft, swishy tennis skirt that’s flirty without being too short, and a pair of plain white sneakers, you think you look… cute.

You spin in front of the mirror, hands smoothing your skirt, cheeks pink as you imagine Soobin seeing you like this. There’s a moment where you consider changing, but you’re running out of time, and the outfit just feels right. Maybe it’s the thrill of knowing what you did last night. Maybe you just want to feel seen.

You dab on a touch of gloss for luck, twist your hair into a messy half-up bun, and grab your canvas tote bag. The clock says 4:21. Your pulse leaps. Shit! You’re going to be late!

You stuff your charger, a water bottle, your notebook, and a pen into your bag. On the way out, you catch a glimpse of your reflection. Legs on full display, skirt bouncing with every step, top hugging your chest, and laugh at yourself, rolling your eyes. If he says anything, I’ll just say it’s laundry day.

You jog across campus, the sun slanting low, students spilling out of classes in packs, laughter echoing off the brick buildings. You’re halfway to the library when your phone buzzes—a text from Soobin:

 [soobin]: i’m here! outside by the benches :)

You slow down, heart fluttering. The library comes into view: wide stone steps, glass doors glinting, clusters of students sprawled on benches and in the shade. You scan the crowd, looking for him.

And there he is.

He’s easy to spot—tall and broad-shouldered, hunched over a paperback, glasses slipping down his nose, hair falling over his brow. He’s got his backpack at his feet, a can of cold brew balanced precariously on the bench, knees splayed in that careless, boyish way. He’s so focused on his book he doesn’t notice you approaching, his lips moving silently as he reads.

You stop for a second, catching your breath, adjusting your skirt and wishing for just a second you’d worn something less… visible. He’s just Soobin, you remind yourself. He’s already seen you ruined and messy. But somehow, this feels scarier.

You step up to the bench, fidgeting with the strap of your bag. “Hey.”

He looks up—and it’s like time skips a beat. For a moment, he just stares, his eyes going impossibly wide, mouth parting. He blinks once, twice, his gaze snapping from your face to your chest, down to your bare thighs, then back up, so fast you almost miss it.

The book slips from his hand, landing open on his lap, and he scrambles to sit up straight, ears and cheeks flushed red. “Oh- hey! You- you look- ” He stammers, then seems to catch himself, squeezing his eyes shut for a half second. “You look really cute.”

You smile, feeling your cheeks flush, fingers tugging your skirt lower out of habit. “Thanks. Sorry if I’m late.”

He shakes his head so hard his hair falls in his eyes. “No! You’re not late at all. I just- I got here early. I like sitting outside, it’s nice. I thought maybe we could, um, walk in together?”

He glances at your legs again, just for a second, then drags his eyes back to your face, almost like he’s mad at himself. You sit down next to him, close enough that your knees nearly brush, and set your bag between your feet.

“So… what were you reading?” you ask, hoping to break the tension.

He picks up the paperback, trying to act casual, but his hands are shaking a little. “Oh, um, it’s this sci-fi thing I picked up last week. Kinda nerdy. I like reading before I study, it helps me chill out.”

You lean over, pretending to peek at the cover, letting your shoulder brush his arm. “That’s cute. You should recommend something for me.”

He grins, shy and dazzling, and ducks his head. “Yeah. Sure. I will.”

For a moment, he’s quiet, twisting the book in his hands, then blurts, “Did you walk all the way here? It’s kinda far from your dorm.”

You nod, catching the way his eyes drop to your thighs again. “Yeah. Got a little distracted picking what to wear, honestly.” You say it lightly, but it hangs there between you, heavy with implication.

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and you swear he’s having an entire existential crisis just trying not to stare at your chest. “You look- um, really nice. Like, really nice. I mean, you always look nice, but, um-” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, mortified.

You can’t help but grin, warmth blooming in your chest. The breeze picks up, fluttering your skirt, and his eyes follow the movement, helpless.

“I like your hair,” he adds, voice softer now. “It’s cute like that.”

You laugh, tucking a strand behind your ear. “Thanks. Yours looks nice too. Did you do something different?”

He blushes, ducking his head. “Nah, just washed it.” He pauses, then, quieter, “I was nervous.”

You bump your knee into his, shy and conspiratorial. “Me too.”

He glances at you, and for a second, there’s a flash of last night in his eyes. A memory of your lips around him, the way you’d moaned for him, the way his hands had held you down. His cheeks flush deeper, and he clears his throat.

“So, um, should we… go in?” he asks, gesturing toward the library doors.

You nod, standing up and brushing imaginary dust from your skirt. You feel his eyes on you as you straighten your top, every movement amplified in the late afternoon light.

He stands too, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, careful to keep just enough space between you that it’s clear he’s trying to be respectful—even as his eyes keep darting to your legs, your chest, your mouth.

He gestures toward the doors, shy and earnest. “After you.”

You walk inside together, side by side, hearts pounding, the memory of last night humming in the air between you. You don’t touch, not yet, but every glance is a promise, every awkward laugh a secret.

And the way he looks at you—like he’s hungry and scared and smitten all at once—makes you wonder if maybe this isn’t just studying, after all.

✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི

You settle at a table in the corner of the second floor, tucked away in a little alcove next to the window. The library is all honeyed light and quiet voices, the smell of books and old carpet mixing with the faint trace of perfume from the last student who sat in your spot. The table is small enough that your knees brush Soobin’s every time you shift, and he keeps fidgeting with the straps on his backpack like he’s never quite comfortable.

You pull out your notebook, trying to focus on the chapter Soobin suggests, but your mind is everywhere except on polynomials and quadratic equations. His presence is overwhelming. Too close, too tall, his thigh pressed to yours under the table, the soft scratch of his pen a steady counterpoint to the wild thud of your heartbeat.

Every time you glance up, he’s looking at you. Not always at your face, either. Sometimes it’s your hands, twirling your pen, sometimes your lips, sometimes your chest. You can see the flush creeping up his neck, the way his gaze lingers on the slope of your breasts, visible above your shirt whenever you lean forward. He always looks away a split second too late, mouth parting, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and you can’t help but feel your own skin heat in response.

You’re not helping things either, biting your lip, crossing and uncrossing your legs, your skirt riding up inch by inch. You keep catching him staring, and every time he does, you feel a jolt of wicked satisfaction shoot through you. You wonder if he knows how obvious he’s being.

Or maybe he does. Maybe he wants you to see him looking.

You try to concentrate on your notes, but it’s hopeless. Every word blurs on the page. The air between you is thick, buzzing, the silence stretching out and snapping back, until finally Soobin puts down his pen and turns a little, knees bumping yours beneath the table.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice barely more than a whisper. “Can I… ask you something?”

You look up, startled, pen poised midair. “Yeah, of course. What’s up?”

He hesitates, pushing his glasses up his nose, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “It’s not about math. I just… realized I don’t really know a lot about you. Like, I mean, I do, but not… the important stuff.”

You smile, surprised and a little touched. “Like what? My favorite color? My Hogwarts house?”

He laughs, cheeks pink, shaking his head. “No, I mean… like, what you want to do. After graduation. What makes you happy. Stuff like that.” He glances at you, eyes soft and earnest. “What do you want, you know? Not just for school, but for yourself.”

You blink, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. You look down at your notebook, twisting your pen between your fingers. “I don’t know,” you admit, a little embarrassed. “I guess I just want… to be happy. To do something that matters, even if it’s small. I like helping people, I like making things pretty, but I’m not sure what that means for a job.” You pause, then smile shyly. “Mostly I just want to feel seen. Like I matter to someone.”

He nods, thoughtful, his eyes searching your face. “You matter,” he says quietly, like a promise. “You matter to me.”

You feel your breath hitch, your cheeks burning, and for a moment you can’t look at him. The way he says it—soft and certain, no room for doubt—makes something inside you flutter, warm and sharp.

He clears his throat, eyes darting away. “Sorry, that was… maybe too much. I just-” He breaks off, hands rubbing nervously together.

You shake your head, reaching out to touch his wrist, fingers brushing his skin. “No, it’s okay. I like that you say stuff like that.”

You hold his gaze, emboldened by the honesty flickering in his eyes. “What about you? What do you want?”

He hesitates, mouth opening and closing, like he’s not sure how to answer. “I want…” He glances at your lips, then away, voice softening. “I want to make someone happy too. I want to be good for someone. I want to know I’m enough.”

For a second, you’re both just breathing, the air between you charged and electric. Your knees are touching now, and neither of you pull away.

He shifts in his seat, like he wants to say something more, then laughs quietly, shaking his head. “Sorry, that’s… probably too much for a library study session.”

You grin, nerves sparking. “I think it’s perfect.”

Then, because you can’t help yourself, you lean in a little. “Ask me anything. Anything you want. I’ll answer.”

He looks at you, startled, and you see something flicker in his eyes—hope and… is that… hunger? “Anything?” he echoes, voice low.

You nod, heart pounding. “Anything.”

For a moment he just sits there, staring at you, weighing his words. Then, in a voice so quiet you almost miss it, he asks, “Were you nervous last night? Or… have you done that before?”

Your heart skips. The air between you tightens, every sound from the rest of the library falling away. You swallow, cheeks hot. “I was nervous. But… I liked it. I like doing that. I like how it makes me feel. And you were… really hot.”

He flushes deeper, tongue flicking over his lips, his eyes glued to your mouth. “I was really nervous too. I didn’t know if I’d be good at it. Or if you’d like it.”

You laugh, soft and breathy, fingers brushing his hand under the table. “You were perfect. You made me feel safe. And, um… really wanted.”

His eyes go wide, then soften. For a moment, it looks like he wants to say something sweet, but instead he asks—almost involuntarily, voice breaking a little—“What’s the dirtiest thing you’ve ever wanted to try?”

You freeze, surprised by the sudden turn, but the thrill of it goes straight to your core. You bite your lip, glancing down at your lap, heart pounding. “I… I’ve always wanted to be completely used. Like… have someone be rough with me, just… take control, tell me what to do. Make me feel small. But only if it’s with someone I trust.” Words are flying out of your mouth like they can’t be contained.

Soobin’s breath catches. His thighs tense against yours, and you see the way his hand curls into a fist on the tabletop. His eyes are dark now, hungry and vulnerable. “I think about that too,” he admits, voice rough. “I think about you… on your knees again. Or bent over the desk. Or… fuck, sorry.” He breaks off, looking down, ashamed.

You lean closer, voice barely a whisper. “No.. that’s ok. You can ask me anything. Really.”

He takes a shaky breath, voice steadier now, lower, almost a growl. “Did you touch yourself after you got home? Last night?”

Your thighs clench, heat blooming in your stomach. You nod, feeling bold and embarrassed all at once. “Yeah. I did. I thought about you the whole time. About your hands, your voice. About how good you looked when you came.”

He makes a strangled sound, his leg jumping under the table. His next question comes out before he can stop himself: “Do you ever think about me fucking you? Like, actually fucking you?”

Your cheeks burn, but you don’t hesitate. “All the time,” you whisper, breathless. “Im thinking about it right now.”

He shifts in his seat, his hand sliding under the table to adjust himself. You glance down, and your breath hitches—his jeans are tight, and there’s a definite bulge straining the fabric. Your own skin prickles, nipples tight under your shirt, pulse thrumming everywhere.

You glance up, meet his eyes, and for a second there’s nothing but heat between you, heavy and dangerous.

You swallow, steadying your voice. “What about you? Do you think about it? About me?”

He nods, barely breathing. “I can’t stop. All day. In class, at night, right now. I can’t stop thinking about your mouth, your tits, your legs. I want to… I want to do things to you. Everything.”

You smile, wicked and shy. “Like what?”

He stares at you, lips parted, pulse hammering in his neck. “I want to bend you over this table. I want to make you moan for me. I want to see you fall apart.”

You suck in a shaky breath, your thighs pressing together. The room feels hot, the noise from the rest of the library distant and meaningless.

You reach out, your fingers brushing his knee under the table. “You’re hard,” you whisper, almost giggling. “Is that my fault?”

He laughs, shaky and dazed. “Completely your fault. You’re… too much.”

You lean in, your lips close to his ear. “Maybe we should take a break from studying.”

He turns, his face inches from yours, his eyes wild. “Yeah. Maybe we should.”

You let the moment linger. Heat, hunger, all the things you haven’t dared say out loud before you pull back.

The air in your little library alcove is feverish, so thick with tension it’s hard to believe the rest of campus is still out there. People wandering between stacks, the low hum of the building’s AC, the rare, polite cough from a librarian drifting in from the other side of the floor. Here, in your corner, nothing else exists. Just you, Soobin, the heat pooling in your stomach, and the throbbing, aching need between you.

Your thighs are pressed tight under the table, knees still bumping his every time you shift. You can’t stop glancing at his lap, at the clear outline of his cock, straining against the denim, growing more obvious with every dirty confession. His eyes are wild now, pupils blown, lips parted, and he’s breathing harder with every word—each time you admit a fantasy, his hands twitch like he’s holding back from just grabbing you.

You can’t take your eyes off his hands. You remember them in your hair last night, trembling at first, then suddenly so strong, so sure, holding you down, praising you, ruining you. The image won’t leave you—neither will the echo of his voice in your head, telling you how pretty you look, how messy he wants you, how much he needs you. Your mouth feels hot, heavy with memory and want.

You finally work up the nerve, shifting a little closer, voice soft, not wanting to break the spell. “Soobin,” you whisper, glancing around just to make sure no one’s coming, “can I… touch you?”

He’s so caught off guard he almost chokes, eyes darting to your face, then to the empty walkway beyond your alcove. His knuckles are white on the table edge, but he nods, quick and desperate, voice a shattered hush. “Yes. Please. Please touch me.. I want you to.”

You reach under the table, your hand trembling at first, but when your palm finally cups him through his jeans, he shudders—hips twitching, breath stuttering out in a filthy, needy sound. He’s rock hard, burning up even through the denim, thick and heavy and impossibly big.

His hand lands over yours, pressing you down, guiding your palm over his length. “God, you have no idea what you do to me,” he groans, low and rough, his lips right by your ear. “I’ve been hard for you since you walked in. The way you look- fuck, I can’t think straight.”

You can feel how badly he’s shaking, how tense his thighs are, how much he’s holding back from just grabbing you and dragging you under the table. Your own body is buzzing, heart pounding, nerves and want tangled so tightly you can barely breathe.

He pulls his hand away, but not before squeezing your fingers around his cock, letting you feel just how hard he is, how much he wants you. His other hand comes up, brushing your hair behind your ear, thumb stroking your cheek, his touch both gentle and commanding.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, voice a shiver of air across your skin.

You nod, breathless, voice catching in your throat. “Please. Please kiss me, Soobin, I need it.”

Something shifts in him. A little flash of the dominance you saw last night. He moves fast, one hand curling around the back of your head, tugging you in until your lips crash together, mouths open and desperate. He kisses you like he’s starving. Just teeth and tongue, his other hand pressing yours harder against his cock, rolling his hips into your touch. The table presses against your stomach, but you barely notice; all you can feel is the weight of his mouth, the heat of his need, the rough, greedy pressure of his body on yours.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, his lips slick and swollen, eyes burning. “Fuck, you taste so good. I could kiss you forever. But I need more. I want to see you, baby. I want you on your knees for me again. Right now.”

Your whole body trembles. You’re aware, in some distant way, that this is insane, that anyone could walk by, that you’re still in public, but you don’t care. You want him, need him, need to be ruined for him again. You push your chair back, heart racing, and slide off your seat, dropping to your knees under the table.

Soobin watches you, jaw tight, chest heaving, his hands shaking as he scoots his chair back, spreading his knees just a little, giving you space. The way he looks at you makes you feel drunk with power and want. You run your hands over his thighs, feeling the muscle flex, the heat of him soaking through the denim.

He cups your chin, tilting your face up so you’re forced to look at him. His thumb brushes your lower lip, smearing gloss, and he smiles—slow and filthy.

“God, look at you,” he whispers, his voice barely audible, but you hear every word like it’s pressed against your skin. “So pretty on your knees for me. I want you to take off your shirt.”

You hesitate for half a second, glancing nervously down the aisle, aware that you’re still technically public. Still in a library. Still in a place where anyone could walk in and see you exposed. “Soobin- here?”

He leans in, his voice low and reassuring, dominant in a way that makes your thighs clench. “No one comes back here. I checked. It’s just us. Please, baby, let me see you. Want to watch you take it off. Need to see those tits. Been thinking about them all fucking day.”

His words go straight to your core—raw, rough, needy. Your hands shake a little as you grip the hem of your shirt, tugging it up over your head, bra and all, the air cool on your bare skin, nipples tightening under his gaze. You glance up, and he’s staring at you like he’s never seen anything so beautiful, his lips parted, pupils blown.

