୨୧ synopsis. hearing rumours of your sex life travel around your campus for the first time has you standing in front of the very person that you’re convinced is responsible. your secret fuck buddy.
୨୧ warnings. stoner!gyu, bratty sub!beomgyu, mean femdom, humiliation kink, VERY public, hair pulling, hate sex kind of, cunnilingus, use of pet, fuck buddies, reader has a priest dad, bit of a toxic dynamic
“Why’re you here?” he mumbles casting his eyes down to his feet as he idly skates around, not paying you even a little bit of eye contact or actual acknowledgement.
“Can we talk somewhere else? More private?”
He ignores you.
You huff, rolling your eyes, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. The sun had already set, there were even less people out—no one was skating around at this hour but Beomgyu. “Why—" you take a breath, already feeling yourself get emotional and angry, “Why did you go around telling people about us?”
There’s a few reasons circling your head. Attention, bragging rights—attention was a big one but you hoped, no, a part of you believes it was an accident. That he let the information slip from his lips when he was drunk, or out of his right mind. But with the way he’s acting, it’s getting harder to hold on to the belief that Beomgyu was misunderstood and not just a fucking asshole.
Too much time goes by with silence and you think hes blatantly ignoring you again, but then he halts his skating, taking the time to run a hand through his hair. Hair that you’ve regretfully played with days on end, twirling strands around your finger, giggling as if the foundation you’ve built your relationship on wasn’t such a fragile fire that could be snuffed out in seconds if not the tiniest bit careful.
Look where you are now.
“Dunno, ‘cuz I can.”
His eyes are on you, bangs parted, looking straight at you. You can’t get it out of your mind, how the ends of his lips twitched up as he said that. Bitch. Fucking bitch.
He finds this amusing. A game. Your reputation was a game to him. Of course it is. He never took anything serious, not his career, not his relationships, not his future—he never cared.
Your nostrils flare as you stomp large strides towards him, charging and shoving his chest, having him stumble backwards off his board, dryly laughing. “The goody two shoes about to commit an assault?”
“Oh fuck off, you wouldn’t dare try suing me. God, I hate you so much. You’re such a—such a fucking loser!” you yell.
That wiped off the cocky demeanour.
“Here’s some two cents for you, I couldn’t give less of a fuck about whatever this is between us. I really couldn’t. But you—” your face gets heated up, pointing a finger at him. “You will never find anything better than what I gave you. And you’re going to live with that.”
He scoffs like he’s unbothered but it’s so clear with the way he clenches his jaw afterwards he’s pissed—it hit a spot. Good. Good, let him be hurt.
“What do you even—what did you gain by telling everybody my sex life? Having people call me a slut? Some sick pleasure from being superior to me for once? Attention? Huh? Why’re you acting out now?” Your eyes are narrowed as they implore answers out of him, searching his face and eyes, anything, anything that you can read from his unbearable silence.
“Yeah.”
You blink confused. “What?”
“Yeah, I wanted the attention. Happy now?” He walks to shoulder you but you let out a scoff, holding him back by his arm and pushing him in front of you again.
“You can’t for one second act like a man can you? You just run away from everything!” you feel like you could rip out your hair with how frustrating hes being.
“If you’re just going to stand there and insult me like a bitch I might as well just go and do something fucking productive.” he spits.
Your cheeks heat up and you think for the first time you understand the phrase of seeing red. Hes been poking and poking and poking with his nonchalance then later smugness then going onto just straight up disrespect—he was really pushing you. So he should’ve expected the hand that goes to strike him against his face—your chest rising up and down, brows furrowed deeply.
A faint red hand print blooms across his cheek, and his jaw falls slack, eyes blown out and wide. You suddenly grab him by the back of his hair, no doubt burning his scalp with the way he lets out a loud hiss. “I fucking hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”
You’re so close to his face and everything about the way he’s looking at you gives you the chills. You hate him. You do. He’s insane, he’s selfish, he’s rude, he’s—
A shaky lopsided grin still manages to break from his face, “No you don’t.”
And that was your last straw.
The addictive nature about Beomgyu is what kept you coming back over and over again—he never lead, he just let you…take him. And sometimes, at a point of your life where you feel like everythings being controlled for you, not having the choice to make the decisions you like, this somewhat served as an outlet.
That’s the more…reasonable explanation.
The other explanation is simple. He’s so fucking sexy.
The way he still melts into a kiss so harsh and mean, attempting to cup your cheeks, but immedietely dropping it when he feels your disapporval, his whimpers already picking up, not taking any incentive to breathe as if this kiss was enough to keep him alive; it’s those little things that have you up in the middle of the night thinking about him. Him.
Beomgyu, the stereotypical bad-boy stoner hipster outcast—the antithesis of everything present in your picture perfect life—he keeps you up at night. The mix of weed and his hilariously bad attempt at covering it with febreeze and cologne wafts your scent, it overwhelms you, but you still can’t get enough. Everything annoying about him disappears when he’s touching you.
“Why? Why do you keep doing this?” you say, finally being able to pull away from him—only after you had jerked on his hair harsher.
His lips are swollen, red and glistening—he looks pretty like this. He really does. But those lips always end up saying something to piss you off. “Keep doing what? Letting everyone know how you really are? Not actually the good girl you pretend to be, huh.”
You don’t know if he’s goading you on purpose because he likes it rough, or if he’s just being an asshole in general. It doesn’t matter. If he’s going to act like a brat, he’ll get treated like one.
Your knuckles had turned white with how hard you were gripping his hair so it feels relieving when you finally let it go. He tries to lean in to chase after your lips again, but you have your hands on his chest to stop him.
The flash of panic in his eyes when you step back from him is hilarious, it really is. It tells you everything you need to know. He wants you. He really wants you. He doesn’t care if you hit him or ruin his life, he wants you.
If his next words are any indication. “Hey, hey what are you doing? Where are you going?”
You walk to sit on a step of the stairs. “Do you think I’m a slut? Is that why you thought you had the audacity? Surely because otherwise if you respected me you wouldn’t have spread those rumors about me.”
He huffs out a laugh, the biggest reaction you’ve gotten out of him so far. He also walks to get closer to you. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You haven’t even come up with one single reason that would paint me in a better light. You really do see me as a fucking douchebag loser.” He’s clearly getting emotional with the way his voice gets higher pitched, the nonchalant front cracking, his lips slightly trembling.
“Because that’s what you are. Douchebag. Loser. You’re. A. Loser. Choi Beomgyu.”
You can see his fists clench at his sides, tight lipped. If you knew any better, you think he might’ve just started crying, but you’re not interested in tears. You angle your feet to point to the ground, “On your knees.”
He only hesitates for a second, he only stands there staring at you for a second, only a second before he crumbles and does as you say, getting on his knees in front of you, between your legs. “Closer.”
“But-"
“But what?” Your skirts already half way ridden up and you stare him down, keeping your eye contact intense.
“We’re in p-public. Anyone can see.”
You know hes blushing when you see the tips of his ears peek out, bright red. Aw, he’s nervous? Embarrassed? Shy?
“You’re never seeing me after this Choi. Make of it what you can or piss off.”
His eyes widen comically at that. “What? What does that mean? Are you leaving me?”
You can’t decipher or understand why exactly hes so surprised but you shake it off, you don’t want your good time to be spoiled. Not when your underwears’ already sticking to your pussy seeing him on his knees, on the ground, with his ripped baggy jeans, no doubt a pavement burn getting to him. “Are you going to eat me out or should I get up and leave?”
He shakes his head vehemently, hands on your knees spreading your legs. “Sorry, ‘m sorry. Don’t leave. Gonna make you feel good, promise.”
He’s already rambling like he’s dumbed out, like he’s about to be a goner. But he’s still hesitant in his actions and you groan, throwing your head back. “What the fuck Beomgyu?”
A pout rests on his lips, “I—…I don’t want anyone seeing you..”
You think he’s giving a fuck for your decency, you think its about you for once. But then another thought pops up in your head and your lips twitch. It’s not for you. It’s for him. He doesn’t want any possible pedestrian to see what only him so far has been able to see.
This isn’t worth it.
You make an attempt to get up before Beomgyu immediately has you sit back down, wasting no time to press his face between your legs, skirt over his head. His tongue pokes out to lick on over your panties, gradually wetting it and you sigh, the tenseness of your body evaporating. “Yeah, thats it. Be good for me pup.” He whines at that.
Beomgyu doesn’t tease any longer the moment your hands go to grab his hair because suddenly he bunches your panties to the side and you feel the contact of his hot tongue on your cunt, already lapping away like a dog. Dumb dog. Dumb dog. Dumb dumb dumb—but shit he’s having you curl your toes at the speed he’s going, the way he moans against your pussy like hes somehow enjoying eating you out more than you are.
“You’re my toy, nothing else. But you just keep—you keep irritating me, you keep being a dick, you keep provoking me.” you breathe out, tightening your fistful of his hair in your hand, making his moans even louder, nuzzling closer in your pussy you think he might genuinely suffocate at this point. But knowing him, he’d probably like that. “God, you absolute loser.”
He whines something intelligible, wet eyes looking up at you with his brows pulling up—it makes you gasp as you bite down on your bottom lip. He’s so pretty it’s unfair. Why’s such a sinful person so pretty? God must really have the time of his life making this hell for you.
You take it upon yourself to lift yourself a bit, grinding on his face harder, trying to reach your high, obstructing your view of his face—even with the anxiety of doing this so out in the open resting at the pit of your stomach. He’s practically mewling in your pussy, and the sounds send vibrations, his nose bumping up your clit every now and then. He lets you use him, he just lets you.
When Beomgyu fully submits like this to you…you see stars, you come hard. “More…more”, he groans, licking up your arousal. It’s so dirty, it really is, but you can’t help but nod.
Having the skater eat you out till your legs were jelly at a skatepark late at night would surely guarantee your place in hell.
“You’re such a whore, letting me fuck your face like this baby—don’t soil your pants yet, I know how you get. Probably getting off at the fact that we’re out l-like this…h-hah—dirty, dirty boy.”
He shakes his head, the glistening sweat of his forehead and the matted strands on his temple proof of how hard hes really going at it. “Not dirty. Just wan’ your attention..”
The second you tut at him for stopping he immedietely dives back in—you don’t know if it’s more him being afraid of a punishmet or because he himself doesn’t want to stop. Never mind that, because now hes wrapping his pretty lips around your clit and you’re fucking losing your mind with how quick your head clouds.
There are so many things circling your head right now. And this always happens whenever he starts talking during a hook up. Yes, it helps you get to an edge even faster but its for all the wrong reasons. He’d dirty talk for a bit before switching up, and suddenly all of his words are loving and cute and adorable and, and that’s bad. When you see him other than the image he’s curated for himself—that’s when you start feeling the unfamiliar butterflies fluttering.
You don’t like it. He’s not good for you.
“Stop thinking, only focus on me.” You gasp, your fingers digging into his tangled hair, disheveling it even more. Only him.
He makes you orgasm again, and when you catch your breath you gently push his head away, then harder when he can’t seem to stop kissing your inner thighs. He sighs, dropping it, but not without giving you one last puppy plea. You avoid his eyes, pulling your panties up and scoping around the area, all of a sudden feeling exposed. Did you really just let this punk eat you out on a staircase?
You stand up, dusting your ass, taking note of the redness of his knees and the large wet patch in between his crotch when Beomgyu follows, getting up from his knees, wiping his ridiculously wet lips. You tuck a strand behind your ear as you awkwardly stand, thinking over what you’re going to say now.
We’re over, bye.
I’ll go home now, don’t call me.
I hope you know how bad you messed up. Bye.
I’m blocking you on everything so don’t even think of contacting me.
“Don’t leave me.”
…That has you snap out of your reverie.
His voice is low, no doubt vulnerable. This is the worst. This is bad. Shit.
You clear your throat. “Why? Why shouldn’t I? Even if I didn’t want to I’d have to…my dad knows about you now because of the little stunt you pulled and he definitely doesn’t approve of you.” You mumble the last part, crossing your arms and keeping your distance. But that’s not of any use when he steps forward every time you take a step back.
“I’m—” He runs a hand through his hair again, clearly frustrated. And you don’t understand why, does he really operate life thinking there aren’t consequences to his actions? If he didn’t want to stop this so bad why’d he tell people about your relationship when you explicitly told him not to? “We can—we can do it in secret like we did this entire time. He doesn’t have to know.”
You sigh, also frankly frustrated. “Beomgyu! Why can’t you just-"
Suddenly you’re in his embrace, engulfing you so gently and yet the desperation in it couldn’t have been any more tighter. “Please, please don’t leave me. I’m sorry. I’ll—I’ll really do everything you want, I’ll be your toy, your pet, whatever shit you’re into—just don’t leave me."
You really shouldn’t give in. You really, really shouldn’t.
But then he nuzzles into your neck, mumbling with that slight whiny drawl in his tone, “I’ll be your good boy, I promise. Won’t misbehave anymore.”
Of course you give in. Again.
୨୧ note. honestly don’t know where this came from, i was just making up backstory as i was writing. literally only had one thought and one thought only, what if sub!bad boy x dom! good girl? and that was the small attempt made here lol, i love hearing any feedback or even a theory or two concerning the story’s world as i might explore these characters again 🙏
🔮 preview. Relationships have always been tricky in the past; you’ll always have to hide the demon slayer part of your life away from partners, but with Mark, you don’t have to do that. Your family has also been hard on any boyfriends you’ve had… You guess that’s the one thing that will be worse, but then again, they don’t have to ever know Mark is a demon-
tw/cw. Unprotected sex, foreplay, pussy eating, Mark is good at eating pussy, worship, body worship, grinding, dirty talk, praise, mutual orgasms, multiple reader orgasms, multiple sex positions, etc… I petnames: (his) dork.
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 5.1k
🍭 aus. demon!Mark, Dork!Mark, Frat AU, Demonhunter! reader etc…
☀️ mlist + an. Low key thought this would be a cute and fun little Halloween fic :) it’s a bit of crack, but cute shit too.
Hiding behind the door, you wait for the pumpkin head man, and when he pushes into the small space, you pounce. Your muscles tense, training kicking in as you throw the man against the wall, holding him there by the back of his neck.
“Why are you following me?!” you demand.
“Whoa, slow down!” he says, words muffled by the massive pumpkin over his head. “It’s me! Mark!”
You pause, staring at him, then you release his neck, stepping back so the bad demon can turn to face you.
“Why are you inside a pumpkin?” you ask. “I told you to be a ghost!”
“Well, you see, Taeyong is frat president, and he wanted to be a ghost, so it’s not like I could go as the same thing…” His head is bowed in shame, and you’d bet your knife that his skin is pink under the stupid pumpkin head.
“Okay,” you sigh. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re following me around.”
“Um…” Mark’s head bows even further. “You’re going to think I’m so stupid.”
A groan escapes you. “What did you do now?”
“So… I put the pumpkin head on, and now I can’t take it off.”
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Summary: You've had a bad day at work, and Jongho knows just how to help his love relax.
Pairing: Jongho x afab!reader (No pronouns or y/n used)
Content Warnings: Honestly starts out pretty fluffy. Fingering, some mild biting but like.. love bites/hickies. Obviously bathing together but there's not really any cleaning that happens. A little bit of teasing. Pet names (angel, baby), open ending.
Words: 1,150
Masterlist (gen)
Masterlist (Kinktober)
Minors DNI
No beta we die like the skeletons in my closet
Note: honestly I struggle to write Jongho... Not because I dislike him (OT8 or rot) but because he kind of reminds me of my cousin and it's weird. but listen IMMA DO MY BEST. Anyways love ya'll
- Lumi <3
To say that is was a long day was an understatement. You had slept through your alarms and was late to work, spilled your coffee on your desk, dropped your Tupperware of leftovers you had brought for lunch. It was one thing after another. All you wanted to do was have a glass of wine, maybe watch some mindless show, and go to bed.
The second you got home, Jongho notices your mood. Ever the loving, attentive, partner. Before your shoes are even kicked off he’s grabbing the wine glasses from the cupboard. He’s already started on dinner, the sizzle of meat frying in a pan welcoming to your empty stomach. He’s pouring you each a glass of wine when you pad into the kitchen and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face against his back.
“Bad day? He asks, his hands finding yours around his waist. You nod against him and he turns around, wrapping his arms around you in turn. He holds you close, his warmth making you melt against him.
“I dropped my lunch today. And knocked over my coffee. And was late.” You say and he hums in understanding.
“Do you want to take a bath?” He asks. The though hadn’t crossed your mind, but now that he mentions it, it would be nice… but on the other hand, you haven’t eaten today besides a granola bar.
Jongho see your consideration and smiles.
“After dinner.” He says, and you agree. He finishes cooking and you set the table, falling into the easy rhythm of navigating the kitchen with your partner. His gentle touches on your back when he passes behind you, the side steps when you have to cross paths. It’s almost a dance- seamless. Comfortable. Once the table is set and food is dished up, you both sit and begin eating. You talk about his upcoming schedules and your projects at work, and you feel your stress begin to melt away. Just being around Jongho seems to calm your mind and soothe your stress, truthfully.
You finish dinner and begin to help clean up, but Jongho shoos you away.
“Go- run a bath. I’ll take care of this.”
“But you cooked-” You start to protest, and he give you a stern look.
“I also had the day off. Go start your bath.” He says, pulling you close to place a kiss on your forehead. “And take this.” He says, handing you your wine glass.
“Thank you, Baby.” You say, giving him a quick kiss before heading to the bathroom. You run a bath with lavender oil, the bathroom filling with steam as the tub fills. Once it’s done filling, you undress and slip in, a shiver running over you as the warm water envelops you. You close your eyes, relaxing against the side of the tub.
You’re not sure when you doze off, but a gentle knock on the door draws you from your nap.
“You know you don’t have to knock.” You call out, your tired state evident in your voice. Jongho opens the door, slipping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.
“I know- but I always will. Mind if I join you?” He asks and you smile, moving to make room for him in the tub. He undresses and slips in behind you, moving you so that you’re settled in between his legs, your back against his chest. He pulls you close, resting his chin on your shoulder. He presses soft kisses against your neck and shoulder, causing your head to lull to the side, a soft sigh leaving your lips. His hands trail over your stomach and thighs, turning your mind and body into putty.
“Can I help you de-stress, angel?” He asks softly, and you nod. He trails his hands lazily over your body, gently massaging you. One of his hands finds your breast, and he gently pinches and rolls your nipple between his fingers, cause a soft moan to fall from your lips.
“There you go. Just let that. Relax for me.” He says, placing open-mouthed kisses against your neck, occasionally gently sucking on the sensitive skin or leaving a love bite. The hand that isn’t playing with your chest snakes between your legs, teasing your folds, but not quite dipping between them.
“Jongho-” You start to whine, but he shushes you.
“Shh- I know, baby. It’s okay- I’m going to take care of you, I promise. You just need to be patient.” He coos before biting down on your next a bit harder, causing a choked moan to fall from your lips. He finally slides his finger between your folds, finding your clit and rubbing slow, lazy circles over it.
But it’s not enough. Your hand follows his down between your legs, trying to get him to go faster- or rub harder- anything. He chuckles against your skin- a deep chuckle that sends a shiver down your spine.
“You’re needy today, aren’t you, baby?” He teases, increasing his speed just slightly. You whimper, nodding your head as your hips try to create a faster rhythm. He moves his hand away from your breast to hold your hips down, pressing your ass against his already-hard member.
“I told you. Patience.” He says, and you whimper a plea. He continues his nearly tortuous pace, his lips continuously trailing over your shoulders and neck, turning you into a moaning and whining mess.
Finally he speeds up his pace, moving his fingers faster. All of the buildup has your writhing under his touch at this point, your moans echoing against the bathroom walls. You can feel the knot in your stomach tightening, and your breathing picks up.
Jongho chuckles against your skin, moving his hand so that his thumb is rubbing your clit and slipping two fingers inside of you, pumping them in and out in time with the circles on your clit.
“Jongho- Please- I’m so close.” You moan, your words mixed with airy moans. The knot in your stomach tightens. Your hips bucking slightly out of instinct.
“I know- come for me, angel. Let me see you.” He says, gently biting down on your shoulder. You fall apart in his hands, your walls pulsating around his fingers. Your breath coming out in high-pitched moans as your toes curl in the water. Jongho continues to work his fingers in and out of you, helping you ride out your orgasm until your moans turn into small whines of overstimulation. He pulls his fingers away, soft praises leaving his lips as you come down from your high. Your breathing eventually evens out, your body relaxed against his.
“Are you feeling a little bit better now?” He asks, and you can hear the smile in his voice.
“I don’t know- I might need a little bit more care.” You turn your head to kiss him, a matching smile on your lips.
🔮 preview. “I think that’s why I like you so much,” Jaehyun admits. “I know you had no idea who I was when we met. My whole professional basketball thing didn’t mean anything to you; hell, you’ve catered for A-list actors and politicians and all sorts of people. You just treat me like a person, and that's kind of rare. Most people give at least a tiny shit about sports, but you seriously don’t give any.”
tw/cw. Unprotected sex, multiple reader orgasms, pussy eating, fingering, body worship, breast worship, foreplay, slow build up, dirty talk, praise, simp!Jaehyun, mutual orgasms, soft worshipy sex, Jae is low-key obsessed with her, etc… I pet names: (her) angel.
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 10.6k
🍭 aus. athlete!Jaehyun, Private Chef!y/n, strangers to lovers, slowburn, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. I don’t know anything about the details of being a private chef or a professional basketball player, but I thought this was a cute concept for fanfic, so here it is :)
teaser
“What’s Jae paying you? Because I will pay more.”
You look over at Johnny, and then your eyes find Jaehyun, who’s watching you from a lounger. He’s been watching you and Johnny a lot, and you realize that Johnny is the man Jaehyun was worried about poaching you.
While you’re not huge into basketball, you know about Johnny Suh. He’s a little older than Jaehyun, and he’s had good contracts for longer, too, so he could definitely afford more for a private chef than rising star Jaehyun.
“I don’t think I’m at liberty to discuss my salary,” you admit.
“That’s a rich person's answer,” Johnny laughs. “Your PR training is kicking in, little Miss Top Cook.”
Jaehyun stands in the periphery of your vision, and he comes to join you at the barbecue.
“You’re trying to poach my chef, aren’t you, Suh?” he asks.
“Maybe.” Johnny only grins. “It would be stupid of me not to try.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not entertaining his monkey business,” you tease.
“That’s my girl,” Jaehyun nods, and a jolt fires through you.
This type of brush with wealth is somewhat new to you. Most private catering events are a one-and-done type of deal, where other prospective clients have no worries about approaching to enquire about your services.
Being a private chef to a basketball star is a whole different ball game - pardon the pun - and you’re becoming increasingly aware that being a cute, young female in this style of industry must be something of a commodity.
Regardless of the money, however, you’re very happy working for Jaehyun, and although he’s given you a few flirty glances, you know he respects you for your talent as a chef, and not just your body. He gives you freedom, and now that you’ve had a taste of that, you’re not willing to give it up- even if a six-foot-plus gorgeous basketball star named Johnny is promising to make all your dreams come true.
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As a chaebol, you always knew you wouldn't choose your husband. It would always be your parents' choice, not yours. A buisness marriage. Since your 6th birthday, you've been promised to Soobin, the heir of the Choi family. Over the years you became friends. But can't there be more than just friendship ?
Wc: ~12.3k
Warnings: Arranged marriage, Chaebol family dynamics and high society pressure, parental pressure and family conflict, emotional vulnerability, possessiveness, protectiveness, mild sexism/objectification (not from Soobin), power imbalance themes (family + societal, not between Soobin and reader), smut, making out, p in v, protected sex, oral f receiving, fingering, handjob.
You’ve known Choi Soobin your whole life. That’s not an exaggeration. Not in the "we went to the same school" way or the "our parents were friends so we saw each other sometimes" way. No, you’ve literally grown up with him, stitched into his days like a second shadow. The first birthday you actually remember, the one with the giant cake shaped like a castle, he was right there, wearing a crooked paper crown and making you laugh so hard you spat juice all over your expensive dress. When you went to Jeju for summer vacation as kids, you spent hours together on the beach, digging useless holes in the sand while your parents sat under parasols and talked business.
You can’t think of a single version of your childhood that doesn’t have him in it. That’s what it means to be born into families like yours: chaebol families. Dynasties. Empires disguised as people. Your life is never really your own; it’s an asset, a piece on a chessboard. Everyone knows it, but nobody ever says it out loud. Not at the long dinner tables, not in the marble hallways, not in the black cars with tinted windows.
But you always knew. Because when you were still young enough to think ten years was forever away, your grandmother leaned down and said it so casually, so naturally, like it was the most obvious thing in the world: "One day, you’ll marry Soobin."
Promised. That’s the word she used.
At first it didn’t mean anything. You were six years old and more concerned with whether Soobin would let you win at board games. (He didn’t. But he always slipped you the extra piece of candy when no one was looking, so you forgave him.)
But as you grew older, the promise became less of a whisper and more of a fact. Your families said it at parties with knowing smiles, with champagne flutes raised high. Your teachers at school looked at the two of you and shook their heads fondly. Even your classmates teased you about it, though not cruelly. It was just… obvious. It was the story everyone had already written for you.
And maybe it should’ve felt suffocating. Maybe it should’ve made you want to run away. But it didn’t, because it was Soobin. Tall, gentle, awkward Soobin. The boy who lent you his notes in high school because he knew you hated math. The boy who carried your bag without being asked when you sprained your ankle in PE. The boy who, even when the world expected him to be perfect, would trip over his own feet and laugh at himself before anyone else could.
So when the engagement was finally announced, you weren’t shocked. You didn’t cry in your room, or curse your family, or dream of some secret romance that would sweep you away from all this. You just nodded. Because this wasn’t some stranger. This wasn’t a hostile takeover. This was the same boy who used to sneak you strawberry milk from the corner store, the same boy who let you copy his answers during boring summer tutoring, the same boy who knew you better than anyone else ever could.
You're now 23 and two months ago, you married him.
The wedding was exactly what you’d expect when two conglomerates decide to tie themselves together with silk ribbon. Endless flowers flown in from Europe, tables so tall with champagne glasses they looked like crystal towers, a guest list packed with politicians and CEOs. Your dress was heavy, glittering, the kind of thing little girls dream about until they realize how exhausting it is to actually walk in.
And beside you, through all of it, was Soobin. His hand steady in yours. His eyes darting to yours every time the cameras flashed, a silent check-in: you okay? And every time, you nodded back.
The tabloids loved it. They called it the alliance of the year, the perfect pairing, the future of chaebol dynasties. Your parents smiled wider than you’d ever seen. The stock prices went up.
But under all the noise, all the spectacle, the truth was quiet: you and Soobin were married now.
And surprisingly…it wasn’t bad.
It’s been two months, and the mansion is still absurdly large for two people. The kind of place with three kitchens and a hallway long enough to echo when you walk down it. You used to feel small in it, like the house itself was swallowing you whole. But now there are slippers by the door that aren’t yours. There are mugs in the cabinet that aren't yours.
Sometimes, when you’re walking through the garden, you’ll hear his laugh drift through the open window of his study. And suddenly it feels less empty.
The truth is, you’re not unhappy. You’re not strangers fumbling through awkward silences. You’re not enemies forced to play nice. You’re not even in denial. You just…are. Comfortable. Steady. Friendly.
Because who else in the world would understand this life like he does? Who else would get the endless galas, the suffocating weight of expectation, the way your last name feels more like a brand than your own? He’s the only one who’s ever seen the parts of you that exist outside of all that, the real you, the messy, quiet, human you.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.
Your mornings together are strangely domestic. Not in the sitcom way, not in the “we’re cooking pancakes in matching aprons” way. More like: you wake up to sunlight spilling across the bed, and Soobin is already awake, sitting with a book open, his glasses sliding down his nose. He looks up when you stir, and he smiles in that small, sleepy way that makes your chest ache a little.
"Morning" he’ll say, voice low, gentle.
And you’ll groan, roll over, and accuse him of waking up early just to be smug about it. He never denies it, but he always laughs.
Breakfast is a table way too big for two people, lined with dishes no normal person could finish. But it doesn’t feel ridiculous anymore, not when you’re sitting across from him. Sometimes you tease him about looking like a staged magazine spread: Heir to the Choi Empire, photographed in his natural habitat. He always goes along with the joke, tilting his chin and pretending to look aloof until you’re laughing so loudly the maids startle.It’s not love. Not yet. But it’s something.
And at night, when the day’s obligations are finally over, the two of you walk the garden together. You don’t always talk. Sometimes it’s enough just to match your footsteps, to breathe the same air under the glow of the moon.
But when you do talk, it’s easy.
"Do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like if we hadn’t been promised to each other?" you asked him once.
He thought about it, long and serious, like he always does. And then he said "I don’t wonder about marrying someone else. I wonder if we would’ve found each other anyway."
You’d stared at him, heart aching in your chest.
"I like to think we would have" he added, quiet, almost shy.
And the worst part (the best part) was that you believed him.
The bed is big. Too big.
It was imported, of course. Some custom Italian designer your mother-in-law mentioned with pride as though you’d appreciate the craftsmanship. It could easily fit four people if it wanted to, maybe even six if you tried hard enough. But it’s just the two of you.
You, on one side. Soobin, on the other.