“Fuck. You’re perfect. You know that?” he says, his hand sliding down to stroke your jaw, then your shoulder, then finally cupping one breast, thumb flicking your nipple. “God, I want to fuck these so bad. Want to watch my cock disappear between your tits.”

He fumbles with his jeans, unbuttoning them one-handed, never taking his eyes off your chest. His cock springs free, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip. He’s bigger than you remember, veins thick and heavy, the head angry and pink, precum smearing across his fist as he strokes himself, lining up between your breasts.

“Hold them for me,” he commands, voice hoarse, dominant now, no hint of the sweet, shy boy from before. “Press them together- yeah, just like that. Fuck, that’s it. God, you’re so hot.”

You cup your breasts, squeezing them tight, trapping his cock between them. The sensation is overwhelming—his heat, his weight, the pulse of his need thrumming through your skin. He starts to thrust, slow at first, guiding himself with his hand, sliding the fat head between your tits, smearing precum all over your skin.

You can’t stop watching him—his jaw clenched, cheeks flushed, eyes glued to the way his cock disappears between your breasts, then reappears, slick and swollen, glistening with spit and sweat.

He starts to talk all filthy, nonstop, every word sending a jolt of heat straight to your core.

“Look at you. So fucking pretty, tits all shiny for me. You like this? Like being used like this? God, you’re such a good girl. Letting me fuck your tits in the fucking library. What would people think if they saw you like this? On your knees, tits out, my cock sliding all over you. Bet you’d like that, huh? Bet you’d love for someone to see what a little slut you are for me.”

You whimper, squeezing your breasts tighter, feeling his cock drag between them, the heat of him branding you. He lets out a groan, thrusting harder, one hand tangled in your hair, holding you steady as he uses your body.

“Open your mouth,” he orders, voice rough. “Stick out your tongue. yeah, like that. Fuck, you’re so good for me. Gonna fuck your tits and your mouth at the same time. Gonna make a mess of you, baby.”

He pushes the head of his cock into your mouth as he thrusts, not deep—just enough for you to taste him, to feel his weight on your tongue, to smear precum and spit all over your lips and chin. You moan, eyes rolling back, loving the way he takes control, the way he praises you even as he uses you.

He gets rougher, his breath coming in ragged gasps, hips snapping, his cock gliding between your tits and into your mouth, over and over. His hands are everywhere—one fisted in your hair, the other squeezing your shoulder, then your breast, then your cheek. He leans over you, voice filthy and commanding, never stopping for a second.

“Take it, just like that. Good fucking girl. So proud of you letting me ruin you in public. You’re gonna remember this every time you walk by this table. Every time you come to the library, you’ll remember my cock between your tits, my cum all over your chest. Bet you’ll get wet just thinking about it. Bet you’ll want me to do it again, and again, and again.”

You’re dizzy. So dizzy. Your tits are slick with spit and precum, your nipples aching, your skin hot and flushed. Every time his cock slides between your breasts, you can feel the heat building, the tension in his body growing, his words getting rougher, dirtier, needier.

He slows for a second, cupping your cheek, thumb brushing your lip, his eyes soft for a heartbeat. “You’re okay?” he murmurs, voice full of care, checking in even now.

You nod, desperate, breathless, smiling up at him. “I’m perfect. Please, Soobin. Don’t stop.”

He groans, leaning in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then goes right back to fucking your tits, faster now, his cock gliding between your breasts, the head tapping your tongue, his hips stuttering as he gets closer to the edge.

“Gonna cum all over you,” he growls, voice low and wild. “Gonna mark you up, make you mine. You want that? Want to be my messy little slut?”

You moan, squeezing your tits tighter, tongue out, eyes locked on his. “Yes, please. Please, Soobin. Cum for me, I want it, I want all of it.”

He grits his teeth, hips stuttering, his cock throbbing between your breasts. He throws his head back, groaning loud, his whole body tensing as he finally lets go, cum spurting hot and thick all over your chest, your tongue, your lips, marking you in messy, shining streaks.

You keep holding your breasts tight, watching as he pumps out every last drop, his breath ragged, his hands shaking as he strokes your cheek, awe and hunger and adoration warring in his eyes.

You’re a mess—sticky, dripping, skin flushed and glowing, but you’ve never felt more wanted, more powerful, more alive.

Your chest is sticky and shining, your heart racing, every nerve still lit up and desperate for more. Soobin’s eyes are glued to you—his gaze drinking in the sight of you on your knees, tits glistening with spit and cum, lips swollen and parted as you catch your breath.

You watch his cock—still flushed, thick, heavy, drooling onto your chest even after he just finished. He hasn’t softened at all; in fact, he looks harder, bigger, needier than before. The sight sends a fresh jolt of heat through your body, makes your thighs squeeze together, makes your hands fidget with the edge of your skirt.

He’s staring at you with a hunger that’s so sweet and dangerous you can barely hold his gaze. He lets out a shaky laugh, his cheeks pink, sweat shining at his hairline. “Fuck,” he breathes, voice shaking with need. “You’re… You look so fucking good. I can’t- shit. I can’t believe how much I want you right now.”

You flush, chest swelling with pride and want, body buzzing from the praise. You sit back on your heels, hands sliding up your sticky torso, rubbing his cum into your skin just to tease him, watching his jaw clench. “Yeah?” you whisper, grinning, voice breathless. “What are you gonna do about it?”

That’s all it takes for him to snap. He leans forward, grabs you under the arms, and hauls you up from the floor with such strength you squeak, your feet scrambling for purchase as he turns you and bends you over the study table. Your chest presses into the cool wood, your hands splayed wide, your heart thundering so loud you’re sure he can hear it.

The space around you feels smaller, hotter, the hush of the library suddenly distant and unreal. You’re half-afraid someone will walk by, but the fear just makes it hotter, your pussy throbbing with anticipation.

Soobin stands behind you, both hands gripping your waist, his chest flush to your back, the thick heat of his cock pressed up against your ass, smearing precum across your skin. He bends over, his mouth right by your ear, his breath hot and trembling. “You want this?” he asks, voice rough, one hand sneaking around to palm your breast, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp. “Want me to fuck you right here, baby? Let everyone see what a perfect little slut you are for me?”

You nod, gasping, arching your back to press into him. “Please, Soobin- please, I need it. I need you so bad. Fuck me, please- “

He growls, low and filthy, and you can hear how much it turns him on, how wild you make him. “That’s it. Beg for it, baby. Let me hear you.”

You moan, grinding back against him, desperate. “Please, Soobin, I want it! I want your cock! I want you to ruin me. Make me yours, please-“

He grins, dark and triumphant, and you feel his hands slide down, grabbing the hem of your skirt, shoving it up over your hips. The air is cold on your bare ass, your thighs trembling as he spreads them, exposing you. He lets out a filthy groan, running his hand over your curves, kneading the softness of your ass, squeezing so hard you whimper.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, voice reverent and filthy all at once. “So fucking soft, so thick— look at you, baby. Look how wet you are. Did sucking my cock get you this wet? Did being a good girl make you drip for me?”

You gasp, burying your face in your arms, your pussy aching, heat spreading everywhere. “Yes, fuck, yes—I’m so wet for you, Soobin, please—”

He slips his fingers between your thighs, groaning as he feels just how soaked you are. He rubs slow, lazy circles over your clit, teasing you, spreading your slick everywhere, making you whine and squirm. “You’re dripping,” he whispers, voice heavy with awe and need. “You’re so fucking ready for me. You want to be filled up, don’t you? You want me to fuck this tight, pretty pussy until you can’t think anymore.”

You nod, crying out, pushing back against his hand. “Yes- please, Soobin, I need it- I need you, please-”

He pulls his hand away, spits on his fingers, then lines his cock up with your entrance, the fat head pushing against your folds. He leans over you, his chest pressing into your back, his lips brushing your ear as he growls, “You ready for me, baby? Ready for this big cock? Gonna stretch you out so good—gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

He pushes in, slow at first, the thick head stretching you, making you gasp, making your knees buckle. You whimper, hands clutching the edge of the table, head dropping as he sinks deeper, inch by inch, filling you up until you feel split open, stuffed, full in a way you’ve never felt before.

He’s huge—every thrust, every inch makes your mind fog, your breath catch, your pussy clench tight around him. He goes slow, letting you feel every vein, every ridge, the stretch almost too much but so perfect you can’t stop moaning.

“So fucking tight,” he pants, hips rolling, his hands digging into your waist, holding you in place. “God, you feel so good—so fucking good, baby. Taking me so well. Fuck, you’re made for this. Made for my cock.”

You sob, head spinning, every nerve alight with pleasure and pain and pride. You can hear the wet, messy sounds of your pussy swallowing him, the slap of his hips against your ass, the filthy grind of skin on skin.

He starts to move faster, his pace rough and relentless, his cock slamming into you with every thrust, making the table shake, making you cry out. He bends over you, mouth on your neck, biting and licking, leaving marks everywhere.

“Yeah, take it, baby. Take all of it. Such a good girl for me. Look how well you take this cock—so greedy, so needy, so fucking desperate to be filled up. You love it, don’t you? Love being used like this—love how I fuck you stupid.”

You nod, tears prickling your eyes, your pussy throbbing, every thrust driving you closer to the edge. “Yes, yes, I love it—I love your cock, Soobin, you’re so big, you’re fucking me so good, I can’t—fuck, I can’t think—”

He laughs, mean and sweet, his hand sliding up to grab your hair, tugging your head back so you have to look at him, eyes glazed and mouth open, drool slipping down your chin. “Look at you—already dumb for me. Can’t even talk, can you? All you can do is take it—take my cock like a good little slut.”

You moan, legs shaking, your body trembling as he pounds into you, hitting every spot inside, making your vision blur. His hand slides down, smacking your ass, leaving red prints, then slips between your thighs, rubbing your clit in fast, messy circles.

“Gonna make you cum, baby,” he growls, voice ragged. “Gonna make you cum so hard you forget your name. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Want me to break you, make you scream my name, let everyone know who owns this pussy.”

You cry out, the words burning in your ears, your body clenching tight, the pleasure building and building until you can’t hold back. You cum hard, shaking, sobbing, your pussy spasming around his cock, milking him, your whole world exploding into white-hot pleasure.

He keeps fucking you through it, thrusting harder, rougher, chasing his own release, growling in your ear, telling you how good you are, how tight you are, how much he loves the way you scream for him.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he gasps, hips snapping, his cock swelling inside you. “You want it, baby? Want me to fill you up? Want me to breed you, make you mine forever?”

You nod, begging, crying, desperate for more. “Yes, please, please cum in me, Soobin, I want it—I want all of it, please—”

He slams into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he cums hard, flooding you, filling you up, marking you as his. He holds you tight, arms wrapped around your waist, his face buried in your neck, whispering filthy, sweet nothings as you both come down, shaking, ruined, spent.

You collapse onto the table, breathless and boneless, your body trembling from the force of your orgasm, his cum dripping down your thighs, your skin marked with his hands, his teeth, his love.

Soobin pulls out slowly, careful, tender, pressing kisses to your back, your shoulders, your neck. He helps you up, helps you fix your clothes, wipes the mess from your skin with shaking, gentle hands. He cups your face, kissing you soft and slow, his eyes full of awe and adoration.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, voice raw and full of wonder. “You’re everything. Thank you. Thank you for being mine.”

And as you stand there, clothes rumpled, skin glowing, heart full, you know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right here—in the mess, in the heat, in his arms.

(Beomgyu is going to have some words about this)

✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ᜔ ✿ྀི ׅ ᤱ ⸱ ᜔𓂂 ׅ ᤱ ⸱᜔ 𓂂 ׅ ✿ྀི

[fudgypapaya]

Even if i am loved by 100 people after you, the depths of my heart will always carry the grief of your indifference

[fudgypapaya]

I think i should start writing the fanfics i cant find

[cbeargyu]

Hi!!! Can you imagine bf!soobin staying over to watch a midnight movie? But instead of sitting beside you he lies on your lap. So during the movie he doesn't really focus on the movie but sometimes plays with your bottom which is only wearing panty with his fingers or even his mouth. 🫨🫨🫨

midnight cravings

summary: soobin comes over for a cozy movie night, but cuddling on the couch quickly turns into something far more intimate when he can’t keep his hands—or mouth—off you.

pairing: boyfriend!soobin x girlfriend!reader

genre: smut, fluff, established relationship.

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, panty play, size kink, praise, slight teasing, creampie.

wc: 1,3k

you were curled up on the couch in your favorite oversized hoodie, the lights dimmed and the soft glow of the tv casting a flickering light across the living room. the movie playing was an old studio ghibli film—howl's moving castle, one of your favorites. you’d been begging soobin for weeks to rewatch it with you, and tonight he’d finally caved, showing up with snacks, drinks, and that lazy, teasing grin that always gave him away when he had other things in mind.

he didn’t sit next to you like usual. instead, he laid down across the couch and rested his head in your lap with a content little sigh, long legs hanging off the end, hoodie slightly riding up to reveal a sliver of his toned stomach. he nuzzled against your thighs like he was getting cozy for the night, but the second his hands slipped beneath the blanket draped over the two of you, you knew he wasn’t here just for howl and sophie.

you shifted slightly when his fingers trailed up your bare thigh, brushing the edge of the soft panties you wore under your hoodie. you weren’t wearing much else—just those and one of his shirts you'd stolen months ago. it was comfy. it was supposed to be innocent.

“you look so good like this,” he murmured, not even looking at the screen anymore. “comfy… warm… all mine.”

his words sent a warm flutter through your chest, but before you could say anything, his fingers dipped under the hem of your panties, stroking gently over your skin. not rushed—just slow, teasing circles, like he had all the time in the world.

“soobin,” you whispered, voice barely above the hum of the movie. your hand rested in his soft hair automatically, fingers curling at the roots as he continued tracing over you.

he grinned, tilting his head slightly to press an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh. “hm? i’m just relaxing,” he said innocently, though the way his fingers pressed a little more firmly betrayed his real intentions. “can’t help it if my girlfriend’s walking around in nothing but a hoodie and panties.”

his mouth moved higher, closer, until his breath was ghosting against the damp fabric between your legs. he nuzzled against it, then pressed a slow, open kiss right over your clothed heat, making your hips jerk slightly. he chuckled, low and breathy. “already wet?”

you let out a shaky breath, biting your lip. “we’re supposed to be watching a movie…”

“we are,” he said, pretending to glance at the screen, though his fingers were now tugging your panties to the side. “i just got… distracted.”

he dipped his head again, but this time, he licked a long, deliberate stripe along your slit, never fully parting your folds, just wetting the fabric more, making it cling to you. you whimpered, thighs twitching around his head, and he groaned softly, loving how small you looked from this angle—how easily he could manhandle your hips if he wanted to.

“you’re so tiny, baby,” he murmured against you. “your thighs barely fit around my head.” he kissed the inside of your leg again, voice going lower. “and your pussy’s so tight… fuck.”

you squirmed, one hand gripping the couch while the other clung to his hair. soobin’s tongue slipped under the fabric now, finally tasting you properly, and the sound he made almost made you moan. he sounded like he’d been starving.

he licked and sucked gently, fingers still playing with your panties—tugging them, letting them snap back softly against your skin, pulling them aside again just to get better access. he was big, and his mouth covered so much of you that it made your head spin. you could feel his tongue everywhere—soft and slow one moment, fast and greedy the next.

“soobin—” you gasped, your voice cracking as he focused on your clit, flicking it with quick, precise movements.

he glanced up at you, his cheeks flushed, lips shiny with you. “you gonna come just from this?” he teased. “my mouth and your pretty little panties?”

you nodded, unable to speak, back arching slightly. he moaned softly into you, gripping your thighs tighter.

“good girl,” he said, voice hoarse. “come for me.”

you barely had time to come down from your high before soobin was moving again—shifting up from your lap, towering over you with that hungry, flushed look on his face. his hand slipped behind your neck, guiding you into a kiss that was all tongue and breathless need, tasting yourself on his lips.

he pulled away slowly, eyes scanning your face. “still okay?” he whispered, thumb brushing your cheek.

you nodded quickly, pupils blown wide. “want more.”

that was all he needed to hear.

he knelt between your thighs, tugging your panties fully off this time, dragging them down your legs with a deliberate slowness that had you squirming. once they were off, he looked down at them for a moment—then brought them to his face, inhaling deeply with a low groan.

“fuck, you smell so sweet,” he muttered, voice ragged, before shoving them into the pocket of his hoodie. “these are mine now.”

he didn’t even give you time to tease him for that—his hoodie came off in one swift motion, revealing the lean muscle of his chest and stomach, and then his sweatpants followed. his cock sprung free, already hard and leaking, and your mouth fell open slightly at the sight of it.

you’d seen him like this dozens of times, but it still made your stomach flutter. he was so big—long and thick, the flushed tip glistening. the kind of size that stretched you out every single time, no matter how ready you thought you were.

he noticed the way your gaze lingered and smirked as he crawled over you, gripping his cock in one hand and stroking it slowly. “intimidated?” he teased.

you bit your lip, but smiled up at him. “a little.”

he leaned down to kiss you again, this time slower, deeper, while his hand slid between your legs to rub you gently, feeling how soaked you still were. “don’t worry, baby,” he whispered. “i’ll go slow. i’ll make it fit.”

he lined himself up and pushed in just the tip, watching your face carefully as your mouth fell open, already gasping from the stretch.

“shit,” he groaned, “you’re so tight… fuck—i’ll never get over this.”

inch by inch, he sank into you, bottoming out with a deep, shuddering breath. his hands gripped your hips like he was grounding himself, trying not to lose control.

“you’re so small,” he murmured, eyes dark. “you take me so well, though. made for me.”

you moaned softly, wrapping your legs around his waist as he began to move—slow at first, letting you adjust. but the deeper he got, the more his pace shifted—needier, rougher, until the sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, mixing with your breathless whimpers and the still-playing movie in the background.

he fucked you like he wanted to ruin you—his hand slipping down to your clit again, rubbing tight circles as he drove into you, the tip of his cock brushing that perfect spot inside you over and over again.

“gonna come again for me, baby?” he panted against your neck, biting softly. “gonna let me fill you up?”

you nodded desperately, already so close, everything building again fast and hot. “soobin—i’m—”

“let go,” he whispered. “come on my cock. let me feel you.”

and you did—clenching hard around him as you cried out, back arching, body trembling. he cursed loudly, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, deep and hot, holding you tight through it.

you stayed like that for a moment, breathless and tangled, his head buried in your neck as he tried to catch his breath.

then he kissed your shoulder and murmured with a grin, “so… want me to rewind the movie?”

[filmsbyun]

Midnight Spirit || Choi Soobin

꒰🏮꒱ You visit a remote mountain village for a once-in-a-decade lantern festival, a week-long celebration of “paired spirits” where visitors are matched with local guides. Yours is a reserved man, content to walk beside you through the nights without intruding. As the final midnight approaches, tradition requires each pair to share a resting space until dawn to keep wandering spirits at bay. He assures you he won’t cross a line unless you choose otherwise.

⤷ ゛ This story is part of the One Bed Series .ᐟ.ᐟ

⊹ wc .ᐟ 17k

pairing: festival guide!Choi Soobin x visitor!afab!reader

tags: strangers to lovers, mutual pining, sexual tension, fictional mountain village and myth, the festival is based on said myth [probably missed some]

[MDNI] smut warning: explicit sexual content, fingering, nipple play, riding, missionary, dom!soobin (more of a switch if you squint), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (not huzzah!), cumming inside mouth, cum swallowing, hand kink, masturbation (f.), biting and marking, handjob, choking around fingers, hair pulling (but not really what you think it is) [definitely missed some]

timezone is a myth, okay? choi motherfucking soobin has the nastiest death grip on me and since it is also his birthday, i've decided to add some sort of plot to his fic and bam! it's now 17k ^^ i let myself get a bit carried away as it's his birthday after all and you all deserve some treat too <3 ooh btw you'll find two scenes that were heavily based on this hand picture and this picture :3 (p.s: after proof reading i feel like it could be better oml this is so ass im sorry T^T) Reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!

© filmsbyun ── please do not copy, translate, or repost my work without permission.

You arrived just before dusk, when the mountains swallowed the last lines of daylight and the village’s lanterns blinked awake one by one. Around you, all you could hear was the low hymn of travelers gathering in the courtyard. Pairs stood everywhere — solo visitors matched with steady-faced locals, some already speaking as though they’d known each other for years, others exchanging gestures of formalities and politeness. There were visitors who came in duo (mostly couples, you assumed); a guide had been assigned to them as well, making theirs a group of three.

The festival, at least from what you’d read, was steeped in a lover’s myth, meant to honor a story of devotion that shaped the land itself. Watching strangers pair off under lantern light felt strangely intimate for an event that hadn’t yet begun.

You came alone, which meant you would be assigned a guide as per the tradition. You tried to imagine how yours would look.

The man overseeing the assignments, a local elder wrapped in a deep blue robe and with cheeks reddened by years of mountain wind, scanned his clipboard with a faint frown of concentration before glancing up at you. “Your guide should be here any moment,” he said, voice warm but brisk. “Seven nights together, no substitutions. He’ll walk you through the customs and boundaries—nothing you need to worry about.”

You nodded, though your stomach fluttered a little anyway. You had come for the once-a-decade festival, for the myth of interwoven spirits promising renewal, for the stories of fortune granted to those who completed all seven nights without faltering. You wanted your trip to mean something, and the timing had been too perfect to ignore. A rare festival during a vacation you had promised yourself would not be wasted.

Light crunches of footsteps on gravel caught your attention. You turned, expecting another visitor cutting through the courtyard, and instead you halted altogether.

A man was approaching, tall enough that he stood distinctly above the shifting crowd. Your eyes traced the broadness of his shoulders beneath a dark yukata robe, his hazel brown hair looking almost caramel-like with the last hints of daylight. Though his expression gave little away, there was certainly no unfriendliness to it; reserved in a way that pulled your eyes to him instead of pushing you away.

So this was your guide.

The elder straightened with a satisfied noise. “There he is.” He raised his hand, calling the man closer with a wave. “Soobin—your visitor has arrived.”

Soobin stopped at a respectful distance, bowing first to the elder and then to you. When he looked up, he gave a small nod of greeting. “Apologies for the delay,” he said, resting one hand over his chest, right above his heart. “I was helping escort another pair to their lodgings and the path down from the ridge was more crowded than expected.” His gaze shifted briefly to your luggage, then back to your face. "I’m Choi Soobin. I’ll be guiding you throughout the festival week.”

There was something disarming about how simply he said it. You almost forgot to reply. You opened your mouth, closed it, then managed to give your name without tripping over the syllables. 

Soobin repeated it under his breath, his gaze dipping momentarily to the ground as he tried it on his tongue before offering a small nod. "A beautiful name," he said, meeting your eyes once again with a smile. “I assume you’ve already glanced at the roadmap in the leaflet you were given? The festival schedule can feel overwhelming on paper, but I’ll walk you through every part of it."

“Yes,” you replied, adjusting your grip on your bag. Then you quickly corrected, “Yes—as in, yes, I’ve read the roadmap and no, I didn’t find it overwhelming!” You didn’t want him to have any misunderstanding. 

“Good,” Soobin said, exhaling softly as if relieved by your enthusiasm. He stepped slightly to the side, allowing a couple and their guide to pass behind him, lowering his voice in a way that drew you a little closer. “Many visitors treat the first night lightly, but it shapes the rest of the week. The lantern keepers say that the mountain watches how you begin.” He raised a brow, half-implying he wasn’t sure how much of that you believed.

The elder waved his clipboard dismissively. “Take your time, Soobin. She’s your responsibility now.” He turned away to greet another pair, already calling out instructions as he moved.

Both of you bowed as you watched him leave. Then you put your focus back on your guide. He seemed to be deep in thoughts for a brief moment.

"For now," he began, stepping half a pace to the side so you could follow the direction of his gesture toward a row of cobbled steps, "you must be tired from the journey. If you prefer, I can take you to your lodging first—let you unpack, have tea, settle in. Or…" His eyes lifted to yours again, and a gentle pull touched the corners of his mouth. "If you have a little energy to spare, the village becomes a different world once the sun slips behind the ridge. We can take a short walk. Nothing too long."

You hesitated for form’s sake, though your decision had already been sealed the moment he asked. "If it isn’t inconvenient," you said, brushing a stray hair away from your cheek when the breeze toyed with it, "I’d like to look around. A little walk sounds nicer than sitting alone in a room."

Soobin’s smile deepened by a fraction, not showy in the slightest but enough to let you see a glimpse of his dimples. "If it were inconvenient, I wouldn’t have offered," he replied. “Guiding you begins tonight. Leaving you to fend for yourself until morning would make me a poor guide. I intend to look after you properly.”

A faint spark rushed up your throat before you forced your expression to remain neutral. He tilted his head slightly, eyes catching on your wrist. The small ceremonial lantern tied there — paper-thin but beautifully painted — had slipped halfway down your hand, the knot having loosened during your earlier shuffle through the courtyard.

“May I?” he asked, pointing at it.

You blinked in surprise, glancing down, then murmured a soft, startled "oh" before nodding and extending your hand toward him. Soobin stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking until you could see the tiny flecks of darker brown in his irises. He reached for your wrist with careful fingers, thumb brushing the inside of it as he turned your hand, the lantern swaying gently with the movement.

The touch was brief, barely anything at all and yet your body reacted like he had run a line of heat straight through you. Goosebumps rose instantly. You forced yourself to breathe evenly, cursing your own nerves.

He stepped back once the knot was secured. "There. Now you won’t lose it before we even begin the first night. They only give one per visitor, so I’d rather not be responsible for you having to explain what happened to yours." There was a faint lift in his voice that told you he was attempting a friendly conversation. It made you smile.

"Thank you," you earnestly said, bowing a little.

You had expected the festival to move slowly the way mountain traditions tend to.

Most mornings began at the shrine steps, where visitors made their way toward the willow branches swaying above the offering rail. The paper slips rustled in the breeze — pale blues for gratitude, faded reds for courage, soft greens for mended bonds. He had explained each color the first night while walking ahead of you, glancing back every so often to make sure you were keeping up. You asked questions and he responded only with what was needed, but always in a way that felt attentive. When you struggled with a knot, he showed you how to loop the ribbon properly, his hands brushing yours only in demonstration.

Evenings were for the lantern path. Groups gathered at the trailhead, where volunteers handed out small spirit-lanterns in wooden frames, the paper sides painted in strokes of crimson, lilac, and gold. Once lit, the lanterns cast a soft bloom through the forest, and it looked as if a river of flickering gold weaving through the heart of the forest trail.

You walked beside him, your arm sometimes brushing against his as the ground narrowed. He never tried to fill the silence. He walked with the lantern held low, occasionally lifting it to check the trail. And because he didn’t push conversation, you found yourself noticing more about him. Soobin seemed to have a habit of tilting his head, something that you noticed whenever you commented on carvings embedded in the trees. What stood out to you was the almost imperceptible warmth in his eyes when you caught him glancing at you.

On the second night, during the river procession, you learned he wasn’t actually from the village.

“You’re not a local?” you repeated, glancing up at him.

The banks glowed with floating lanterns drifting across mirrored water, their reflections trembling with the slightest ripple. You had knelt to release one; it wobbled, tilting, and before it could capsize entirely, Soobin caught the frame, guiding it gently forward.

“No. My cousin used to guide visitors. I came with him ten years ago. Watching the festival from the outside felt…” he paused as he steadied your hand when you held another lantern, its flame flickering against the ripples. “Less satisfying than being part of it. So I promised myself I’d volunteer in the next one.”

His explanation slipped into you with a sensation you weren’t prepared for, pooling low and warm in your chest. Relief? Maybe. Anticipation, definitely. You wouldn’t have to leave him behind in this tucked away place when your trip ended. You didn’t want that thought to matter, but it made itself home into your heart regardless.

“So,” you said, nudging him lightly with your shoulder as you stepped back from the riverbank, “if you’re not a local, what guarantee do I have that you won’t lead us straight into a ravine on one of these trails?” You caught the corner of his sleeve between your fingers just to keep the moment light, letting it slip free again as you walked.

He glanced at you sideways. The warm light caught the faint curl at his lips. “If I didn’t know these paths,” he said, brushing a stray reed from his cuff, “the elders wouldn’t have entrusted you to me.” He tilted his head slightly. “And I wouldn’t have accepted if I thought I’d disappoint you.”

Your breath stuttered. “I didn’t mean to suggest you would. I was just—” You lifted both hands in a small gesture, searching for the right explanation. “Teasing. Badly.”

“You don’t owe me an apology.” You sensed the warmth rising from his skin despite the cool night air when he stepped closer. It felt as if his voice had fallen an octave lower when he spoke — with a depth that ran under your skin. “But I want you to feel secure walking with me. If I say I’ll keep you safe on these roads, I mean it.”

He said it with such calmness and certainty that he’d already decided he wouldn’t let anything touch you. It sounded like a promise from him to you, not reassurance.

You nodded, heat curling low in your spine. “Okay,” you murmured.

You had spent three days tracing the serpentine trails of the mountains with Soobin at your side, and by now the essence of his presence had become something like a harmony that you found yourself quietly attuned to. He never crowded, never imposed himself, yet each subtle step and adjustment beside you laced itself into your awareness, embedding itself as an almost imperceptible thrill that you hadn’t anticipated but now recognized in the uneven pattern of your heartbeat. 

Sometimes you drifted ahead without realizing it, distracted by the beauty of the misted valley or the pull of a distant peak; yet without fail, the moment his footsteps returned to your side, that subtle rejoining would send a rush of heat through you. You couldn’t help but wonder how it was possible that something so small could make your stomach flutter with a mixture of embarrassment and longing that you tried, and failed, to ignore.

Some men fill space; he simply shared it, and the knowledge made a part of you ache with a heavy yearning.

On a particularly crisp morning, when the wind tugged playfully at your hair and the scent of the surrounding cedars was mingled with the faint perfume of smoke from distant hearths, he reached out wordlessly and draped his scarf around your neck. The wool still held the warmth of his skin, the faint mix of sandalwood with something that was distinctly him, and it was intoxicating. You inhaled too deeply, instantly aware of how close he had come without words.

Out of politeness, you tried handing it back, mumbling that you would be fine, but he stepped past you, answering your gesture with nothing more than a brief look over his shoulder that made refusal feel pointless. And when the ascent became taxing, you noticed the subtle slackening of his stride to let you set the pace, a quiet consideration that had your pulse spiking more than any overt gesture could have managed. 

It didn’t end there. 

When you paused at a vendor stall shaded by cedar branches, drawn to the coils of red-bean pastries steaming on a wooden tray, Soobin purchased one right away and nudged it into your palm. He brushed off your startled look with a low, “before you walk past it again and regret it all afternoon.”

If this was part of the festival customs, no one had mentioned it. If it wasn’t, the gesture tangled heat in places you’d been trying to ignore.

But the noticing — the treacherous noticing — didn’t stop at kindness.

Later, at a shrine halfway up the mountain, he reached above you to tie a cedar charm to an already crowded branch. The simple festival robe worn by the guides was meant to flatten shape and silhouette, yet somehow it failed entirely on him. The fabric pulled across his shoulders when he raised his arm, revealing the hint of lean muscle beneath. The sash wrapped around his waist seemed to exaggerate rather than obscure the taper of his torso and the sleeves, pushed up whenever the climb demanded it, revealed forearms traced by veins that disappeared under dark cloth in a way that set your imagination loose with alarming speed.

His hands moved in a delicate manner as he tied the charm, the long fingers brushing against yours in a casual demonstration that always left a spark of heat crawling up your arm.

"Here," he said, tilting his head toward you, the motion unremarkable yet intimate. "Just hold it like this. Make sure the knot is snug, but not too tight. We don’t want the branch to snap."

You mimicked his movements, aware of the proximity, of the contrast between your soft hands and his larger ones, and couldn’t resist a teasing quip. "You make it look so easy. Is this a personal talent?"

"You can say that," he mused, lifting the branch to check the alignment. "Years of watching, and a touch of stubbornness to get it just right." He straightened, glancing at your hands to see the knot you had tied, and smiled. "There, see? You’re learning faster than I expected. I should have you helping other visitors too."

You laughed softly, cheeks warming. The subtle grace in the way he moved and the patient attentiveness in his words sent a thrill through you that you found difficult to control, making it clear that what had begun as simple observation had quietly escalated into a tangible, dizzying awareness of him that lingered long after the brief physical contact ended.

One evening, you stopped to rest on the side of the lantern path after the long climb, choosing a place on a low stone wall still holding the last traces of the day’s warmth. Soobin settled across from you on a broad boulder.

He sat with a relaxed sprawl; knees parted with forearms resting loosely atop them. His stance was wide enough that the stray thought drifted through your mind — imagining yourself kneeling between them, his breath above you, his hand guiding your chin upward. More startling than the thought itself was how naturally it came, how much you wanted to be there, looking up at him the way one might look at a man who had earned not only attention but a kind of devotion.

You cleared your throat, the sound too slight to mask the heat in your voice. “I want to know the real story behind this festival.”

"You want to hear it now?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, the loose knot of his hair shifting with the motion.

"Unless you’re too tired," you replied, tracing a slow circle along the lantern’s rim, pretending the action was idle yet fully aware of the suggestive cadence soaking into your words. "I don’t want to keep you out here longer than you’d like." The innocence you tried to layer into your tone faltered halfway through.