The mattress dips gently under his weight, a subtle reminder that he’s there, close enough that if you rolled over just a little, you could tuck yourself into the space where his warmth lingers. But you don’t. Not really. Because even though you share a bed, you don’t actually touch. Not when you climb under the sheets at night, not when you both shift and turn in your sleep, not even in the hazy, half-awake mornings when it would be so easy to just...reach out.
His body is a steady presence beside you, always within reach, but there’s a line drawn between you, invisible but sharp, and he never crosses it.
You don’t either. At least, not on purpose.
At first, it made sense. You weren’t in love. You weren’t strangers, but you weren’t lovers, either. This wasn’t some passionate whirlwind romance; this was a promise, a duty, a friendship sealed with wedding vows. The world didn’t need to know that when the cameras stopped flashing and the door shut behind you, you and Soobin just quietly agreed to go to bed. Together. Separately.
But then the weeks turned into months. And now, every night, you find yourself lying there, staring at the ceiling, wishing. Wishing for something simple. Not the grand gestures, no sweeping kisses in the rain, no cinematic declarations of love. Just…closeness. His arm draped over your waist. His breath warm against your hair. His fingers tangled with yours under the sheets. Cuddles. That’s all you want.
But every time you shift a little closer, every time you let your hand hover just inches from his, Soobin subtly moves. Not harshly, not with rejection, but with quiet, careful distance. As if to say: we’re friends, remember? And you hate that it stings.
Sometimes you catch yourself wondering if he notices. Like when you’re brushing your teeth side by side in the ensuite bathroom, and you glance at his reflection in the mirror. He looks calm, collected, as though nothing about this arrangement is strange. As though sleeping side by side without ever touching is perfectly normal.
Or when you’re both curled up on opposite ends of the couch, reading, the quiet of the house pressing in around you. You want to scoot closer, lean your head on his shoulder. But you don’t. Because you already know he’ll gently shift away, not enough to be cruel, but enough to remind you of the line.
It’s not rejection. Not exactly. It’s worse. It’s care. The kind of care that says: I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to take advantage. I don’t want to blur something you might regret.
But what if you wouldn’t regret it? The thing is, you can’t stop thinking about how easy it would be. All those years of friendship mean you already know him, the way he likes his coffee, the way he fidgets when he’s nervous, the way his laugh cracks when it’s really genuine. You already know him better than anyone else.
So what would be so wrong about leaning into him at night? What would be so wrong about asking for a little more warmth, a little more closeness?You’re married, for God’s sake. You wear the ring. You share the name. You stand beside him at every gala, every business dinner, every press event. People look at you and see a couple. They don’t see the gap between you in bed. They don’t see the way your fingers ache to reach for his.
They don’t see how much you want.
One night, the yearning gets the better of you. You’re lying on your side, staring at the shadow of him in the dark. His back is turned, broad and solid, his breathing slow, steady. The kind of rhythm that says he’s either asleep or pretending very, very well. Your hand twitches against the sheets. Just a little. Just enough to brush the edge of his side if you dared to reach.
You think about it. God, you think about it. And then you let your hand fall back, curling into yourself instead. Because you know what will happen. If you touch him, he’ll shift away. If you reach for him, he’ll gently set you back. Not cruel, not cold, just firm. Just Soobin. Drawing that same line he’s always drawn: we’re friends. I won’t cross it. I won’t let you cross it either.
And so you stay put. The distance between you becomes heavy, louder than the silence. You stare at the ceiling, heart aching in a way you can’t even explain.
But here’s the thing about yearning: it doesn’t go away just because you ignore it. You start noticing little things. The way his arm sometimes drifts across the middle of the bed when he’s half-asleep. The way his warmth seeps through the sheets and brushes your skin when you both turn at the same time. The way his voice softens when he says goodnight, even if it’s just a whisper in the dark. You want to reach across that invisible line so badly it hurts.
But Soobin doesn’t. He never does. And you wonder, late at night, when your chest feels tight and the silence feels endless, if he doesn’t want to.
The cruelest part is that he’s still Soobin. He’s still the boy who lets you steal the last dumpling at dinner. The boy who always walks on the street side of the sidewalk without thinking. The boy who makes you laugh so hard you forget what you were stressed about. He still cares for you, still looks out for you, still makes the whole weight of your life feel a little lighter just by being in it.
But he won’t touch you. Not the way you want. Not even a little. And maybe it shouldn’t matter. Maybe it’s selfish to want more when you already have so much. But when you’re lying awake in the middle of the night, staring at the shadow of his body just inches away, it feels like the only thing that matters at all.
So the bed remains too big. The line remains uncrossed. And you remain caught in the middle of wanting and waiting, wondering if one day he’ll finally reach across the space between you. Or if you’ll be the one who breaks first.
You’d been through countless dinners like this before. The polished silverware, the endless wine, the hushed but razor-sharp conversations that weren’t really about family at all, but about power. You’d sat through dozens of them with your own parents, smiling until your cheeks ached, nodding at comments you didn’t agree with, answering questions that weren’t questions but commands disguised as polite curiosity.
But somehow, walking into the Choi mansion that evening, the weight on your chest felt heavier than usual.
Maybe it was because it had been two months since the wedding, and tonight wasn’t just you being scrutinized, it was you as Soobin’s wife. The official daughter-in-law. The new extension of the Choi family name.
You smoothed the front of your dress as the butler opened the tall doors, the sound of your heels clicking too loud against the marble floor. Beside you, Soobin’s hand hovered close enough that you could feel the warmth of it, but he didn’t take yours. Not here. Not under his parents’ roof.
"Ready?" he murmured under his breath.
You nodded, though your stomach had been twisting all afternoon.
His parents were already waiting in the grand dining room, seated at the head of the impossibly long table. Crystal chandeliers glittered above. His mother’s jewelry caught the light. His father looked up from the glass of red wine in his hand, sharp-eyed even in his casual indifference.
"Finally" his mother said, her smile tight. "We were beginning to wonder if marriage had made you both tardy."
Soobin bowed slightly, polite, measured. "Traffic" he explained simply, before gesturing for you to take the seat beside him.
You sat, folding your hands neatly in your lap, back straight. You’d been trained for this, in a way. Years of practice had taught you how to smile without showing discomfort, how to look attentive even when you wanted to disappear.
The first few courses passed in silence, the clink of silverware against porcelain the only sound. But of course, it didn’t last.
"So" his father began, swirling his wine "two months already. How are you finding married life?"
You opened your mouth to answer, but Soobin beat you to it. "Comfortable" he said easily, as if that was the only word that mattered.
His father arched a brow. "Comfortable? That’s all?"
Soobin smiled faintly. "It suits us."
His parents exchanged a look, one of those silent, wordless glances that carried entire conversations. You kept your gaze lowered to your plate, pretending not to notice.
And then, as expected, his mother turned the topic where it was always destined to go.
"It’s time you start thinking about the future" she said, her voice smooth, rehearsed. "An heir. Or heirs, preferably. You both are young, healthy, there’s no need to waste time."
The words made your fork freeze mid-air. Heirs. Of course. You’d known it was coming. You’d known it from the moment the engagement was announced, from the way people at galas whispered not about the wedding but about what would come after. Your body, your life, reduced to an expectation.
But even expecting it didn’t stop the sting.
You set your fork down carefully, keeping your expression neutral.
His mother continued, as though she hadn’t just tossed the weight of an entire future onto the table like another dish to be served. "And of course, there’s the matter of your public presence. Charity work, hosting events, managing appearances. You’ve been doing...fine so far." She said the word with a little tilt of her head, a dismissal wrapped in silk. "But the press will be looking for more from you. More polish. More perfection. The wife of Choi Soobin must embody our family’s standard."
Your pulse thudded in your ears. You wanted to sink into the floor, to vanish into the glittering chandelier light above.
Because of course this was how it went. You weren’t a person to them. You were an accessory, a vessel, an extension of their empire. A trophy.
You swallowed hard, trying to will your face into calmness, but your chest ached with something sharp.
And then, for the first time in your life, you heard Soobin’s voice cut through the air, not soft, not hesitant.
"That’s enough."
The table went silent. You turned to him, startled. His gaze wasn’t on you, it was fixed on his parents.
"What did you say?" his father asked, his tone icy.
Soobin didn’t flinch. "I said that’s enough. She’s already doing everything asked of her. More than enough. She’s been dragged into every dinner, every event, every gala. She smiles, she answers your questions, she plays the role. And now you sit here and tell her she isn’t perfect enough?"
His mother’s expression tightened. "Soobin..."
"No" he interrupted, sharper than you’d ever heard him. "No more. We got married because you all decided it was best for the families. Fine. But she’s my wife. She’s not your project. She’s not your accessory. And she’s not here to be lectured like she’s never enough. She already is."
Your breath caught. The chandelier light blurred in your eyes, your throat tightening as you tried to process the words leaving his mouth.
His father’s jaw clenched. "You’re being emotional."
"I’m being honest" Soobin replied calmly, though there was a harshness beneath it. "If you can’t respect her, then you’re not respecting me either."
The silence that followed was deafening. His mother placed her wine glass down with a controlled little click. "We’ll continue this conversation another time."
Soobin stood, his chair scraping against the floor. "No. We won’t."
Then he turned to you, his expression softening instantly, and held out his hand. "Come on. We’re leaving."
You hesitated only for a second before slipping your hand into his. His grip was warm, steady, grounding. Together, you walked out of the glittering dining room, past the butlers and maids frozen in shock, out of the heavy mansion doors.
The car ride back was quiet. Not uncomfortable, just quiet. Your hands were folded in your lap, but you could still feel the ghost of his hand in yours, still feel the way your heart had been thruming in your chest from the moment he spoke up.
You kept replaying it in your head, over and over. The way he’d looked at his parents, unflinching. How he defended you. The way he’d said you're already enough. You hadn’t realized until now how badly you’d needed someone to say it.
By the time you reached your own home, your throat felt tight, heavy with unspoken words. Soobin closed the car door behind you. He turned, eyes immediately searching yours.“
"Hey" he said gently. "You okay?"
You opened your mouth, but the words tangled. "I…I don’t know."
His expression softened, and he stepped closer, lowering his voice like he was afraid to scare you off. "You don’t have to listen to them. Not tonight. Not ever, if I can help it."
You blinked fast, your chest aching. "But they’re right. About the expectations. About-"
"No." His voice was firm. He reached out, and for once, he didn’t stop himself. His hands found your shoulders, warm and grounding. "Don’t say that. Don’t let them make you believe that. You’re already perfect."
The words hit you like a tidal wave. Perfect. Not for the cameras, not for the press, not for the family name. Perfect for him.
Your vision blurred as tears filled your eyes, and you lowered your head, embarrassed. But Soobin tilted your chin up gently, forcing you to meet his gaze.
"I mean it" he whispered. "You don’t have to do more. You don’t have to be more. You’re already enough, just as you are."
Your throat closed, your breath catching. And in that moment, standing in the quiet glow of your home, you let yourself believe him.
For the first time in weeks, maybe months, the ache in your chest eased. Because Soobin, your Soobin, your best friend, your husband, wasn’t just drawing lines to protect you. He was standing on your side.
Gala nights always feel the same. The chandelier light blinding, the air heavy with perfume and champagne, the endless murmur of voices that all sound the same: sharp, polished, and calculating. Everyone dresses like royalty, but you know better. These aren’t kings and queens. They’re hunters. Sharks in glittering gowns and tailored tuxedos.
And tonight, you are the newest piece of bait in the water.
"Remember" Soobin murmurs beside you as the car pulls up to the hotel entrance "it’s just a few hours. We smile, we greet, and then we leave."
You nod, clutching your clutch a little too tightly. His hand rests lightly on your back as the chauffeur opens the door, guiding you out into the blinding flash of cameras. For a moment, you want to lean into him, anchor yourself in the quiet steadiness he always carries, but there are too many eyes on you. So you straighten your shoulders, lift your chin, and step into the hall.
The first hour is a blur of introductions. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve bowed politely, how many times you’ve heard the same compliments dressed up in different words. Beautiful couple. Beautiful bride. So radiant. So graceful.
You know they don’t mean you. They mean the idea of you. The package you present standing beside Choi Soobin, the way your gown clings in all the right places, the way your smile looks like it was practiced in the mirror (because it was).
Soobin never strays far. Even when he’s shaking hands with an executive, even when he’s laughing at a politician’s dull joke, his eyes flick toward you. Just a glance, but enough. You can feel the tether between you, invisible but taut, pulling you back to him no matter where you drift.
It should make you feel safe. And it does. Mostly. Until you start noticing the other looks.
The first man is harmless enough, at least on the surface. Mid-fifties, balding, with the kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He shakes Soobin’s hand, praises the merger, then lets his gaze slide to you. It lingers. Too long.
You feel the weight of it on your skin, crawling, leaving something dirty behind. You force a polite smile anyway, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. But you see the way his eyes trail over your dress, slow and greedy, before he finally looks away.
The second man doesn’t bother with subtlety. Younger, maybe mid-thirties, handsome in a too-perfect way. He laughs too loud at his own jokes, leans too close when he speaks to you, his gaze shameless as it drags down your figure.
"Soobin" he says, clapping your husband on the back "you really lucked out. Didn’t know you had such good taste."
You stiffen, your cheeks burning, but before you can even react, Soobin’s hand is at your waist. Tight. Firm. The man notices. He smirks, raising his hands in mock surrender, but his eyes flick to you one last time before he slinks away.
Soobin doesn’t say a word. But his hand doesn’t leave your waist.
As the hours drag on, it only gets worse. Everywhere you turn, someone is staring. Some openly, some behind the rim of their champagne flutes. You can feel their eyes tracing you, dissecting you, judging you like you’re not even real. You hate it. You hate how exposed you feel, how powerless. You hate that your smile has to stay fixed, that you can’t call them out, that you can’t do anything but endure it.
But Soobin sees. He always sees. You can tell by the way his jaw tightens when another man’s gaze lingers too long. By the way he positions himself just slightly in front of you, his broad frame blocking their view. By the way his arm finds its way around your shoulders, around your waist, pulling you into his side like he’s daring anyone else to look.
It’s subtle, almost invisible to anyone else. But you feel it. The possessiveness.The protectiveness. The unspoken promise: She’s mine. Don’t even think about hurting her. And God, it makes your chest ache.
At one point, while he’s momentarily pulled aside by a board member, you find yourself cornered by another man. Older. Wealthier. The kind of person who thinks his power allows him to do anything.
"You really are stunning" he says, his voice low, slimy. "Soobin’s a lucky man. Though, I suppose…luck has nothing to do with it, hm? Arrangements like yours are always…strategic."
The implication burns. You open your mouth, ready to respond, when a shadow falls over you. Soobin. His hand slips into yours, threading your fingers together firmly, unmistakably.
"Excuse us" he says, his voice smooth but edged with steel. "We have somewhere to be."
He doesn’t wait for a response. Just pulls you away, his grip protective, his stride long and determined. Only when you’re safely in a quieter corner of the hall does he stop. He turns to you, his eyes scanning your face, his jaw still tight.
"Are you okay?" he asks, softer now.
You nod, though your throat feels tight. "I’m fine."
He doesn’t look convinced. His hand squeezes yours, grounding. "I hate the way they look at you. Like just a trophy wife, a woman that got lucky to get married to me."
Your breath catches. He’s never said it out loud before.
"I know I can’t stop it" he continues, his voice low "but I want to. Every time I see it, I want to..." He cuts himself off, exhaling hard, shaking his head. "You’re not theirs to look at like that."
Something in your chest twists. Because you’ve wanted closeness. You’ve wanted warmth. You’ve wanted him to look at you as more than just a friend. And right now, in his words, in the way his grip tightens like he’ll never let go, you can feel the start of something more.
Something protective. Something possessive. Something that feels dangerously close to want.
The rest of the night, he doesn’t leave your side. Not for a second.
Every handshake, every smile, every polite conversation, you’re close to him. His arm around you, his hand at the small of your back, his gaze cutting sharp whenever someone’s eyes linger too long.
And you can’t help but feel it. The shift. Because this isn’t just duty. This isn’t just politeness. This is Soobin staking a claim.
By the fourth hour of the gala, your cheeks are starting to ache from smiling. The air is too warm, the champagne too sweet, and the voices all blend together in a single blur of names, titles, mergers, deals. You’ve shaken so many hands your skin feels faintly numb. And all the while, you can feel the eyes. Some curious, some calculating. Some wandering.
Soobin’s hand stays at the small of your back, a light pressure that never quite lets you forget he’s there. He hasn’t said much, he doesn’t need to. His presence is enough, a steady anchor in a sea of artificial glitter and teeth.
But then you feel it. A new gaze. Heavier. Hungrier. You know it before you even look up.
The man is older, maybe late forties or early fifties. Silver hair slicked back too neatly, a tailored suit stretched over a body gone soft from indulgence. He carries his glass like an extension of his hand, tilting it lazily as he steps toward you with the kind of confidence only obscene money and unchecked arrogance can buy.
You’re standing alone for a rare moment, Soobin pulled into conversation a few feet away and the man seizes the opportunity.
"My, my" he says, his voice oily, words slured as if drunk. "So this is the famous bride."
You bow politely, lips pressed into that same polite smile you’ve worn all night. "It’s an honor to meet you."
But you don’t miss the way his eyes trail down your frame. Slowly. Shamelessly. You want to shrink, to fold yourself into nothing, but you can’t. Not here. Not with so many people watching. So you stay still, spine straight, smile fixed.
"I must say, Soobin has excellent taste" he drawls, stepping closer, far too close. "I’d heard you were beautiful, but they didn’t do you justice. You’re even more exquisite in person."
The words make your skin crawl. His gaze doesn’t leave you, lingering on the neckline of your dress, the curve of your neck. You shift slightly, trying to put a little more space between you, but he only leans in.
"Tell me" he continues, his voice low, invasive, "are you finding married life… fulfilling?"
Your throat tightens. "I..." You glance toward Soobin, who’s still deep in discussion with two executives, his profile sharp under the light. He doesn’t see you. Not yet. You force a smile anyway. "We’re very happy, thank you."
But the man doesn’t take the hint. He chuckles, swirling his drink, eyes never leaving you. "Happy, yes. But satisfied?"
Your stomach turns. You take a half-step back, trying to keep your tone even. "Excuse me, I should..."
His hand darts out, fingers brushing against your arm to stop you. "No need to run off so quickly. I only wanted a little of your time."
The contact is brief, but it feels like a brand against your skin. You stiffen, panic flashing in your chest, when suddenly, his hand is gone. Because Soobin is there.
It happens fast. One moment, the man’s fingers are on you. The next, Soobin’s grip is wrapped around his wrist, firmly, pulling him back with a force that leaves no room for argument.
"Don’t touch her." Soobin’s voice is quiet, but it slices through the din of the gala like a blade.
The older man blinks, surprised, then tries to laugh it off. "Ah, Soobin. I didn’t see you there."
"You saw her" Soobin says flatly. His grip doesn’t loosen. His height towers over the man, his shoulders squared, his presence suddenly sharp in a way that makes the air around you tense. "And you touched her."
Around you, a few people glance over, curiosity flickering in their eyes. But most look away again just as quickly: no one wants to get in the middle of a chaebol son’s temper.
The man shifts uncomfortably, trying to free his wrist. "Come now, it was nothing..."
Soobin’s jaw tightens. "Don’t. Pretend it was nothing."
He finally releases the man’s wrist, but only to step closer, placing himself directly between you and him. The message is clear: a wall, immovable, impenetrable.
The man laughs again, brittle this time. "You’re overreacting. I was simply being friendly."
Soobin tilts his head slightly, his expression calm but cold. "If that’s your idea of friendly, then I suggest you keep it far away from my wife."
The word wife lands heavy, final. The man falters. His smile slips. He clears his throat, mutters something about needing another drink, and disappears into the crowd with his pride in tatters. And just like that, he’s gone.
But Soobin doesn’t move. He stays standing in front of you, tall and steady, his shoulders tense. His hand lingers at your waist now, not the polite, guiding touch he usually offers, but something firmer. Protective.
You realize you’ve been holding your breath.
"You okay?" he asks finally, his voice softer now, turning back to look at you.
You swallow, nodding quickly. "I...I’m fine."
His gaze lingers on your face, searching, like he doesn’t quite believe you. His hand squeezes lightly at your side. "Don’t lie to me."
The words nearly undo you. Because you weren’t fine. You’d felt cornered, trapped, like prey under a predator’s gaze. And if Soobin hadn’t stepped in...
Your chest tightens. "I just… I hated the way he looked at me."
Soobin’s expression darkens, his jaw clenching. "I did too."
Something about the honesty of it makes your breath hitch.
"I wanted to..." He stops himself, exhaling hard, like he’s fighting to hold something back. Then, quieter: "I wanted to make sure he’d never look at you again." Your heart stutters.You’re not used to hearing him like this. Not your gentle, patient Soobin, who always draws the line, who always insists you’re just friends despite the ring on your finger. This is different. Closer.
For a moment, you wonder if anyone else can feel it, the tension radiating off him, the way his hand hasn’t left your waist, the way his body is angled like he’s ready to fight anyone who dares come near.
It feels like a claim. It feels like protection. It feels like something more.
By the time the gala ends, you’re running on fumes. Your face aches from smiling, your hand feels numb from shaking so many others, and your feet, God, your feet are screaming. The heels you’d chosen to match your gown were stunning under the chandeliers, but after four hours of standing, walking, and twirling through conversations, they’re starting to feel like medieval torture devices.
You don’t complain, of course. Not out loud. Not here. You’ve been raised to know better. So you keep your spine straight, your head high, and your lips curved into that picture-perfect smile as the last goodbyes are exchanged, the last congratulations murmured. You let Soobin guide you through the glittering crowd with his hand at your back, the two of you weaving toward the exit.
But the second the massive doors close behind you and the cool night air hits your skin, you can’t help it. A small groan escapes you, soft, almost pitiful, as you shift your weight from one foot to the other.
Soobin hears it immediately. He glances down at you, brows furrowing, the sharp protectiveness from earlier melting into something softer, gentler. "Are you okay?"
You nod quickly, out of habit. "I’m fine."
"You’re not fine."
"I’m-"
"Please" he says, the word carrying that quiet firmness he always uses when he knows you’re hiding something. His eyes flick down to your shoes. "Your feet hurt."
Heat creeps into your cheeks. You don’t know why it feels embarrassing to admit it. Maybe because you’ve been trained to never show weakness in public. Maybe because you hate that he notices everything, even the things you try to hide.
"...They’re just a little sore" you mumble.
Soobin’s lips press into a line. Then, before you can even process what’s happening, he crouches down in front of you.
Your breath catches. "Soobin...what are you..."
"Stay still." He’s already reaching for your ankle, fingers brushing against the strap of your heel. With surprising ease, he unclasps it, sliding the shoe off your foot. The relief is immediate, sharp enough to make you sigh out loud.
He glances up briefly at the sound, his expression unreadable, before repeating the motion with your other shoe. Both heels dangle from his fingers a moment later, and you’re standing barefoot on the cool stone steps, your gown brushing the ground.
It should feel awkward. Indecent, even. But the only thing you feel is your heart, pounding too fast in your chest.
"You didn’t have to" you start, your voice embarrassingly small.
"Yes, I did" he interrupts simply. Then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he straightens, slips one arm under your knees, the other around your back, and lifts you off the ground.
You gasp, your hands instinctively flying to his shoulders. "Soobin!"
"Shh" he says softly, not looking down at you as he carries you down the last few steps. His hold is steady, effortless, like you weigh nothing at all. "Your feet need a break."
You should protest. You should tell him to put you down. You should laugh it off, pretend it doesn’t mean anything.
But you don’t. You can’t.
Because something about the way he’s holding you, like it’s second nature, like he was meant to, is undoing all the walls you’ve carefully kept in place to avoid getting hurt.
The car is waiting at the curb. Soobin lowers you gently into the leather seat on the passenger side, careful not to let your gown catch, setting your heels beside you. Then he slides in next to you on the driver side, closing the door with a soft click. The city hums outside, neon lights casting colors across the tinted glass as the car pulls away from the gala. But inside, it feels quiet. Intimate.
You sit with your bare feet curled beneath you, the cool leather against your skin. Your hands twist nervously in your lap, the memory of his arms around you still burning into your body.
"You didn’t have to carry me" you murmur finally, unable to handle the silence.
"I know" he says simply.
Your chest tightens. "Then… why did you?"
Soobin leans back against the seat, his gaze fixed out the window. His profile is sharp in the passing light, but his voice is softer than you expect when he answers. "Because I wanted to."
The words are simple. Too simple. But they hit you harder than anything else tonight. You look down quickly, your cheeks heating, your fingers curling tighter in your lap. Your heart feels too big for your chest, pulsing rapidly.
The car ride stretches on, filled with silence but not empty. Not anymore.
You can feel him there beside you, close enough to touch. You can smell his cologne, expensive, clean, familiar. You can sense the weight of everything that went unsaid at the gala still hanging between you.
Your throat feels dry. You want to speak. You want to thank him again, not just for carrying you, but for everything, for stepping in when that man cornered you, for standing up for you in ways no one else ever has, for seeing you in a way that makes you feel less alone.
But the words won't come out. So instead, you sit in silence, watching the city blur past, your heart beating frantically.
And beside you, Soobin stays quiet too. But his hand, resting on the armrest between you, is close enough that if you reached out, just a little, you could slip your fingers into his.
You don’t. Not yet. But the thought lingers. You glance at him once, twice, before finally finding your voice.
"Thank you."
He turns his head, surprised. "For what?"
"For…earlier." You look down at your hands, fingers twisting together nervously. "For stepping in. For...protecting me."
His expression softens, just slightly. "You don’t need to thank me for that."
"I do" you say quietly. "You didn’t have to. But you did."
Soobin’s gaze lingers on you, unreadable. Then he exhales, leaning back against the seat.
"I’ll always step in" he says simply. "No one gets to treat you like that. Ever."
You want to reach out, to take his hand, to tell him how much it means. But you don’t. Instead, you sit in silence, the distance between you feeling shorter than ever. Something fragile.
By the time you get home, it feels like you’ve been holding your breath for hours. The mansion is quiet. The staff had gone to bed hours ago, leaving only a few lamps glowing to light your way inside.
You slip out of your gown in your shared walk-in closet, the heavy silk pooling at your feet. Your jewelry goes next, then the makeup, until all that’s left is the soft cotton of your pajamas and the faint ache in your muscles. You scrub at your face in the mirror until you look like yourself again, not the glittering wife of Choi Soobin, not the porcelain doll paraded through the gala. Just…you.
When you step into the bedroom, Soobin’s already there, changed into his own pajamas, simple, loose-fitting. His hair is damp from a quick shower, sticking slightly to his forehead, and his skin looks flushed and warm.
For a moment, you just…look at him. Not the heir of the family. Not the perfect son. Just the boy you grew up with, the one you’ve known all your life. He glances up when he feels your gaze and offers you a small smile, the kind that’s reserved only for you.
"Tired?" he asks quietly.
You nod. "Exhausted."
He doesn’t push further. He never does. Instead, he simply pulls back the duvet, a silent invitation for you to climb into the bed you’ve shared for two months without ever really sharing it.
You slide in carefully, settling onto your usual side, the cool sheets freezing your skin. The mattress dips as he joins you, the familiar distance stretching between you once again.
It should feel normal by now. Comforting, even. But tonight… it doesn’t. Tonight the space feels unbearable. You try to sleep. You really do. But your body is too aware of itself, too aware of him. Of the way his breathing sounds in the dark, steady but a little uneven. Of the way his presence radiates heat under the sheets. Of the way the silence between you feels heavy.
Finally, you turn your head slightly, peeking at his silhouette.
"Soobin?" you whisper.
He shifts slightly, enough that you know he’s awake. "Hm?" His voice is soft, a little rough from tiredness.
You hesitate, chewing at your lip, your chest tightening with nerves. You want to ask, but how do you? How do you put yearning into words without breaking the fragile balance you’ve kept for so long?
Your voice is small when it finally comes. "Can I…sleep closer to you?"
The silence that follows nearly swallows you whole. For a terrifying second, you think he’ll say no. That he’ll remind you of the line, the friendship, the duty. That he’ll gently set you back where you belong, as he always does.
But then, slowly, you feel the mattress shift. He lifts his arm, the duvet rustling faintly, a quiet opening. Your breath stutters. And then you move, tentative but determined, closing the space between you and curling carefully against his side.
His body is warm, solid, real. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, his heartbeat steady under your ear. His arm settles around you, not hesitantly, pulling you closer as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Your eyes sting unexpectedly. "You’re shaking" he murmurs, voice low.
"I’m not" you whisper back, though you are. Every nerve in your body is alive, buzzing with the reality of him holding you for the first time.
"You are" he says gently. His hand rubs a slow circle against your back, soothing, grounding. "Hey. It’s okay."
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt. "It’s just…I’ve wanted this for so long" you admit quietly, so quietly you almost hope he won’t hear. "Just this. To be close."
Soobin goes still for a moment. And then, just as softly: "Me too."
Your heart stops. You tilt your head up slightly, searching his face in the dim light filtering through the curtains. His eyes are already on you, unreadable but warm. "You have…?"
"I didn’t want to push" he admits, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. So I kept my distance. But if you want this…" His arm tightens around you, just a little. "Then I do too."