He exhaled through his nose, the sound appreciative as though he’d heard everything you didn’t say. His hand dragged briefly along his knee before he leaned back, shoulders relaxing, the faintest smile forming at the corner of his lips. "No. I’ll tell you."

He turned toward the lantern path first, as though orienting himself inside the tale, before his attention shifted fully back to you. The moment his gaze settled, you felt it like a hand between your shoulder blades guiding you to sit a little straighter.

“The story begins with two lovers, Hana and Rangi,” he began. "She was the daughter of a healer who lived near the valley. He was a traveling calligrapher who only passed through once a year, staying just long enough to finish his commissions before moving on." He drew a small curve on his knee with his thumb, as though tracing the route the calligrapher might have walked. "They weren’t meant to cross paths at all, but fate… made it difficult for them to stay apart.”

“Of course it did,” you remarked, leaning onto your palms behind you. “Stories like this never start with easy love.”

He let out a breath of a laugh and dipped his gaze to the ground momentarily, brushing a pebble aside with the edge of his sandal. When he looked up again, lantern light pooled in his eyes.

“They met at these very mountains,” he continued, lifting one hand to indicate the ascending trail. The veins along his wrist caught the light when he did. “Back then, the path was rough and unmarked. They used to carry small bowls of oil with wicks, holding them out in front of them while they walked, searching for each other in the dark. Every year, she followed that faint glow up the mountain, and every year he waited where the trail narrowed before the last climb. No matter the weather, no matter how late he arrived in the valley, they found each other.”

Something about the image of two people who loved each other so dearly, climbing a mountain just to meet in the dark for a moment of fulfilling their longing, felt so achingly tender that your heart fluttered at it. Probably that was why your voice softened when you asked, “What happened after that?”

His attention zeroed onto you with a focus that tightened your pulse. “They promised to return to one another every year. And one season,” he said, the words slowing as he watched your reaction, “when they realized the valley elders would never allow them to marry… they met one last time beneath the old shrine tree.” He wet his lips briefly before finishing, “That’s where they consummated their vow.”

The statement hung between you, suspended in the mild night air. Heat spread freely through your stomach, until it reached lower. You let the silence breathe, let it drag through you, before you answered with a slow nod.

“That sounds romantic.”

Your gaze dipped to his mouth for a heartbeat, then rose again without apology.

Soobin’s fingers flexed once against his knee.

“It’s part of the legend,” he said, tilting his head again, eyes tracking the line of your face. His expression wore innocence; his voice did not.

A small insect landed on the back of Soobin’s hand. You reached out and brushed it away with a flick, letting your touch linger; accidental on the surface, intentional underneath. “I'm guessing their consecration—their vow—meant that even death couldn't separate them. That sort of makes sense with the whole theme of the festival.” You sat back, letting the previous space between you reform but your eyes didn't entirely leave him.

Soobin’s gaze drifted first to the faint point of contact where your fingers had grazed him, tracing the path from there to your hand, and then, with the gentlest hesitation, they drifted up to meet yours. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “It is said that their spirits would always find each other. Even if everything else conspires against them.”

Your pulse was beating too quickly. “Do you actually believe that? Spirits finding each other, I mean?”

His eyes didn't leave you. “I believe some connections don’t stop just because they’re inconvenient.”

You hummed, letting a small, thoughtful smile appear. “I like the way you put that.” You nudged a pebble with your heel, letting it roll down the path as if your body needed a task to ground the sudden rush in your chest.

He blinked, a hint of surprise catching in his features before he cleared his throat, looking down at his hands for a brief moment. “I have been told. Thank you,” he admitted, almost too quickly, then composed himself. “On the final night pairs light lanterns to guide the lovers’ spirits back to each other. As the whole festival centers on a myth about devotion, you can see that it naturally draws couples more than solo visitors.” 

You nodded, thinking back to the first day when you noticed the majority of the pairs being couples. 

“Thse who come alone, like you, are given guides…” he avoided your eyes when he spoke the next part, “to ensure the ritual can conclude without disruption.”

“And the sharing‑a‑room tradition?” you pressed, the question laced with curiosity and a hint of provocation. After all, you were going to share a room with him — this man, whom you were already infatuated with — so there was no harm in asking, right? “Couples probably don’t think twice about it. But what about solo visitors and their guides? Do they get swept into the tradition too?”

His gaze visibly traced your lips before he dragged it back up, and you saw the subtle flex of his jaw as if the motion cost him. “That part,” he murmured, tilting his head just enough to acknowledge the tension threading between you, “is simply what the name suggests. Guides stay at their guest’s side for the night, yes—but only in the way the guest is comfortable with. No rule requires anything more.”

Neither of you made any effort to disrupt the silence that had fallen. In that narrowing space you felt his attention gather around you with a heat that was threatening to swallow you whole. Wanting control of the moment before it drowned you, you let a faint smile appear that bordered on daring. 

"Ahh, so the legend only works when both people admit they’re equally taken with each other."

His stare altered in a way that felt like a temperature change; still composed on the surface but carrying something unmistakably dangerous beneath. You felt a rush climb through you like how fire licks up oxygen through a room. 

"Is that your way of telling me something?" His voice dipped slightly on the last word, probing with a boldness that made you sit a bit straighter.

You drew one shoulder up in an unbothered shrug, though internally your thoughts were spinning faster. "You’re the guide," you answered, tone deceptively mild as you leaned back on your palms. "Aren’t you the one trained to interpret signs? I thought that was part of the service."

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then he rose to his full height in a measured motion that made your stomach drop in a way that was neither fear nor anticipation but some volatile blend of both, compelling you to remain seated as you were. He let the space between you close with just a few steps — closer than he had ever allowed himself to be, and that made every nerve in your body feel newly aware of its own shape.

His gaze roamed your face, down the angle of your throat, back up again, and for a sliver of suspended time his hand lifted as though he meant to touch your arm. You felt your pulse leap toward that imagined contact, braced for the warmth of his palm against your skin.

But he didn’t reach for your arm.

Instead, his fingers drifted above your shoulder and found the crown of your head, not with the intention of ruffling nor the intimate stroke through your hair that your mind shamefully supplied. He just rested his hand there at first, letting the warmth of it spread across your scalp. Until he curled those fingers inward, clutching a small portion of your hair and subtly tugged back.

It was so unpredictable that the sensation sent a shock through your body so swift you couldn’t swallow the breathy gasp that escaped you. Your head tipped back by a fraction, offering instinctively without thought.

His gaze was heavy on your mouth, studying the parted shape of it as though cataloguing the sound you had just given him.

“I interpret what’s clear,” he said, and his thumb twitched as if he almost tightened his hold before stopping himself. "And right now… you’re anything but clear to me."

Just when your lungs struggled to remember how to function under the suffocating nearness, he released you. His hand fell away as quickly as he turned from you without another word, leaving you seated on the stone with lantern light flickering across your flushed skin and your heartbeat hammering so fiercely against your ribs it felt as though it might bruise its way outward.

Morning arrived slipping through the shutters in pale ribbons of light that stretched across the floorboards and nudged you awake with a softness far too gentle for the knot lodged low in your chest. For a few disoriented breaths you lay still, your mind resting in the suspended space between sleep and memory, where last night’s heat still clung to you as vividly as the scent of incense on your fingertips. You had imagined that the memory would feel distant or dreamlike by morning — to fade into one of those hazy, ill-defined recollections one can almost convince themselves they imagined. Yet it remained lucid, with a pulse of a raging animal that felt too alive.

Which was why, when you stepped outside and found him standing at a respectful distance with his hands tucked neatly behind his back and posture as composed as the very first day, the drop in your stomach was so sudden and humiliating you nearly missed the way he bowed his head.

“Good morning,” he said, voice wrapped with professional neutrality, tone identical to the script the guides used for every visitor. “I hope you rested well. We have a few locations to visit today before the courtyard opens for the rice wine blessing.”

Just like that — no trace of last night. The Soobin who had all but pulled breath from your lungs on the mountain had been replaced by a version of him built entirely out of distance and dutiful restraint.

You managed a polite nod, mirroring his composure even though the inside of your chest felt scraped raw. “Of course,” you said, matching his tone because anything else felt too revealing. “I’m ready when you are. Lead on.”

He glanced at you briefly — too briefly, and then began walking. Perhaps you had misread the moment, that last night’s intensity had been a fragile by-product of festival myth and mountain atmosphere, not a mutual pull but a passing illusion he had already tucked away and moved on from. You felt guilty, guilty for wanting more from someone who was merely doing his job, guilty and ashamed for letting last night convince you, even for a breath, that he too had felt the burn you had been feeling for him. 

You followed, keeping a few steps behind, pretending you didn’t care that the space between you felt colder than the morning air.

The courtyard was already filled with small clusters of visitors by the time you arrived. The wind had been restless since morning, tearing through the area with sharp, wandering currents that snapped at the edges of banners and sent prayer tags fluttering on their strings like frightened birds. You stood beside Soobin, though the gap he maintained between you felt like an entire ocean.

He explained the ritual to you in the same distant, guide-approved cadence as always, eyes fixed on the shrine ahead rather than on you. You answered with equal restraint even though the pit in your stomach deepened with every clipped exchange.

"The officiant will begin with the incense reading," he said, pointing where the table of incense was, "and when the first column of smoke rises, the attendants will begin distributing the wine. It's considered good fortune to accept it with both hands. Most people stay to watch the blessing itself, but you're free to step aside if the crowd grows too dense for your comfort." He paused only long enough to check if you had questions, "Some travelers prefer to wait near the side gate. The view from there isn't ideal, but it provides a quicker exit if you need one."

"I don't mind the crowd," you said, pushing a strand of hair away from your cheek as another restless gust swept the courtyard. "And I'd rather stay where I can actually see what’s happening. If people are willing to travel all this way for the blessing, then I should at least try to appreciate it properly." You forced a breath through your nose, adding, "Besides, do I look that fragile to you? I promise I can handle a crowd."

He didn’t take the bait. "It isn’t about fragility. Crowds behave unpredictably when they’re excited—"

A sudden blast of wind barreled across the courtyard before he could finish, harsher than the last, rattling bamboo poles and sending a few baskets rolling across the stones. Several visitors ducked as a row of prayer tags whipped overhead, the paper snapping sharply in the gust. You caught movement in your periphery — a cart wobbling as its wheels scraped against the uneven ground. You opened your mouth to call attention to it, but the wooden frame skidded across the tiles faster than your warning could form.

It slammed into a lantern pole with a crack that split the air cleanly enough to freeze every voice in the square. The pole rocked once, creaked under the strain of its cracked base, and tipped forward. You never even drew breath; your thoughts didn’t have time to process the alarming danger.

One moment, the pole was falling over and in the next jarring instant, Soobin was grabbing you by the waist, pulling you into him with a force that stole the ground from under your feet. The world jolted into blur as he twisted his body, placing himself between you and the falling pole, his arm tightening around your back as the lantern box smashed onto the stones a hair's breadth from your previous position, splintering into a scatter of flickering shards.

Shouts exploded around you — guides calling for calm, visitors stumbling backward in scattered panic, shrine keepers rushing toward the fallen pole but none of it penetrated the small, enclosed space where you remained buried in him.

All you could register was the press of him against you. A world made up of his arms braced around your body and the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. It wasn’t just fast; it pounded with an urgency that betrayed every ounce of discipline he tried to cloak himself in. The uneven waves of his breathing and his scent flooded your senses until your pulse tangled with his so thoroughly you could no longer tell which tremor belonged to whom.

Even when the chaos had faded into unsettled murmurs and the crowd stepped back in cautious half-circles, even when the danger was over, he didn’t release you. His hands slid down your arms before catching your hand in his. He turned your palm upward, scanning for splinters with a focus so consuming it made your heart squeeze painfully.

“Are you hurt?” His panicked gaze roamed over your face, then to every exposed skin as he steadied your wrists with a care that contradicted every cold moment he had given you since sunrise. “That— that could have been worse. I should’ve seen it sooner. I should’ve moved before it even fell.” His grip tightened unconsciously. "If I had reacted even a few seconds earlier, you wouldn’t have had to—" He cut himself off, breath unsteady, the words dissolving into frustration.

His worry should’ve ended your doubts. It should have soothed the guilt that you had misread him, that you were the foolish one for expecting warmth beyond the boundaries of his role. Yet the ache of his distance earlier, the dismissal of last night, the coldness that replaced the warmth — it all flooded up at once.

The resentment you’d swallowed all morning cracked open. “Does it matter?” the words left you slipped out thinly but were flat enough to make him freeze. “You don’t even know me.”

His grip didn’t loosen, but it went still enough to show you’d caught him off guard. You refused to back down from the eye contact as his initial shock dissolved from his eyes. His eyelids lowered a fraction in recalibration.

“You’re in my care,” he said, voice deepening just enough to stir your pulse. "That means I look after you, no matter how well I know you, no matter what you think I feel or don’t feel. That’s enough.”

The last sentence sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t just the authoritative grip intercalated between every word, but also the conspicuous trace of something so damn heady that it left you knees unsteady.

It seemed wiser to move through the rest of the day keeping yourself unobtrusive as there were only a few hours left for the seventh day’s midnight. Things were already an awkward and confusing mess between the two of you. You wanted no further complications with what was going to be the inevitable part of the tradition later tonight.

When evening arrived, two local girls slipped into your room carrying lacquered boxes in their arms, bowing as they announced that all women participating in the seventh-night rite were to be dressed according to tradition. They were bright with excitement, exchanging knowing glances as they set their things down.

They moved around you with brisk, nimble hands, combing your hair as they gathered it into an elegant shape before weaving through feathers dyed in gradual shades of sky and dusk, fastening polished river stone pins that caught the lamplight with gentle glimmers. Fabric in pale cerulean and softened white was used to drape around you that flowed like river water when you shifted. By the time they led you in front of the mirror, you barely recognized the reflection staring back. You looked luminous, softened, dressed in a beauty you rarely claimed for yourself.

The girls exchanged thrilled whispers as they ushered you toward the door, and their hushed giggles swelled in pitch when they caught sight of Soobin waiting in the hallway.

He bowed deeply to them, holding the angle of his posture until their footsteps faded down the corridor. Only then did he straighten at the sound of your padded footstep against the floorboard, and went utterly still when he saw you. So still it seemed even the wind outside paused with him.

His gaze moved over you in a slow sweep, tracing from the ornaments threaded through your hair to the embroidered sash cinching your waist, then lower to where the layered fabric cascaded around your legs. Heat rose up your neck beneath the sheer intensity of his attention, and you found yourself unable to meet his eyes.

“I… don’t know how I feel about this,” you said with an awkward laugh, lifting a hand toward your hair. “I’m not really the type to glamour up like this. It feels strange.”

He stared wordlessly for a while, as though the meaning behind your self‑conscious words had to fight its way through whatever spell seeing you had cast over him. Then he shook his head once, almost sharply.

“You don’t see what I see,” he said, the sentence forming with more conviction the longer he spoke, and he stepped closer without seeming to realize he’d done so. “You look—” his voice caught briefly in a way you had never once heard from him, “—you look breathtaking tonight.”

You felt warmth rush to your cheeks, too sudden to hide. To bury the bashfulness, you settled on his attire instead of his face. Only then did you notice what he was wearing and the sight nearly punched the air from your lungs. He wore a dark blue robe, the fabric embroidered subtly with silver at the edges, matching your own colors more closely than coincidence should allow. The garment fit him beautifully, accentuating the lines of his shoulders and the length of his frame. It made him look radiant at night. 

He extended his hand — formal, yes, but his eyes held more warmth than before.

“Tonight marks the final night I’ll be guiding you,” he said, smiling lightly. “I hope your time here has brought you what you sought.”

You, Choi Soobin. You, and nothing else.

You didn't say it out loud. Instead, you let a tired laugh slip out as you placed your hand in his. It was better this way, wasn't it? But his fingers closed around yours with a gentle squeeze, grounding you with a warmth that contradicted every boundary he had drawn between you since sunrise. 

The once-in-a-decade lantern festival unfolded with such sprawling splendour that your senses strained to keep pace with it for each breath revealed an entirely new landscape reshaped by light. Lanterns ascended in slow, drifting tides like fragments of constellations released from the earth-bound world, caught in the draft that painted the valley in sweeping currents of molten gold. Bells chimed from distant terraces, their tones weaving through the rising wind, which carried soft streaks of illumination across the rooftops.

In the main courtyard, dancers moved in wide, sweeping arcs, their garments flaring with every turn; their feet skimmed the stone with an entrancing grace that held the attention of everyone who passed.

Soobin guided you through the crowd. He let you explore while he remained just a few steps behind. Each time you lifted your gaze toward the sky, marveling at the way the lanterns drifted higher and dimmed into distant sparks, you sensed his gaze on you. It brushed along your awareness more than any light, that he watched you more than he wafched the sky.

A child tugged your sleeve, asking if you wished to colour a lantern with her, and you knelt briefly to admire her drawing — a constellation of crooked stars, each one rendered with an enthusiasm that had you cooing with fondness. Soobin waited patiently, hands folded behind his back, watching the exchange with a faint tension around his shoulders as he resisted the urge to crouch beside you.

As midnight crept nearer, when the lanterns thinned into drifting embers across the valley, when the crowd’s energy softened as people gravitated toward the open square where the final tradition would soon begin — you knew he felt it too. Soobin walked beside you, not behind you anymore and matched your pace even when you slowed to watch a passing procession; he paused when you did, despite the festival officials signaling for participants to gather. 

The approach of the last tradition. The rite both of you had avoided mentioning ever since your hands parted on the mountain. 

The rite of shared rest.

The growing nervousness capsized your senses as you were led up the ascending path that wound behind the visitor lodges. You walked behind an elderly local who reminded you that your belongings would remain safe in your original room and gently inquired whether you carried only what you required for the night. You answered as politely as your tightening throat allowed, careful to keep your gaze trained on the stone pathway rather than risk even the smallest glance over your shoulder — mortifyingly aware of Soobin’s presence following just a few paces behind.

As the path levelled out, you looked around and saw that the houses were built in the same wooden style as the visitor cottages below, though spaced farther apart. Several pairs stood outside their designated houses, speaking softly as they prepared to enter for the shared-rest tradition.

The elderly guide came to a stop before one such house and turned to the two of you with a mild smile before placing the small lacquered key into Soobin’s palm. Soobin received it with a bow that dipped deeply at the waist, his hair falling forward before he straightened. The guide wished you both a prosperous final night of the festival and departed down the path, lantern swaying until it disappeared between the branches.

Neither of you spoke as Soobin stepped ahead and slid the key into the lock. The door opened with a muted scrape, and he stepped aside, one hand lifting slightly to gesture that you should go in first. You crossed the threshold and the interior greeted you in soft lamplight. 

It was moderately big yet almost bare in its simplicity; polished wooden floors, a small cabinet against the wall, a side alcove partitioned by a sliding panel that revealed the small bathing area, and at the center of the room the futon. A wide one, laid meticulously with thick blankets folded at the foot and two pillows placed side by side. The jitters in your stomach returned, and goosebumps rose when Soobin spoke from behind you.

“You can go wash up first.”

He sounded… a little weary. You avoided looking at him as you hummed, making your way quickly toward the bathroom and locking the door behind you. Your back pressed against the panels as you closed your eyes and let out a long exhale. You had no idea what was going to follow from here on out.  

The bathwater steamed gently as you stepped into it, and the warmth seeped into your skin in gradual waves, easing the ache in your muscles though it did nothing to quiet the chaos thrashing in your head. You replayed every glance, every wayward brush of proximity, every moment from the lantern courtyard to the instant he’d told you that you were in his care. You tried to push the thoughts away, to remind yourself that tonight didn’t mean what your racing mind wanted it to mean.

When you were done, you noticed the clothing prepared for you lay neatly folded on the counter. You reached for the fabric and felt heat flare along your cheeks instantly. It was just a… sleeping yukata style robe. 

You stared at it blankly for a long moment. There was no retreat from this night, not without dishonoring tradition and certainly not from the proximity waiting for you outside that door. It wasn’t as though anything was destined to happen between you and him; the festival tradition had rules, boundaries, limits. In fact, all you felt other than the feeling hyper aware of his presence was the overwhelming tide of guilt of letting your heart sprint ahead. 

You had to apologize before the night ended. You had to fix what you had broken. Before morning came and you left this place, you needed to make things right with him.

When you stepped back into the room, you frowned seeing Soobin sitting on the edge of the futon in a posture so rigid it looked almost punishing — back straightened and steel faced — and you wondered if he had breathed at all since you left. He didn't even seem aware of your appearance. 

“Soobin?” you internally winced at how tentative your voice sounded.

The sound of your voice snapped him out of his reverie and he visibly flinched looking at you. The abruptness of it made your chest cinch, and for a brief second you wished you could pull the syllables back into your mouth.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “I, um… tried to make sure everything’s set for you,” you said, rubbing your palms together once as if searching for warmth. You stepped a little farther inside, gesturing vaguely toward the bath behind you. “The water’s still warm, and I cleaned up what I used. You should be comfortable. I didn’t… take too long, I hope.”

“No,” he replied quickly as he rose to his feet so quickly you took a half-step back out of instinct. He smoothed a hand down the front of his robe, an attempt at collectedness that didn’t match his demeanor. “No, you didn’t. That—that’s fine. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

You stepped aside to give him space, expecting him to continue forward without pause. Yet the moment he passed you, he slowed — then stopped — just two steps behind you. A faint rustle of fabric marked the rise of his chest as he drew in a deep, almost startled inhale. You had already taken a few small steps forward but halted when you noticed his shadow stretched beside yours on the floor, unmoving.

Frowning, you turned back to see him standing still with his back facing you. “Is everything alright?” You weren’t truly expecting a response — you spoke only because the silence felt strange in a moment that should’ve been routine.

Soobin, once again, drew in a slow inhale and that was when the clogs in your mind finally started to work. There was no way, but still seemed as the only plausible reason, that the scent of your soap had possibly caught him off guard. His shoulders rose and fell once, and then he turned his head slightly, looking back at you. 

You faltered, unsure whether to retreat or keep facing him. You felt more exposed than if you had walked out wearing nothing at all. 

He didn’t lock eyes with you but rather let his gaze travel across you with an intent so palpable it felt almost physical in the narrow hush of the corridor. It traced the droplets clinging to the ends of your damp hair, then moved to the subtle bath‑warm color still resting on your cheeks, before drifting lower to the rise and fall of your breath beneath the robe’s folds. When he finally met your gaze, the dimness of the hallway pulled a shadow across his eyes, rendering them deeper and more difficult to decipher. 

Your fingers tightened around your sleeves instinctively, nails pressing lightly into your own skin. Why isn’t he moving? The question pulsed in your mind before you could stop it. Did I miss a cue? Or… is he looking at me like—no. No, that’s not—he can’t be making me believe anything. That’s ridiculous. I’m doing it again. He isn’t… he can’t be giving me hope. 

But he didn’t look away. He kept watching you, and the longer he held you in place with nothing but his eyes, the more your breath struggled and your self-control fought to remain steady. 

Then why is he looking at me like that? Why does it feel like he’s giving me permission to hope?

You had the absurd, fleeting impression that he might reach for you — perhaps call you back to him, or maybe confess whatever lived beneath that tightly guarded composure. Instead, in a jarring departure, Soobin tore his gaze from yours and stepped past you at last, disappearing into the bathroom without a single word or backward glance.

You were already ;ying on your side, the lamp on your end of the room turned off long before Soobin emerged from the bath. You wanted to create an illusion that you were fast asleep for the way you laid rigidly, not even daring to breathe loudly. It was a war in your head, of wanting to quietly yet completely disappear but also to gather the courage to speak with him.

Behind you came the faint shuffle of his movements and by that you could tell he was trying not to disturb you before he dimmed the light. A moment later, he slipped beneath the blanket. The cold stretch of the futon behind you slowly disappeared, replaced by the gradual spread of his warmth.

You fought the foolish urge to inch backward, to let your bare feet nudge his beneath the blankets and steal even a sliver of his warmth. Soobin’s scent, fresh from the bath, invaded your senses and for one suspended heartbeat you wondered whether this is what he had felt earlier in the hallway what you felt now — a hunger overwhelming your rational thoughts. 

But no, this wasn’t your plan — you reminded yourself — pressing your nails into the pillowcase. You were supposed to let the night pass without complication, to spare yourself the humiliation that might follow you at dawn. Didn’t you promise yourself you’ll set things right tonight?

Still facing the wall, you drew a shallow breath, the guilt gnawing at you until it pushed its way out in a whisper you almost swallowed back. "Soobin… I’m sorry."

It was so faint you weren’t even sure the sound escaped properly. But Soobin’s body tensed behind you. The rustling stopped and you felt, without needing to see, that he had turned his head against the pillow toward you. You swallowed, eyes still shut, and forced the words out before cowardice could clamp your throat shut.

“I should’ve respected the boundaries I was given,” you went on, your voice wavering despite the control you tried to force on it. “You were only doing what was expected of you—being my guide, making sure I didn’t get lost or do anything reckless. And I…” when your voice croaked at the end, you had to sigh and pause to gather yourself. “I misinterpreted. I shouldn’t have let myself assume anything.”

You hated every syllable the moment it left your mouth. It took everything in you not to clamp your hand over your own lips, not to swallow the apology whole before it reached him. You wanted to stop. You wanted to turn around, grab his face in both hands, press your forehead to his and tell him that you liked him — that you had liked him from the first moment he looked at you with those gentle eyes, that every hour spent beside him had carved itself painfully into your memory. You wanted to pour your heart out into the space between you and ask him to hold even a fraction of it. But you couldn't do any of that.

“Besides, in the morning, this will all be over. You can forget about me, go back to your life, pretend none of… whatever this is… ever happened.” You let out a dry laugh. It barely sounded like you. 

Even if Soobin didn’t feel the same way, at least you could’ve left without this knot strangling your heart. At least you would have known you didn’t hide from your own truth. But you were leaving in the morning — with or without his feelings — and you already knew the regret waiting for you tomorrow would swallow you for the rest of your life far more thoroughly than the guilt of misreading him ever could. You were doomed with these feelings for him either way. So you said what you had to say. You were protecting him from discomfort when, in reality, you were also trying to protect yourself from the ache of wanting him.

“And you don’t have to think about me anymore,” you whispered now, not being able to speak anymore. “And… I won't think about you either.”

You didn’t know what else could possibly follow after that — what sentence could carry itself out of your mouth without breaking apart halfway, what tone you were supposed to use when your entire chest felt like it was collapsing inward from its own pressure. You didn’t know if you could even look at his face or bear to hear his voice. You wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole at that moment. You didn’t even realize you were gripping the blanket so tightly until the strain of it left your hand aching. Why did you have to go and fall in love with a man so unreachable in such a far away place? 

You didn’t get to go any further with your thoughts. At first it felt like a dream, like you were still reeling in your own self-pity to be imagining things. Because just moments later you finished talking, you felt his arm sliding over your waist slowly and it was enough to steal every coherent thought from your mind. Your entire body locked, breath trapped in your throat as Soobin pulled you toward him in one long, careful draw. His chest pressed to your back with a heat that rippled through you in waves, and before you could even think to react, he buried his face into the curve of your neck, his hair brushing along your jaw.

Your heartbeat ricocheted so violently you wondered if he could feel it. Every muscle in your body locked, and still you were terrified of so much as shifting an inch in case he let go.

Soobin’s breathing stuttered, then steadied with visible effort. His arm around you stayed where it was, not loosening in the slightest — and if anything, you felt him draw you in even closer, the subtle pull of his hand at your waist sending another rush of heat spiraling through your stomach. It didn’t make any sense — he didn’t make any sense to you, after you had compelled yourself into saying those self-preserving words out loud… he couldn’t be doing this to you now.

You lost grasp on reality and forgot how long you two had been in that position. At last, you forced your voice past the constriction in your chest.

“Soobin…” You shivered. “Please, say something.”

Soobin remained silent with his forehead still nudged against the curve of your neck, exhaling a heavy breath. It warmed your skin yet made the hair at the back of your neck stand up. You swallowed against the sudden ache of anticipation, hand moving slowly, trembling slightly, until it rested atop his. A silent question and answer entwined, your fingers curling around his and meeting the responsive squeeze he offered almost instinctively.

"I need you to understand this." His words came out in halting bursts, punctuated by soft breaths. "Yes, I’m your guide for the festival. And yes, I respect the rituals the village keeps. But don’t…” His grip tightened minutely. “I don’t want you thinking any of this—the things I’ve done for you—is some performance I’m expected to put on." His breath grazed your neck again, but this time his voice was right beside your ear. "Every single gesture, every step I took toward you… it has been me, only me, wanting to be close to you, in ways I can’t explain unless you let me.”

“I… I—you don’t have to—” you barely managed, turning your head just enough that your cheek brushed his temple. The motion was small but carried every ounce of the panic building in you.

But he didn’t let you finish. His hand, which had been resting low around your waist moments ago, travelled upward before curving around the base of your jaw. He held you there, gently preventing you from turning or catching even the faintest glimpse of his expression. He didn’t apply the barest minimum of strength in his touch but the way it screamed dominance made you shiver and rendered you speechless. You complied because the moment itself allowed no other response.

“I have to,” he went on, the gravity of his tone making you blink. “Because I made this harder for both of us.”

You went still, stunned into silence by his admission. You had so many thoughts tumbling through your mind in disorganized bursts, so many things you wanted to say but you held yourself back. You wanted to hear what wanted to say, because the way he was still holding you proved he wasn't done yet.

“I wasn’t trying to confuse you.” His thumb brushed the hinge of your jaw in a slow arc, the motion absent but successfully soothed another tremor that rippled through you. “Every night, I kept worrying… worrying you’d think I was one of them. That you’d look at me and assume all I’ve done for you was just me following a script instead of my own heart. I badly wanted you to know that I was real. That my wanting you wasn’t staged.”

You couldn’t deny it. Of course you had questioned him; how could you not? There were moments when his gentleness had felt like the courtesy owed to tradition rather than the warmth extended toward you personally, moments when you weren’t sure if the attention he gave was part of the role he’d been entrusted with. 

“So you pulled back.” you whispered.

The room was barely illuminated by the corner dimly lit lamp that he left on, casting a pale circle of light that reached only as far as the rumpled sheets and the faint outline of his shoulders. Other than that, it was fairly dark. And in that darkness, the silence only tenfold. 

“I thought if I kept my distance, I could stop myself from slipping.” A humorless huff escaped him, muffled against the fabric of your clothes. “But all I did was make you doubt yourself.”

Thankfully, you were facing the wall so you didn’t have to worry about him seeing you when your eyes slipped shut at the feeling of his lips grazing the side of your neck. A soft breath of pleasure left you announcing the goosebumps that trailed your skin.

“I liked you from the moment I saw you,” he confessed, branding every word against your torrid skin. “Long before any of this could touch me. Long before I realized how impossible it would be to stay away.”

His hand slid from your jaw, fingers dragging lightly along your throat before falling onto the pillow beside your head with a muted thud. That allowed you a moment to gather yourself and relearn how to breathe normally. 

“And I keep trying to make sense of it, to slow myself down, to be patient. But every time I tried to step back, I only ended up wanting you more. Wanting you in ways I don’t have the discipline to hide from you anymore,” he went on, voice so low it shivered through you. “If you let me… I’ll learn to love you the way I’ve been wanting to. Without pretending I’m anything other than someone who has completely, helplessly fallen for you.”

Not once did he lift his head up as his confession wrapped around you like gentle phantom arms. If he hadn’t already been holding onto you, you were certain you would have felt his words embracing you anyway. It felt as though if he so much as whispered your name again, your body would answer before your mind could catch up.

The palpitation of your heart, which had been stumbling in its panic moments ago eased into a soothing cadence and no longer ached. So all the shadows you’d been worrying over, all the times you’d read his care as performance — you hadn’t been inventing things, had you?

You tried to turn your head again, only a fraction at first, then fully when he loosened his hold for you to move. Close, he was impossibly close and that closeness was its own illumination. The darkness hid the details of his expression, but for once that didn’t send you spiraling. Whatever you couldn’t see was already laid bare in every word he had given you, saturating the space between you like a lantern lit behind a curtain. It was the light you needed to guide you home. It was the light to guide you to Soobin.

“I wasn’t any better,” you whispered. You rolled onto your side until you were fully facing him, the space between you narrowing to barely a breath. You brushed your hand over the high line of his cheekbone before tracing down to his jaw, following the warmth of his skin until you reached the place where his pulse raced beneath your touch. He leaned into your palm instantly, a shiver running through him as his eyes slid shut for a moment. “I wasn’t trying to be evasive, Soobin. I just… didn’t know how to say any of it without ruining everything.”

You had imagined this in a dozen ways behind your mind, and none of them felt as honest as the version spilling out now; to finally be transparent with yourself and him. You could feel the moment tilt on your confession, and you refused to let it fall the wrong way. 

“I was terrified of misreading you,” you continued. “Terrified of wanting too much. Of wanting you.”

His eyes opened, and in the muted dark they seemed impossibly wide. You could feel the anxiousness and swirling in those dark pupils. You lifted the hand resting at his jaw and slipped it behind his neck, your fingers combing through the soft hair there.