Something inside you unravels. Relief, affection, longing, it all floods through you at once, overwhelming you. You bury your face against his chest to hide the tears threatening to spill, but he notices anyway.
"Hey" he murmurs again, tilting his head to press the lightest kiss to the top of your head. "You don’t have to be perfect with me, remember?"
Your throat aches. "I know" you whisper. "It’s just…I didn’t think you wanted this."
His chest rumbles with a quiet sigh. "I wanted it too much. That’s why I was careful."
You let out a shaky laugh, half-cry, half-disbelief. "So we were both suffering for nothing?"
"Pretty much" he says, a wry smile in his voice.
The absurdity of it makes you laugh for real this time, muffled against him. His arm tightens around you, his body shaking slightly with his own soft laugh.
And then the laughter fades, leaving only warmth, silence, closeness. You curl tighter against him, your bare feet brushing his legs, your body fitting into the shape of his like it was always meant to. His hand strokes absentmindedly through your hair, a steady rhythm that makes your eyelids close.
For the first time since your wedding, since the cameras and the vows and the expectations, you feel like you can breathe. For the first time, the bed doesn’t feel too big.
You drift toward sleep like that, wrapped in his warmth, his heartbeat steady under your ear, his breath a gentle whisper against your hair. And just before sleep pulls you under completely, you hear him murmur, so soft you almost think you’re dreaming: "You’re perfect."
The strange thing is, nothing really changes and yet everything does.
You still wake up in the same bed, still share the same routines, still go through the same obligations of two people born into chaebol families. The staff still bow when you pass through the halls. His phone still buzzes endlessly with meetings and decisions.
But now, there’s this. This secret sweetness. This undercurrent of joy. This quiet revolution between the two of you. Because now, when you wake up, Soobin’s arm is already around you. Not just draped politely, not the hesitant closeness from that first night you broke the invisible line, but solid and warm, curling you into his chest as though his body is the only place you belong. His face nuzzles against your hair in sleep, his breath soft on your skin, and sometimes you wake to the press of the faintest kiss against your forehead, placed unconsciously before his eyes even open.
And when he does open them, when those sleepy eyes meet yours in the first light of morning, it’s like the entire world softens.
"Morning" he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, lips curving into a smile that’s just for you. And you can’t help it, you smile back, every single time.
During the day, the difference shows in smaller ways. When you pass him a coffee, his fingers linger on yours longer than they need to, and the contact makes your chest flutter. When you’re walking through the gardens together, he sometimes reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers with his like it’s second nature. The first time he did it, you almost tripped from how casual he was about it, as though this wasn’t something you’d been secretly longing for, as though it hadn’t taken months of restraint to get here.
At the weekly family dinners, when his parents drone on about expectations, you feel his knee press against yours under the table. A grounding touch, steady, silent reassurance. Sometimes he glances your way, the tiniest lift of his brow, the corner of his lips quirking when he catches your stifled sighs. It’s almost conspiratorial, like you’re two kids again, sharing secrets across the dining table.
And then there are the kisses.
They’re not constant, not yet, Soobin is still Soobin, careful and deliberate, not one to fling passion out into the open carelessly. But now that the line has been crossed, he doesn’t stop himself when the moment feels right.
A kiss on your temple when he passes you in the hallway. A soft peck on your lips before he leaves for the office. A lingering kiss in the kitchen when you’re both trying to cook something ridiculous together, laughter spilling between you as flour dusts your hands.
Each one feels like the sun breaking through a cloudy sky.
One evening, a week after that first kiss, you find yourself on the balcony outside your bedroom. The air is cool, the city lights glittering like jewels in the distance, and you lean against the railing, letting the breeze wash over you.
You hear the soft slide of the glass door and turn your head just as Soobin steps out. He’s changed into something comfortable, his hair slightly damp from a shower, a faintly tired but soft expression on his face.
"Cold?" he asks, stopping beside you.
"Not too much."
Without a word, he slides his arm around your waist, pulling you against his side. The gesture is so natural, so easy, that you have to bite back the giddy smile threatening to bloom. For a while, you stand there together in silence, watching the city below.
Then Soobin exhales slowly, his chin resting atop your head. "You know… I didn’t think I’d get this."
Your brows furrow. "Get what?"
"This. Us. Like this." His thumb strokes absentmindedly against your hip. "I thought marriage would always just be…an arrangement. A contract. Duty."
You look up at him, heart squeezing at the vulnerability in his voice. "And now?"
He meets your gaze, and the answer is obvious in his eyes before he even speaks. "Now it feels like the first thing that’s really mine."
Your throat tightens, and before you can think better of it, you rise on your toes and kiss him. It’s slow, unhurried, full of quiet promises. His hands slide up your back, holding you close, and the world seems to melt away until it’s just the two of you and the taste of something sweeter than you ever thought you’d have.
The weeks that follow are full of little moments like that. Moments where joy drowns out all the pressure and expectations. There are late-night talks sprawled out across the bed, the two of you whispering about old childhood memories, about dreams you were too afraid to share before.
There are quiet car rides where his hand rests on your knee, absent but deliberate, like he needs to feel you there beside him. There are stolen kisses in the library, laughter muffled against his lips when one of the staff nearly catches you tucked between bookshelves.
You’ve always known him, as a friend, as a partner, as someone bound to you by family ties. But now you’re learning him in new ways: the little hum he makes when he’s focusing on a crossword puzzle, the way he always drapes a blanket over you when you fall asleep reading, the surprisingly terrible doodles he makes in the margins of his notebooks.
And you think maybe, just maybe, this is what love feels like.
One night, after a particularly long day, you’re curled on the sofa together, your head on his chest as he absentmindedly traces shapes against your arm.
"Soobin?" you murmur, breaking the silence.
"Hm?"
"Are you happy?"
His hand pauses for a moment. Then he tilts his head, looking at you, his expression softening.
"Yeah" he says finally. "I am. With you, I am."
Something inside you warms at the confidence in his tone.
And when he kisses you, slow, deep, filled with quiet devotion, you believe him completely.
The first brush of his lips against yours is as soft as ever, but tonight, it doesn’t end there. Tonight, he doesn’t pull away after a heartbeat. Tonight, when you sigh into him, his hand slides from your shoulder to cradle the back of your head, deepening the kiss.
Heat sparks low in your stomach. You respond instinctively, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer. The kiss grows sloppier, more insistent, the two of you finding a rhythm that makes the rest of the world blur.
Soobin makes a quiet sound into your mouth, half sigh, half something deeper, and it shoots straight through you. His thumb strokes against your jaw as his lips move against yours with more certainty, like he’s finally allowing himself to give in.
You’ve kissed him before, plenty now. Sweet, lingering pecks that left you smiling like a fool. But this…this is different. This is hungry. This is months of restraint finally slipping.
Your breath stutters as his tongue brushes against yours, hesitant for a moment until you part your lips for him. The contact sends a shiver down your spine, your body melting against his.
His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you firmly against his chest. You can feel his heartbeat pounding hard, quick as yours, proof that he’s just as swept up as you are.
When you tilt your head, deepening the kiss further, his fingers thread into your hair, holding you to him like he’s afraid to let go. It’s dizzying. It’s intoxicating. It’s Soobin everywhere, overwhelming.
You lose track of how long it lasts, how many times you break for air only to dive back in, lips finding each other again and again like magnets.
Your fingers find their way into his hair, tugging lightly, and the low groan he lets out makes heat flood your cheeks. The sound is unlike anything you’ve heard from him before, raw, unguarded, uncomposed and you swear you’ll replay it in your head for days.
It’s messy. It’s breathless. It’s perfect.
By the time you finally part, your head is spinning, your lips numb, your body humming with the aftermath of it all. You collapse against his chest, your forehead pressed to his shoulder. His arms circle around you instantly, holding you close, as if sealing the moment. He presses one last kiss to the top of your head, soft again now, tender.
And in that quiet aftermath, wrapped up in him, you realize something certain: You don’t ever want to go back to the days before this.
It’s not perfect. Of course it isn’t. There are still the endless demands from family, the suffocating expectations of heirs and image, the looming shadows of duty that neither of you can entirely escape.
But now you face them together. And somehow, that makes all the difference. Because now, when the days are heavy, you have his hand to hold. When the nights are long, you have his arms to curl into. And when the world feels like too much, you have the reminder that in the midst of it all, you’ve found something real. Something joyful. Something yours. Something that feels like love.
The first sign is the silence.
Normally, when Soobin comes home, there’s at least some kind of soft acknowledgment: a muttered "I’m back", the faintest of smiles, the quick loosen of his tie as he enters the bedroom you share. Not always cheerful, he’s not the type to bubble over, but steady, familiar.
Tonight, there’s none of that. Tonight, the door shuts with a low thud, heavier than usual. The sound makes you glance up from where you’re curled on the sofa, a book open in your lap. You catch sight of him as he steps inside: shoulders hunched, tie askew, hair mussed in a way that isn’t charming but messy.
"Soobin?"
His eyes lift to you, and you’re startled by how tired he looks. Dark circles beneath his eyes and there’s a tightness around his mouth that hasn’t been there before.
"You’re still up" he says, his voice low, rough around the edges.
"I was waiting for you."
Something flickers in his gaze, too quick to understand, before he looks away. He crosses the room in long strides, shrugs off his suit jacket, and drops onto the other end of the sofa with a heavy exhale.
The silence stretches. You study him, worry gnawing at your chest. "Rough day?"
"That’s one way to put it" he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Back-to-back meetings. Arguments. The board’s restless, the investors are restless. My father-" His jaw tightens. "He never thinks anything I do is enough."
Your heart aches at the sadness in his tone.
"Soobin…"
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands rubbing down his face.
Without thinking, you shift closer. You reach out, laying your hand gently on his back. The contact makes him freeze for a second, like he isn’t used to it. Then he exhales, some of the tension removing from his shoulders under your touch.
"Want to talk about it?" you ask softly.
His head shakes slowly. "Not really."
"Then don’t" you murmur. "You don’t have to. Just…let yourself rest."
For a moment, you’re not sure he’ll let you. For a moment, you think he’ll brush you off, stand up, retreat into the shell of duty and self-control that’s been drilled into him since birth.
But instead, he leans. His body tilts until his shoulder presses against yours, heavy, grounding. You slide your arm around him instinctively, and he lets you, his weight shifting until his head drops onto your shoulder.
The breath you let out is shaky, but you hold him anyway. Your fingers find their way into his hair, brushing lightly, soothing. His eyes flutter shut, his breathing slowing bit by bit.
You whisper his name once, softly. He hums in response, too tired to do more.
"You don’t always have to be perfect" you murmur, stroking his hair. "Not with me. You know that, right?"
For a long time, he doesn’t answer. You start to think he’s drifted to sleep, but then "Why do you always know what to say?" he mutters, voice muffled against your shoulder.
A small smile curves your lips, though your chest feels tight. “Because that's what I like to hear for myself."
That earns you the faintest huff of laughter, warm against your skin. But then, before you can react, he shifts. He kisses you deeply.
He makes a low sound in the back of his throat, something caught between relief and need, and suddenly the kiss deepens. His hand finds your waist, pulling you closer until your body presses against his. It’s dizzying. Overwhelming.
It happens so suddenly you almost think you imagined it. One moment you’re still on the sofa, wrapped in the warm haze of the kiss, his forehead pressed to yours like he can’t bear to let go. The next, Soobin is pulling back, his chest heaving, his eyes dark with something you’ve never seen in him before. Not just affection. Something deeper. Something hungrier.
And before you can speak, he scoops you up. Your breath catches as your world tilts, his arms sliding beneath your knees and back like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He rises smoothly, holding you as though you weigh nothing at all, though you can feel the tension in the strength of his grip. His suit jacket is gone, but he still smells faintly of cologne and the long, exhausting day he’s carried on his shoulders.
"W–What are you doing?" you whisper, though your arms instinctively loop around his neck.
"Taking you to bed" he says simply. His voice is low, steady, but there’s a tremor under the calm, a crack in the perfect composure he’s always carried.
Your heart stutters at his words, your pulse hammering in your ears. Soobin carries you down the hall, his long strides unhurried but certain, every step echoing through the mansion. The two of you have walked this hallway a thousand times before. But this time feels different. Charged. Each step is weighted with something that makes your breath catch, makes you bury your face in the crook of his neck just to steady yourself.
You can feel his heartbeat beneath your cheek, quick and uneven. He’s not as calm as he looks.
When he pushes open the door to your bedroom, the air shifts. It’s familiar, the soft lamplight spilling over the spacious room, the linen sheets tucked perfectly over the bed.
Soobin sets you down gently on the mattress, as though you’re made of glass. He lingers for a moment, his hands still at your waist, his tall frame looming over you. His eyes search yours, dark and uncertain and full of something that steals the breath from your lungs.
You should speak. You should say something, break the tension, make sure you’re both on the same page. But the words catch in your throat, because you want this. You want him.
And then he leans down, and your mouth meets his before you can think. The kiss is different this time. No hesitation, no testing. It’s deep and desperate, the kind of kiss that says I’ve been waiting for this longer than I can admit. His hands slide up your arms, cradling your face, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones with a tenderness that makes you ache.
You cling to him, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you. The world narrows to just the two of you, to the warmth of his body pressed against yours, to the way he sighs into your mouth like he’s finally letting go of something he’s been holding back.
When he finally pulls back, his lips are swollen, his breath uneven. His forehead drops against yours again, but this time his hands are trembling where they cradle your face.
"Are you sure?" he whispers, his voice rough.
The question triggers something in you, because it’s so him. Even now, even here, he’s giving you the choice. He’s always drawn the line, always kept you safe, even from himself. And for the first time, you push past it.
"Yes" you breathe, your voice steady despite the rush in your veins. "I’m sure. Soobin… I want this. I want you."
For a moment, he doesn’t move. His eyes search yours, looking for any flicker of doubt. And when he finds none, when he sees the certainty in your gaze, something inside him breaks.
His mouth is on yours again, fiercer this time, his hands sliding down to your waist as he presses you back into the mattress, his hips grinding against yours. You gasp into the kiss, the sound swallowed by his lips, and you swear you can feel the years of restraint unraveling in every movement, every touch.
The kiss deepens, turning messy and heated, as though he’s memorizing the taste of you. His hands trail over you with reverence, never rushing, never taking without asking.
"Good ?" He asks.
You nodded, though your mouth felt dry. "Yeah, just... nervous. In a good way."
He knelt in front of you, his large hands resting on your knees, thumbs tracing small circles over your skin through your thin pants.
"Me too" he admitted, his eyes meeting yours with raw honesty. "I've wanted this for so long, but I don't want to rush you."
You reached out, cupping his face, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palms. His cheeks flushed slightly, and you leaned in to kiss him. It was slow, his lips soft and tentative against yours, but as your fingers threaded into his hair, it deepened. His tongue slipped past your lips, and a low groan escaped him when you tugged lightly on his hair.
Soobin's hands slid up your thighs, gripping your hips, his body pressing flush against yours. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the subtle hardness growing in his pants brushing against your lower belly. It sent a thrill through you, a mix of excitement and nerves.
He broke the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, sucking gently at the sensitive spot just below your ear. "Tell me if you want to stop" he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "Anytime."
"I don't" you whispered back, your voice breathy. "I want you."
That seemed to ignite something in him. His hands found the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly, his knuckles grazing your sides as he peeled it off. You raised your arms to help, and when it was gone, his eyes darkened as they roamed over your exposed skin, lingering on the lace of your bra.
"God, you're beautiful" he said, almost reverently.
You felt exposed, vulnerable, but the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing in his world, made your confidence surge. You reached behind to unhook your bra, letting it fall away, and Soobin's breath hitched. His hands cupped your breasts immediately, thumbs brushing over your nipples, which hardened instantly under his touch. He leaned down, taking one into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the peak while his other hand kneaded the other.
A moan escaped you, your head falling back as pleasure sparked through your body. His mouth was hot, wet, and insistent, sucking and licking with a fervor that made your core ache. You arched into him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Soobin... that feels so good."
He hummed against your skin, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. Switching to the other breast, he gave it the same attention, his free hand sliding down to hook into the waistband of your pants. He tugged them down slowly, along with your panties, exposing you inch by inch. You got shy, now completely bare before him, and he straightened, his gaze hungry as it traveled down your body.
"Your turn" you said, your voice bolder than you felt. You grabbed his shirt, pulling it over his head, revealing his smooth chest, the toned abs that you'd only glimpsed before. He was lean but strong, muscles flexing under your touch as you ran your hands over him.
He kicked off his pants and boxers in one fluid motion, and your eyes widened at the sight of him. He was long and thick, the tip already glistening with pre-cum, veins prominent along his shaft. He was bigger than you'd imagined, and a flicker of apprehension mixed with your arousal.
He noticed, his expression softening. "We can take it slow" he assured you, stepping closer to wrap his arms around you. His erection pressed against your thigh, hot and hard, but he didn't push. Instead, he kissed you again, putting a pillow under your head.
He hovered over you, his weight supported on his elbows. His lips found yours once more, then moved down, kissing your collarbone, your sternum, down to your navel. He parted your thighs gently, settling between them, and you felt his breath fan over your core.
"Soobin..." you breathed, a mix of embarrassment and need.
He looked up at you, eyes locking with yours. "Can I taste you? Please?"
The plea in his voice made you melt. It was so him, your Soobin.
You nodded, and he didn't hesitate. His tongue flicked out, tracing a slow line along your folds, and you gasped at the sensation. He groaned at your taste, his tongue delving deeper, his lips wrapping around your clit as he sucked gently. His tongue circled the sensitive bud, then dipped lower, pushing inside you with shallow thrusts.
Your hips bucked involuntarily, pleasure building rapidly. "Oh fuck, Soobin... right there." One of his hands held your thigh open, the other sliding up to tease your entrance with a finger. He slipped it in slowly, your wetness making it glide easily, and curled it upward, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
He added a second finger, stretching you gently, his mouth never leaving your clit. The dual sensation was overwhelming, his fingers pumping in and out, scissoring to prepare you, while his tongue lapped and sucked. You could feel the knot tightening in your belly, your breaths coming in short pants.
"I'm gonna... Soobin, I'm close..." you whimpered, your hand fisting in his hair.
He hummed in encouragement, increasing the pace, and it pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you, waves of ecstasy pulsing through your body as you clenched around his fingers. He worked you through it, his tongue gentle now, until you were trembling and oversensitive.
Pulling back, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He crawled up your body, kissing you deeply, and you tasted yourself on him, making you moan into his mouth.
"You taste amazing" he whispered, his voice rough with desire. His cock was pressed against your thigh, throbbing, and you reached down to wrap your hand around it. He hissed at the contact, his hips jerking forward. You stroked him slowly, feeling the smooth skin thumbing the slit to spread the pre-cum. He was so responsive, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he panted. "If you keep that up, I won't last."
You smiled, feeling empowered. "I want to make you feel good too, like you did for me."
He shook his head, kissing your neck. "Next time. Tonight's about us, together."
He reached over to his nightstand, pulling out a condom from the drawer. You watched as he tore it open with his teeth, rolling it down his length with ease.
"You had condoms in your drawer?" You ask.
"I mean, I kinda hoped we'd do this soon. And we don't plan on having kids yet."
He positioned himself between your legs, the tip pressing against your entrance.
"Ready?" he asked, his eyes searching yours.
"Yes" you whispered. "Please, Soobin."
He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust. The stretch was intense, a delicious burn as he filled you completely. You gasped, nails digging into his back, and he stilled when he was fully seated, his hips flush against yours.
"Fuck, you're so tight" he groaned, his voice strained. "You feel incredible."
You nodded, breathing deeply, the fullness overwhelming but perfect. "Move, please."
He started with slow thrusts, pulling out almost entirely before sliding back in, each movement deliberate. The friction was exquisite, his cock dragging against your walls, hitting deep. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he picked up the pace.The room filled with the sounds of your bodies, skin slapping against skin, wet and rhythmic, mingled with your moans and his groans. He buried his face in your neck, sucking hickeys into your skin, his hands gripping your hips almost hard enough to bruise.
"Harder" you begged, and he obliged, slamming into you with more force. Each thrust sent jolts of pleasure through you, building toward another orgasm.
Soobin's control was slipping, his thrusts became erratic, deeper, his breath hot against your ear.
"I'm not gonna last much longer" he admitted, one hand moving between you to rub circles on your clit.
The added stimulation was too much. "Me neither...come with me."
A few more thrusts, and you shattered again, your walls clenching around him like a vice. He followed seconds later, groaning your name as he spilled into the condom, his hips stuttering as he rode out his release.
He collapsed beside you, both of you panting, sweaty and spent. After a moment, he disposed of the condom and pulled you into his arms, kissing your forehead. "That was... amazing. Are you okay?"
You smiled, snuggling into his chest. "More than okay. That was perfect."
And in that quiet aftermath, wrapped up in him, you realize something certain: the marriage you once thought would only ever be duty and friendship has become something else entirely. Something real, something warm, something that feels like a home you never knew you were waiting for.
Soobin’s hand strokes down your back, his voice low but sure when he murmurs “We’ll be okay, you and me.”
And as you melt into him, heart light, you believe it.
Maybe this arranged marriage won’t be so bad after all, not when it’s him, not when it’s you, not when you have each other.
That Friday felt… weird. Not because of the hangover, but because whatever you thought would hit you after making out with Hongjoong just didn’t.
You barely worked. You pushed all your tasks to next week and called it a day two hours early. Exhausted, yes. You needed to tell someone what happened, but who?
Seonghwa would be thrilled, probably already planning your wedding just because his best friends kissed. Nope. Not yet. And your other friends would just freak out. If you weren’t talking about Hongjoong, he’d be the one you’d go to.
Yeah. Better keep it to yourself, at least for now.
Your phone was buzzing nonstop—the group chat with the boys. Tonight’s topic: a party at Mia’s place. You didn’t feel like it, but you kept scrolling.
San: Oh, I’ll be there. Woo and Jongho are coming with me!
Hwa: Definitely going. Yunho’s coming with me.
You: Not tonight, guys. Crazy hangover, exhausted from work. Maybe tomorrow we can meet?
Hwa: Of course, princess. You saved me from my hangover, so I’m taking you out for drinks tomorrow.
You: thx baby
Nothing from Hongjoong. But he was there, you knew he’d read it. In silence. Was he going? Maybe hooking up with Hyuna again?
And why the fuck were you even thinking about that?
You tossed your phone on the couch, deciding on your perfect night: food, wine, a couple of orgasms, and then pass out. Bliss.
The messages kept buzzing, but you ignored them. You took a long shower, then found a comfy shirt—one you stole from Hongjoong. Panties or no panties? You put them on just to avoid sticky thighs. Not that it solved much—you’d been wet since the second his lips touched yours.
You had your wine poured, kitchen lights warm, night set. Perfect.
Until someone knocked on your door.
Who the hell dared disturb you at almost 10 p.m. on a Friday?
You weren’t about to put clothes on for it. Whoever it was, they were getting you exactly as you were: tired, wrecked, and done.
You didn’t even check the peephole. It couldn’t be that many people. But when you opened the door, your breath caught anyway.
Hongjoong.
Hair damp, baggy clothes, big eyes fixed on you. Fuck. You weren’t expecting that.
“So… can I come in?”
“Since when do you ask for permission? From what I remember, you even have a key.” You turned your back to him, letting him step into the living room. “I thought you were going to Mia’s party.”
The second the door clicked shut behind him, his whole posture shifted. The air shifted. It wasn’t just your friend—best friend—Hongjoong walking into your place. It was him. The one who kissed you like that last night. The one you couldn’t stop thinking about. And now, you were both there. Alone. With all that unfinished business crackling between you, and no one around to break it.
“I needed to talk to you.”
You stood in the middle of the room, facing each other, tension coiling so tight it made your chest ache. You swore you could feel it physically pulling you toward him, like gravity had suddenly chosen him as your center.
“Then talk,” you whispered. “I’ll listen.”
“I can’t really find the words now, but…” He started walking toward you, slow, like every step was meant to corner you without even touching. Your pulse was insane—you could actually hear it in your ears. He was so close you could smell the faint trace of his shampoo, still fresh from his shower. Fuck. He smelled good. Good enough to make your reason abandon you, little by little. “I think we just have some… unfinished business.” His voice dropped lower, dragging every syllable. “And I really wanna know how you feel about that.”
“Do I really need to say something? Don’t you know me well enough?”
“Yes. I do.” You could feel the heat of his body. His hands were hesitant for a second, but when you didn’t stop him, he grabbed your waist. “And I'm about to show how much.”
He was staring at your lips for two seconds before brushing his against yours. The kiss began calmly, controlled, yet deep… His tongue entered your mouth and slid against yours very delicately but also intensely. You pressed your body against his, taking your hands to his shoulders, to his neck, tilting your head and deepening the kiss.
Fuck.
That felt even better than the first time.
Just seconds in and then it started to get hotter, wetter, messier… and it felt so good. His hands were on your ass, squeezing your cheeks, making you feel his hardness pressed against your lower belly.
“Just panties and my t-shirt?” He whispered against your lips. “Almost seems like you were waiting for me to show up.”
“Shut up.” You bit his lower lip, even though he was right. You wanted to see him, to talk to him… but you wouldn't ask for it. “You talk too much, even when you have nothing to say.”
“I have so many things to say, baby.” He was kissing your neck now, his hands sliding up and finding your hot skin. “You'll hear some. Promise.”
The pet name nearly killed you. He could feel the way you melted against his body just right after he said it.
“I know how to push your buttons, and you know how to push mine, too.” He sat on the couch, pulling you to sit on his lap just like you had done at Hwa’s couch. “Now I wanna watch you getting desperate while you grind on my thighs.”
“You're a menace.” You rolled your hips against him, his sweatpants doing nothing to hide his fully hard cock right under you. “I'm not desperate.”
“But you'll be.” His smug smirk… You wanted to slap him on the face. And maybe you should do that at least once. “Come, grind. I know you like that.”
He took his hands to your hips, guiding you, making you grind against him. It didn’t take long before you were doing it by yourself. It felt too good, and you were too horny.
Why weren't you feeling shy? You thought you would be embarrassed by doing that, especially with eye contact. He didn’t stop looking at you, at your face, your expressions. But you didn’t feel anything but pleasure. It was weird, it was like… it wasn’t the first time.
You lowered yourself enough to kiss him again, this time more intensely. He kept his hands on your waist for a few minutes, following your moves against him, making you grind faster and harder each time. You moaned against his mouth because you were getting close. Every drag of your clit against the rough fabric had you seeing stars, and the way he watched you—lazy, smug, way too calm—made it even worse. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t rushing you. He just let you use him, like his only job there was to sit back and enjoy the show.
Your movements grew sloppy, desperate, the pressure coiling inside you until it was impossible to hold back. You broke the kiss, gasping against his mouth, your forehead pressing to his as your hips kept rocking.
“Fuck, Joong—” you moaned, feeling your legs weak, barely breathing.
“Yes, come for me.”
That damn smirk was still there, but softer now, darker. He held you tighter, guiding your hips just a little faster, just a little rougher, until your body gave in completely. The tension snapped, and you were shaking, grinding down hard against his thigh as waves of pleasure ripped through you.
Your moans filled the room, shameless, raw, and he didn’t stop watching you once. His jaw clenched, eyes glued to your face as you fell apart in his lap, your wetness soaking through your panties and into his sweatpants. It would be the second time you stained his pants.
“Fuck, look at you…” He groaned, one hand sliding up your back, the other gripping your hip like he wanted to leave a mark. “Making a mess on me already.”
Fuck. You waited a few seconds just to make sure the regret wouldn’t come. It didn’t. Great! You’d just dry-humped your best friend and enjoyed it way more than you thought was possible.
“Oh my god…” You wiped your forehead, realizing you were already sweating. “What the hell are we doing…”
“Huh… having fun?”
He sounded as dizzy as you. The fact that you could still feel his dick twitching under you wasn’t helping at all.
“But if you wanna stop, then we stop.” He faced you again, cupping your face with both hands. “Do you?”
“No… I don’t wanna stop. But I’m confused…”
“Wanna talk?” His hands slid slowly down your back, soft, careful, like he was trying to ground you. “What’s on your mind?”
“Maybe later.” You sighed, shifting the tension before it ruined everything. “I’m horny as fuck, Hongjoong. And I can feel you.”
“So greedy… You just came.” His touch changed instantly—no longer tender, but sharp, possessive, his fingers digging into your thighs in a way you knew would leave new bruises. “Want more already?”
“Yes. I’ve been dying to do something since I saw you hard that day.” You slid off his lap, kneeling between his legs, your fingers hooking under the waistband of his sweatpants. “I wanna suck you off. So be a good boy and take your clothes off.”
He cocked his brows at you, a little shocked by your sudden attitude. The truth was: you wanted him. You wanted him so badly you were hoping you’d wreck each other. But at the same time, a small part of you was afraid things would get fucked after. A problem for later.
So there you were, watching him push down his sweatpants, kicking off his shoes and socks until only his boxers were in your way. His shirt was still on, but you could take care of that later.
Your hands slid over his thighs, feeling the heat of his skin, the firm muscle under your palms. They had just been put to such good use, and you couldn’t stop imagining grinding against them again. Maybe next time with nothing in between.
His boxers were the same gray as his sweats, and the wet patch where the tip of his cock leaked through made your mouth water. Fuck. He looked even tastier than you remembered. Maybe because you never saw him this close before, or maybe because you were going insane over him. So thick, hard, delicious. You couldn’t wait to feel him fill you up.
You tried to hide the way your hands trembled when you tugged at his waistband. The thing was, he was watching you—like he always did. Your reactions were his favorite kind of entertainment. You could already see that cocky little smile forming even before it happened: when you finally pulled his boxers down and his cock slapped softly against his stomach.
You froze for a second, staring. He was definitely thicker than you thought. The stretch in your mouth would be insane. Fuck, you were needy. Before you could even wrap your fingers around him, Hongjoong leaned forward, grabbing your chin to make you look up at him.
“Careful,” he teased, his smirk lazy but sharp as always. “You look like you’re about to beg.”
“I don’t beg.” Your voice came out weaker than you intended, and that only made his smirk widen.
“Sure.” His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, pressing just enough to part it open. “Then why are you trembling? Why do you keep staring like you’re starving?”
You swallowed hard; the heat rushing through you was unbearable. You wanted it so badly your thighs were clenching.
“Maybe I am.”
“Good girl,” he whispered, finally letting his thumb slide into your mouth. “Then you’ll have to show me how bad you want it. Slowly. I wanna see how needy you get before I even give you a chance to taste me.”
This man was killing you, and he knew that. He knew you were kind of a brat, and that you liked to be dominated and obey, but not that easily. Fuck. It was time to press his buttons, too.
You sucked on his thumb, eyes closed, enjoying it like it was your dessert. He groaned, taking his free hand to his cock, stroking it slowly while he watched your little show. He took his thumb out of your mouth—clearly growing impatient—and made you lean down a bit to face his hard cock. He kept stroking and didn’t give you any instructions. You knew just what to do.
His cock twitched the second your lips wrapped around his tip, but he didn’t move, didn’t let go of that smug control. You looked at him, now using your tongue, tasting his juices, teasing him before taking him in your mouth. He tasted good, so good you wished to just suck him already, but you wanted him to lose his patience with you. You wanted him to make you take his cock.
His jaw flexed, a vein showing on his neck, but he still didn’t move. He just sat there, staring you down like he could last forever. Fucker. You hollowed your cheeks and took him a little deeper, slow and wet, your tongue sliding along his length. His breath hitched—barely audible, but you caught it, and it made your core pulse.
“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, his fingers curling into fists against his thighs. He wasn’t touching you, not yet, and that only drove you crazier. You wanted his hands on your hair, forcing you down, ruining your pace. Instead, he just smirked through heavy breaths. He looked so hot like that, fuck.
“Keep going,” he finally rasped, voice lower now. “Let’s see how long you can last before you start begging me to fuck your throat.”
You knew you wouldn’t last much, but you teased him anyway. You sucked on his tip, your hands squeezing his thighs and going up so you could jerk him off, rubbing his cock against your lips, against your tongue, putting on a show for him.
Hongjoong was already wrecked. He was biting his lower lip, his hands now squeezing the couch pillows, trying not to touch you. The bastard had more self-control than you thought, so you decided to give up and take him in your mouth by yourself.
You licked the whole length, getting him wet and slick so you could slide him until you gag, just the way you wanted. Your hand was fondling his balls, very gently, very carefully, and that made him moan a bit louder. He was making a few noises, but you wanted much more than that. You finally took him in your mouth. Fully. Lowering yourself until your nose touched his pelvis, until your eyes watered, until you choked around him, until you were making a filthy mess of spit and pre-cum.
And then he finally snapped.
You didn’t even have time to breathe before his hand was tangled in your hair, yanking you back just enough to make you gasp. His eyes were half-lidded, intense, and you knew you had him. You’re finally getting what you wanted.
“Fuck… look at you,” he groaned, his voice rough, raspy. “Drooling all over me like a little slut.”
Slut. Your pussy clenched so hard you thought you might cum just from it.
He pushed you back down, his grip tight, forcing his cock past your lips until you gagged again. This time, he didn’t let you pull away, his hips bucking up hard, sharp thrusts hitting the back of your throat.
“Yeah, that’s it—take it. Take all of me.” His moans slipped out between curses, shameless and raw, making you moan with him in your mouth. “God, you feel so good choking on my cock.”
Your nails dug into his thighs, tears streaming down your face, spit dripping down your chin, wetting even your shirt. He only smirked through his groans. He pulled you off for a second, just enough for a messy string of spit to hang between your lips and his tip.
Fuck, you were loving that. And he could tell that just by looking at you.
“Open wider. Show me how much you want it.”
You obeyed, mouth open, tongue out, and he slapped his cock against it, groaning louder when you moaned at the sting.
“Fuck, I could ruin you like this all night.” His voice cracked when he shoved back inside, faster this time, his words spilling between gritted teeth. “So greedy… Look at you fucking loving it. Can’t even breathe without my cock down your throat.”
His pace turned brutal, his hand gripping your hair so tight your scalp burned, but the way he was moaning, the way his body tensed—he was finally losing that smug composure.
His thrusts grew a bit rougher, even deeper, until you felt your throat tightening around him with every gag. The noises you were making were even more obscene than the wet gagging sounds. And his moans were shameless now, echoing through your living room just like you wanted, his grip on your hair unrelenting. He was so close… You could tell by the way his cock twitched against your tongue, the way his abs tensed under his shirt.
And then he stopped.
A desperate whine escaped your throat when he yanked you off him, spit and precum dripping down your chin, strings of it still connecting your swollen lips to his tip. He was panting, chest heaving, but his smirk was back, even meaner than before. This fucker…
“Fuck…” he hissed through gritted teeth, his cock throbbing in his fist as he stroked it slowly, right in front of your face. “You really thought I’d finish in that pretty mouth, huh?”
You tried to lean forward, feeling so desperate to taste him again, but his grip on your hair kept you right where he wanted. He tilted your head back, making you stare up at him while his cock hovered just above your lips.
“Look at you. A mess. Spit, tears, drool everywhere… And you’d still let me use you until I fucking broke you, wouldn’t you?” His thumb swiped some of the slick off your chin, smearing it across your cheek with a groan. “You’re taking whatever I’m giving you, huh? Open your mouth.”
Part of you couldn’t even believe that all of this was happening, but you never felt so hot in your life. You never got this wet, you were sure. You just gladly obeyed him, opening your mouth.
“Gonna reward you later for being so obedient.” He leaned closer and spat in your mouth, exactly like you’d been craving the moment he told you to open. Fuck. “Fuck, baby…”
Your thighs pressed together, throbbing with need. You swallowed it all and then nodded weakly, lips parted, but he clicked his tongue.
“Want more cock, huh? No. Not yet. You don’t get my cum this easy.”
He stroked himself slowly again, the tip brushing your bottom lip, and your mouth watered helplessly. That wicked grin of his only made it worse. God, this hadn’t even started, and it was already the most intense sex of your life.
“You’re gonna earn it. Every fucking drop.”
His words made you tremble. Every time he spoke, every groan, every broken moan—fuck. He was killing you, and you were loving every second.
Your knees ached from staying down so long, but before you could even shift, he grabbed you by the arms and pulled you up like you weighed nothing. You felt like a doll in his hands—too dizzy, too turned on to even think straight. He shoved you back onto the couch, your body falling against the cushions, and then he stripped off his shirt.
The sight of him above you, chest heaving, skin glistening, made your breath catch. And then it hit you—he was kneeling down now, between your thighs, his eyes fixed on your pussy.
Oh my god. He was going to eat you out. That soon.
You weren’t ready. Not for that. Not for him.
Not because it was him, but because he knew too much about you. Somehow, it felt like he’d been paying attention to every single thing you’d ever told him—your turn-ons, your complaints about guys who couldn’t do it right. It was like you’d given him a step-by-step guide, except you hadn’t. And after you’d just sucked him off like that, you were sure he’d make you faint if he kept going the way he was.
“Fuck, you’re soaked.” His fingers pressed against your clit through your panties, slow and teasing, just enough to make the thin fabric stick tighter to your folds. “I knew you liked sucking cock… but this much?”
Yes, asshole. You liked choking on his cock this much.
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re a brat.” He slapped your clit, sharp and sudden, making your thighs snap together on instinct. He forced them apart with a growl, pinning you open like you were nothing. “Take it off. Now.”
You did. You lifted your hips just enough to slide off your damp panties and tossed them to the floor, then spread your legs wide open for him again. The lights were bright, and you were completely exposed—every inch of you on display—and somehow, that only made you wetter.
“So… You need to know that I’m not stopping until you squirt.” His fingers trailed up your inner thighs, slowly, and made you shiver, until he reached your mound. “We’re gonna edge you a little.”
“I told you I never did that before… not with anyone. Just… by myself.”
“I know.” His thumb found your clit, circling lazily, deliberately slow, watching you squirm. “And I told you I’m not stopping until you do.”
“F-fuck…” The word barely left your lips before he pulled away, making you whimper.
“Here, do me a favor, huh?” He spread your legs even wider, bending you in half on the couch. “Hold this up for me.”
Your hands gripped behind your thighs, knees almost pressed to your chest, leaving you completely open to him. He could see everything like this—all of you—and that was exactly what he wanted.
“Just like that. Perfect.”
He teased your slick folds, rubbing slow circles, watching every little twitch of your face. Then his fingers dipped lower, gathering your arousal before gliding back up—this time spreading it over your tight rim, circling it lazily. Oh, fuck.
“Hong—”
“I know you like some assplay, baby,” he murmured, voice low and raspy, fingers still teasing slow circles around your rim. “Relax for me, huh?”
You tried, but your body was already buzzing, already on edge. You were actually scared you’d cum too fast—he was about to finger your ass while eating your pussy, and that was one of your absolute weakest spots.
“Good girl,” he whispered, satisfaction dripping from his voice as he watched you hold yourself open for him, obedient and desperate. “Just like that… don’t move.”
He settled between your thighs, lips ghosting over your soaked folds, breathing you in like he’d been dying for a taste. He hummed at your scent, at your slickness, as his fingers slid along your slit, parting you slowly, admiring how swollen and wet you were for him.
He gave you one last look, and then he dove in. Fuck. You weren’t ready.
His tongue flattened against your pussy, dragging up from your entrance to your clit, painfully slow, teasing, before curling around the sensitive bud and sucking—hard. You gasped, your back arching, thighs trembling in your own hands as his grip tightened around your hips, pinning you to the couch so you couldn’t escape.
You couldn’t moan. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t even think.
His tongue kept abusing your clit, relentless, and you were fighting not to grind your pussy against his face—not that you could in that position, but fuck, you wanted to. Your whole body trembled, every muscle tight and shaking, and your moans grew louder with every second because he was getting you so close already, just from sucking your clit.
You had no idea this man was this good at eating pussy. What the fuck?
You swore you were about to melt in his mouth when he suddenly stopped, only to suck one of your pussy lips between his, pulling at it with a wet, obscene pop. Fuck. A thousand times fuck. Are there any other words you could use?
“God, you’re so desperate already…” He slapped your clit again, making you jolt and squirm as you held your thighs up for him. “Let’s stretch your ass now. You’re ready.”
His middle finger teased your rim, very slowly, no rush at all, and you opened your mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out. The moment he pushed his finger inside, your breath caught. You might actually pass out, you were sure.
You knew you were dripping, knew he’d coated his finger with your arousal so it would slide in easily, but still… fuck. You dared to glance down at him, at the sinful sight of what he was doing to you, and it ruined you even more.
You lifted your head just enough to see him kneeling on the floor of your living room, between your spread thighs, stroking his cock lazily with one hand while the other played with your ass, slow and torturous.
That alone was enough to kill you. But Hongjoong? This man was fucking dangerous.
He stopped touching himself just to spread your pussy wider, spitting right onto your hole.
“Oh my god…” You couldn’t hold your head up anymore. Your body fell back against the couch as you squeezed your thighs, doing your best not to scream his name. “What are you doing to me…”
Your voice was barely a whisper. But he heard it.
“Look at you… Taking my finger so well, baby. Let me add another, yeah?” You couldn’t answer—just moan, whimper, and let him stretch you open. “Feels good, huh? You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
He was a talker. You knew that… but this?
“You… wanted?” Speaking was almost impossible now. Not when you were spread open like that, letting your best friend play with both your holes.
“Since you told us you liked your ass stuffed. Eaten.” His voice was low, teasing, full of hunger. “I always knew you were a perfect slut.”
Slut. Again.
You clenched so hard around his fingers, he chuckled. The fucker knew everything about you. And he was enjoying every second of it. It looked like he was having more fun than you, even.
“You like it when I call you that, too, don’t you…” He licked a slow stripe from your dripping hole up to your swollen clit, fingers working your ass open. “You’re perfect. Look at this pussy… begging for more.”
“Just make me cum, Hongjoong… stop teasing me.”
“I told you. I'm not stopping until you squirt for me.”
Oh god. He was serious. You knew how to make yourself squirt, but with him…? The anticipation alone was killing you. He knew the theory because Hwa taught him. And he was doing great so far.
He kept teasing.
Kept edging you.
Sucking on your clit.
Two fingers deep in your ass, his other hand working your pussy. Both holes stuffed, your clit throbbing under his tongue.
It was too much. It was madness. You were losing your mind.
You couldn’t even count how many times he’d denied you an orgasm, or how long he’d been torturing you like this. Your frustration had tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.
But then you felt that familiar pressure inside you when he hit your g-spot, over and over. You started to shake, again. Just like it happened at least 10 times in the last minutes. But this time, it felt different.
“Please… don’t stop. I think I’m gonna—”
You thought he would stop just to make you suffer a bit more. He didn’t, thank god for that. Your body convulsed. Tears actually spilled down your cheeks as you finally came undone. He leaned in closer, watching every second of your release as it poured out of you, all over his hands, his face, the couch.
Fuck, he even got closer to your pussy just to watch you coming undone for him.
It was the most insane orgasm of your life.
He’d built you up, over and over, dragged you through wave after wave of overstimulation until you broke. You were squirting, crying, trembling. He kept fingering your ass, slapped your clit, and you couldn’t even hold your thighs open anymore. The world dimmed around you, your head empty, everything silent.
What had he done to you?
“YES! Fuck… look at this mess, baby.” His voice was pure filth, but you couldn’t focus yet. “Too much? Gonna pass out? We haven’t even started.”
“Hongjoong…” Your breathing was ragged, like you’d just run ten miles. “I’m—”
“Shh… relax.” He sat beside you, his hands gentle now, caressing your trembling thighs and cupping your face. “Breathe. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
His voice was soft. Sweet. He looked at you with such care, like he hadn’t spent the last several minutes wrecking you to pieces. This was insane. The whole situation. But you were too fucked out to think.
“I… I made a mess. Oh my god…” You glanced down, cheeks burning at the sight of the puddle between your legs. “Your face…”
His chin was glistening, but he clearly didn’t care.
“You know I like it nasty.” He leaned in, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. “Just like you.”
You melted into the kiss. Both of you were ruined, sweaty, breathless—but desperate for more. He tugged your shirt off—his shirt—and tossed it aside, finally leaving you both completely naked. His eyes roamed over you, staring at your tits, your nipples getting hard under his gaze.
“I think we should go to your room.” His lips brushed your chin, then your mouth again. “We’re not done.”
“Of course not.” You finally managed words, your voice shaky but teasing. “But you fucking wrecked me just eating me out. We’re gonna kill each other.”
“I’m counting on it.” He smirked, voice dripping with cocky amusement. “After you gave me the best head of my life, I knew this was gonna get crazy.”
The compliment made your pussy clench all over again. Fuck.
You pushed yourself up, shaky but determined, and looked at the scene around you—clothes scattered, your bodies bare, your couch soaked. There was no going back from this. And neither of you seemed to care. Ok, then.
“So… let’s go?” You kicked your clothes aside, flashing him a smirk. “I’m not done with you either.”
The look he gave you, that fucking smirk… It was everything you needed to start all over again. This was going to be a very long night.
Warnings: slow ahh burn, implied child neglect, slapping, crying, self worth struggles, reader kinda hated herself for a few mins, and obviously yeosang being so domestic and yummy
AN: hehe I've made u guys wait a lot huh? But it's finally here tho and I'm happy that it turned out how i wanted to be, u know what I'm saying? Like i didn't want to put up something that I ain't happy with. So yeah quality over quantity everyone. I hope y'all like this one as well (pls don't ask me for part three I ain't got no idea what to write anymore 🙏🏻😭)
Part 1 | Masterlist
The thing about domestic life with Yeosang was,it was dangerous. Not because of the mafia thing. Not because of bodyguards or enemies or whatever. No, it was dangerous because he was too good at it. Folding sleeves while helping you hang laundry. Holding the back of your neck softly while passing by you in the kitchen. Walking around the apartment barefoot in sweatpants like it wasn’t illegal to look that good doing nothing.
Like right now.
Right now, you were standing in the kitchen, hair clipped up messily, sleeves pushed to your elbows, flipping through your notes for university on the counter while stirring something in a pot. And him? He was leaning against the opposite counter, arms crossed, watching you with this stupid half-smile like you were the most interesting thing in the room. Like you were the TV. Like you were art.
“What?” you finally mumbled, not even looking up from your notes.
“Nothing,” he answered easily. “Can’t look at my wife?”
“Not when I’m clearly fighting for my life in biochemistry,” you muttered, scribbling something with irritation.
But then,you felt it. The warmth of him moving closer. You hated that you liked the way he moved around you like he belonged there. Like he owned the whole place, including you.
“You’re doing great,” he said, voice low by your ear, “But you know I don’t like it when you stress over this stuff alone.”
You rolled your eyes. “I’m fine.”
But then,betrayal. Your stomach growled. Loud. You froze. Yeosang’s smirk grew wider, the audacity dripping from every inch of him. “Are you, though?”
“Don’t.”
“I will.”
You elbowed him half-heartedly, cheeks warming, but he caught your arm gently before you could fully pull away.
“Sit,” he said, soft but final. “I’ll finish stirring. You explain your homework to me. Win-win.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious. “Since when do you cook for me?”
“Since I got tired of watching you nearly pass out before dinner.”
Cocky and caring. Disgusting.
So, you sat. Let him take the wooden spoon like it was his birthright, sleeves already rolled, rings catching the light. And there he was, stirring like he was born to be a husband, stealing glances at you every few seconds like you wouldn’t notice.
You hated how good this felt. You hated that it didn’t feel forced. You hated that you almost wanted to lean your head on his shoulder right then and there.
But most of all,you hated that you were starting to love being his. And he knew it.
The bastard knew.
You glanced down at your phone, thumb scrolling lazily until the notification popped up,buried in your notes app, wedged between grocery lists and half-done assignments.
Dad’s birthday. Mom invited us.
A pause.
A day before. Both of us. Why.
The reminder sat there like an unwanted guest in your head. Ironic, really. They never celebrated his birthday before. Never a cake, never a dinner, never a mention. And now suddenly they were throwing a get-together with invitations and everything,right after you got married.
It didn’t take a genius to piece it together. You could almost feel it under your skin. Like this wasn’t a celebration,it was a statement. Their way of parading you around, showing people that you were finally “settled,” finally doing something they could brag about at family gatherings. Finally being useful.
Gross.
You glanced up from your screen, the bitter thought still lingering, just in time to see Yeosang walking back into the living room, rolling the sleeves of his black button-up further up his forearms as he moved. His watch caught the light when he adjusted it, veins on the back of his hand standing out in that stupid way that made you look even when you didn’t want to. Shirt slightly untucked like he’d gotten home from work and didn’t care to fix it. Slacks loose but perfect on him, casual yet expensive. His hair was still slightly messy from running his hands through it, a habit you noticed when he was thinking too hard,or irritated,or, worse, watching you.
Effortlessly hot. The kind of hot that made you annoyed on principle. He didn’t even try. It wasn’t fair.
He sat on the edge of the couch, spreading his legs slightly without meaning to, long fingers lazily undoing the first button of his shirt. Comfort. Casual. Not for show. Just him existing, unaware that it made your throat go dry for no reason other than spite.
You swallowed, tried to act normal, even though normal around him was becoming increasingly difficult.
“So,” you finally broke the silence, tossing your phone onto the cushion beside you. “Did she invite your dad?”
He tilted his head a little, processing, eyes on yours now. Sharp. Heavy. “Yeah. On the day itself.”
“But she asked us to come earlier.”
“Apparently.”
You hated how even his voice was hot. Low, smooth, slightly raspy at the edges like he hadn’t spoken much today. Like he saved his words for you and you alone. The worst part? He wasn’t even doing it on purpose. Just existing like that.
“And do you know why?”
He shrugged lazily, thumb brushing his lower lip for a second as he thought. “Maybe they wanna parade us around early. Maybe they wanna test me.” He glanced at you, one brow barely lifting. “Maybe they’re just bored.”
You sighed. “Or maybe they just wanna show off that they finally got rid of me.”
His gaze sharpened,not with pity, not with softness. Something else. Something sharper. Like he was filing the information away somewhere deep. You were used to people looking at you like you were fragile glass. Yeosang didn’t do that. He just listened, stored it, remembered.
“You’re not something to ‘get rid of,’” he finally said, steady. Quiet. “They’re stupid if they think that.”
You looked away, feeling the sting of those words, not because they were sharp,but because they were gentle in a way you didn’t expect from him.
“I don’t care what they think,” you muttered, eyes fixed on the coffee table.
And maybe you were telling the truth. Maybe you weren’t. Didn’t matter.
Yeosang leaned back against the couch like he had all the time in the world. Long legs, sleeves rolled, one hand resting against his stomach, fingertips idly brushing his rings. The picture of relaxed power. “Doesn’t matter what they think,” he said again, slower this time. “You’re with me now.”
Not possessive. Not demanding. Just a fact he laid out like gravity, like physics, like it couldn’t be argued with. He wasn’t claiming you.
He was reminding you.
And you hated,hated,how much that stupid, effortless heat of his made your heart betray you. Just a little more. Just enough to make you feel the slow burn starting to creep under your skin again.
You both went. Bags packed neatly, yours folded properly, his thrown together last minute like he didn’t care, but of course he did, you knew by now that he cared about everything. Before you left, Yeosang had held up the necklace and the rings, both matching, both expensive, both screaming his. He didn’t even argue, didn’t raise his voice, didn’t try to sweet-talk you into it. He just looked at you. And with him, that was enough.
“I don’t like wearing so much-”
“Wear it,” he cut you off softly, standing close enough that you could smell his cologne, expensive and warm. “Trust me.”
So you did.
Hair done. Jewelry on. Wearing the cardigan he got you last week because he knows you fidget with sleeves, layered over the designer dress that fit too well to be coincidence. Rings catching the sunlight. Necklace resting against your collarbone, delicate but clearly worth more than your dad’s entire car. Everything about you said: untouchable.
But the real final touch?
Yeosang’s hand. Wrapping around yours, warm, steady, undeniable. Like a quiet statement.
When you walked into your family’s house, you didn’t have to say a word.
The look on your mother’s face was priceless. The pause. The flicker of disbelief behind her carefully practiced smile. She didn’t expect this. Not the jewelry. Not the designer clothes. Not the calm way you carried yourself like you belonged in that skin now. And certainly not the way Yeosang stood beside you like you were his entire world on display. Not proud, not showing off, just present. Solid. Real. Someone no one could touch.
It wasn’t just the clothes or the money, it was the weight behind it.
He wasn’t showing you off. He was protecting you. Dressing you in armor you didn’t even realize you’d been missing your whole life.
You didn’t need him to tell you why anymore.
You saw it written all over your mother’s face: this was a game she wasn’t winning anymore.
And when Yeosang squeezed your hand gently, not too hard, not too soft, you finally understood:
He wanted them to see.
Your mother greeted you with that smile, the one she wore to every social event, every uncomfortable conversation, the one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Like clockwork, the passive-aggressive commentary started before you’d even set your bags down.
“Well,” she hummed, eyeing the necklace around your throat, “finally wearing something proper now, aren’t you? Marriage must be doing you well.”
You swallowed. Familiar sting. Same routine. You were used to it. You braced yourself, ready to just nod and let it slide, like always.
But then, Yeosang spoke.
“Yeah,” he said smoothly, like honey with a sharp edge. “She always looks good. But I guess money makes it easier to see, doesn’t it?” You blinked.
Your mom’s smile tightened, sharp as glass. “Of course. Not everyone’s used to that kind of lifestyle.”
Yeosang let out a soft hum, nonchalant, barely acknowledging the insult. “True. But I like giving her things. Makes up for the years she didn’t get them.”
You felt it then, that shift in the air. Like someone opened a window in a stale room. Fresh, biting, unexpected. Your mom’s eyes flickered to yours like she wanted backup, but you weren’t giving it. Not now. Not with him standing next to you like that, calm, sharp, dangerous without even raising his voice.
“Oh, well, we managed just fine before,” she tried again, tone syrupy sweet, eyes narrowing slightly.
Yeosang’s lips twitched,bnot a smirk, just something close. Something controlled. “Yeah. I saw.”
That was it. No yelling. No scenes. Just a few precisely chosen words, placed like knives on fine china. Clean. Silent. Lethal. And you? You were standing next to him, trying to remember how to breathe, because, God, how was he this hot right now? Not just physically, though the rolled sleeves, the watch, the perfectly tailored black slacks were not helping, but mentally. Emotionally. Intellectually. Attractive in the way that made your knees weak because he was on your side. Not just tolerating you. Defending you. Matching every jab with ease, making it seem effortless, like he’d been trained for this.
Because he had. And that’s when it hit you like a punch to the gut—
Oh no. You were in trouble. Real, real trouble.
Because you were falling for this man.
Your mother, visibly swallowing her pride, gave one last flicker of that brittle smile before waving you both off with a tight, “You know the way. Your room’s ready.” Defeated. For the first time, she didn’t have the last word. And that alone felt like fireworks under your skin.
You both went upstairs. Same old room. Same faded wallpaper, same creaking door, same window with the view of nothing in particular. It felt smaller now, too small with him standing there, tall, broad-shouldered, sleeves rolled up, the sharp line of his jaw set like stone, rings glinting on his fingers as he tossed the bags down like he owned the whole damn town.
You didn’t even look at him as you spoke, folding your arms awkwardly, eyes locked on the carpet. “It’s… not as big as your place. Sorry.”
You didn’t know why you said it. Maybe some old leftover habit from constantly apologizing for things that weren’t your fault. You hated that it slipped out.
Yeosang tilted his head slightly, watching you like he was studying a new painting. And then, cool as ever, voice low, warm, dangerous in that stupid effortless way—
“I don’t need the room to be big,” he murmured. “I just need you in it.”
And just like that, oxygen left the room. No teasing, no cocky smirk. Just facts. Solid. Like of course that’s what he thought. Why wouldn’t he?
You wanted to punch something. Mainly because, why the hell did that sound the most genuine and hottest than anything you’d ever heard in your entire life?
You stared at him, heat rising to your cheeks, half from embarrassment, half from pure rage. “Don’t-don’t say shit like that!” you snapped, voice a little louder than you intended, biting at the edges.
Yeosang just lifted his hands like he was fending you off, palms up, rings catching the light. “I said what I said,” he answered, completely unbothered. No teasing grin, no cocky expression, just plain honesty delivered like a punch straight to your throat.
Infuriating.
You stomped off toward the bathroom before you said something stupid, muttering curses under your breath as you went. The old door creaked as you shut it, hands gripping the sink like you could squeeze your irritation into the porcelain. You washed your feet quickly, letting the cold water ground you, but the second you stepped back into the room, something was different.
The suitcases.
Yours, unzipped neatly, placed by the old dresser like it belonged there. His already halfway unpacked, shirts folded sharp, belts coiled perfectly. Like he hadn’t just been flirting with you five minutes ago, like he wasn’t casually flipping your entire life inside out.
You blinked, standing there awkwardly with wet feet on the faded carpet. He didn’t even look at you. He was by the suitcase, rolling his sleeves back down now, slowly, like this was some kind of ritual.
Effortlessly hot. Domestic. Dangerous.
“Didn’t ask you to unpack,” you muttered, feeling small.
“I was doing mine anyway,” he replied simply, folding another black shirt and sliding it into the drawer like he’d done it a thousand times. “And besides, you looked tired.”
It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t kind. It was matter-of-fact, like the sky being blue or the floor being under your feet.
And God,why did that make your stomach twist more than anything else?
You never really expected to marry someone. The idea of sharing your life, your space, your routines, it never felt real. Not because you hated love or feared commitment or any of that dramatic nonsense. No. It just… never seemed like you. You were the quiet one. The invisible daughter. The one people forgot to ask opinions from. The one who learned to thrive in silence. You were used to shrinking into spaces, not opening them up for someone else to walk into. And yet, here you were.
Married to a man who didn’t just walk into your life, he walked in, kicked the door open, threw a damn rug down and started rearranging furniture. Not loudly. Not rudely. Just… unapologetically. Existing in your space like he belonged there.
And worse? He fit. Too well.
You didn’t know what kind of divine comedy this was, but it was definitely messing with your heart. Because that dumb organ was doing little flips and somersaults every time he folded your clothes without being asked, or poured water into your cup before filling his own, or carried your bag like it was an extension of his arm. He never made a show of it. Never called it out.