"Some days you were so gentle it felt like you were already mine," you confessed, words catching and softening as the memory of the mountain night slid into place. "When you told me I wasn't clear to you, but you held me like you could read every thought I was too scared to say.” 

Your thumb brushed the spot beneath his ear, feeling the heat rise there. You traced his features in quiet awe. The slope of his nose seemed crafted way too carefully by god. His lips looked impossibly soft. 

“But this morning you wouldn’t even look at me.” you added quietly. “You went back to being untouchable, unreachable, like none of it had happened. I didn’t know what to make of it. I didn’t know if you regretted.It scared me. It made me think I’d imagined all of it.”

His hand slid from your waist to your back, drawing you closer with a hesitance that contradicted the boldness he had shown moments before. “I know,” he whispered. “I know I made it worse. And gods—if I could take back every moment I pretended you didn’t touch every part of my mind, I would. I kept trying to act like you didn’t matter because I didn’t trust myself around you. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. I’ve never had to hold myself back from wanting someone too much.” His voice trembled. “And I didn’t know how to let you see that without making you run.”

Your heart broke a little at that — beautifully and gently.

“Soobin,” you breathed, brushing your nose against his in a gesture that wasn’t planned, just instinct. “I would’ve run toward you.” The admission left you with a soft smile.

A single, shaky laugh escaped him and it was more relief than amusement as he pressed his forehead fully to yours, his lashes brushing your skin with each uneven blink. The sound that left you matched his, two breaths spilling into one space, two people finally realizing they had been circling the same truth from opposite ends.

Then you breathed, letting your truth settle. “But I do want you. I, too, want you in ways I don’t even have the language for yet. And if you’ll have me—not as part of a festival, not as some visitor passing by—I’ll choose you. Every day.”

Your thumb grazed his lower lip, tracing over the tremor that ran through him at your confession. A long exhale shuddered from him, his chest pressing closer into yours as the warmth from his body mingled with yours in a closeness that made the world outside vanish. 

“You have me,” he whispered into your hair, inhaling the same scent that had scattered his thoughts only hours earlier. “You had me from the moment I saw you at the gates.”

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, hiding your smile against his skin. “We should’ve been a bit braver than this.” you laughed softly, lips brushing against the tender skin of his neck.

Soobin exhaled, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your lips. “Then let me make up for it,” he said. “I want to love you in ways that make every wrong step we took feel distant. I want us to forget we ever began in hesitation.”

You looked up at him, finding his gaze waiting for you; open and earnest and no longer guarded. “Then start tonight,” you whispered, brushing a knuckle down the line of his jaw. “Start tonight. Can you?”

The moment the question left you, you felt unnaturally shy under his gaze. For all the bold declarations you had made only minutes ago, this felt different. This was different. His eyes did not hold judgment but rather a depth of affection and longing that you felt your tamed heart broke into a wild sprint again. 

“I-I mean— it’s still the night of the seventh day,” you stammered, your voice cracking around the edges as you tried to backpedal. “So I thought… maybe we should— you know… properly honour Hana and Rangi, since it’s tradition, and we’ve been following tradition this whole time, and—” The words tangled themselves into a knot of mortification. “Oh no,” you groaned, pressing both hands to your burning face before hiding against his chest. “I sound ridiculous. Please let me disappear.”

Soobin’s chest shook beneath your cheek as a low chuckle broke from him, the sound richer, warmer than any laugh he had given you before. His hand slid up your back, his palm spreading over your spine and tracing every dip. “Right,” he murmured into your hair. “I suppose I’m still your guide until dawn, aren’t I?”

Then you felt his hand slide to the back of your neck, his fingertips brushing along your nape before sinking into your hair — slowly at first, reacquainting himself with the texture of you, then with a sudden gentle grip that stole the air from your lungs. It echoed that evening on the mountain so vividly that a soft breathless moan escaped you, the memory folding into the present as he tugged your head back, guiding you into a slow, dizzying arc. Then he drew you in just enough to feel the promise of his mouth brushing yours without quite committing to it. The edges of your lips met in a barely-there ghost of contact that didn’t satisfy so much as ignite.

You inhaled sharply. He shuddered.

You stared at his mouth because you couldn’t not; he stared at yours because he had no restraint left. Your hand slid up the length of his arm, tracing along the tension of it until your fingers curled around the collar of his robes. His breath fanned against your cheek, warm and uneven; yours brushed back against him, the exchange growing more rapid every time he rocked infinitesimally closer.

You didn’t know how long the two of you hovered there, suspended in that endless point between wanting and waiting. The anticipation pushed you to make a soft, helpless sound which was embarrassingly close to a plea. It was small, but it moved through the space between you like a strike.

You thought he was finally going to indulge you when he exhaled deeply through his nose. Instead, he said —

“I won’t cross a line unless you choose otherwise.” His fingers tightened once where they held your hair, a brief press of possession, before he let the grasp loosen and fall away.

Your head spun, desire sliding dizzy and liquid through you. Whatever restraint you had left snapped and you closed the useless, irrelevant distance at once.

His lips were soft against yours, despite the intensity with which he kissed you back. You melted into him, the kiss deep and warm and slow in ways that robbed you of every coherent thought. All the anticipation you’d carried for days poured into that single meeting of mouths.

Your teeth caught his lower lip with a soft insistence and he answered with a low, breathless sound. His hand slid along your jaw, guiding your mouth open under his. He explored you slowly, tracing the shape of your lower lip, then tilted your head with a subtle pressure of his thumb so he could graze the corner of your mouth, tasting the small hitch of breath that escaped you.

His hand drifted from your cheek to the warm expanse of your throat, thumb sweeping along the delicate line beneath your jaw before he guided you backward, easing you onto your back with a care that contrasted the heat of his mouth — gentle where his kiss was hungry, measured where his breathing had begun to break apart. He didn’t cover you with his full weight; instead, he held himself up on one arm beside your head while his body curved toward yours.

You were slipping in and out of consciousness, falling straight into sensation — dizzy with the warmth spreading through you, with his touch, by the way his lips sought yours again and again. It felt so, so good. You wanted to touch him, to feel him under the tips of your fingers. Your hand drifted beneath the edge of his collar, fingertips glancing over the bare stretch of his shoulder. The moment your skin met his, he nearly groaned into your mouth, the sound muffled as his lips faltered and he rested his forehead to your neck. His breath hit the side of your throat, scorching.

Your hands left his skin only long enough to grasp the fabric at his waist, fingers fumbling with the belt of his robe. “Take this off,” you breathed, your back arching when his teeth grazed the tender place just above your collarbone. “Please.”

He exhaled a rough, barely-there sound — agreement and desire all tangled together as he helped you work the knot free. The robe loosened immediately, the front slipping open for your greedy eyes to drink in. Your gaze unabashedly roamed the lines of his torso, the breadth of his chest, the sculpted definition of his abs, every rise and fall of his breathing marked in the subtle motion of muscle under skin.

Your heart thudded so loudly you felt it in your throat when he pushed himself upright, settling fully above you. The robe shrugged off from his shoulders in a single, fluid motion, leaving nothing between your eyes and the slow, controlled flex of his body as he steadied himself.

You reached out before he could lower himself again, your hand finding the heat of his chest. Your palm glided over skin and muscle, tracing the line of him until your fingers reached his nape. You drew him down, capturing his mouth again, your kiss almost feverish with how much you had wanted this. 

Your other hand moved along his back, following the ridges of muscle carved there. The moment your nails pressed into him, his entire body seized with a raw, involuntary shudder. His forehead dropping to your jaw as if the contact burned.

"You’re…"—he kissed the spot beneath your ear—"driving me out of my mind." His lips pressed lower, grazing the line of your neck before fastening there with a slow, claiming pull of his mouth. He breathed you in, chest rising against yours as though you’d taken something vital from him simply by existing beneath his hands. "I’ve imagined this—your hands on me—more times than I should admit."

Every time you exhaled against his mouth, he chased the breath deepening the kiss with a hunger that curled heat low in your stomach, your body arching instinctively to meet him as the tremor running through him found its echo in you. His hands were everywhere — skimmed down your sides, curling around the base of your throat, then splaying across your midriff, as if he couldn’t decide where he needed you most.

“Do you have any idea how many times I almost grabbed you before this?” He pulled away from your lips to speak, letting the both of you catch your breaths. It didn’t last long enough though, for he was back to devouring you in seconds. He moved lower, peppering open mouthed kisses along your skin until he reached the place just beneath the hollow of your throat. “How many times I had to put distance between us just so I wouldn’t pull you behind a wall and do exactly what I’m doing now?”

Your answer never found shape in words because his teeth sank into the supple flesh of the upper side of your breast with consuming devotion that made you break apart in sound instead of words. His mouth left fleeting marks of heat, tracing patterns across you with soft bites and drawn-out kisses that had your fingers sliding into his hair, holding him there, urging him lower when he paused to look at you through half-lidded eyes blown wider with want.

"I don’t want you to stop," you whispered, brushing your lips along the angle of his jaw, guiding him back to your mouth with a soft pull of his hair. Your breath mingled with his as you caught his lower lip between yours. "Don’t walk ahead of me anymore, Soobin.”

His mouth parted yours with slow, intoxicating sweeps of his tongue that made your spine weaken. You moaned into him, fingers curling at the nape of his neck as you let yourself get carried away by the heat of your shared desires. You cursed out breathlessly when his hand slid down your side, following the curve of your waist before gliding over your hip and down your thigh. His fingers wrapped around the flesh there, squeezing. 

“Soobin—more—” your voice broke as your hips lifted in instinctive answer to his touch. You didn’t know what you meant by more but all you knew was that you wanted him in an awful sense. You wanted to sink your fingers into him and imprint yourself on all that he was. You wanted to claim him. 

Soobin’s hand drifted under the hem of your robe where it had ridden high along your thigh, fingertips brushing bare skin — then stopping altogether. Not just his hand but he too completely went still above you. His chest hovered over yours, rising and falling in one halted breath as he stared down at the exposed line of your hip, at the barely concealed expanse beneath the fabric.

Heat crawled up your neck. Right. You hadn’t put anything on underneath.

You snagged your bottom lip between your teeth as you had the urge to rub your thighs together under his gaze. You didn’t know whether to focus on the dark gleam taking over his eyes or the way his hand—those long, veiny fingers that had lived in your fantasies all week—rested so heavily against your thigh. They dwarfed you, framed you. You felt your throat dry up, the swallow you forced sounding loud in your ears.

Soobin’s lips parted slightly, tongue darting out to wet them, flushed from the fever of your kisses. But it was the curl at the corner of his mouth, that slow-dawning, downright filthy smirk, that punched the breath out of your lungs as he flitted his eyes to hold you in place. Neither of you voiced out the fact that you were wearing nothing underneath, but it was evident in the air and in his eyes. 

“What do you want?” he asked you.

Your attention flicked to his hand again that was caressing your skin — how warm it was, how easily it covered your thigh. He followed your gaze, and when his eyes met yours again, you lifted his hand, guiding it toward your lips. He let out a heavy groan, shoulders tensing as you parted your mouth and drew his fingers in.

Heat sparked in his eyes as your tongue curled around the pads of his fingers. “Ah—fuck,” he hissed, hips shifting.

He pressed his fingers deeper, shallowly at first, then until they brushed the back of your tongue, making your lashes flutter. Your grip tightened around his wrist as you breathed through it, the wet heat making his pupils flare. But he didn’t let you indulge further, pulling them from your mouth; a thin line of saliva clung between his fingertips and your lips before breaking. His breath was ragged now, chest rising in quick pulls as he pushed himself upright and settled between your legs.

His fingers — still glossy with your spit — rested against your knee, sliding higher with a slow path as he looked down at you.

“Open up for me,” he said, voice low enough to shiver through your entire body. "Show me what you want.”

You peered up at him, a faint furrow forming between your brows, because for a moment you couldn’t make sense of what he meant. Before confusion could settle, he took your hand in his; his fingers wrapped around yours with a careful slowness, bringing your knuckles to his mouth. The kiss he pressed there was soft but searing. The gesture warmed you in every way possible.

“I’ve been a good guide, haven’t I?” he whispered, voice rasping with need. “I took you everywhere you wanted to go. Now…” his free hand rose to graze over your sternum, feeling the wild push of your heartbeat beneath your robe, “show me where you want me. Let me see exactly how you want to be loved, sweetheart.”

A shudder passed through him as he put your hand against his chest, inviting you to take command while he surrendered willingly. 

Realization crashed over you in a dizzying wave; heat coiled low in your abdomen, spreading outward until your skin prickled with it and made you throb. “Soobin…” his name left you in a breath that barely qualified as sound. 

You wanted to beg him to save you from this torture, wanted to reason with him to take the lead and help yuo but he didn’t so much as nudge you. He just watched. Patient but burning. His gaze traveled from your lips to the nervous rise of your chest, then lower, as if waiting for the moment you acted on the need coursing through you. His restraint only wound you tighter.

Your fingers drifted down, brushing the edges of the robe tied loosely around your waist. Emboldened by the way his focus sharpened, you slipped your hand beneath the overlapping fabric. The belt loosened easily beneath your touch. You drew it from your waist, letting the sash fall to the floor beside the forgotten trail of clothes and discarded inhibitions. Cool air swept over your exposed stomach and hips, brushing your heated skin and sending another rush of goosebumps across your body.

Soobin’s eyes followed every inch revealed to him, but he still didn’t touch. His jaw flexed, though.

You curled your fingers around the parted edges of your robe, hesitating for a heartbeat before drawing them farther apart. The fabric slipped down your sides, baring more of you to the room’s faint lamplight, to him. A faint shiver raced through you as your nipples tightened under the sudden chill, and you let out a trembling sound.

You weren't shy of your nudity. Rather it was the acute awareness that you were so pliant and open before him. It was the state of consciousness that he was only able to watch your ministrations with a singular focus, and it emboldened you further. If you weren't so heady with lust, you would’ve laughed at yourself. Because right now, this — this sense of intimacy, this sense of awareness and adoration made you feel like you had never been touched before and as if this was your first time.

You eased your legs open slowly and his gaze dropped immediately, drawn to the slick sheen between your thighs. You were trembling already with anticipation and that feeling only tenfold when you caught the movement of his bulge strained against the confines of his trousers. The fabric did nothing to hide how hard he was, how close he was to losing the composure he was barely holding on to.

You went so far as to put your hand to your mouth, your tongue darting out to wet the tips of two fingers. It did not have any particular sensation but that wasn’t the point; the thrill came from the fact that he was watching.

You brought your hand down in between your thighs. You already knew what you’d find but the slick heat that greeted your fingers still knocked a soft, broken sound from your lips. You gathered what coated you, dragging it upward in a long sweep over your slit, circling the swollen point of nerve with a pressure that sent electricity shooting up your spine. Your hips twitched toward your hand, your breaths thinning into shallow bursts as you chased the sensation.

But it wasn’t enough. You wanted to feel Soobin inside you.

With his name coming in the form of a broken melody past your lips, you pushed two fingers into your throbbing heat. Your back arched sharply off the futon, your free hand grasping at the sheets as you fingered yourself in a steady rhythm. The squelching wet sounds filled the small space between you, each push of your fingers making your thighs quake, your voice catching in ragged gasps.

Through the haze clouding your vision, you caught sight of him again — knees pressed into the mattress, hands braced at his sides as if otherwise he might break apart. His eyes, dark and blown wide, stayed locked on your face rather than the place your fingers worked into. That look alone made your body tighten around your own touch, more slick gushing out.

“So beautiful,” he breathed, the words barely audible. His hand raked through his hair, pushing it back before falling uselessly to his thigh. His growing bulge was evident, painfully rock hard but he made no effort to move. You saw the strain to keep his breathing even as his chest quivered. 

His eyes were so intense, his energy so overwhelmingly dominant that it was hypnotizing, but at the same time he looked like he was begging and wanting to be able to touch you. You loved the feeling of his eyes on you. You hadn’t felt wanted like this in years. It made the heat turn molten.

The feeling of heat coiling in your abdomen was slowly approaching, and you fastened your pace, chasing the peak that flickered just out of reach. Your cries of gasps rocked your entire body as the swell of your breasts sinfully moved with them. You threw your head back, covering your eyes with your free hand, welcoming the darkness behind your palm because — for a moment — you could pretend it was him touching you, him guiding you up toward the high you were hurtling toward, him whispering your name as you reached it. So close, almost there—

“No. Don’t do that.”

Your undignified cry resonated through the room when Soobin pulled your hand away. You were dazed and disoriented as you peered up at him when he pinned your arm above your head, his body suddenly hovering over yours and heat rolling off him. You barely had a second to breathe before in one quick motion, he replaced the gaping absence in your pussy with his long fingers that elicited a strangled gasp from you.