He just did things. Like you mattered. Like he noticed you. And maybe that scared you more than anything else ever had.
But if he was going to do this,this husband-thing, then maybe, just maybe, he deserved a little space in your world too. Not the one built by your family. Not the name they tried to carry like a badge of shame. Your world. The one you made with your tiny comforts, your small joys, your quiet favorite places.
So, after unpacking, you stood in the middle of the room, fingers brushing over the rings he told you to wear. Still warm from your skin. Still heavy with meaning.
“I want to take you somewhere,” you said quietly, barely above a whisper.
Yeosang, who had just set down his cologne bottle onto the dresser, paused. Then turned to face you fully. “Yeah?” he asked, voice calm but something sparking behind his eyes.
You nodded, awkwardly playing with your sleeve. “Just… somewhere I go when I need to breathe.”
He didn’t say anything at first. Just studied you with that unreadable expression, the one that made it feel like he was seeing parts of you even you didn’t know existed. Then, slowly, his lips tugged into something small. Not a smirk. Not a grin. Just, soft. Warm.
“I’d like that.”
You weren’t ready for how much those three words meant. For the way they made your chest feel tight. He didn’t ask where. Didn’t demand an explanation. He just grabbed a jacket, slung it over one arm, and said, “Lead the way.”
And you knew.
You knew at that moment, he wasn’t just some random name attached to your family’s pride. He wasn’t just a title, or a deal, or a man with money and power.
He was someone who, whether you liked it or not, had already started building a room inside your life.
The cold air bit at your nose as you stepped out, jacket wrapped around you tightly. You didn’t say much on the way, just gave Yeosang a look when he asked where you were taking him, and he didn’t push. Just followed behind you with steady footsteps, jacket slung casually over his arm, black boots echoing on the pavement like something out of a drama.
He looked so out of place in your world.
In his all-black outfit, hair styled just enough to look like he didn’t try, cologne subtle but warm—he was the kind of man who belonged in sleek lounges or high-rise penthouses. Not on this quiet street with chipped sidewalks and flickering neon signs. But you didn’t tell him that. Because a part of you wanted to see if he could fit here too.
You stopped in front of a small corner building, glass windows fogged slightly from the warmth inside. A sign above the door, painted in soft pink and cream:
Whiskers & Tails Café.
He raised a brow. “A pet café?” he asked.
You shrugged. “Yeah.”
Then pushed open the door and stepped in.
Warmth greeted you instantly, both from the heaters and from the familiar scent of fur, coffee, and the faintest trace of vanilla-scented candles. The bell jingled above as you walked in, and the moment your face appeared, a sleepy golden retriever in the corner perked up, tail thudding against the floor.
It wasn’t just any pet café. It was yours. You volunteered here when you could. Cleaned kennels, fed them, played with them, sometimes just sat with the animals when the world outside was too loud. This place had always been your safe space.
And now… he was here.
You didn’t look at him as you unwrapped your scarf. Just mumbled, “I come here sometimes. Help out. Thought I’d check on them since we’re in town.”
Yeosang stood at the entrance for a moment, hands in his coat pockets. You expected him to make a comment. Something dry or sarcastic. Something about you being secretly soft-hearted.
But instead—
A small kitten, tabby with white paws, padded up to his feet. He knelt down. Not just crouched, fully knelt. One knee on the floor, hand out gently, voice soft.
“Hey, little guy.”
The kitten mewed and immediately rubbed its face against his fingers. Yeosang chuckled.
You blinked.
Then watched, absolutely dumbfounded, as the man you thought only cared about suits, expensive watches, and control, started going around the café… greeting every animal.
One by one.
Petting the large dogs with careful hands. Letting a sleepy cat climb onto his lap like it owned him. Even playing tug-of-war with a tiny puppy who definitely wasn’t winning, but Yeosang still made it feel like it was.
You didn’t know what to do with that information.
You sat down on the sofa and let the old Pomeranian you always fed climb onto your lap. You watched him, arms crossed, as he laughed when a kitten climbed into his coat. He made himself at home like he’d been there a hundred times.
You narrowed your eyes from your seat on the couch. “You good down there or are they starting a coup?”
Without looking up, he deadpanned, “I think this one’s the leader,” pointing to the tiny kitten who had now decided to nap on his thigh. “She’s got the eyes of a war general.”
You snorted, petting the sleepy Pomeranian curled into your lap. “Didn’t peg you for an animal person.”
“I’m not,” he said, while simultaneously adjusting the kitten’s head so she was more comfortable. “I’m just very approachable, apparently.”
“Oh yeah, that resting mafia face is super welcoming.”
He finally looked up at you, one brow raised. “Says the woman who stomps like a ghost when she walks and never makes eye contact.”
“That’s stealth,” you argued. “That’s a skill.”
“Sure,” he said dryly. “That’s exactly why the cat followed you the moment you walked in. Real ninja energy.”
You rolled your eyes. “Maybe I smell like food.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” he replied, brushing fur off his pants. “You were navigating my kitchen like it owed you rent.”
“I was cooking, not robbing it.”
“You even found where I hide the sugar.”
“…You hid the sugar?”
“Yes,” he said, without hesitation. “You don’t need that much caffeine.”
You stared at him, offended. “You don’t even live in your kitchen!”
“And yet somehow, you’ve claimed it. Like it’s your natural habitat.”
A kitten chose that exact moment to sneeze on his hand, making him flinch slightly. You burst out laughing. “Oh yes, very majestic. You’re really commanding the animal kingdom right now.”
He shook his head, trying not to smile. “I literally own weapons and yet I’m being taken hostage by a two-pound furball.”
“Whiskers is the boss around here,” you said, pointing at the kitten in his lap. “Bow to her or be banished.”
Yeosang let out a soft laugh, real, low, warm, and scratched Whiskers under her chin. “At least she’s nicer than your mom.”
Your mouth dropped open. “Oh my God.”
“What?” he shrugged. “Whiskers didn’t say I was a waste of good suits.”
You tried to look scandalized, but you couldn’t help the laugh bubbling out of you. It was rare, laughing like this. Laughing with him. You weren’t supposed to be this comfortable. This… normal.
Yeosang glanced at you then, just briefly. “You laugh more when we’re not in your house.”
You blinked. “You notice that?”
He looked back down at the kitten, brushing his fingers through her fur. “I notice everything.”
And there it was. That stupid warmth again.
The air was cool and quiet as you and Yeosang walked down the familiar streets back home, the sun dipping just low enough to wash everything in that soft golden haze. Your feet were starting to ache, but you didn’t say anything. Mostly because Yeosang was already holding your bag, slung effortlessly over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.
You did huffed, but didn’t argue. And maybe, just maybe, you liked the way it felt. Having someone quietly notice the things you struggled with and not making a big deal about helping.
You reached your house just as the golden light began to fade, the front porch casting long shadows. Yeosang’s grip on your bag shifted slightly as he pushed the door open for you, and the moment you stepped inside—
There she was.
Your mother. Standing there like she’d been waiting. That same tight-lipped smile that somehow looked more like a challenge than a greeting. “Where have you both been?” she asked, voice dripping with sweetness that somehow stung more than actual venom.
You shrugged off your shoes. “Places.”
She blinked. “Places?”
You nodded. “Yes.”
That smile wavered for just a second. “Well, as long as you’re not wandering around wasting time. Married life shouldn’t distract you from your responsibilities. Your husband might not always be so forgiving.”
You opened your mouth, ready to respond, or maybe just sigh, but Yeosang beat you to it.
“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, setting your bag down gently, tone sugary-sweet and razor-sharp. “I’m more than forgiving. I even let her choose the restaurant today. Can you imagine?”
Your mom blinked. “Oh?”
“Crazy, right?” he continued, peeling off his jacket slowly, casually. “Letting her make her own decisions? Next thing you know, she’ll have opinions.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.
Your mom’s smile dropped just a millimeter.
“And besides,” Yeosang added, voice light but eyes cold, “it wasn’t wasting time. We were at a place that made her happy. Which, I assume, isn’t a common theme around here.”
Dead. You were dead. He did not just say that.
Your mom blinked at him, clearly stunned for a half second, then let out a tight chuckle. “Well, I’m glad she has such a... supportive husband.”
Yeosang smiled. “Me too.”
You were just about to make your escape up the stairs, Yeosang right beside you, your bag now resting by the steps, when her voice cut through the air. "YN, come help me in the kitchen."
Your feet froze mid-step.
Yeosang slowed too, looking down at you with a glance so subtle no one else would’ve noticed. But you did. His eyes scanned your face, taking in the shift in your shoulders, the way your fingers tensed slightly. You didn’t even look at him, just nodded once and turned back. Because at the end of the day, no matter how many rings you wore or necklaces draped around your neck or husbands stood beside you,
She was still your mother.
You stepped into the kitchen like a soldier walking onto familiar, scorched battlefield. The air was already heavy with the smell of oil and something boiling, but you knew that wouldn’t be the thing to make your stomach turn.
“Wash those vegetables,” she said without even looking up. You did. Quietly. Mechanically. You always did. Then it began.
“I see you’ve gotten used to letting someone else speak for you now.” You kept washing the spinach. “Can’t even answer a simple question earlier. Just ‘places,’ huh?” You didn’t reply. Not yet.
“Not surprised. You were always a bit slow to speak. Just like your father.” The knife clinked a little harder against the cutting board. You knew that trick. Cut someone else down so you forget the weight of your own bruises.
You placed the spinach in the bowl. She turned to you, eyes narrow. “He must’ve spoiled you real quick. Is that why you’re suddenly standing up like a big girl now? His money made you bold?”
You finally looked at her. “No,” you said. Calm. Sharp. “I think I just stopped being afraid.”
She stared at you like you’d grown two heads. “Excuse me?”
You held her gaze. “You heard me.”
Her lips curled. “He’s not going to protect you forever. He’ll get bored of you. They always do.”
Your stomach twisted. “He’s not like that.”
She rolled her eyes. “You think he married you out of love? You’re not even that special. Don’t let some designer label fool you, girl.”
You felt it. That slow-burning heat, shame and anger tangling like wires in your chest. But this time, it didn’t silence you. This time, you said, “Maybe he didn’t marry me for love. But he treats me better in months than you have my whole life.”
And that’s when it happened.
Her hand was faster than your eyes. A crack of palm against cheek, the sound almost louder than the pain.
Almost.
You didn’t cry. You didn’t speak. You just stood there. Frozen.
Because the sting on your cheek wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was how familiar it felt. That helplessness. That silence. That deep ache of being reduced to a child who didn’t have the right to speak.
You thought you had outgrown this. You thought you were healing.
But the tear that slid down your cheek wasn’t from the slap, it was from the sudden, brutal realization that a part of you was still that girl. Still folding napkins at dinner. Still flinching at footsteps. Still pretending it didn’t hurt.
And you hated it.
You hated that she could still reach inside you and drag that little girl out. Just with a few words. A raised hand. A name that still had power, even if you tried to forget.
The moment the slap landed, you dropped everything. The vegetables, the bowl, the knife. You didn’t even flinch at the sound of it clattering to the ground. Your hands trembled, not from the sting but from the crushing wave of emotions that surged through you, humiliation, fury, sadness, and something deeper. Something rotten that had been buried for too long. You didn’t say a word. Not to her. Not to yourself. You just turned, eyes burning and steps heavy, and walked. No…ran.
Up the stairs. Past the photos on the wall. Past the familiar scent of a house that never really felt like home. Your feet hit the last step and you all but burst through the door of your old bedroom.
Yeosang looked up just as you entered. He had his jacket in his hands, half off, like he’d just finished fixing his hair in the mirror. The casual, effortless way he looked, black sleeves rolled to the elbows, shirt fitted perfectly across his shoulders, it should’ve made your heart do those little flips again. But right now, you were too full. Too heavy. You didn’t even speak to him. You just locked eyes for half a second, long enough for him to see it. The tightness in your jaw. The gleam of tears unshed. The way your hands were clenched like you were holding on to the last strand of composure.
You walked past him, your steps unsteady but fast, and went straight into the bathroom. Yeosang didn’t move for a second. He didn’t need to ask. He didn’t need to guess. He knew.
He knew your face by now, every flicker, every twitch. He knew the storm behind your silence. You weren’t just tired. You weren’t just overwhelmed. You were hurt. And he didn’t need to hear it from your mouth to understand the source of it. His jaw tightened as he slowly placed his jacket on the hook, not saying a word. But his mind was loud.
Of course that woman did something. He knew this was more than just a fight. This was history. Years of belittling. Years of you being told you weren’t enough. Years of silence and shame so normalized it felt like air in this damn house. And even now, even with the jewelry he gave you on your skin, even with him standing next to you as your husband, she still saw you as that same small girl she could bend and break.
His fists clenched at his sides as he exhaled slowly. He had known you longer than you thought. Maybe you didn’t know that part yet. Maybe you never noticed how often he showed up where you were before this marriage. How much he had watched, not in a creepy way, but like someone fascinated by a person who moved quietly through the world and still held so much within her. He remembered the way you used to fidget with the ends of your sleeves when walking alone. He had always noticed you. And that’s why it burned so much now. Because even after all that time, you still had to deal with this.
He took a slow step toward the bathroom door, didn’t knock, didn’t call out. He just stood there.
When you came out of the bathroom, the air in the room felt heavier. Your face was washed, but the redness around your eyes betrayed you. Yeosang didn’t look up right away; he was lying back against the headboard, one arm folded under his head, the picture of composure. But he was watching. Not obviously, not directly, but every flicker of your movement was caught in the corner of his gaze.
You didn’t say a word. You walked over and sat at the very edge of the bed, your back stiff, your hands folded tightly in your lap as if keeping yourself from falling apart depended on it. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until his voice cut through it, low, steady, but gentle in a way that disarmed you instantly.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, not even shifting his posture. “You don’t have to explain. But if you need me,” his eyes flicked toward you, softer than you’d ever seen them, “I’ll be here.”
That was it. No lecture. No questions. No demanding answers you weren’t ready to give. Just that.
Your throat closed up before you could even think of a reply. The kind of ache that doesn’t warn you, it just rises. Your eyes blurred, and before you could stop it, tears began slipping down silently, trailing hot down your cheeks. You never were the kind of person to cry out loud—your pain had always been quiet, tucked away where no one could see. But the tears betrayed you now, your shoulders trembling, your chest rising unevenly as you tried to hold the pieces of yourself together.
Yeosang didn’t say anything else. He just moved. Slowly, steadily, he sat up, closed the small distance between you, and pulled you into him. His arms wrapped around you, firm but not suffocating, the way someone holds something fragile but refuses to let it break. He didn’t shush you, didn’t tell you to stop. He just held you because he knew you needed it more than anything.
And in that moment, with your forehead against his chest and his steady heartbeat under your ear, you realized he wasn’t here to fix you. He was here to stand with you while you broke, and to make sure you didn’t have to do it alone anymore.
The words slipped out of you before you could even stop them. You weren’t planning to tell him, weren’t planning to open your mouth at all, but it came so naturally, like a reflex, like breathing. “She slapped me,” you said quietly, staring at your hands in your lap.
Yeosang froze. His entire body went still, like a string pulled taut. His voice came next, sharp but measured, carrying a weight that told you he already knew but wanted to hear it confirmed. “Who?”
You swallowed, the word barely leaving your lips. “Mom.”
It sounded almost childish, almost like a confession you’d make as a kid when you ran to a grown-up, expecting them to fix it. But with Yeosang, it felt different. It wasn’t childish. It wasn’t weak. It felt like you were telling someone who had the power to take that weight from you, someone who wouldn’t just sit by. It felt like complaining to a guardian who could shield you, who could make the world’s cruelty back off.
Yeosang didn’t speak right away. He was still, utterly still, except for the tightening of his jaw. His eyes darkened, not in sadness, but in fury, an anger that sat deep in his chest and burned hot in his veins. He rarely felt it, and even more rarely let it show. But now, he was furious.
How dare someone touch you? His wife. His partner. The thought alone made his stomach knot and his blood hum with rage. He could hear his father’s voice in the back of his mind, the lessons drilled into him since boyhood: You protect the women in your family. And if anyone dares to lay a hand on them, you crush them. Especially your partner. She is your shield and your heart. No one touches her and walks away unscathed.
Yeosang’s fists curled into the blanket, his breath steady but heavy. It wasn’t just anger. It was something deeper, more dangerous. The kind of fury that demanded action. The kind that could dismantle a person piece by piece without even raising his voice.
The house was oddly quiet, you and Yeosang were tucked away in your room, standing in front of the mirror as you fixed the last bit of your hair. The soft glow of the lamp lit your face, but there was something about your eyes, dimmed, distant. No matter how carefully you blended your eyeliner or how well you draped your outfit, the shadow of what had happened earlier still lingered behind your expression.
Yeosang noticed. He always noticed. Even if you smiled, even if you tried to tuck it away, he could read you like lines written across his own palm. Adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, he leaned slightly toward you, catching your reflection in the mirror. “Don’t worry about it,” he said quietly, almost like a command but softened for you. His tone carried that steady confidence of his, the kind that made you feel like maybe he really could shoulder it all for you. “She’s not worth your thoughts tonight.”
You glanced at him, your lips twitching as if you wanted to respond but couldn’t quite bring yourself to. Instead, you smoothed the fabric of your dress, pushing away the heaviness for the moment. If he said not to worry, maybe you could trust him enough to try.
The venue was only a short walk away, near the house, and the sound of music and chatter already carried through the air when you both stepped outside. The street was glowing with lanterns and fairy lights, the venue itself dressed in bright colors and flowers that looked extravagant, too extravagant. You frowned slightly, tilting your head. Where did all this money come from? When you lived under this roof, the only thing you ever heard was how broke they were, how sacrifices had to be made, how you were a burden on the household. Yet suddenly, for this celebration, there was no shortage of decorations, food, and flair.
Your stomach twisted with the bitterness of it, but you kept walking. Yeosang, carrying himself with a calm sharpness beside you, noticed the way your lips pressed into a thin line. Without asking, without prying, he slipped your bag from your arm to his. “Clumsy hands,” he teased lightly, the same excuse he’d given earlier. But it wasn’t just that, he wanted to ease the weight you carried, even if it was something small.
Inside, the venue gleamed with people bustling, laughter rising, and the smell of food filling the air. And though your chest felt tight, you held your chin a little higher. Yeosang was beside you, his presence steady, and that alone felt like armor.
Yeosang had told you earlier, almost in passing while straightening his cufflinks, that his father was also on his way to the venue. The words had been simple, but they left a strange warmth in your chest. For some reason, knowing that man would be there settled you, as if the ground beneath your feet felt a little sturdier. His father had always been kind to you, genuinely kind, not the hollow politeness you were used to from others. He treated you like you were someone worth noticing, worth listening to. And it made you wonder, in the quiet corners of your mind, why your own father never looked at you that way. Why he never thought his daughter deserved the same softness a stranger could offer.
You didn’t say any of this out loud, of course. Words had always felt like a battlefield to you, every sentence a risk. So you kept them tucked behind your lips where they belonged, only giving Yeosang a small nod when he mentioned his father’s arrival. You knew he would catch it, knew he would read that tiny movement like it was a whole paragraph. That was the thing about him, he never needed your explanations to understand you.
His father had only been there for a few minutes, but the difference in the air was impossible to ignore. He carried himself with the kind of ease that drew people in, that quiet authority that made others soften just by being near him. After greeting your parents politely, your father stiff and formal, your mother forcedly cheerful, he drifted toward where you and Yeosang stood, positioning himself naturally by your side as though he belonged there.
The flow of relatives and family friends soon began, trickling into the venue in groups, all smiles and curious glances. One by one, you found yourself being tugged forward into the routine of introductions. You barely managed the words, your voice soft and clipped, but it didn’t matter. Yeosang filled in every gap you left, his hand at the small of your back, his responses smooth and respectful, his presence a shield more than anything. His father was no different, gracious, warm, steady. He didn’t just stand there like an ornament, he engaged, asked small questions, even made sure to include you when others seemed to gloss past your presence.
You could feel the eyes of your relatives lingering longer than they should. These were the same people who had sighed in pity when your marriage had been announced, whispering behind your back about how unfortunate it was to be bound to the Kang family. You remembered their voices, their sideways glances, their rehearsed sympathy. And now? Now you could see the jealousy simmering beneath their skin, their smiles stretched too tight, their words stumbling when they realized Yeosang wouldn’t stop orbiting around you.
He didn’t hide it. He didn’t play it down. He stayed close, adjusted the edge of your sleeve when it slipped, handed you a glass of water before you could even think to ask, leaned in to answer questions for you when your throat locked up. He didn’t do it to make a show of it, it was simply how he treated you. And the envy in your relatives’ eyes was so sharp it was almost laughable. You could see it in the stiffness of their shoulders, in the way they exchanged looks with each other, as though each glance was a needle pricked against their skin.
They had pitied you once. Now, standing there with Yeosang’s easy devotion surrounding you and his father’s steady presence at your side, you almost wished you could hand them a mirror so they could see themselves, jealousy dripping from their faces like pins stuck carelessly in cloth.
The chandelier light glowed soft golden, laughter bouncing around the decorated hall, but for Yeosang and his father this was nothing more than the perfect stage. The world thought they were here for your father’s birthday. They weren’t.
You stood beside Yeosang, your hand loosely in his, when his father leaned closer with a faint smile that only the two of you could read.
“So,” his voice was smooth, carrying easily over the chatter, “this is the family that thought they could treat my daughter-in-law so carelessly.” His eyes flicked toward your mother across the hall, who was busy playing hostess, and then to your father, stiff in his seat as relatives crowded around him. “I must admit, Yeosang, I expected… better.”
Yeosang’s hand tightened slightly around yours, grounding you, his lips curving into a smile that looked charming to the outside world but was laced with quiet malice. “That’s why I told you not to hold back tonight. Let them see what respect really looks like.”
You blinked up at him, confusion stirring, but neither man looked at you with pity. Yeosang’s father’s gaze softened for a brief second as he glanced at you, almost as if telling you silently: This isn’t your burden to carry anymore. This is ours.
A group of relatives approached them, gushing over the Kang family name, trying to curry favor. One of them made a passing remark, tone sly, “Ah, Yeosang, we heard it was quite the surprise, wasn’t it? A rushed marriage, hm?” The words were meant to sting, meant to remind you of how they once pitied you.
Yeosang’s father chuckled, rich and deliberate. “Surprise, yes. But only for those who didn’t realize what a treasure she is. You see, my son chose well. He could’ve had anyone, but he wanted her. And after seeing how she’s been treated before?” His gaze, sharp as steel beneath his smile, landed on your father briefly. “Let’s just say the Kang family makes sure no one forgets her worth again.”
There was a subtle shift in the air, whispers starting among the group. Yeosang didn’t let the moment linger too long—he smoothly added, his tone deceptively light, “People don’t often realize how cruel words can be behind closed doors. But I think she deserves a room full of people knowing she’s valued. Don’t you agree, Father?”
“I couldn’t agree more,” his father replied smoothly, raising his glass. To outsiders it looked like casual praise, but the bite in his words was unmistakable to the ones who knew. Your father shifted uncomfortably across the room, and you caught it.
And then, like a knife slicing clean through the tension, Yeosang’s father announced it. Loud enough for the nearby relatives, your parents, and soon the entire hall to hear:
“Speaking of surprises, we Kang men don’t come empty-handed. Tonight, I am pleased to announce that we are in the final stages of acquiring the very company your father works at.” He turned deliberately, his smile kind but razor-edged, to face your father. “Which means, from now on, he’ll be working directly under us.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Your relatives’ eyes widened, their envy morphing into disbelief, then thinly veiled glee at your father’s humiliation. You felt your stomach drop, a dizzying mix of shock and something dangerously close to satisfaction.
Yeosang’s hand found yours again, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. He didn’t even look at your father, he only looked at you, his eyes calm, his voice low so only you could hear. “You don’t ever have to bow your head to them again.”
Your father’s face had gone red, your mother’s forced smile faltering as the murmurs grew louder. And you? For the first time in years, standing between Yeosang and his father, you didn’t feel small in that house of shadows.
You felt untouchable.
The hall was glowing with lights, laughter, and clinking glasses, but for Yeosang and his father, it was all just a stage. Neither of them cared for the decorations or the false pleasantries exchanged across the room. This wasn’t a celebration. This was their battlefield.
Yeosang stood close to you, his hand brushing against yours as if grounding you in place. His gaze, however, was sharp, scanning the room like he was calculating every move before it happened. His father leaned against the tall glass table beside him, his expression calm, even casual, but the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
“You were right,” Mr. Kang said under his breath, his voice low enough that only Yeosang caught it. “They treat her like a stranger in her own family. Look at her mother, she smiles at me but she won’t even look at her daughter. Pathetic.”
Yeosang’s jaw clenched, his eyes flicking to you for a moment. You were fidgeting with the rings you had on, shoulders tense, trying to appear small in the crowd. He hated it. He hated that this house, these people, made you shrink yourself.
“They’ll learn tonight,” Yeosang replied, his tone colder than ice. “You’ve always told me, never let anyone lay a hand on the woman of my family. And she’s mine. They think they can treat her like she’s nothing. Let’s see how they handle when the room starts whispering about them instead.”
His father chuckled, that low dangerous sound. “That’s my son.” He straightened, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. “I’ll handle the first strike. Subtle. Sharp. I’ll make them bleed without realizing they’re cut.”
Yeosang’s lips curved, though it wasn’t a smile—it was a warning. “And I’ll finish it. Once we announce the company, there’ll be nothing left of his pride.”
A waiter passed, and Mr. Kang smoothly lifted a glass of champagne. He didn’t drink it, simply held it as though it were a prop in his act. His eyes found your father across the room, laughing too loudly with his friends, chest puffed with fake importance.
“Enjoy your last night of dignity,” Mr. Kang murmured, almost to himself, but Yeosang heard. “By the time we’re done, everyone in this room will know exactly what kind of man you really are.”
Yeosang’s hand brushed against yours again, this time firmer, more deliberate. You glanced up at him, confused by the look in his eyes, fierce, unyielding, protective. He didn’t say a word to you, but you didn’t need him to. You could feel it. Tonight, he wasn’t just standing by your side. Tonight, he was fighting for you.
And the Kangs never fought to lose.
Your father stood near the center of the room, chest out, soaking in the attention of his colleagues and relatives. He thrived in this spotlight. He always had.
Mr. Kang made the first move. He stepped forward with ease, smile warm enough to seem genuine yet sharp enough to cut. Holding his champagne glass, he spoke loud enough for nearby guests to hear.
“Your daughter is precious, you know.” His voice was smooth, conversational, yet it carried. “Yeosang told me how strong she had to be while living here. Not every girl can survive such… strict households.”
The people around them stilled. Some glanced toward you, then at your parents. Your mother’s smile faltered, the corners of her lips twitching nervously. Your father’s eyes flickered, just for a moment, but he covered it with a strained laugh.
“Oh, you know how kids exaggerate, Mr. Kang,” he said, voice overly cheerful. “We raised her well, didn’t we?”
Yeosang, standing tall beside you, let out a low chuckle, soft but audible. It wasn’t amusement, it was mockery. His arm slipped around your waist, drawing you closer into his side like he was shielding you from them all. His words cut like a blade, smooth and deliberate.
“She doesn’t exaggerate,” he said calmly. “I’ve seen enough to know what she’s been through. She deserved kindness, not… discipline masked as care.”
The crowd’s silence was heavy now, whispers beginning to stir like embers catching flame. Your relatives’ faces were pale, their envy earlier replaced by shock.
Your father’s jaw worked, his smile twitching. “Yeosang-ah, don’t misunderstand—”
“Misunderstand?” Yeosang interrupted, his tone still respectful yet laced with steel. “No, I don’t misunderstand. I protect what’s mine. And when I see the woman I love flinch in her own home, when I hear she’s been struck…” His gaze sharpened, his voice lowering dangerously. “That isn’t misunderstanding. That’s truth.”
Your breath hitched. His words weren’t shouted, yet they echoed louder than any scream could have.
Before your father could sputter out another excuse, Mr. Kang stepped forward, commanding the room with practiced authority. He clinked his glass gently, drawing all attention to himself.
“On another note,” he began, smiling as though nothing heavy had been said, “I’d like to share something important. My company will officially be acquiring the firm your dear host here works for.” He gestured politely to your father, whose face drained of color. “I believe that makes him… well, my employee now.”
A ripple of gasps ran through the hall. Some guests exchanged stunned looks, others covered their mouths with their hands. Your father’s pride shattered right before their eyes.
Mr. Kang’s smile was razor sharp. “I do hope you all continue to support him in this new… position.”
Yeosang didn’t gloat. He didn’t need to. He simply stood tall beside you, his hand steady on your back, his expression unreadable but victorious. And for the first time in years, you weren’t the one shrinking under everyone’s gaze. It was your father.
The hall buzzed with whispers, your relatives’ envy twisting into something else entirely, fear, awe, regret. You felt your chest tighten, tears prickling at your eyes, but not from sadness this time. For once, someone had stood up for you. For once, you weren’t alone.
And as the chandeliers glowed brighter, it didn’t feel like your father’s celebration anymore.
It felt like Yeosang’s victory.
Yeosang’s grip on your hand was steady, too steady. It wasn’t the kind of handhold you could slip out of, not the kind where he gave you space to hesitate. It was firm, grounded, the kind that said we’re leaving, and I won’t let you look back.
The hall’s murmurs still rang in your ears as the three of you walked out. People parted in silence, unsure whether to whisper or bow, and you could feel their stares clinging to your back. You didn’t dare turn around.
Your heart twisted. Part of you wanted to breathe, wanted to smile, wanted to lean into the warmth of his hand and the comfort of finally being defended. But another part of you, the part that had been trained to obey, to fear, to seek approval, ached at the thought of leaving your father standing there in the ruins of his pride.
The cold night air hit your face before you even realized you’d stepped outside. Yeosang didn’t slow, didn’t falter. By the time you blinked, you were standing at the car, his father quietly instructing the driver. You hadn’t even noticed the suitcases being loaded into the trunk.
Your throat went dry. When did he-?
And then, just like that, the car door was opening for you. Yeosang guided you in with that same unshakable grip, sliding in right after you. His father took the seat in front. The door shut, muffling the noise of the party, muffling your father’s world.
Only then did the silence crash down.
You stared at the window, watching the house fade in the distance. Your heart pounded against your ribs, your mind torn between relief and guilt, freedom and grief.
Yeosang’s hand was still over yours. Warm. Steady. He hadn’t let go. Not once.
“You’re not going back there,” he said finally, his voice quiet but absolute. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
You didn’t know whether to cry or to thank him. Maybe both. But all you managed was a small nod, your fingers curling back into his, hesitant, trembling, but holding on.
The soft click of the penthouse door echoed in the quiet, and the only light spilling in was from the city skyline, gold and silver scattered like stars against the glass. The hum of the city felt so far away compared to the heavy silence between you and Yeosang.
He didn’t even bother turning on the lights. Instead, he turned to you the moment the door locked behind him. His hands were on your shoulders, steady but gentle, anchoring you in place. He lowered himself just enough so his eyes caught yours, dark and unrelenting.
“YN,” he said, voice low, careful, “don’t do that.”
You blinked at him, startled. “Do what?” Your voice cracked despite you trying to make it sound even.
His grip on your shoulders tightened, firm, not harsh. “Keep it all inside. Pretend you’re fine when I know you’re not.” He searched your face like he was trying to read every thought you refused to say out loud. “I can see it. I’m not blind. Don’t hide from me.”
Your lips parted, but no words came. That familiar instinct clawed at you, to shake your head, to stay quiet, to keep the ache bottled where no one could touch it. But Yeosang wasn’t letting you get away with it.
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping softer, almost a whisper now. “You don’t have to say it pretty. You don’t have to explain it right. Just- say something. To me. Please.”
Your throat tightened. His eyes didn’t waver, not once. He wasn’t angry, wasn’t demanding, it was something worse. He was begging you to let him in. And for the first time that night, you felt your chest crack open.
Your words came out like they belonged to someone much younger, someone small and fragile,
“I don’t know what I’m feeling, Yeosang…”
It cracked at the end, sharp and thin, and you hated how childlike you sounded. But it was the truth, the rawest thing you could give. Yeosang didn’t flinch. He didn’t let go. He only guided you to the couch, slow and deliberate, his hand still steady on your shoulder as if he was afraid you’d crumble if he moved too quickly.
“Sit down first,” he murmured.
You obeyed, sinking into the cushions, your body heavier than you realized. But his hand never left you, it was still there, grounding, firm and warm against your shoulder. You stared at your knees, at your trembling fingers, at the floor, anywhere but him.
“It’s okay,” Yeosang said, voice like velvet over steel. “Take your time.”
That was when it slipped. One tear, hot and stubborn, slid down your cheek before you could stop it. You didn’t even wipe it away. You just let it fall, your eyes slowly lifting to meet his again.
His gaze softened the moment he saw it. No mockery, no impatience. Just this unbearable tenderness, like the sight of you breaking, was breaking him, too.
You finally let it out, the words shaky and bitter, like they’d been rotting in your chest for years.
“I feel horrible… like a horrible daughter.”
Your lip trembled as you forced yourself to keep speaking. “That was his party, Yeosang. And I ruined it. For me, for us, he had to…” your throat caught, “it was supposed to be a celebration, and I—”
“Yn,” Yeosang’s voice cut through, low but firm. He crouched in front of you, catching your eyes even when you tried to look away. “Don’t you dare put this on yourself.”
You shook your head, whispering, “But I feel like the worst—”
“You’re not.” He reached up, brushing away the tear sliding down your left cheek. The gentleness of it made your chest ache even worse. Another tear slipped from your right eye, and this time, his thumb caught it before it could fall. He held your face carefully in both hands, like you were glass.
“They were never parents to you, Yn,” he said, steady but sharp, as if each word was a truth he needed you to believe. “They were owners. They treated you like something they could control, not someone they could love. Parents don’t raise their hands on their child. Parents don’t make their daughter cry herself to sleep.”
Your shoulders shook, your voice small. “Then why… why do I still feel guilty?”
“Because you’ve been made to feel guilty your whole life.” His thumb traced lightly across your cheek, drying the wet trail left behind. “But listen to me, none of this is your fault. Not tonight, not ever.”
His gaze softened, his voice lowering into something almost pleading.
“You didn’t ruin his party. He ruined you. And I won’t let him, or anyone, touch you again.”
Your breath hitched when the image of your mother’s face flashed across your mind, the cold, unmoving stare she gave you as if you were nothing. It twisted in your chest, and before you could stop it, a sob broke free. You dropped your gaze, ashamed of the sound, but Yeosang didn’t let you hide.
Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight against his chest. His hand threaded through your hair, slow and steady, while the other rubbed circles on your back. His voice hummed low above you, calm, protective.
“It’s okay. Cry if you need to.” His chin rested lightly against your head. “You don’t have to hold anything in with me.”
You clung to his shirt, your voice muffled against him. Another sob wracked through you, but his arms only tightened, grounding you.
“They don’t deserve your tears, Yn. Not one of them,” he whispered, stroking your hair like he was trying to smooth away every scar left behind. “You’ve carried this weight alone for too long. Let me carry it now.”
You lifted your head slowly, eyes swollen, lips trembling, and met his gaze. He looked softer than you had ever seen him. There was no sharp edge, no cool distance, just warmth. His thumb brushed your cheek again, so carefully it made your chest ache.
“You’re safe now. With me, you’re safe,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “No one can hurt you here.”
Something shifted inside you then. The safety in his arms was foreign, almost overwhelming, but it wrapped around you like a blanket you’d never had before. It felt intimate, terrifyingly so, like he was peeling back all the layers you’d built to protect yourself. And still, he didn’t flinch.
For the first time in years, you let yourself lean into someone. And for the first time, it didn’t feel like weakness.
His thumbs were still brushing away your tears when he suddenly froze, staring at you with an intensity that made your heart skip. He didn’t know what possessed him, maybe the sight of your trembling lips, maybe the ache in your eyes, but his hands rose, cupping your face gently, like you were something fragile he couldn’t let slip through his fingers.
Your lips parted slightly, pouting as if they were begging to be soothed. Without thinking, Yeosang leaned down and pressed the softest kiss against them. Just a fleeting touch. You blinked in surprise, but you were too buried in sadness to fully react.
He pulled back, searching your face, and whispered, almost as if he was testing the words on his own tongue.
“I don’t know why, but I felt like you needed that.”
Before you could even process it, he kissed you again. This time slower, lingering, like he wanted you to feel it.
“Yeosang” your voice cracked, fragile.
“I’m right here, Yn,” he murmured, his forehead leaning against yours. “I’ll always be here, whether you’re crying, whether you’re silent, even when you don’t know what you’re feeling, I’ll stay.”
Your breath shook as more tears fell, though not all from sadness this time. He wiped them away again, his palms still warm against your cheeks.
“You don’t have to pretend around me,” he said softly. “Not strong, not perfect, not unbothered. Just… you. That’s all I want. Now do you want me to remove your makeup? Cause your mascara is going all over the place.”
A shaky little laugh slipped out of you, surprising even yourself. It wasn’t loud, but it was there, soft, real, and it broke through the heaviness in the air.
His chest loosened at the sound, and his lips curved into something more genuine. “There it is,” he whispered, almost in awe. “You’re laughing while crying. Do you know how beautiful that is?”
You wiped the corner of your eye, still sniffling, and muttered, “That sounds ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he chuckled, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “But it’s you. And right now, I’ll take any excuse to see you smile.”
For a moment, the silence felt lighter. He exhaled slowly, still keeping his hands near your face, as if he couldn’t quite let go. Then he leaned back a little, his voice calm but certain.
“It’s late. We should get ready for bed.”
He said it not as an end to the moment, but as if he was carrying you forward away from the weight of the night, and into something safer.
The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside the tall windows. The penthouse was dark, only the silver glow of the moon spilling in through the curtains. Yeosang lay on his back, one arm resting against his stomach, the other draped lazily over the sheets. It was a familiar sight, he always slept like that, still and calm, like the world couldn’t touch him.
You, however, couldn’t sleep. Your mind wouldn’t stop turning. The images of the evening, your father’s expression, your mother’s silence, the weight of everything that had been said and done, kept replaying behind your eyes. But more than that, the way Yeosang had been with you. The way he held you together when you were falling apart. The way he hadn’t let go once.
“Yeosang?” your voice came out softer than you intended, almost childlike.
He turned his head immediately, eyes sharp even in the low light. “Hm?” he hummed back, voice deep and steady, like he’d been waiting for you to call him.
You hesitated, then slowly shifted onto your side, facing him. He mirrored you without even thinking, his body turning to you, as if his instincts wouldn’t let him do anything else.
For a second, you just looked at him, the relaxed set of his jaw, the way his hair was a little messy against the pillow, the quiet warmth in his eyes. And before you could second-guess yourself, before you could let the nerves crawl in, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his.
It was small, delicate. A flutter of a kiss. Barely there, but it still made your chest tighten like you’d leapt off a cliff.
When you pulled back, his eyes were wide, but not with shock, more with a kind of wonder, like he wasn’t sure if he was awake or dreaming.
“…Thank you,” you whispered, your voice cracking just slightly.
His brows softened. “For what?” he asked quietly, almost afraid to break the fragile moment.
“For tonight. For being here. For… everything,” you breathed, your eyes flickering away.
And then, almost like it slipped out of you before you could stop it, you whispered, “I love you.”
The words hung between you for only a beat before you quickly turned around, facing the other side of the bed. Your heart was pounding in your ears, your fists curled in the sheets. You didn’t want to see his reaction. You didn’t think you could handle it.
Yeosang just lay there frozen for a moment, staring at the dark ceiling, his mind spiraling faster than it ever had in battle. He didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or jump up and run around the entire penthouse like a lunatic. His chest felt tight, but in the best way, like his heart was too big for his body.
You. The one he had quietly, obsessively, devoted himself to. The one he’d spent months trying to read, trying to break through, trying to protect without scaring away. You, the girl who always kept her feelings locked away, who never let anyone know what was going on inside, just said you loved him.
If anyone else had said it, he would’ve dismissed it, maybe even laughed. But from you? His wife? The girl who could barely admit when she was hurt? It was everything.
Yeosang pressed a hand over his face, trying to smother the stupid grin threatening to spread. Get a grip, man, he scolded himself, but his body wasn’t listening. His stomach was a mess of nerves, his throat tight, his heart thundering like he was some lovesick teenager, not the cold, calculating Yeosang that people feared.
Butterflies. Actual butterflies. This is humiliating.
But then his eyes flicked to your back, your shoulders rising and falling as if you were trying to pretend you hadn’t just dropped a bomb on him.
The second Yeosang realized you were faking sleep, something inside him twisted. He had been patient for so long, silent when you avoided, soft when you broke down, careful when you were fragile. But now? Now you had kissed him, whispered those three words that had haunted his dreams, and then had the audacity to turn away as if nothing happened.
Not on his watch.
Without warning, his arm clamped tighter around your waist. You barely had time to register before he tugged you back with such strength that the air hitched in your throat. The mattress shifted beneath his weight as he rolled you toward him, his grip unyielding, caging you against him.
“Yeosang!” you gasped, startled, your hands instinctively pushing against his chest. He didn’t budge. He was solid, immovable, like marble brought to life. His dark eyes locked on you, sharp and burning, and the look on his face made your protest die in your throat.
“No.” His voice was low, firm, but there was fire simmering beneath it. “That’s not how it’s gonna be.” His hand at your waist tightened, pulling you impossibly closer until you could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your palm. “You can’t just kiss me, drop that on me, and then run away. No, YN. Not tonight.”
Your lips parted, but nothing came out. You were trapped, not by force, but by the sheer weight of him. By the intensity in his gaze. By how he looked at you like you were the only thing in his universe.
He leaned in, his forehead nearly brushing yours, his voice a demanding whisper. “Look at me. Say it to my face. If you’re gonna love me, then don’t you dare hide it behind your back.”
Your heart was pounding so hard it almost hurt. His words weren’t cruel, but they shook you to your core, cracking the walls you’d built. You could feel his fingers at your side, strong and steady, like he was anchoring you in place, refusing to let you escape not this time.
“Yeosang…” your voice cracked, small and trembling.
He softened for only a second, his thumb brushing gently against your side, but his eyes never wavered. “Say it.”
You wanted to bury your face, to hide like you always did, but his grip wouldn’t let you. And maybe— maybe that was exactly what you needed. His strength wasn’t a prison, it was a reminder that someone, finally, wanted you to stop running.
“I-” You hesitated, the lump in your throat making it nearly impossible. But his gaze, unrelenting yet patient, drew the truth out of you. “…I love you, Yeosang.”
The moment the words slipped from your lips a second time, clear, certain, undeniable, Yeosang couldn’t hold himself back anymore. His arms wrapped around you with a force that knocked the breath right out of you, pulling you into him so tightly it felt like he was trying to fuse you together.
You froze, startled by the sudden intensity, but then you heard him. His voice was muffled against your chest, raw and unguarded in a way you had never heard before.
“You have no idea,” he whispered, his words trembling with emotion, “you have no idea how much that means to me.”
Your hand, almost on instinct, found its way to the back of his head. His soft dark hair tickled your fingers as you cradled him close, your palm resting against him like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go. He pressed his face harder against your chest, almost desperate, as if trying to drown in the sound of your heartbeat.
And you, you didn’t expect to feel it. That sudden warmth blooming in your chest, spreading through your veins like sunlight breaking into a dark room. Happiness. Pure, unexplainable, bone-deep happiness.
You didn’t know why it felt so overwhelming, but it did. Maybe because for the first time, the weight you had been carrying alone didn’t feel so heavy. Maybe because the walls you had built weren’t protecting you anymore, they were finally coming down. Or maybe because the man everyone else feared was clinging to you like you were his entire world.
Slowly, tenderly, you wrapped both arms around his head, holding him as if you could shield him from everything. His breath hitched against you, and you felt his shoulders loosen, the tension he always carried melting away in your embrace.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. The world outside the bed didn’t exist,the creak of the ship, the salt of the sea, the dangers waiting in every corner, none of it mattered. It was just you, him, and this fragile, breathtaking truth between you.
It felt like the beginning of something new. A chapter neither of you had dared to dream of, now written in the quiet safety of a shared embrace.
And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe it, this was the start of your life with him.
General Taglist: @jujusreader @nkryuki @lover-ofallthingspretty @xh01bri @chinsun16
A part of you wondered if there was an end to this game. To this endless push and pull you had with your heart. You wanted Mingyu. You wanted Wonwoo. And this game was laughing in your face—you had been wrong all along. It wasn’t about choosing one, or the other. It wasn’t even about choosing yourself anymore.
This game was about putting you three in the same page.
☾ pairings: jeon wonwoo x female reader
☾ genre: angst, fluff, smut (18+)
☾ aus: bartender wonwoo, bartender mingyu, messy love triangle, friends with benefits, why choose au
☾ word count: 15.1k
› PREVIOUS CHAPTERS – READ MORE
🎧: soft spot – keshi | who do you love? – monsta x
☾ warnings: smut with plot, more crying, possessiveness, jealousy, overthinking, mistakes are made lol. reader is chubby. unprotected p in v sex, dirty talk, creampies, hard fucking, after care, manhandling, spanking, a little bit of degradation talk, marking, cum play, cum eating, spitting, squirting, fingering, taking nsfw photos (consensually of course). pet names: baby, babygirl, ma'am, shorty, sweetheart (hers).
☾ author's note: i am back with yet again a long sex scene and i'm not sorry about it lol
thanks to @aeristudios for giving me ideas for dirty talk lol
and thanks to @coupsiedaisee for reassuring me that the dialogue i wrote didn't make the character sound like a maniac lmao
☾ disclaimer: minors DO NOT INTERACT. this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your blog description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂
weak spot
Mornings were quiet. Almost too quiet for comfort.
In the past, when you were recovering from what had happened with your ex, Jay, you used to stick to a routine. The calm motion that matched the passing of time helped you not to think about him. It kept you from thinking about what you could have done to avoid it, to prevent the pain and start over.
You had acquired certain habits from that period. Like getting up at the same time every day, staying away from your phone, and starting the day with simple, human things. Most of those things were related to your physical well-being, as if you were trying to stay afloat, but ignoring the monster lurking in the darkest corners of your mind.
You kept your eyelids down while brushing your teeth, your hand moving in mechanical patterns, rinsing and repeating over and over until you felt satisfied. When washing your face, you still kept your eyes down and only looked at the mirror to guide yourself, without stopping for too long to look at your face.
Food had little appeal to you these days. You only cooked and prepared what would satisfy your belly for a while since you weren’t really in the mood for sugary things. And you’d found out that you didn’t miss it.
The routine kept you going, solidifying your belief that abusing your comforts led you to make painful mistakes.
Because when you sat down in the quiet of your home, it hurt to think about it—about Mingyu. About Wonwoo. About all the things you did to fill the void you had in your heart, the one you never tended to when your ex-boyfriend left.
So you resorted to not thinking about it at all.
You took long walks outside, with little heed to where you went. The city was so vast yet so small that it felt like one day you would have toured to the last corner of it. But something about it also gave you a new sense of wonder. Each day, you found a new place you hadn’t yet seen, you saw new people, and sometimes, even, you were fortunate enough to find some familiar faces.
Since you had made a commitment to finish the online course that Mingyu had convinced you to take, you were in dire need of picking up new inspiration. You paid attention to billboards, digital ads displayed on the sides of the buildings, and the things people were drawn to pay attention to on the subway home.
You became a creature that followed only bright, shiny things. Only to admire, learn and try to recreate in your own view. You stopped chasing deadlines and finished work early.
You didn’t want the course to end. Every week, you’d get new assignments and felt excited that you had new things to plan, new tasks to tackle. You almost even started considering the idea of slowly switching careers.
This night’s walk was uneventful.
Part of you was beginning to face the fact that your outlet for not thinking about your current state of mind was flimsy to begin with. And it was starting to feel stale at the edges, when your mind was threatening to come out of autopilot.
The summer rains had ceased, and thankfully the afternoons had stopped having you covered in sweat due to the muggy heat. The weather was pleasant, and the streets around the city parks were covered with foliage of deep browns and oranges.
But sometimes, it did rain. And this was the case for this afternoon.
You had brought with you an umbrella. But feeling too lazy to open it, you allotted that decision to wetting your face with rain just to change things up.
Instinctively, you started to make your way back home, walking across alleys and wet pavement. As you looked at the small ripples the droplets of water caused in the pavement, you wondered if these walks would eventually lead you somewhere. You wondered when it would be the right time to face it. To finally start healing.
You looked up, mindlessly watching the rain fall, the small patches of white clouds amidst the greyer ones. You continued walking like this, unafraid to run into a stranger, or to bump against a streetlamp.
That is why and how you didn’t notice Jeon Wonwoo standing outside your building.
When you looked down, you came to a full stop. The air got caught in your throat, causing a dramatic sound that made him turn around. He had been staring at his shoes before he heard you walking down the sidewalk. Hands deep inside the pockets of his jeans. He looked glorious to you. His hair was messy, like he had ruffled it with his fingers to shake the droplets of rain, he’d gotten his glasses splashed with water too but only slightly.
“Hi,” he said quietly, taking his hands out of his pockets and starting fidgeting with the hem of the long sleeves of his white sweater.
Your pulse had quickened, running a mile per second in your chest, making it hard to breathe, to swallow. “Wh-what are you doing here, Wonwoo?” you asked immediately, unable to hide the quiver in your voice, unable to blink away the shock.
But to your credit, he was also nervous to see you. He kept his distance, some three large steps to where you stood—firmly glued to the pavement, just like you were.
“I guess I could’ve called you but… it felt to me that this was better to handle in person,” he said, looking at your face. He waited for your answer, but since you remained speechless, he continued, parting his mouth softly at first as though looking for the right words to say. “This won’t take long. Just a couple of minutes.”
The feeling inside you, twisting and shaking you to your core told you to refuse this. Time and time again you have opened your door to things like this.
“Do you want to come up?” you asked, ignoring the bright red flags rising in the back of your mind.
Wonwoo hesitated, his eyes flitting to the space surrounding you, noticing the rain coming down slightly harder than a couple of seconds ago. He nodded wordlessly, taking a step back so you could take the lead inside your building, him following you behind.
Your heart thumped so hard and quick inside your chest that you felt it threatened you to not speak. And it was only made worse the time your gaze flitted to him as you opened your door to your apartment, so you also avoided looking at him again.
You pushed inside the apartment, hearing the door closing as you left your things scattered on the kitchen counter. “Do you want some water?” you asked, trying to mask your tone to sound affable, but the quiver in it betrayed you.
“No, thank you,” the reply came from the other side of the apartment.
Wonwoo hadn’t moved from the entrance. He had returned to fidget with the sleeves of his sweater, not covering his hands wholly. “I only came here to talk. Nothing more.”
A quiet huff came out of your nose. “No, you didn’t,” you said, your voice barely audible.
You could see his frame deflate a little, his eyes quickly assessing your whole demeanor. Wonwoo knew that despite the inability to raise your voice higher, or command yourself to stand boldly in front of him, that he was making a mistake by coming here.
“Whatever it is you have to say, it won’t change things,” you told him, moving from the kitchen towards him. Wonwoo stopped fidgeting when you stood before him, his eyes following every step you took.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
For once, you had no tears left to cry—and were thankful for that. “Why are you here, Wonwoo?” you asked one more time, now with more certainty.
He closed his eyes, sighing in something that made you think that he knew you wouldn’t take this well. “I know you asked for space,” he said. “And I know I’m breaking my promise.”
Wonwoo opened his eyes slowly, as though he had been charging himself with enough valor to do this. To act upon his own words. His lips parted and that was when with horror, you noticed the scar beginning to form on his lower lip. Before you could even ask, or make a comment about it, he noticed where your gaze had wandered.
So he continued, “I can’t keep myself away from you.”
Your eyes snapped back to his, blinking with shock and fury. “It’s been two weeks,” you told him.
“I know,” he replied, and you were instantly broken because of how soft his voice sounded. His eyebrows knitted ever so slightly. “But I just can’t stop thinking…” his voice faded, leaving his mouth slightly agape. His eyes studied you over and over, as though gathering more courage. “I’m sorry that we ended like this. I’m sorry for not stopping this before it was too late.”
The loud drumming of your heart was put to a painful stop. “Do you regret it?” you asked quietly.
The quiet that followed made you think for a second that he’d say yes. That he regretted sleeping with you, and hurting Mingyu. For a moment, you thought he’d say he regretted falling in love with you. And your heart could no longer withstand the heaviness of his hesitation.
Finally, he exhaled. “No. But I hate that it hurt you.”
The air felt tighten between you. He was standing so close that you could almost sense the smell of his cologne. Peaches and patchouli. Your chest ached.
You were selfish. You were the reason why this whole thing was happening—why Wonwoo was hurting, why Mingyu was distancing himself.
But part of you wanted to rage. You have been good. You had been trying to stay true to your own heart and give it what little peace you could find. For days, you had been trying to take the first step towards healing, even if you were too scared to face it.
“Wonwoo…” you whispered, the part of you wanting to snap quieted down the second you spoke out his name and he looked at you. “I still don’t know what I want. I still think about Mingyu.”
He blinked slowly, reminding you that he was aware that he wasn’t the only one in your heart. “I know. But I also know that I don’t want to be your backup plan anymore,” he said, not stopping when you flinched at his words. “But what if we’re doing all of this wrong?”
You gaped at him for a moment. “What do you mean?”
He uttered his next words clearly, and unwavering. “What if you didn’t have to choose?”
You kept staring at him, unfazed. Part of you believed that he was joking, that in a second, he’d break character and tell you that he was kidding you and laugh in your face. But no, Wonwoo was being serious.
The words hung in the air, true and honest.
And dangerous to even consider.
“You’re being serious,” you realized, exhaling heavily as you backed away from him. Turning around just to face him again. “I can’t believe you.”
He pressed his lips into a tight line, looking at you as though he was again proved right about previous unspoken suspicions. “You don’t have to give me an answer,” he shrugged. “I’ll give you time to think about it if it’s what you need.”
“How would that even work?” you said, then you blinked exasperatedly. “No. You know what—never mind. I won’t even entertain the idea. I don’t want to cause any more trouble.”
“Fine. That’s fair,” he said, like your entire change in demeanor had snapped him back to reality.
Then—quiet settled in. Stretching between you and causing the space to close in on you again. It was hard to breathe, and the tension in your mind begged you once again to listen to your instincts.
You crossed your arms, taking one step closer to him. “Wonwoo, I get that you feel guilty and remorseful for what happened. I do too. But this won’t solve things.”
As you uttered the last sentence, a sense of insecurity caused a ripple in your mind.
Wonwoo leaned his head to one side, looking at your face like he had found another answer. “Won’t it?” he asked.
You exhaled through your nose. You studied his face in silence, letting your lack of words be your admittance. In that assessment, your gaze stopped again on his lower lip, determining that he’d have had his lip split open the day he walked away from you. Quietly still, your eyes returned to his, and you knew that he had let you look at the damage.
“He did this to you?” you asked softly.
Wonwoo nodded, not shying away from your gaze. But also, something about it made you think that he was also ashamed to admit it.
Your heart twisted painfully. Taking his chin in your hand gingerly, you tilted his head to look at the scar against the light. It had been quite a deep cut, and even if it was already healing, you could tell that it would leave a mark.
“I’m so sorry, Wonwoo,” you mumbled quietly, dropping your hand from his chin.
“It’s not your fault,” Wonwoo quickly said, shaking his head lightly. “We argued, it got heated pretty quickly and he apologized immediately.”
“Are you two okay, then?” you dared to ask.
“We…” he exhaled, giving you a look. “We are just not talking about it. Kind of like when he and Gigi broke up. He’s just quiet. Avoids me at all costs.”
Your eyes began to water. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry Wonwoo,” you whispered.
“Again. Not your fault,” he reassured you with a gentle tone. “He didn’t find out about us from me, so it was headed to a bad ending from the start.”
You blinked. “How did he find out?”
Now the shame was more evident in his eyes. He looked away. “I sort of, uh…” he lowered his head a little. “I kept the photos of you on my computer. Forgot to log out and he accidentally saw them.”
Your gaze also lost focus somewhere in the wall behind Wonwoo, connecting the dots quite quickly in your head. Mingyu had seen the photos, and put them together with the fact that he had seen you and Wonwoo before.
Wonwoo gave you one long and meaningful look. “So he hasn’t… looked for you?” he asked, enunciating each word carefully.
You shook your head, frowning a little. “Why?”
“He disappears sometimes,” Wonwoo told you. “He comes back home, but later than he usually would. I thought…”
Your gaze fell. “I don’t think I’m still in his good graces anymore,” you said, giving him an empty smile.
Wonwoo shook his head lightly. “Don’t think that,” he told you quietly. “He might be upset, but he’s not mad at you.”
“How can you be so sure?” you mumbled.
“He’s my best friend,” Wonwoo asserted, his tone sounding softer than before. “I know him better than anyone else.”
You lowered your gaze to the floor. All those days you kept yourself away from thinking about this mess were simply rendered useless at that moment. You knew why you were so determined to avoid the thought—it was guilt.
“Hey,” Wonwoo whispered. His hand slipped in yours, squeezing it gently to call your gaze back to him. “How are you?”
You blinked at him. “I’m fine,” you whispered, caught off guard.
His eyebrows knitted softly. “You sure?”
You exhaled, letting his fingers slip between yours. He tugged your hand, pulling you closer to his frame. “I’m trying, Wonwoo,” you said, still unable to bring your voice higher. “Two weeks aren’t enough for me to get better.”
“I know,” he said softly. “But maybe you don’t have to do it alone.”
A smile drew on your face. “You sound so cynical,” you accused.
“Do I?” he said, smirking ever so slightly. “Maybe I do sound crazy, but given our history, it might not be the craziest thing we’ve done.”
You rolled your eyes, hating that he was making you smile. “I’m not considering it. I won’t,” you told him.
Wonwoo huffed softly, hearing the uncertainty in your tone. “When you do, give me a call?” he asked, tilting his head to one side and giving you a long look.
You looked at him in disbelief, but a laugh broke through you, heating up your chest. “You’re crazy.”
He pressed his lips into a smile, the sound of your laughter making him look at you sweetly. “I might be crazy,” he whispered. “But I miss you. Part of me wonders if the reason why I feel so empty is because we ended things when we shouldn’t have.”