“Don’t hide from me tonight,” he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek as his fingers curled deliriously against your sweet spot that had you seeing stars. “Whatever you want—let me see it. Let me learn you,” he breathed, brushing his lips along your jaw as his fingers pumped faster, “the way you’ve been learning me.”

It felt so good. Your teeth sank into your lower lip as a shudder tore through you, your head buzzed with unfathomable ecstasy at the feeling of his long, thick fingers massaging your walls. He repeatedly stroked that spot inside of you, rubbing it and fucking his finger into you as if imagining it was his cock encased in you instead. You twisted beneath him, gasping, helpless to stop the way your body responded to him, clenching around him like you were trying to pull him deeper.

“Soobin—” The sound of his name slid out of you in a broken whisper, your breath stuttering as your hips jerked to meet his hand. “I’m— I’m almost—”

He dropped his head, hot mouth brushing the top of your aroused breast, and then he closed his lips around your nipple sucking harshly. The wet heat of his tongue swept over your skin, circling the sensitive bud before he drew it deeper into his mouth, his teeth grazing lightly as though he wanted to mark you there too. His fingers never slowed — not for a second — plunging into you in deep thrusts while his thumb pressed against your clit in firm, dizzying strokes.

It was too much — his mouth, his hand, the weight of him above you, the need in his voice, the heat curling mercilessly inside you. Your spine bowed off the bed as you choked on a gasp, eyes falling shut as the feeling surged, rising fast, flooding your limbs with sparks that made your toes curl. You clamped your thighs around his hand as the orgasm finally hit, crashing over you in a sharp, consuming wave that stole your breath and left you moaning his name as though you were offering it to him. 

Finally, when your legs stopped shaking and the last tremor eased from your thighs, you dragged in a breath that felt thick enough to taste, your chest rising as you forced your eyes open, heavy-lidded and hazy from the force of the climax he had wrung out of you. The sinful sight of him wrapping his lips around his fingers, licking and sucking off your arousal from them hit you with a fresh surge of heat that made you clench around nothing. You watched, unable to summon even the will to blink.

You shuddered with one last aftershock of your orgasm as you pushed up onto an elbow and reached for him. Your palm cupped his jaw, warm and slightly damp from sweat, eager to kiss him again. This time, he allowed it to be soft. You tasted yourself on his tongue and a quiet sigh escaped you into his mouth as your fingers threaded upward into his hair, urging him closer.

Cupping his hard length over his underwear had his breath hitching. He pulled away from you, whimpering, as his hips jerked minutely into your touch. And that had you looking at him in awe. How could you not let your hand wander when he sounded like that?

You rubbed your thumb over the damp patch spreading through the fabric, circling over the swollen shape of his cockhead beneath the barrier, teasing him until the faint twitch beneath your palm turned into an unmistakable throb. You couldn’t wait any longer, tugging on the waistband to help him discard of that stupid fucking barrier. His cock sprang free, slapping lightly against his abdomen, flushed and slick at the tip where precum had already gathered.

For a beat, you didn't move, eyes going slightly wide at his size. He was big — far bigger than the vague guesses you had pieced together in your imagination and for a moment the sight alone overwhelmed your senses with lust. Your fingers hovered above him, then curled inward slightly as you whispered, "Can I… touch you like this?" The question unexpectedly shy despite everything he'd already seen, already done.

But Soobin did not respond, eyes looked almost glazed, pupils blown wide as if he’d stepped into a haze. He captured your lips again in a searing kiss, his hand curling around the back of your neck as he pressed you down onto the futon again. You let out a soft moan into his mouth, your legs instinctively parting for him as he shifted above you.

Before he could pin you fully, you twisted your hips, hooked your thighs around his waist, and with a sharp push, toppled him onto his back. The surprised sound that tore from his throat shot straight through you, and you climbed over him, straddling his hips as you planted a hand on his chest to keep him in place. His fingers flexed on your thighs, he looked up at you with a gaze that shimmered with want, lips parted as if he couldn’t decide whether to breathe or beg.

You wanted to tip the scales, you wanted to find some semblance of control in the situation. You stared down at him with a heated expression, basking in the grunts and groans he spilled for you as you slowly rubbed your soaked folds over the rigid length of his cock, coating him in your slick. The more he reacted, the bolder you became, replacing the slow, teasing roll of your hips with your hand as you wrapped your fingers around his heated shaft, stroking him languidly.

Soobin gave you sweet noises of pleasure as you stroked him slowly. When his hands settled on your hips, fingers digging into them as his scrunched brow stared at you pleadingly, you granted him the permission he wordlessly sought. You lifted yourself onto your knees as you guided him by the base of his cock, rubbing the tip against your sopping slit, his arousal mixing with your own.

Soobin panted at the mere entrance of his swollen tip through your slick entrance. He watched you through heavy lashes as you sank slowly onto him; his throat worked around a swallow when the first inch disappeared inside you, then another, your body yielding to him with intoxicating ease. The sound he made when you took him deeper was ragged, his head falling back into the futon as he fought for air. The sight of his broad chest rising and falling beneath you, the veins along his neck standing out as he strained against the overwhelming pulse of pleasure, made you clench around him, drawing another broken exhale from him.

You pushed down until you felt the faint resistance of your bodies meeting, his cock filling you to the hilt and coaxing a fervent moan out of you. The enclosed space echoed with the slick, obscene sounds of your bodies fitting together — every slow grind, every subtle shift, every breath-trembling descent punctuated by a wet, intoxicating sound that made your head swim. You bit your lip as you grinded on him, feeling his length throb deep inside you. This position let you take soobin as deeply as humanly possible.

“Are you alright?” His hands slid from your hips to your waist, then higher, thumbs stroking faint circles against your skin as he forced himself to breathe through the intensity.

“Feels incredible,” you whispered, your voice catching on a tremor as your walls fluttered around him. “You—God, Soobin, you feel so deep… I can barely think.”

It took you a moment to adjust, but the second you did, your palm slid back against the dense muscle of his thigh while the other pressed to the warm plane of his abdomen, using the taut rise and fall of his breath as your anchor to rise and fall on him with growing urgency. His cock dragged along your insides in a way that felt almost illicit, grazing every tender place with a fullness that bordered on unbearable, the faintest edge of a sting dissolving instantly beneath the volcanic rush of pleasure that rolled through your limbs until your bones felt molten.

Your breath came out in hot puffs as you moved over him. One side of your robe slipped down your shoulder entirely, each bounce sent your breasts swaying in a way that made Soobin’s gaze snap upward, his pupils blown wide as he watched how the dim lamplight fell directly on the sheen of sweat glistening across your chest and collarbones. He thought that was the most gorgeous scene he had ever seen. 

You tried to keep yourself upright but after every rise and fall your climax crept closer. It's almost too good how his cock pressed into your deepest parts, the drag of his tip making you want to slump over and succumb to the blinding pleasure. You fought it until your head finally dropped forward, hair falling around your face as a broken sound spilled from your lips. When you lifted your gaze through your haze of panting need, you found him staring right back.

“Please.”

The word tumbled out of you, small and ruined, your hand sliding helplessly up his abdomen.

That was all he needed from you to swiftly change the position. You were now underneath him, his entire frame pressed close to you and caging you. Naked chest to chest, his arms around your head and you cupped his jaw with trembling fingers, pulling him into a kiss so deep and wet it made you gasp against his tongue as he began to thrust into you with a force that drew a sound from your throat you’d never made before.

His cock slid wetly, messily in and out of your soft and needy pussy. He sounded as if he hadn’t been touched in ages, it was as if he was in awe of what he felt. You wrapped your hands around the sides of his neck, your thumbs brushing up the column of his throat, letting him move your body exactly how he wanted, trusting he will give you what you need. And gods, he gave you everything you needed — stretching your soft walls around him, finding every weakened place inside you that throbbed for more, urging your body to yield to him again and again.

Then suddenly he was deeper — so devastatingly deep that your eyes fluttered shut. “Soobin—” Your voice cracked beautifully around it.

He tried to kiss you, but he couldn't, his mouth simply looming over yours in its parted position as he echoed his moans into you and let his saliva-coated lips graze over you. 

“The thought of some other man guiding you,” he rasped, breaking the words against your lips, “the possibility of someone else touching you… watching you fall apart like this under them—” His voice cracked, his next thrust punctuating his frustration. “The idea of anyone taking my place here—” his forehead pressed to yours with a shaky exhale, “—I can’t stand it.”

You moans were wanton and feverish as you stared up at him with wide eyes and scrunched eyebrows. Your hands fumbling to hold onto his back, nails dragging angry red lines down his skin. You clung to him as that dizzying rush began to crest inside you, your vision blurring as your second orgasm slammed into you with blinding intensity. Your body seized around him, trembling, your walls fluttering helplessly as pleasure washed you out.

“So—fuck—” His voice broke entirely as your body gripped him. It made his rhythm turn sloppy and his groans splitting into little whimpers that escaped his lips.

You barely registered he was speaking until he repeated himself, breath hot against your cheek. “Where do you want it?”

You blinked slowly, vision soft and hazy, taking in the flushed swell of his cheeks, the dazed part of his mouth, the absolute wreckage in his eyes. You wanted to remember him like this forever. Instead of answering, you let your tongue slip out over your lower lip, opening your mouth in silent invitation.

A choked sound tore from him as he muttered a curse right against your jaw. “You’re—god—” He swallowed hard, eyes squeezing shut for a beat as he pulled out in one quick, shaky motion. He rose onto his knees above you, hand wrapping around the base of his cock as he stroked himself with frantic need. “Fucking perfect,” he breathed, gaze locked onto your open mouth.

You held his stare as he came, hot and shuddering, thick ropes spilling onto your tongue and lips. You made sure to get every last drop, licking your lips slowly and swallowing with your eyes pinned directly to his. The action made your spent body tighten around nothing as you dripped down on the sheets.

The room hummed with lingering warmth as both of you fought for breath. Soobin hovered above you for a moment, eyes wide as though replaying the sensation of your shared closeness in his mind with an intensity that made his lips twitch into a small, almost bashful smile. Your chest heaved as you stared up at him with the same smile from where you laid. He lowered himself beside you with a quiet exhale before running a hand down the path of your spine when you turned to face him on your side. You let yourself be pulled into his warm embrace as he draped the blankets over your bodies.

For many minutes, you two basked in the blissful silence. You listened to his breathing while he traced absentminded patterns across your back. Soobin shifted only enough to cup the back of your head, his fingers sliding through your hair in slow strokes that made your muscles relax one by one. He dipped forward to press a kiss to your forehead and you felt your shoulders melt as you released a faint sigh against his collarbone.

“Are you alright?” His hand traveled down your spine in a loose trail before settling at your waist, keeping you tucked against him.

You tipped your head back just enough to catch his eyes, a drowsy smile curving your lips as you brushed your fingertips along the faint marks you’d left on his neck. “I’m more than alright,” you murmured, the words curling out on a breath that sounded like laughter. “What about you?”

He chuckled then leaned in, brushing a kiss along the corner of your mouth and letting it travel lazily across your lips. “If this is what nearly falling apart feels like, I’m not complaining.” Another kiss, his hold eased your hand up until your palm rested against the steady thrum of his heart. "Feel that? Feel how hard it’s still racing for you. I want you to know, even now, how much of me is yours."

Oh dear, how were you going to survive this man? He’s already making you fall even harder for him. You knew it wouldn’t take you much longer to love him. You closed your eyes, nuzzling into the space between his shoulder and throat as your voice warmed. "This is not fair," you muttered before pressing a tiny kiss to his collarbone. “How did you expect me not to like you when you’re this cute?”

He laughed, the sound a mixture of exasperation and fondness, and tipped his head to press a kiss along your hairline. "I don’t expect anything," he said. "Except maybe that you’ll keep letting me get lost in you like this. I promised you that I’ll love you so much, didn't i?”

You lifted your gaze to meet his, your fingers brushing across the smooth line of his jaw. "Then I guess we’re even," you murmured, eyes softening.

His hand was warm over yours as you felt his heartbeat. "Everything we just shared, all of this," he began, "doesn’t vanish with the dawn. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about us, about what comes next, about everything we’re going to do together. You don’t have to wonder."

“Tomorrow,” you echoed against his lips. “We’ll figure it all out tomorrow.” You curled into his chest again, your arm loosening around his waist as he adjusted the blankets more snugly around you both. “Right now I just want to stay exactly where I am.”

“This,” he continued as sleep slowly pulled you in, letting the word stretch between you like a promise, “this is yours to lead as much as it is mine to follow.”

At that moment, it dawned on you that coming here had been worth everything. You would leave not only with the memory of a once-in-a-decade lantern festival, you would leave carrying so much more.

When you leave, Choi Soobin will not be a fleeting memory of this place.

He would be the one stepping into the days ahead with you.

THE END.

Taglist; @bambiihee @xylatox @hoefororeo @i-like-to-read-at-4am @caratcakemoa @90steele @cen116 @i-am-not-dal @bamgeutori @nanilis @sunooqvrlsx @izzyy-recs @fancypeacepersona @littlemoasoobin @r1hanna123 @bamtoriui @vamppgojo @soobinz-wife @yystarz @stargirllost @virtaideen @usuallyunlikelyfox @mojicatfatsposts @tyunstarz @gyutaepie @ningeom @slutfornagi @beomgyusluver @jaegerbombin @chbq2 @bunniwords @wonderstrucktae @seonghwasprincess @yeonyeonyeonjun @luvforlix @arianacraze @neonaby @purrplegyuu @petulapetula @soohashits @chocomoas @beomelmyu @thearchersupremacy @starry-eyed-moa @charlottevlog @dearjiwon @mondayyfri @lunarlaina @friedneuron @jaehmarks @katsukis1wife @rainyjeno

[soulofapatrick]

Sleep, I've Got You - Liam Mairi x Female Reader

Summary: you haven't slept in two weeks and two people are pushing you to seek Liam's help

Warnings: none

Words: 2.3k

Y/N's POV

The training room is filled with quiet conversation, but I linger in the doorway, unnoticed. Violet is stretched out on the floor with a book in hand, Bodhi and Garrick are watching Ridoc and Sawyer debating something trivial. Liam is just listening along, breathing air through his nose  when either of the goofs say something even more ridiculous than the other but he’s fiddling with a dagger in his hand. Xaden is in the corner, brooding as usual, his dark eyes occasionally flicking up to meet mine before drifting away. 

“Go to him.” Draighanmúr’s, or Draighan as I call him, voice rumbles in the back of my mind, firm and gentle. His presence is soothing, as always, but his suggestion catches me off guard, feeling his silent urge for me to move from where I’m still hovering in the doorway. He doesn’t say who the ‘him’ is but I know exactly who he is on about. 

I shouldn’t be here. My body is heavy with exhaustion, my thoughts fogged by the lack of sleep that’s haunted me for days. I know I should turn around and head back to the dorms, crawl into bed and pull the duvet over my head and try to get a single wink of sleep. Something, or someone, keeps me rooted in place, Xaden’s eyes flicking over to mine again once more before he goes back to brooding. 

The shadows around me seem to come to life, curling around my ankles like tendrils, their touch cold and almost tangible. There’s a light pressure at the back of my legs, an insistent nudge that makes me take a wobbly step forwards. My breath catching in my throat as I realise what’s happening—these aren’t just ordinary shadows. They’re Xaden’s. 

I glare at my wingleader instinctively, annoyance flickering in my chest. He’s the only one who could be doing this, the one manipulating the shadows to push me out of the safety of the darkness where I’ve been hiding. His eyes meet mine briefly, and there’s a knowing look in them, an acknowledgment of what he’s doing. He doesn’t say anything, though, just tilts his head slightly as if to say, You know this is for your own good.

Draighan chuffs in the back of my mind as if agreeing with Xaden’s silent comment, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and agreement as he tells me You need rest, and you know who can give it to you. His presence is warm, comforting, but it doesn’t take away the frustration bubbling inside me. Xaden and Draighan unknowingly conspiring against me. 

With a resigned sigh, I continue to shuffle forwards, my movements somewhat sluggish and uncertain—things you don’t want for a dragon rider. Every step feels heavier than the last, and I hesitate again, my body instinctively trying to resit the pull. But I can feel Xaden’s eyes boring holes into the side of my head, a silent pressure that refuses to elm me retreat. It’s as if his gaze alone is propelling my forwards, leaving me no choice but to keep moving until I find myself standing next to the group of boys. 

Ridoc glances up at me, a mischievous grin on his face which would have me worried if it were anyone else but Ridoc as he asks, “You joining us?” His tone is light, but there’s genuine curiosity in his eyes, like he’s surprised I’ve wandered over to them and not Violet. 

I just nod, the motion feeling more like a reflex than a conscious decision. Without saying a word, I sink down the wall, near Sawyer and a few steps away from Liam, close enough to feel the warmth of Liam’s presence but far enough that I don’t feel complexly exposed. 