“Wonwoo.” You couldn’t hide the alarm in your tone. “Listen to yourself. Look at the mess we’ve made. What do you think Mingyu will say when he hears your stupid idea?”
Wonwoo rolled his eyes to the ceiling, pretending to ponder. “I can think of a few things,” he replied, keeping the playfulness he got from seeing your scandalized expression. “When the opportunity presents itself, talk to him. And when you do, tell me what you decide. Deal?”
“Just like that?” you asked, huffing loudly.
He nodded once. “Just like that,” he reaffirmed.
You stared at him, sure that Wonwoo had completely lost his sanity.
But who were you kidding? You had also thought about it. Moments of frenzied madness where you’ve thought about having both men at once, loving them freely at the same time. You would never dare to admit it, not out loud.
Something subtle in your brain told you that Wonwoo already knew about this. He read you well, always did.
“Is that all you came here to say?” you asked, keeping your tone gentle, but it sounded hopeful.
Wonwoo nodded in silence, swiftly catching the guilt that you tried to mask by running a hand through your hair and looking down at your feet.
“Just that,” he reaffirmed. But you could sense the slight tinge of deception in his words, like he was also hoping for something.
A moment happened between you. It was electrifying—like that moment before he kissed you for the first time. As you both exchanged a glance, you could feel the yearning and desire, both pulled back by a weighted layer of hesitation and guilt. You both wanted to hold each other—you knew this. You knew that he wanted to feel you just as badly as you did.
You were the first to move.
It was just a couple of steps you took towards him, hands grabbing his face as he found your hips. Kissing Wonwoo again for the first time in nights felt a lot more freeing than you thought.
And it was then that you knew—you were never going to learn your lesson.
Wonwoo gripped your hips tightly, pulling you closer to him as his lips locked with yours in a seamless dance. You cupped his face in your hands, feeling the incipient hairs of his stubble beneath the pads of your thumbs.
The kiss was gentle, almost as though both of you were afraid to take it beyond that. But it was still intoxicating to have him this close to you, to feel his skin, his lips, his tongue brushing against yours—
He broke the kiss with a soft smacking sound from his lips and yours. “Please tell me you’ll think about it,” he whispered.
You let out an airy hum instead of responding verbally, trying to seek his lips, but he pulled back slightly, making you chase him. “It’s a crazy idea, Wonwoo,” you replied.
“But why does it have to be crazy?” he asked instead, pulling back again but never stopped gripping your waist.
“It’s not normal, nor fair,” you said.
“I can agree it’s not normal, but fair? It is every bit fair for everyone involved,” he responded, his tone low, but you could tell he was amused. Like he’d already figured out every possible argument you might have against.
You rolled your eyes. “Try saying that to Mingyu,” you whispered, shamefully blinking away from his face.
Wonwoo grabbed your chin with his fingers, forcing your gaze back to his. “I will, if you want me to,” he said decisively. “Think about it first. Tell me what you think, and I’ll talk to him.”
“Alright,” you huffed. “Don’t get your hopes high.”
One thing you had never imagined about Jeon Wonwoo was that he was never reckless with his feelings. And when he blinked, his jaw tensing slightly, you saw it. The reminder that you were the most reckless thing he had ever dared to do. And he was allowing himself to hope for you.
“Too late, baby,” he whispered, his eyes glimmering with a slight hurt.
You sighed, a violent shudder shaking your bones when he called you that word. “Wonwoo—”
“I don’t need high hopes,” he said. “Just think about it.”
“Fine. I’ll think about it,” you replied.
He smiled endearingly at you, bending down to place a sweet kiss on your lips. He didn’t have any witty reply—he just gave you a couple of sweet pecks before kissing you deeper. He hummed into the kiss, making you reply in kind. His hand returned to your waist as yours switched from his face to his nape, feeling his slightly longer hair.
“I have to go,” Wonwoo whispered, confirming your idea that he didn’t want to risk advancing things any further.
A heavy feeling sat at the tip of your tongue. But instead, you blurted: “Take care, yeah?”
Wonwoo immediately caught what you had meant instead. “Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled sweetly. “You too.”
You squeezed your eyelids for one second. In your moment of weakness, you almost tell him to stay a bit longer. And that made you realize that Wonwoo was right. You nodded lightly and slipped your hands from his nape, letting your arms hang at your sides awkwardly. “Yeah, okay,” you whispered. “Bye, Wonwoo.”
But before Wonwoo could take a step back from you, he looked for your lips again by nudging the tip of your nose with his, motioning you to angle your mouth for his. The kiss was gentle, tender, like saying this is goodbye, but not for long. Like two lovers promising to see each other again in just one small moment.
And you wished that to be true as Wonwoo finally found it in himself to peel himself off your lips. You watched him walk out of your apartment, slipping through the door without looking back.
Ever since Mingyu found out about you and Wonwoo, he had been taking his distance. He wished he could say it out of resentment. But in reality, he didn’t know what to do or what to say. Wonwoo had been respecting the invisible line that Mingyu painted, and if anything, that confused Mingyu more.
He craved the conflict, sometimes. He needed something to happen so he could finally remove the thorn stuck in his heart from the day he saw your pictures on Wonwoo’s computer. But he also felt that his hands were tied—you had asked for space to clear your head and heal your heart.
It was a quiet Friday afternoon in The Spot. And this was usually the calm before the storm, so Mingyu took the time to set everything up before more customers arrived.
Some tables were already occupied and served. Chan was sprinting from side to side, making sure everything was perfect, and Mingyu envied the readiness his new co-worker presented. But something inside him knew that this was because it had been so long that he felt something like enthusiasm for his job.
Mingyu used to like his job.
But lately, something had been missing.
With a sigh, Mingyu cast a look to the end of the bar. Wonwoo was busy drying cutlery and glasses, his back turned to him.
In front of him sat Yoon Jeonghan, phone in his hands while he quietly nursed his second beer. From where Mingyu stood, he got a glance at the screen—and his stomach dropped at the sight of his friend’s chat. Jeonghan was rapidly exchanging messages with his girlfriend, and from what Mingyu could get with a flashing glance, they were loving messages.
“Hyung,” Mingyu called, his tone hollow, distracted.
“Mm,” Jeonghan answered, languidly twirling his glass of beer with his lithe fingers before taking a sip.
“You’re the smartest person I know.”
Jeonghan huffed loudly, locking his phone and leaving it on the bar. “You need to go out more. Meet more people.”
Mingyu rolled his eyes in amusement. “Come on,” he said. “You run a successful business—”
“Two, actually,” Jeonghan pointed, motioning the surroundings with his finger.
“Thanks for proving my point,” Mingyu rolled his eyes, but in annoyance this time.
“If you want advice, Seungcheol is coming back in an hour,” Jeonghan raised his wristwatch, a frown forming on his face. “Well, half an hour.”
“How do you know I want advice?” Mingyu replied.
Jeonghan raised his eyes, scanning Mingyu’s face. “Well, I might not be the smartest person in the world, but I can tell when something stinks,” Jeonghan blinked, sending a furtive look to the end of the bar, where Wonwoo was quietly drying a long row of shot glasses. “And people only want my advice after they know they’re fucked. So.”
“Seungcheol only gives morally upright advice,” Mingyu said under his breath, his heart skipping a beat as Jeonghan’s words sank in.
“Ah, so you are seeking my guidance because I’m morally corrupt?” Jeonghan chuckled, setting his beer down. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
“Why would you do? In my position,” Mingyu asked, lowering his tone. He knew that if Wonwoo wanted to eavesdrop, he would do it, and Mingyu found out that he didn’t care all that much. “If you found out your best friend got involved with the chick you want, I mean.”
Jeonghan arched an eyebrow. “I’m not sure what you’re expecting me to say,” he said, his fingers going for the phone he’d left beside his beer.
“Your honest thoughts,” Mingyu shrugged.
Jeonghan leaned his chin on his fist, blinking slowly as he gathered his words. He pondered for a long second, his slightly drunken gaze swimming to the end of the bar again. “I think that whatever I say, you’ll end up doing whatever the fuck you two want,” Jeonghan said wisely, his gaze returning to Mingyu. “My honest advice is that you two need to talk before you do something irrational.”
Mingyu arched an eyebrow. “Is that what you did?” he asked, a light grin appearing on his face as he leaned on the lacquered bar top. “Would you say you did what’s more rational?”
Working as a bartender in Seungcheol’s bar has taught Mingyu many things about himself and about other people. The curse of the bartender, as Wonwoo would call it, is when people come to The Spot and talk about their sorrows. One of the things Mingyu knew about Jeonghan was that he had been in Wonwoo’s shoes not too long ago.
“Obviously not,” Jeonghan said, rolling his eyes. “I’m giving you the morally upright advice.”
“I want to hear what you’d do,” Mingyu pressed.
“Listen, both of you are idiots for thinking that the right thing is letting go,” Jeonghan said, a wild conviction flashing in his eyes. “You’re both not talking to each other, and you lost the girl. So what was the fucking point of messing things up if neither of you is going to win?”
That opened his eyes to something he hadn’t considered. Mingyu never thought about winning something by walking away from you. He thought he was choosing right, that he was doing what was best for his own heart’s sake. And he also thought that he was doing you a favor by removing himself from the equation.
“Do what you must, but do something,” Jeonghan said, annoyance seeping through his tone. “You’re both avoiding each other like the plague, and for what? For a girl that you’re not even talking to? Might as well try to get the girl back now, if that’s what you want—I don’t know. But do something.”
But what Jeonghan failed to mention—due to the obviousness of it—was that for every action that Mingyu did, there was a consequence. He didn’t want to close the book of years and years of adventures with his best friend. But he also didn’t want to lose you forever, not after daring to love again.
You were alone, yet again.
Your head kept spinning, swirling with uncontrolled thoughts of your very recent discovery. You were crazy, because you had to be. You knew that it was your very messy and complicated heart that had pushed you to do this, but in reality, there was one thing that detonated it all. The one thing that you hated the most, loneliness.
You hated being alone.
And when you needed it the most, Mingyu was there. Also wandering in the very strange journey that was dealing with a broken heart and a lost relationship.
If you could only see his face again, you wished silently. Fingers itched on top of your bedcovers. It was so simple to send him a text, tell him to meet up. Part of you was very shocked by your own egocentric thoughts. Because why would Mingyu ever welcome you back into his life?
You had done something terrible. And you had done it willingly. Sleeping with Mingyu’s best friend was something that even now you would reproach yourself for. But you were lonely, and you were hurt.
And never in your life did you imagine that you would fall in love with Jeon Wonwoo as well.
You sighed, leaving your bed by throwing the bed covers away. You put on the first pair of sweatpants you could find and a hoodie.
The cold air hit your cheeks first, making you bristle and wrap your arms around yourself. You pulled out your phone, letting the pad of your thumb act on its own, stopping right on top of Mingyu’s contact.
You had to be insane.
You shook your head and kept walking, putting your phone back into the pocket of your hoodie. You were running away from it, from the thoughts, from your conversation with Wonwoo and how it had left you feeling.
The hairs in your arms stood up at the memory of his lips touching yours. The softness of his kiss. Wonwoo knew how to treat you right—he understood you to a level that you had never been understood. You felt safe with him.
You knew where you were going. Even though it felt like you were escaping from facing the mental turmoil, you were also running straight towards it.
You stopped in front of the bar. The Spot was dimmed, shut due to the late hours into the night, instead of shining in bright neon red lights like it did in business hours.
You kept walking.
The basketball court sat empty, as you were half-expecting it to be. Within your conversation with Wonwoo, one thing had stuck out—Mingyu usually came home later after closing up the bar. Wonwoo never dared to ask him, never knew where Mingyu went, to the point that Wonwoo thought that Mingyu was visiting you at night.
But you were right.
Mingyu was sitting alone in the bleachers. His head was bowed slightly, and he appeared to have headphones on. He had one foot propped up in the next seat, his elbow perched on his knee.
Your heart sank to your stomach.
You approached him with a careful step, thinking that if he sees you too late you might startle him. So you slowed down, and in that, you took him in. You really looked at him. Despite half of his face being hidden from your point of view, you noticed the faint lines of his furrowed brow. Your heart crushed, knowing that he probably didn’t want to be at home either.
He was running away too.
Like a work of magic, he lifted his head, sensing you close. The lines of his brow eased instantly, and your heart started racing. Mingyu removed his headphones from his head, letting them fall onto his shoulders.
You were within arm’s length now. Standing in front of him, you waited for the words to come, you waited for the momentum that would carry your body to his arms. But something stopped you.
“Hi, Mingyu,” you said shyly, not avoiding his eyes but also not feeling brave enough to make eye contact.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. The question came out sweet, worried. “Are you okay?”
You were brimming with energy. You wanted to cry. You wanted to throw your arms around him. You wanted to ask for his forgiveness.
But you didn’t.
“I’m okay,” you replied, voice breaking weakly. “Are you?”
He nodded with his head, his eyes roaming all over the features of your face to look for any signs that you were being honest. It pinched at your heart, but it was also deserved. “I’m okay,” he mimicked you, even swallowing hard to clear his throat.
“Do you want to talk?” you asked softly, hopeful.
Mingyu’s gaze went soft, and he nodded. He pushed himself to one side on the bleachers, leaving his previous spot for you to sit on it. It was warm, just like his body now beside you. You sat awkwardly, placing your hands on both sides and looked at him.
Your chest tightened when you saw his beautiful face. Even under the dark moonless sky, his skin still seemed to glow. “You look tired,” you mumbled, fighting off the itch in your fingers. You wanted to touch, to feel his warmth on your skin again.
“Yeah,” he croaked, blinking away.
You tore your gaze from his worn eyes and looked to the front. The empty space of the basketball court caused something to ache in your chest. A memory that was still stuck in your heart like a thorn.
“I’m sorry, Mingyu,” you said, your throat closing up, robbing you of your voice.
Through the corner of your eye, you saw Mingyu nodding silently. He licked his lips and lowered his head, looking straight down at the bottom of the bleachers.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” he whispered, but there was bitterness layered to that question. An intended meaning of it.
Your chest tightened. “No,” you replied, choking up now in your tears. But you swallowed hard, determined to get this through without crying.
“Why?” Mingyu asked, his tone low and raw with emotion.
You turned to him just as he raised his gaze to look at you. “Because I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” you said, sounding hollow. You were brimming with so many things at once that you didn’t know what to do with your body. So you sat there, hugging yourself.
Mingyu blinked a couple of times, eyebrows knitting softly. “But I told you I did. Many times I told you how much I—”
“You walked away,” you whispered, your voice quivering now. “You left me right when I was falling in love with you.”
He shut his eyes for a moment. Like that alone was the reason why he didn’t want to go back home every night. That was the reason why he came to sit at the basketball court. “I wanted you,” he said. Blinking slowly to continue looking at your face. “So much that it scared me.”
Your throat closed. “I was scared too,” you whispered, heart clenching painfully at the memory. “I opened myself up to you. Mingyu, I was ready to give you everything you wanted from me, and I was happy with whatever piece of you I could have.”
Mingyu bristled again, his facial features contracting slightly. “Were you, really? Happy?” he asked, leaning toward you.
You nodded stubbornly. “All I wanted was you.”
He gulped hard. “I couldn’t give you what you wanted,” he told you. “And I’m sorry that it hurt you the way that it did.”
Your tears finally spilled, and you blinked slowly. “Me too,” you whispered, using your sleeve to wipe your face. “And Wonwoo was... he was there for me. I didn’t plan it, neither of us did,” you looked at him just as he looked away. “But I needed to feel something again.”
He nodded slowly. “I get it. I do. But he’s my best friend,” he said, like each word was lodged into his heart. He was tense, and you knew it was pain that he felt.
You sniffled. “I know. It was wrong. I should’ve waited…” You choked out, shaking your head. “But it was too late by then.”
Mingyu tore his gaze away from you, turning his head to the opposite side where you sat. He was breathing unevenly now, and you thought that maybe, just maybe, you had made him angry. But you needed this—closure. You both did.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, unsure if he would be able to hear it.
You sat there beside him, waiting for him to do something, say something. But he didn’t. Minutes passed, and you were sure now that the conversation had ended in silence. But you stayed there a second longer, trying to enjoy the warmth emanating from his body, trying to pretend that he and you were still friends.
Something you learned from him is to know where to leave things alone. Gathering some strength, you rose from the bleachers and climbed down to the concrete floor to start walking away. You didn’t mean to look back, but you did.
Mingyu was climbing down the bleachers, putting his hands in his pockets as he walked straight to you.
“Mingyu?”
“I’m not letting you walk back home alone,” he said. A hint of resignation coating his tone as he looked to one side.
Your heart skipped a beat. “Okay,” you said, knowing that he was doing this because he couldn’t let you walk away. “Do you forgive me then?” you asked coyly.
Mingyu huffed, trying to conceal his smile. He shook his head in disbelief, but he didn’t say no to your question.
So you walked with Kim Mingyu, side by side under the black, moonless sky. You sneaked a look at your side, finding him still crestfallen and looking at his feet, hands buried deep in the pockets of his hoodie. Your heart squeezed when your shoulder brushed against his arm. His pace was slow, taking pauses every time you felt like you needed to catch up with him.
When you both reached your building, you stopped at the door, searching for words to say. You hesitated, but in the end, you just raised your eyes to find his: “I really am sorry, Mingyu,” you said, voice cracking under the weight of everything.
Mingyu paused, his eyes searching for yours. “Me too.”
The air felt tight in your lungs. You wanted to reach out to him, hug him like the last time you saw him.
It felt really strange—wanting two people at once. You didn’t want one more than the other. It was just a different kind of love you had for them both. Was it wrong of you to love two men at the same time?
With one breath, Mingyu had his own resolve. Whatever he was thinking, whatever had kept him up all night and far from his bed was put to rest with the two steps he took towards you. His hands slipped under your jaw, cupping your face, and then his mouth crashed against yours.
You barely had time to suck in a tiny breath. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It tasted like nights of wasted time thinking about you, love and resentment, desperately colliding, melting in one fiery, messy kiss. Your fingers twisted into his hoodie, dragging your body closer to his instead of pulling away. His hands slipped from your jaw to your nape, cradling your head in his hands.
And he was everything. He was warmth, honesty, and raw passion.
Mingyu wasn’t holding back. His tongue outlined your lower lip, and you parted your mouth to give him access. A hum escaped you as his tongue brushed against yours, and he responded immediately with a choked sound of his own. Your hands slipped from his chest and found his neck, linking your arms around his shoulders to support yourself.
You felt dizzy, shaken. But also, so extremely overjoyed.
It was the need for air that pulled you apart. You were both breathing hard, his forehead pressed against yours. His thumbs brushed your cheekbones shakily, like he couldn’t help himself and touch you.
“Have a good night,” he mumbled, his voice sounding raw. Raspy.
Your heart stuttered. Your hand flew to grab his wrist. “Wait—” you gasped. “Don’t go.”
He took in a shaky breath. “I can’t,” he whispered, his hands cradling your head still as he pushed his forehead against yours a bit more, as though he wanted to renounce his own rationale and give in to you. “I can’t do this.”
You shuddered at the thought of him leaving, of taking his warmth with him. “If you want me—if you really want me, prove it,” you challenged him, ignoring how your voice quivered. “Come upstairs? Please.”
“If I go upstairs with you, it’s done,” he said, his voice gruff. “I won’t be able to put distance between you and me.”
“Mingyu—” you nearly sobbed with a wanton need that melted into your bones. “You know I don’t want that.”
A part of you wondered if there was an end to this game. To this endless push and pull you had with your heart. You wanted Mingyu. You wanted Wonwoo. And this game was laughing in your face—you had been wrong all along. It wasn’t about choosing one or the other. It wasn’t even about choosing yourself anymore.
This game was about putting you three on the same page.
Testing him, you pushed yourself to your tiptoes, using your hands around his shoulders for support. Your lips found his, and he reciprocated the kiss by locking his lips with your own. The kiss was wet, fleeting, but hot.
“Come upstairs with me, Mingyu,” you whispered, but your command was firm.
He slipped his hands from your nape, his breath fanning against your mouth before he pushed himself off you with a sigh. “Okay,” he replied in kind, nodding with his head.
You grabbed his hand, pushing the door open to your building and pretty much avoided looking at him on the flight upstairs. You didn’t want to see in his face any signs of doubt, even though you knew there wouldn’t be any.
It was nerve-wracking, to have him in your space again after so many nights of being alone, after so many nights of having Wonwoo in your bed too.
Once again, Mingyu made your apartment shrink. He was tall, yes. But it was as though his very presence illuminated everything around you. And to think that there was a time you clung to him like he was your lifeline. He was your sun, your warmth.
And he was here again.
Mingyu looked around your place as you got the lights. “You bought more plants?” he asked softly, pinching the large leaf of your monstera plant that was sitting next to the window.
You were turning the lamp by the corner, liking the nice orange halo it created against the wall. “I figured that I might as well get more hobbies, they distract me,” you shrugged, your heart stuttering at how sad that sounded.
“And did it work? Getting more plants,” he asked. There was genuine curiosity in his tone, reflected in his eyes as he surveyed the wall covered by pots, large and small, to the counter-corner to where you stood, where another plant hung from the ceiling.
“I mean, you can only water them so much,” you shrugged, offering him a small smile.
Mingyu responded to you with a downturned smile. “So that’s why you’ve turned your apartment into a mini garden?”
“Look, I’m not crazy, I just needed to pay attention to something else and the graphic design course was not enough,” you said, turning around and heading to the open kitchen. “It was either this or getting a cat.”
“I’m not saying you are crazy,” Mingyu said, following your footsteps until he reached the kitchen as well.
You swallowed hard. He made the already small space look tiny. “Want a glass of water?” you asked shakily, pointing your thumb in the direction of the kitchen sink.
Mingyu placed a hand on one of the counters, shaking his head. His dark eyes were on you, assessing you carefully, like picking up every single mannerism, every single emotion showing on your face.
You ran a hand through your hair, shaky fingers detangling your messy strands. “Are you hungry? I can cook something,” you asked, motioning to the fridge.
Mingyu nodded this time, but he was already moving. He took only one step towards you, his hands quickly grabbing you by the waist and turning your front to him. You let out a tiny yelp, unable to say anything because he was already putting you back against the kitchen counter, pinning you with his body.
“Gyu—” you gasped, hands landing on his shoulders.
He crushed his mouth against yours. A sound came out of you along with an exhale, which was completely muffled by his lips on yours.
“We have a lot of catching up to do,” he told you with a gruff breath.
“Yes, we do,” you whispered, running your hands down his shoulders, reaching his chest.
Mingyu tilted his head to one side. “Do you want to catch up before or after?” he asked you tacitly.
You felt your eyebrows knitting, confusion washing over you. “After we eat?” you asked dumbly. But as the double entendre dawned on you, you let out a meek giggle.
Mingyu mirrored your laughter, the sound coming out of his mouth causing your tummy to flutter. “Yes,” he whispered, grabbing you by the chin to kiss you, leaving a sound of his lips smacking against yours. “After we eat.”
“Mmf,” you hummed, the sound yet again drowned by his mouth. And then, he was kissing you with such abandon you were sure he was making up for lost time, as though his lips and yours were greeting each other like old friends, lost lovers.
You loved him. The realization wasn’t like all the other times you had to face this fact. This time, it was like finding a reason for every single tantrum and mistake you made in the past. Your love for him wasn’t just your fight to not be alone or to fill the void following you around everywhere you went.
You wanted him to be a part of your life; you wanted to meet him in ways you had not done yet.
Before, both his and your pain were so big that they bled through the push and pull you both had. It made you believe that it was normal to have no expectations, to make no promises. But now, acknowledging that pain made it easier to accept that you were in love with him, and you wanted it.
You were scared, yes, but so was he.
And acknowledging it was so much more freeing.
You pulled back slightly, and Mingyu’s lips chased you like magnets. He captured your lips with his own swiftly, briefly. “I missed you,” you let out, the sound honeyed and small.
“I missed you too,” he said, kissing you back again in the same manner. “You have no idea. I saw you everywhere I went, I dreamed about you every night.”
You giggled shyly. “Stop it, Mingyu,” you whispered.
“I mean it,” he whispered, his hands on your hips clenching you softly over your clothes. He sighed, bending his head so his forehead touched yours. “It drove me crazy to know that I had lost you. I let you go, and it was the stupidest mistake I’ve ever made.”
Your chest tightened at the sound of his words. This was what you ached to hear from the moment he broke things off with you months ago. And yet, it seemed like an entire lifetime had passed.
“You didn’t lose me,” you said softly, swallowing hard. “I still love you.”
Your hands were still parked on his chest, and beneath your fingertips, you could feel the light vibrations of his pulse. Mingyu shuddered at your confession, a tiny sigh spilling through his parted lips.
He didn’t answer, at least not verbally. His hand slipped beneath your chin, propping it on his fingers so he could angle your mouth to his. He kissed you again, this time softer. And you knew—he still loved you too.
Mingyu kissed you passionately, heatedly. He was a man in love and was not holding back anymore. Pressing his front to yours, he pinned your back against the kitchen counter, trapping your lips as well with his. It was all him—he was all you tasted, all you breathed. The smell of his cologne invaded your senses, getting you drunk quickly.
Reason slipped your mind, leaving nothing but the wanton need still melting in your bones. You didn’t think, just acted. Your hands slid from his shoulders down his torso, feeling his hard muscles over his hoodie. You fumbled with the hem of his clothes for a split second, then stopped yourself.
“Do it,” he whispered, taking a fleeting pause from your lips for you to obey him, hiking his hoodie up his torso. Mingyu lifted his arms for you as you got rid of his black hoodie, letting it drop on the floor. Then his t-shirt was next, and there was no hesitation from you this time. And the sight of his t-shirt coming of sent a shudder down your spine.
You wanted him naked. You wanted to feel him again.
And he wanted the same with you too. He started with your zipper hoodie, getting rid of it only to find that you wore only your bra beneath it.
There was a smirk on his face as he leaned in to give you a kiss. “I like this on you,” he whispered gruffly, running a finger over the cup of your lace bra.
You shuddered, the feeling running straight to your core. “Yeah? Do you want to take it off me, Gyu?”
He nodded. “These first,” he said, pinching the waistband of your sweatpants.
You helped him with eagerness, hooking your thumbs beneath the waistband and tugging your sweatpants down your legs. But before you could step out of them, Mingyu was already grabbing you by the waist, lifting you and setting you down on the kitchen counter.
You felt the tip of his tongue on your bottom lip before his lips captured yours. You choked back a moan, cupping his face in your hands as he parted your thighs for him to slot himself in the middle. With his hands on the back of your knees, he scooted you to the edge of the kitchen counter.
“Gyu,” you moaned, his lips leaving yours to trail down your jawline.
“Mm,” he hummed back, kissing your neck, your throat, laughing faintly when he felt you swallowing hard.
“God—” you whispered shakily as he licked your skin, giving you a broad stroke from your collarbone to the curve of your neck. Your fingers curled, arms landing on his shoulders as he continued his descent down your body, exploring it again with his hands and lips.
His fingers found the band of your bra, pulling back to look at your face right before he tugged the clasp free. And you put on a small show for him, biting your bottom lip, concealing your smile as your thumbs hooked around the straps and dragged them down your shoulders.
The corner of his mouth curled softly, his eyes outlining the features of your face briefly before he looked at your chest, before you stripped it for his view. You threw the bra on the floor as Mingyu cupped your tits in his big hands, squeezing them gently, fingertips dipping onto your skin.
You sighed upon feeling the warmth in his touch, blinking slowly as goosebumps appeared all over your skin, your arms, your chest.
Mingyu smiled softly, his breath fanning your skin as he bent over to place a wet, open kiss on your heart. He went even lower, using his hands to push your tits to his face—almost as though he wanted to bury his face in your chest.
One of your hands found the back of his head, raking his scalp with your fingernails as he kissed your skin. Then he popped one of your nipples into his mouth, letting his tongue lap around it, humming at the taste of your skin.
Your thighs tensed, pleasure coursing through you as he suckled your nipple quite loudly, the wet sound bouncing against the walls of your tiny apartment. Another shudder shot down your spine when the situation crashed on you—there you were, sitting on your kitchen counter, wearing nothing but your panties and Mingyu between your thighs, kissing your tits.
“Mingyu,” you moaned, delighting yourself over the sound of his name rolling off your tongue like this again.
Somehow, he understood what you wanted. One of his hands slipped between your thighs, as you tilted your pelvis towards him. His hand slipped over your clothed pussy, the pads of his fingers pushing against your mound, rubbing your sensitive clit over your panties.
Mingyu tilted his head back to look at your face as he moved his hand in circles against your already pulsating cunt. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice already gruff with pleasure.
“You,” you whispered, slipping your hands to cup the back of his head. “I want you,” you told him.
“Yeah?” he replied, lifting his brows slightly. “Do you want my cock, baby?” he asked.
You shuddered, head spinning with the motion of his fingers pressed against your mound. “Yes,” you replied, the sound coming out whiny, sickly sweet: “Take me.”
Mingyu pursed his lips as he hummed, mocking your tone, almost as though finding you cute. “Do you want me to fuck this pussy?” he asked, rubbing circles on your clit slightly harder.
You gasped, angling your cunt to his hand. “Yeah,” you said, scooting an inch closer to the edge of the counter. “Please.”