The golden evening light streams into the training room, casting a warm, ethereal glow over everything it touches. Liam sits bathed in that light, his soft light-blond hair catching the glow, making him look almost ethereal. His tall, muscular frame, as built as Dain, is relaxed as he fiddles with a dagger, the blade catching the light as it twirls effortlessly between his fingers. His blue eyes are focused on the conversation, a soft, thoughtful expression on his face as he listens to the banter around him. There’s a rugged handsomeness to him, emphasised by the prominent nose and the sprawling rebellion relic that begins at his wrist and disappears under the sleeve of his tunic. When he smiles, a dimple appears, adding a touch of warmth to his otherwise stoic demeanour.

My heart tightens in my chest as I watch him. He looks like he belongs in this light, like the strength and calmness of it are just extensions of who he is. There’s a quiet confidence about him that draws me in, and I can’t help but feel my crush on him swell, massive and overwhelming. I’m head over heels for him, and it’s a feeling that terrifies me as much as it thrills me. 

Draighan’s presence in my mind is a steady, reassuring hum, bolstering my resolve. I scoot closer to Liam, my movements slow and deliberate as I inch toward him. My heart races as I reach out, nudging his right arm from his lap. He looks down at me, a hint of surprise in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything as I lay my head down where his arm once rested.

I tense, my whole body stiffening in anticipation of some kind of backlash or teasing comment. I’m ready for Ridoc’s sharp wit, for Sawyer’s playful jabs, or even for Liam to shift uncomfortably and pull away. But none of that happens. Instead, there’s a beat of silence, and then I feel Liam’s hand find its way into my hair. His fingers are gentle, tentative at first, before they start to move in slow, soothing strokes.

Liam's fingers begin to move through my hair, the touch light and careful, as though he’s afraid of hurting me. He smooths out the knots with practiced ease, each motion gentle yet firm. The tension I’ve been holding in my scalp and neck gradually starts to dissolve under his deft touch, the soothing strokes lulling me into a state of relaxation I haven’t felt in days.

As his hand continues to comb through my hair, he leans forward slightly, tilting my head to the side so that our eyes meet. His blue eyes, usually so sharp and alert, soften as they take in the exhaustion written across my face. There’s a quiet understanding in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of how tired I am, how much I need this moment of comfort.

“You’re exhausted,” he murmurs softly, his voice low and tender. “Sleep.”

The warmth in his tone wraps around me like a blanket, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the noise of the room, the worries in my mind. It’s just him, his voice, and the steady rhythm of his fingers in my hair. He lets go of my face, leaning back against the wall as he continues his soothing ministrations. Before he settles, though, his fingers briefly brush against my cheek, a tender gesture that sends a warmth spreading through my chest. Then, his hand returns to my hair, the steady, rhythmic strokes coaxing me closer to the edge of sleep.

As I begin to drift, I catch Ridoc’s eyes from across the room. He’s been watching quietly, his playful demeanour momentarily subdued. He mouths a single word at me, a question: Nightmares?

I nod once, softly, the motion barely perceptible. It’s all I can manage in my state of exhaustion, but it’s enough. Ridoc’s gaze softens in understanding before he turns back to his banter with Sawyer, Bodhi, and Garrick, picking up the conversation where he left off.

The world around me fades into the background as Liam’s fingers continue to move through my hair, the gentle rhythm pulling me closer to sleep. Draighan’s presence hums softly in the back of my mind, a comforting reminder that I’m safe, that I can finally let go. My breathing slows, and before long, I succumb to the exhaustion, my body sinking into the warmth and comfort of Liam’s lap.

————

I slowly drift back into consciousness, the heaviness of sleep gradually lifting as awareness returns. The first thing I notice is the softness beneath my head—a pillow, not the comforting firmness of Liam’s lap where I last remember resting. I shift slightly, feeling the warmth of a blanket draped over me, its weight soothing against the cool air of the room. There’s another weight too, heavier and more solid, resting across my waist. It takes me a moment to realize it’s an arm, strong and steady, holding me close.

I blink, my eyes adjusting to the dim light in the room. The training room is gone, replaced by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through a small window. The familiar scent of leather and something distinctly Liam fills my senses, grounding me as I take in my surroundings. I’m not in the dorms, not in my own bed. My heart skips a beat as the realisation sinks in—I’m in Liam’s bed.

I take a slow, deep breath, feeling the rise and fall of the warm body behind me. His presence is solid, comforting, and undeniably familiar. The heat of his body seeps into my back, and for a moment, I just lie there, processing the unexpected but welcome reality of where I am.

Carefully, I roll over, shifting beneath the weight of his arm until I’m facing him. The room is quiet, the only sounds being the soft rustle of the blanket and the steady rhythm of Liam’s breathing. My eyes trace his features, relaxed and peaceful in sleep. His spiky blond hair is tousled, a few strands falling across his forehead. His sharp, blue eyes are hidden behind closed lids, their intensity softened by the calmness of slumber. His prominent nose and the faint shadow of stubble on his jawline give him a rugged look, but there’s a gentleness to him now, a vulnerability that makes my heart ache.

As I lie there, taking in every detail of Liam's serene face, I feel an overwhelming tenderness swell in my chest. His usually intense blue eyes are softened by sleep, his features relaxed in a way I rarely get to see. I can’t help myself—I lean in and press a gentle kiss to his jawline, just where the faint shadow of stubble begins. His skin is warm and slightly rough beneath my lips, the contact filling me with a quiet sense of intimacy.

The soft press of my lips causes him to stir, his brow furrowing slightly before his eyes slowly flutter open. For a moment, he looks disoriented, but then his gaze finds mine, and a slow, sleepy smile spreads across his face, the dimple in his cheek deepening.

"How'd you sleep?" he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

I begin to answer, my voice still soft and laced with the remnants of sleep, "Better than I have in days—" But before I can finish, I notice his eyes flick down to my lips, lingering there for just a heartbeat before he moves.

In a fluid motion, Liam closes the small distance between us, capturing my lips in a kiss that feels like the culmination of something we’ve both been wanting for far too long. His lips are warm and firm against mine, moving with a gentle urgency that takes my breath away. His hand, still resting on my waist, tightens slightly, pulling me closer as if he needs to make sure I’m real, that this moment is real.

The kiss is slow and tender, but there’s a depth to it that speaks of unspoken emotions, of the comfort we find in each other. His thumb brushes over my cheek as he deepens the kiss, his touch both loving and reverent. I lose myself in the sensation, in the way his lips mold perfectly to mine, in the way his warmth seeps into every corner of my being. It feels like coming home, like finding a piece of myself I didn’t know was missing.

When we finally part, it’s with a shared breath, both of us a little dazed but undeniably content. His forehead rests gently against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us.

"Maybe we should get a little more sleep," he whispers, his voice a soft murmur that makes my heart flutter. There’s a hint of a smile in his voice, one that I can’t help but return.

"Yeah," I agree, my own voice barely more than a sigh as I shift closer, tucking myself against his bare chest. The steady beat of his heart beneath my ear is a comforting rhythm, lulling me back toward sleep. His arm wraps securely around me, holding me close as his other hand continues its soothing motions, tracing gentle patterns along my back.

As I drift off, the warmth of his body enveloping me and the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath my head, I feel an overwhelming sense of peace. With Liam holding me close, sleep comes easily, and I let myself surrender to it, knowing that for now, everything is exactly as it should be.

Fourth Wing Masterlist - To be made Comment to be added to tag list

[bvrnesher]

*sniff, sniff*

i'm so in love with this man (he’s fictional)

[zerocoded-deactivated20251024]

✧ soobin on his monthly day off wanting to be dragged around by his pretty girlfriend ◞ drabble

1286 ━━━━━ idol!soobin x fem!reader

۶ৎ 𝓜 , quick pretend y'all are surprised with me posting a soobin drabble. he's my bias ok don't judge. this is me tragically wanting to smother leader soobin from his duties and take care of very tall independent men <3

1286 soobin tall boyfriend agenda, size difference (?), very cuddly, very fluffy, he wants to be led and i'll gladly guide him okie.

he knocks like a guilty raccoon.

three soft taps, a pause, then his forehead thuds gently against your door like he’s trying to headbutt his problems out of existence. when you open, there’s choi soobin: cap pulled low, mask half-on, half-off, hoodie big enough to moonlight as a studio apartment. he blinks down at you like a very tall, very sleepy deer and whispers, “i have defected.”

“from what?” you ask, stepping aside.

“from childcare,” he says, kicking off his shoes with a sigh that seems to exit his toes. “txt are four certified toddlers and i am tired of being the leader.” he drops his backpack (it makes a cartoon thump) and immediately folds his entire body over you like you’re the charging dock for a life-size action figure. arms around your shoulders, chin on your head, his weight warm and heavy and exactly what your spine signed up for. “hide me.”

you pat his ribs. “you’re six-foot-forever, how am i supposed to hide you?”

“you’re tiny, you’re efficient,” he mumbles into your hair. “we can… fold me.”

“like laundry?”

“exactly,” he says, very serious, then adds, muffled, “you smell good. i’m staying.”

he shuffles in, locks the door, and instantly sheds “leader choi” like a snake skin. he’s just soobin now: mismatched socks, glasses from the depths of his hoodie pocket, hair smashed into a shape physics hasn’t named. he beelines for your couch and then realizes your couch is, tragically, smaller than his limbs. he attempts to arrange himself. fails. tries again. fails with flair. finally decides the only solution is to drag you down with him, which he does, catching your wrist and pulling until you’re sprawled across his chest like a weighted blanket he ordered same-day.

“mission critical,” he says, eyes slipping shut. “smother me.”

“you say that like i don’t do it for free.”

“mm.” he smiles, soft and crooked. “best benefit of this job.”

you card your fingers through his hair and he makes that content little noise that is not technically a purr but you’re also not not calling it a purr. his hands, big and a little cold, wander like they have a homing beacon: one on your hip, one at the back of your neck. “tell me everything,” you prompt, because you know he wants to be dramatic.

“okay,” he says, with the gravity of a man beginning a memoir. “today i said ‘focus’ fourteen times. i said ‘please’ seven times. i said ‘guys…’”—he trails off into a sigh that contains the spirit of every exasperated teacher who has ever lived—“endless times. i broke up three fake arguments, one real onesie debate, and i confiscated a stress ball. from myself.”

“oh no,” you say, appropriately scandalized. “a menace.”

he nods. “they’re talented. they’re hilarious. they’re my whole heart. but also,” he leans in, eyes wide and deadpan, “children.”

you kiss his cheek, the corner of his mouth, the line of his jaw. he accepts each one with the solemnity of a medal ceremony. “and what are you?”

“retired,” he says. “for twenty-four hours i am boyfriend soobin only. i have clocked out of leadership. no decisions.” he takes your hand and lays it on his chest, exaggerated serious. “you are in charge.”

“bad plan,” you say, but you’re already moving to fix the one problem you will take leadership of: snacks. you try to stand; the human koala tightens. “soob.”

“no.”

“soob, let me—”

“nooo.” he drags the word like a whine through a tunnel, then peeks one eye open. “bring the snacks to me,” he suggests, extremely helpful.

“you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“i am tall,” he counters, like that’s a coupon. “top shelf privileges. trade offer: i get your jars, you get my hug.”

“done.” you wriggle free with great ceremony (he sighs like you’ve taken a vital organ) and assemble the essentials: fruit, ramyeon, a scary amount of chips, two yogurt drinks because balance. when you return, he is in the exact same koala position, arms open, eyes hopeful. you deposit the bowl; he points at the spot on his chest like a very large cat asking to be sat on. you oblige. he hums. “perfect. today’s schedule: cuddle, eat, mock the boys lovingly, maybe nap, then more cuddle.”

“bold of you to assume i won’t do a face mask on you.”

“i accept my fate,” he says immediately. “make me dewy.”

you queue up a movie and he lasts, generously, eleven minutes. his commentary—“wow, that’s a terrible plan, he should… nap”—fades into soft breathing. you tilt your head back to look up at him because that’s the geometry of you two: him, all ceiling and horizon; you, comfortably in his shade. eyelashes heavy, mouth soft, his hand occasionally twitching like he’s dreaming of drumming patterns on your spine. the size difference is comical in a way that makes your heart feel huge—your knees are on either side of his hip, his hoodie swallows you both, and his legs still manage to spill off the couch like they needed their own couch.

you slide a sheet mask onto his face when he stirs. he blinks, cross-eyed at the dampness, and then starts giggling. not laughing—giggling—the way he does when he’s tired and unguarded, shoulders hunching, the sound bubbling up like soda. “i look like a ghost,” he says, gleeful. “boo.”

“you’re the least scary haunted house.”

“i will haunt you cutely,” he vows, clutching you closer for emphasis. “ooh. cold. nice.”

the door buzzes once (someone in the hall). soobin flinches like a startled rabbit, then clutches you even tighter, whispering, “shh, they can’t know i’m here. if anyone asks, i’m a decorative pillow.”

“a very loud, very clingy pillow.”

“limited edition.” he nuzzles your hairline. “only available on my day off.”

later, he wakes long enough to insist on doing a “boyfriend chore.” he stands, stretches (you swear the room tilts), and reaches your top shelf without even getting on his toes. he brings down a jar with the gravitas of a firefighter carrying a child. “see?” he says, proud and a little smug. “useful.”

“infinite reach,” you agree, poking his stomach. “crane machine boyfriend.”

he makes ramyeon like it’s a secret family recipe and then eats half of yours with zero shame. he tries on your slippers and nearly breaks an ankle. he attempts to carry you bridal style to the bedroom and bumps your head on the doorframe, apologizing dramatically for five full minutes, forehead pressed to yours like recharging you with regret. you forgive him on a payment plan of kisses. he overpays.

in bed, he starfishes and then remembers he brought his clinginess with him. you end up tucked under his arm, one leg thrown over his, your hand splayed across his chest. his thumb rubs absent circles at your shoulder; his breathing evens. “hey,” he murmurs into the dark, voice soft and honest in the way it only gets when the world is far away. “thank you for… letting me be small.”

you laugh into his hoodie. “you’re literally a skyscraper.”

“on the outside,” he says, squeezing you once. “inside i am a normal-sized nerd who needed to run away and be smothered.”

“and clung to.”

“mm.” a kiss lands at your hairline. “and very, very clung to.”

you fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, steady and close, his arm heavy and safe. leader choi will come back tomorrow. the kids will be chaos; he’ll love them like the moon loves the tide. but tonight he’s just your silly, nerdy, goofy, weird, too-tall boyfriend who defected to your couch, clocked out of responsibility, and clocked in to being held.

۶ৎ , i didn't know how to name this so i came with this long ass name. this is canon soobin btw, he told me. if you like drabbles like this, check out our net @onedreamnet <3

TAGLIST ━━━━━ @jun2ki @sosaphiee @tojiworshipper @kikidoul @in-somnias-world @nestarasikila @onlyywwon @sungheewife @page-yerin @1009high @hoonstrology

[thehighladywrites]

med student azriel teaches you about anatomy ᝰ

nerdy shy med student azriel teaching you anatomy by fingering you and explaining everything like the little itty bitty nerd he is. you’re just writhing beneath him, going cross-eyed as he abuses your g-spot.

“Technically, this should… work, i mean— you should feel pleasure,” he murmured, half to himself, half to you. He was looking up at you with a blushy, shy expression as his fingers expertly pumped in and out.

“um, so, now i’m stimulating a point called the Gräfenberg spot, or g-spot.” he explained when you couldn’t talk back properly, all moany and fuzzy-brained.

“It refers to a erogenous area on the anterior vaginal wall and it typically makes women feel copious amounts of pleasure.” Azriel’s voice trembled a little as he adjusted his glasses.

“And if I put my thumb right here and rub,” he murmured, hesitating just a second as though double-checking a mental diagram, “you’ll feel even more… pleasure.”

He swallowed, eyes flicking up nervously before he continued, his voice trembling between curiosity and awe. “It’s called the clitoris. It has over eight thousand nerve endings — more than anywhere else on the female human body. It’s… actually the only organ made solely for pleasure.”

When he looked up once again, his face was bright red, pupils blown out and brows knotted in concentration. “Does it… feel good?” he swallowed hard, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth.

[fudgypapaya]

The way my hatred for people automatically increases when they leave u on seen or reply late

[fudgypapaya]

Hate group projects with burning passion. Find 4 more people, sir some of us are not on the top of people's preference list

[fudgypapaya]

The place i want a job doesnt want me the place i dont want a job at, also doesnt want me

[fudgypapaya]

I expect the worst , the worst happens, i expect the best , still worst happens i feel so tired

[fudgypapaya]

Me getting rejected at a shitty place. I will get job at better place. Better place does not want me

[fudgypapaya]

Firm said give next round of interview 🥹🥹🥹

[fudgypapaya]

I got job. I am employed