He smiled softly when you drew the string of his joggers, his gaze following your hands as you pushed both his joggers and his boxers, letting him step out of them. Now that he was finally naked, it was like you were nearly choking with your own desire.
Your hands acted on their own, circling on his cock. A sigh escaped you. Part of you had forgotten how big he was, lengthy, girthy, heavy. You began stroking him with both hands, feeling the softness of the skin of his shaft, the small veins trailing below his bulbous, darkened cockhead.
Mingyu sighed with pleasure, but he didn’t stop himself from pulling you from the back of your knees, parting your legs further. His fingers picked the crotch of your panties, pushing them aside and placing them carefully between the small fold of your outer lips and your groin.
“Hold onto the counter,” he instructed you, his tone raw, melted in desire.
You stopped stroking him and placed both of your hands at your sides, holding onto the edge of the kitchen counter. Mingyu grabbed his cock with one hand while the other rested on your thigh, grabbing you softly as he guided his cockhead to your sopping pussy. He notched your entrance at first, testing you.
“Mingyu, just do it,” you urged when he glanced at your face.
He grinned at the sound of your words.
But he gave in to you anyway, pushing his cock inside you slowly without looking away from your eyes. His mouth dropped slightly as your walls wrapped around his cock, already pulsating around him. “Fuck,” he mouthed, blinking slowly.
You sighed a moan. The bite of his cock stretching your walls was deliriously good—it brought tears to your eyes, it made your fingers coil and your thighs tense.
Mingyu felt it—he felt your body bristle in pain and pleasure. “Baby,” he gasped.
“I’m good,” you replied before he could even ask. “Move, Gyu. Fuck me,” you mewled.
You didn’t need to ask twice. He pushed his hips against you, bottoming out on you completely, stuffing you full of his cock. You gasped, squeezing your eyes shut as he started rutting his hips against you, pushing his fat cock in and out of you at a steady pace. Mingyu wasn’t testing you anymore—he was just taking you.
“God, Gyu, just like that,” you sighed in pleasure, letting your head tilt back as you enjoyed the feeling of having him inside you. He was so big that the sting was quickly replaced with sweet, intoxicating pleasure.
Everything was him. He was everywhere. You picked the smell of his cologne lingering on his skin, the smell of his hair, his warmth, the tiny grunts he made, everything.
He tucked his hands beneath your ass, lifting you from the counter in one effortless move. You gasped, but didn’t stop holding onto the edge, now he was supporting half of your weight in his arms, that way he could fuck you to his heart’s content.
And that he did. Mingyu started thrusting listlessly, the unmistakable sound of sex flooded the room—his hips snapping against you, along with his agitated gasps, and your sweet moans. Not only that, but you were so fucking wet that you could hear the squelching sounds of your pussy each time Mingyu pushed his cock inside you.
You let him take you, arching your back as pleasure coursed through you. “Harder,” you gasped lewdly. And Mingyu grunted, giving it to you obediently, pushing his hips even harder, faster, calculatedly. “Yes, fuck, yes, yes,” you mewled, dropping your mouth open as sweet, raunchy moans escaped you.
You had no care in the world. Fuck the neighbors, fuck whoever heard you have the best sex of your life. Pleasure invaded you, robbing you of your better judgement. “Mingyu!” you moaned.
The sound Mingyu let out was like nothing you had heard him utter. It was a deep moan, raw and raspy. You saw his face, riddled with desire in his half-lidded eyes, his parted lips, and the deeply furrowed brow.
“I’m gonna cum,” he said. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum,” he repeated more urgently.
“Inside me,” you told him. “Please, Gyu, do it inside me,” you said, your tone now more pathetic.
Mingyu grunted again, the sound driving you a little crazier. The tension on his face eased, and through his lips came out the sweetest of moans. He blinked slower and you knew he was cumming, his moans became longer and weaker. “Fuck,” he whispered, blinking slowly at you.
He lowered you back on the kitchen counter, letting his head fall onto your shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. He kissed your shoulder, then the curve of your neck. “You’re mine,” he said. “No one else’s.”
Your heart deflated. “Gyu,” you said, your tone sounding alarmed.
He lifted his head from your shoulder. “Just for tonight,” he whispered. Then a light grin appeared on his face. “I’m usually good at sharing… but not when it comes to you, apparently.”
You blinked, gaze roaming all over the features of his sweaty face. Then your heart eased. “That’s okay,” you whispered.
“Yeah?” he mouthed, his gaze trailing down to your lips. “Are you okay with that?”
You nodded, unable to speak now.
Mingyu found your cheek, cupping it with his hand while still trying to catch his breath. “The good thing is, I’m a fast learner,” he said, offering you a small smile.
“Mingyu, now is not the time to talk about this,” you told him, giggling softly at the situation you were in.
“Is it not?” he said, sighing tiredly as he pulled out of you gently. You shuddered and shook your head, making him giggle while asking, “Why?”
“We’re literally naked in my kitchen right now, and we just had sex,” you said with an obvious tone, but you ended up giggling goofily.
Mingyu smiled at the sound of you laughing. “Right,” he whispered, bending down to kiss your forehead, then the tip of your nose as you tilted your head back for him to kiss you in the lips. “You didn’t get to cum.”
“And whose fault is that?” you said with a playful tone.
“Mmn, hold tight, baby. I’m going to fix it,” he said.
You circled your arms around his neck while he lifted you off the counter again. For a second, you thought he was going to take you to the bed, or the couch, like he’s done other times in the past.
But then you felt the hard surface of your table. Your heart sank, arms tightening around his shoulders.
“Relax, I’ve got you,” he said with a confident smirk, his dark eyes outlining your face.
“Okay,” you whispered nervously.
“Sit back,” he motioned with his head.
You placed your hands behind you, leaning your body back as Mingyu dropped down to his knees. He pushed his hands against your inner thighs, spreading them open as he licked the outer lips of your pussy.
“Oh, god,” you let out a sigh, running your fingers through his short hair. “Fuck, Gyu,” you said.
Mingyu just lifted his puppy eyes to yours, kissing and licking your inner thighs right before sucking a love bite onto your skin. You hissed and winced again, but now in complete pleasure, watching him mark your thighs, mark you as his.
After leaving a red, tingling mark on your inner thigh, he switched back to your pussy, lapping his tongue on your folds, quickly finding your swollen clit. He kissed it once, eagerly wrapping his lips around it and tugging it, teasing it more with his lips and tongue.
He knew how to make you cum with his mouth, so you understood he was taking his sweet time and not giving you an orgasm right away. He was just getting you closer to the edge.
You couldn’t stop watching him, his mouth on your cunt, licking and biting and kissing. Mingyu hummed and moaned against it, as though eager to please, eager to eat your pussy out. Then he stopped suckling at your engorged clit, throwing a glance at you before resuming to lick your folds, not shying away from licking his own cum dripping from your entrance.
In fact, you saw him curving his tongue against your ruined pussy, licking your cream and his cum. You let out a raw moan, the sight of him licking his cum off your pussy nearly sent you to the edge.
But he rose to his feet, bringing a hand to your nape and pulling your head back by your hair quite roughly.
You instinctively opened your mouth for him before he spat his cum into your mouth. “Swallow,” Mingyu said, his tone raw, still gruff with desire.
You swallowed, tasting yourself and him in your tongue right before he leaned over and kissed you. You moaned into his mouth, letting your hands roam all over his chest and torso, feeling his warm skin.
And he was doing the same, his hands feeling your thighs, your waist, your tits. One of his hands sneaked between your legs, his fingers pressing against your clit once again and rubbing circles on it a couple of times before sinking two of his fingers inside you.
You moaned. The feeling wasn’t even close to having his cock, but as he started to thrust his fingers inside your walls, everything went blank. “Oh—fuck. Mingyu!” you gasped.
He placed his hand on your lower back, while the other moved his fingers inside you quite roughly. He found a spot in your walls that had you wailing out, raw and animalistic, and he just started thrusting his fingers listlessly.
Your thighs began shaking uncontrollably, sighs and moans escaping you until you were making pathetic sounds with your mouth. “God, Mingyu, yes, yes,” you cried out pathetically, his fingers bringing you to a quick and brutal orgasm. You were a panting, blabbering mess as your orgasm shattered you completely.
“Fuck!” you squealed as hot liquid gushed from you uncontrollably, splashing all over Mingyu’s hand, his wrist and his forearm, landing all over him.
He was completely captured by you, fascination read on his face, his lust-filled eyes outlining every curve of your body. He smiled when you screamed his name and squirted all over him, like it was a mission he was fulfilling, and it probably was. And when he pulled his fingers out, your eyes widened at the sight of the creamy ring around his middle and ring fingers, down to the knuckles of his hand.
But he didn’t let that distract him. He looked around you, grabbing his phone quickly. “Can I do something crazy?” he asked.
A question formed on your lips, stopping at the tip of your tongue when you saw him raising his phone in front of him—camera lens pointed at your naked body.
You were trying to catch your breath. But ended up nodding. “Go ahead,” you said breathlessly.
As Mingyu took the photo, you wondered what it would look like. You were sitting on the small round table, wearing nothing but panties. A complete mess, wet and shaking. And when he turned the phone screen to you, you saw he hadn’t captured your face in the frame, just from your lips and below. But it was very evident that this was your body—your thick thighs, the curve of your waist, your beautiful tits. You had never seen yourself like that in your life—you were hot.
“Oh, god,” you said with half a giggle. “I’m shaking,” you said shyly, trying to hide your face from his eyes as you tried to bring some control to your trembling arms and legs.
“Come here,” he mumbled, wasting no time and scooping you from the table. He diligently carried you bridal style straight to the bed, placing you across the mattress.
“We gotta shower,” you told him as you followed him with your eyes.
Mingyu nodded, crawling on top of you. “Later,” he sighed, bending over your body to kiss your face. “I’m not done with you, sweetheart,” he said.
Your entire body became ablaze with the way he called you. You kissed him back, finding his face with your hands as his lips moved to kiss your cheek. “You still have energy for more?” you asked curiously. Mingyu was tired, you knew it from the moment you’d found him on the basketball court.
“Mmm-hmm,” he nodded, kissing underneath your jaw. “Gotta prove my worth,” he murmured.
“Do you really wanna go there, Mingyu?” you asked, keeping your tone gentle.
“Yes, I do,” he replied, his tone low and raspy, resembling a growl. His dark gaze shot up, glancing at you. “You let my best friend have you, and you thought it wouldn’t drive me crazy?”
Your heart sank, but the mischievous grin on his face showed you that he was half-messing with you.
The shame you felt turned into something else. “I didn’t think you’d care,” you bit back.
“Really?” he sighed, the smile stretching on his face. An eyebrow quirked up. “You thought I wouldn’t care that another man had what’s mine?”
You outlined the features of his face with the tip of your finger, trailing from his cheekbone and down to his jawline, slowly. “Am I?” you whispered, trying your best to sound sultry. But instead you came off sweet. “Am I yours?”
The look in his eyes turned playful, almost endearing, as though the sound of your voice had melted the ugly feeling taking over him. But the cunning was still in his demeanour as he planted a kiss on your chin. “Tell me you didn’t think of us,” he mumbled softly, planting another kiss on your jawline. “Tell me you didn’t think of me all those nights Wonwoo was here.”
You closed your eyes as he landed another kiss, this time down your neck, using two fingers below your chin to angle your head for him. “I didn’t think of you,” you said, your voice turning into honey.
You felt his lips twitch into a triumphant smile as he lowered himself to kiss your chest. “You’re a bad liar.”
“It’s the truth,” you said, shuddering under his sweet and wet kisses.
“Not even once?” he taunted. You blinked to see his face as he reached your tits, his hands cupping them and making them bulge against his face. He sank his nose between the crevice of your bulging tits, kissing your skin as his thumbs swirled around your nipples.
A broken sigh escaped through your lips. It was futile, you knew. All those nights that Wonwoo was in your bed, you did think of Mingyu. Thoughts ridden by guilt, longing and sometimes even desire. The times you touched yourself thinking of them both, the times you even compared how they fucked.
“Sometimes,” you hissed softly, closing your eyes to enjoy the gentle kisses he was leaving on your tits.
Mingyu hummed against your prickled skin, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples to suckle at it, his tongue pressing against your sensitive bud. You moaned, the sound tiny and sweet.
He stopped briefly, creating a near sinful sound when his mouth detached from your nipple. “Did you, sweetheart?” he asked, pushing you to go on, to tell him more. You knew it was fueling his pride, his ego.
“Yeah,” you mewled, arching your back as he switched his mouth to suck on your other nipple. The feeling of his tongue on you built an ache inside you quite quickly, and you moaned.
“Did you miss me? Mn?” he asked, sliding his hands from your tits, stopping at the band of your ruined panties. He tugged your panties down as he sat back on his knees to look at your body sprawled for him.
You nodded slowly, lifting your feet from the bed so he could slide your panties down to your ankles. He discarded them to one side, using his hands to caress your calves, your thighs, motioning them open for him.
You watched him as he crawled back on top of your body, slotting his hips between your thighs and pressing his chest on yours. “How did it feel?” he asked, a dark urge taking over him as the questions got sharper, closer to a weak spot in your heart. “Mn? Did you think about us while you had another man inside you?”
Far from creating a bitter feeling inside you, it made your blood heat up. You were falling into his game, and it was hard to untangle yourself from it. “No,” you whispered. And before your own desire to submit to him betrayed you, it was defiance that made you act first. “Sometimes, I’d think of you. But other times, Wonwoo would come here and fuck me so I wouldn’t have the energy to miss you.”
And with that, you understood what Mingyu wanted.
He saw through your lie and spotted your intention of playing his game—rile him up. He flashed you a grin, showing you one of his perfect fangs. “And did you like it, baby? Did he fuck you good?”
You nodded again. “But I would still miss you,” you confessed guiltily.
Mingyu faltered for a split second, seeing in your eyes that you were telling him the truth. Something changed in him because he leaned in to kiss you slowly, softly pressing his lips against yours. “I missed you, too. All the time,” he whispered. “I would see you every time I closed my eyes.”
Your heart nearly gave out at his words.
But Mingyu distracted you swiftly, grinding his hips against you gently, making you feel his growing boner against your lower tummy. A broken moan escaped you, gaze flitting to find him. “Gyu—” you muttered.
“Feel that?” he breathed, closing the space between his mouth and yours to give you a swift kiss. “Do you like that my dick gets so hard for you?”
You knew why he spoke to you like that. It drove you crazy. You nodded, a whiny sound escaping you. “Uh-huh.”
“You ready for more, baby?” he asked. And when you nodded, he just switched his hips over yours, his hard cock wedging between your pussy lips, teasing you some more. You gasped, nodding as you tucked your hand between his body and yours, taking his cock and guiding it to your entrance.
“Fuck, Gyu,” you gasped, feeling the bulbous head of his cock in your pooling entrance, and then he pushed in, stretching you again nicely, slowly. You lifted your feet off the mattress, moving your knees to your sides and angling your hips for him to fuck you deeper, and deeper.
“I know,” he breathed, the sound ragged, lazy. “Feels so good,” he drawled, thrusting inside you languidly.
You nodded dumbly, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes as he massaged your walls with his fat cock. His mouth dropped open as tiny, broken sighs escaped through. You were both captured by the fiery pleasure, looking into each other’s eyes as your body and his spoke to each other again after being distanced for so long.
You loved this. You loved him.
“Mingyu—” you moaned, swallowing hard.
He heard the urgency in your tone, the sweetness in it created by the pleasure you were feeling. He groaned loudly, pulling his body back to sit on his knees, but without separating his body from yours completely.
You cried out at the change, but Mingyu didn’t let you get used to it. His hands came to the back of your knees, pushing your thighs to your chest before he drove his cock deeper into you.
“Fuck—!” you gasped, tears spilling from your eyes.
“Yes, baby, feel it,” Mingyu replied, his tone raspy. He pushed his body against the back of your thighs, putting the back of your knees on his shoulders, and quite literally folding you for him to fuck.
Your hands held onto his forearms as he placed his hands at each of your sides. “Fuck, Gyu,” you whined, unable to do anything with your body now that he caged it entirely.
“You feel so good,” Mingyu whispered, turning his face to kiss the inner side of one of your knees. He closed his eyes slowly, letting out a raw moan as he pushed his cock in and out of you.
And you wished you could find the words to tell him just how good he felt. The way that he pushed his cock inside you, massaging and stretching your walls, reaching so deep to the point it was making you cry.
“You’re so wet, baby. You feel it?” he said, and you nodded quite aloofly. You were hearing his words, but you had completely dissolved into pleasure. “You feel how your pussy gets so wet for me?”
“Yeah,” you replied, the sound so sweet and pathetic.
There was a shadow of a smile on his face, but you couldn’t appreciate it fully. “That’s because it’s mine,” he whispered, and despite the meaning of his words, he sounded sweet. Almost endearing.
You nodded, almost to the rhythm of the jackhammering of his hips. “Yeah,” you parroted again in the same lewd tone.
“Yeah?” Mingyu pressed, now smiling fully at how dumb you were made by his cock. “Is this pussy mine, baby?”
He started to push harder, even deeper. His body was still caging yours, his chest pressed to the back of your thighs—the bedframe started to groan, the headboard was slamming against the wall. You let out a whiny cry, nodding with your head again.
“Say it,” he whispered raggedly, enjoyment flashing on his dark eyes.
“It’s yours,” you said breathlessly. Warm shame filling your face and neck, sizzling beneath your skin.
But it made Mingyu moan and blink slowly at you without letting the pace of his thrusts ease up. And maybe he knew that was what you needed, because pleasure quickly built back up inside you, taking over you entirely. The mixture of shame, humiliation and submission flipped something inside you—it made you want to chase more of it.
“It’s yours, Mingyu,” you repeated, this time knowing how obscene you sounded.
Mingyu let out a long, raspy moan. His ragged breath told you he was close to cumming again, but he didn’t stop.
“I’m yours,” you whispered, and then repeated it over and over again, enjoying the way he reacted to your words.
He was driving his fat cock into you desperately, his thrusts robbing you of air, filling you with so much pleasure you felt on the verge of passing out.
“Mingyu…” you mumbled faintly, closing your eyes and letting the fiery waves of your second orgasm take you. You didn’t care about anything—you didn’t care that your moans were loud, or that you sounded like a blabbering mess. All that you cared about was that you were having the best orgasm of your life.
And Mingyu was giving it to you.
You heard him moan with you and cuss beneath his breath. And it was when your orgasm started to subside that his thrusts slowed down, turning sloppy. You opened your eyes, finding Mingyu’s face riddled with a mixture of pleasure and fatigue, his mouth hanging open and eyebrows knitting softly.
He blinked languidly, a sigh coming out of him as you nodded to him. His eyes bore into you as he cummed inside you again, and something about that look he gave you told you that there was more than he was letting on.
He’d missed your body, yes. But also something more intimate, something more human.
He let a moment pass after he stopped thrusting, then slowly pulled out of you. You groaned at the change, stretching your legs on the mattress. Mingyu moved on top of your body again, pressing his chest against yours as you wrapped him in your arms, kissing him deeply.
And he reciprocated the kiss just as passionately. He moaned softly when your fingers danced on the line of his back, feeling the warmth of his skin. His hand cupped the side of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair.
“I love you,” he whispered, as though he could no longer keep the words to himself. He let out a long sigh, moving his head to kiss the corner of your mouth, your cheek. “I love you,” he repeated a bit louder this time.
“I love you too,” you whispered, choking on your feelings.
You understood what he’d meant with that look from earlier. Mingyu had missed being vulnerable with you. He had missed being close to you, sharing a bed with you, holding you close to his body.
“Hey,” he mouthed, using a hand to brush back your hair. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, I just—” you sniffled softly. “It’s just quite unreal to have you here again,” you said, enjoying the weight of his body on yours, even if he wasn’t quite literally lowering his whole body on you.
Mingyu smiled, his breath brushing your lips. “Well, here I am,” he told you, his eyes flitting from yours to your lips. “Not going anywhere.”
His words resonated with a part of your memory that you thought you had buried. Your heart stuttered, making you wince ever so slightly.
And he noticed.
“I mean it, baby,” he muttered, his eyebrows knitting with a hint of sadness. “And I meant it back then, but…” his tone dropped. “I thought I was doing the right thing for you. For me.”
“I know,” you replied, your voice made gruff by the tears you kept trying to swallow down.
Mingyu looked at your face for a brief moment and then let out a breath through his nose. “I know we’re in a very complicated situation, and you asked me if I could forgive you for what happened between Wonwoo and you. But I don’t think it’s about that anymore.”
You blinked. “Then what is it about?”
He rolled over to his side, tucking his arm beneath his head as you both faced each other now. “I think that we were very quick to assume that somebody was in the wrong here. You and I were broken up when you and Wonwoo started seeing each other. And yeah, he’s my best friend, but all things considered, I’m not too shocked that he did what he did.”
“Why?” you frowned a little.
“Number one, you’re beautiful,” he replied with a light smile on his face. But then the smile faded slowly, as he looked for the words to say. “Number two, I let you go quite foolishly. If I were him, I also would’ve wanted to get to know you better, because he thought I was just using you. And three—well, you’re totally his type too.”
You huffed loudly at the last part. “Shut up, Kim Mingyu. No, I’m not.”
“I never lie,” he said with a straight face, eyelids falling heavily.
“What does that even mean?” you asked, trying hard to contain your laugh. “You say that about every man that talks to me.”
“Baby, you’re smart, cute and have a kind heart. And on top of that, you’re very sexy. You are everyone’s type,” he said, rolling his eyes playfully. “But other than that, one thing that attracted me, and I know attracted him as well, is that you’re good company. You listen, you make people feel safe. Even when you’re hurting,” he said, blinking away from your face. “I also want to ask again if you could forgive me for walking away from you right when things were getting serious between you and me.”
“I forgive you, Mingyu,” you said, letting his words sink in. “I don’t think we need to dwell on that anymore. You did what you had to.”
“As did you,” he whispered, his gaze falling on your lips.
You looked at him for a long minute. He looked calmer now, even if he was blinking slower each time. His eyes outlined the features of your face, telling you with only one look how much he missed you.
Then, he ran a hand down the side of your head. “You had a haircut,” he muttered softly, letting his fingers get tangled through the strands of your hair.
You smiled. “You noticed,” you said.
He gave you a look, as though saying, Of course I did. “I meant to tell you earlier, but… we were busy.”
You giggled at his choice of words. “Are you hungry now?” you asked him.
He nodded. “Starving,” he whispered.
“Should we shower first and then eat something?” you offered, trying to find some energy to get up from the bed.
“Sounds good,” he said.
And then he rolled over and got up, tucking his arms beneath your body to carry you bridal style once more. You yelped at the sudden movement, slapping his shoulder playfully. “You have to let me walk.”
“You said your legs were shaking,” he pointed, shrugging slightly.
As you saw the light grin on his face, a warmth bloomed inside you. Mingyu was happy to be with you again. And you didn’t feel the insecurity you used to every single time you shared a bed with him in the past. There was the beginning of a promise that you didn’t have before—there was trust.
Even if you both still had so much to talk about.
You woke up to a near-suffocating warmth. Mingyu had his arm draped over your waist, circling your chest to hug you to his body snuggly. His leg was tangled with one of yours, his chest pressed to your back, nose deeply buried in your hair.
He stirred awake as you tried to free your leg from his. “Good morning,” he drawled sleepily.
You turned over, pressing your cheek to his chest. “Good morning, Gyu,” you whispered.
He brought a hand to the back of your head, caressing your hair gently. “Did you sleep alright?” he asked.
You took in a breath, letting it out through your nose. “Mmm-hmm,” you hummed, nodding slowly. “You?”
“Better than I have in a while,” he replied, caressing the back of your head languidly still.
You pulled your face from his chest, just as Mingyu angled his to find your lips. He kissed you slowly, his tender pecks creating smacking wet sounds.
“Gyu?” you whispered.
“Yes, shorty?”
You cupped the side of his face, your fingers feeling the soft hairs on his sideburn. “What happens now?” you asked, your tone shaking slightly.
“You decide,” he replied sweetly, as though the answer had been already prepared. “We can take it slowly, and as far as you want it to.”
You smiled, looking at his face in mild disbelief. “What do you want, Mingyu?”
He shrugged, showing you a light smile. “I just want to be with you,” he said, looking at you longingly. “I’m not saying we should jump into something right now, but I’m open to whatever you want.”
You blinked. “Whatever?”
Mingyu smiled, rolling his eyes playfully. “If you decide we’re dating, then we are,” he explained. “If you want to take things slowly, so do I.”
Your heart nearly gave out. “And if… I want to think about what I want?” you whispered fearfully.
His gaze lost a spark for a second. “Then that’s okay, too,” he whispered.
“It's not that I don’t know what I want,” you told him. “I just need to think about how I want to say it.”
Mingyu seemed to grasp at what you intended, and also knew that you didn’t want to be explicit at the moment. “So for now…” he said quietly.
You took in a deep breath, steadying your nervous heart. “For now, we continue seeing each other?” you offered. “I know this doesn’t sound reassuring, but—”
“It’s okay. You don’t owe me any explanations,” he cut you off gently. “We continue seeing each other, and whatever you decide to do, I’m down.”
You sighed in disbelief again. “Just like that?”
“Yep. Just like that,” he reassured, pressing his lips into a cute smile.
You blinked, and part of you suspected that Mingyu knew without a doubt what your choice was. But he was letting you get there slowly.
Mingyu finished flashing you a smile. “Like I said. I just want to be with you. I don’t care how,” he said, his tone waning softly. “I hated losing you. I am not going through that again.”
With a gasp, you crushed his lips with your own, kissing him passionately. Mingyu hummed into the kiss, using his hand on the back of your head to kiss you deeper.
But despite the reassurance he gave you, your mind was winding with wild thoughts, colliding and fighting against each other. You loved Mingyu, you loved Wonwoo. It was a hard choice, an impossible choice.
One that you had to make eventually.
The apartment was still lit when Mingyu slipped through the door quietly. It was too quiet. The kind of quiet right before a trap. And inside, everything was spotless. Almost too perfect.
Mingyu knew before he even turned the corner that Wonwoo was waiting.
And he was right.
Wonwoo was in the small open kitchen, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed. Eyes locked on Mingyu, the second the door clicked shut.
Mingyu’s heart raced, just slightly, but he forced himself inside, discarding his keys on the table quite loudly, startling the staged quietness.
“Crashed out?” Wonwoo asked meaningfully. His voice was steady, almost casual, but the edge underneath gave away the anxiousness he truly felt.
Mingyu met his gaze, nodding. “Yes.”
The silence that followed was unbearable, almost suffocating. The weight of years of friendship was layered on the look both men exchanged. Mingyu was no stranger to this silence—they knew each other too well, every lie. Every tell.
Wonwoo took in a deep breath, pushing his arms against his chest tighter. “You were with her.”
It wasn’t a question. And Mingyu didn’t even flinch. “Yes, I was.”
Wonwoo motioned a nod. But he had no words. And if he did, he swallowed them hard.
For half a heartbeat, it felt like they might fight again. Pressure was building between them, words, shouts, fists and things that could break their bond for good.
But instead of that, something heavier lingered. It wasn’t just the feeling betrayal, but a bittersweet acknowledgement. They both wanted the same thing, they both shared the same longing, and ache.
Mingyu’s chest rose and fell hard with a sigh. “If this keeps going, it will break us.”
And by this, Mingyu meant Wonwoo’s love for you.
Mingyu could be many things. A friend, a kind and nice guy. But he was also jealous. And this was a game that began the night that Wonwoo kissed you for the first time. Wonwoo’s recklessness, Mingyu’s stubborness.
But Wonwoo’s gaze shone with a triumph that was consuming. He took a deep breath. “It doesn’t have to, Mingyu. And I think you know.”
Another beat.
And then— “Both of us loving her doesn’t have to break us.”
Mingyu felt his features act before he could even process his best friend’s words—they hung in the air, dangerous, enticing.
Then the words hit him. Mingyu had thought of it before, he knew that everything was leading to this point. And even your hesitation might’ve hint at this, and even if you didn’t say explicitly what you wanted to choose, it flashed through his mind. He had even thought of saying it as a joke, but he never dared to. He wanted you for himself.
But he didn’t want to lose his best friend either.
And yet again, Mingyu was too stubborn to acknowledge that Wonwoo had thought of finding common ground before Mingyu dared to bring it up. He was jealous, stubborn, yes. But he was also determined to keep you for his own for a little while longer.
This was a game now. It wasn’t even about fighting for who would win your heart. It was a wicked game of how all of you would find common ground.
And he’d even said so himself. Kim Mingyu knew that if he wanted you, he would have to learn how to share.
But maybe he spoke too soon.
☾ author's note: hey!
this note will be brief. i just want to thank you all for waiting and for checking up on me after months of not updating this fic. i really needed to distance myself from this series before attempting to write it again. i felt like the previous chapter was not well-received and the demons in my head were telling me to scrap it. but i decided to give myself a break from it and continue writing later and so here it is!
so thank you all who are still reading!! also, i invite you to read my other fics that i've posted recently like pineapple on pizza? and the sundering!
i love you all 🩵
toodles!
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“does it feel good? am-am i doing good,” he asks, his thumb circling your clit as he looks at you with his half-lidded, nothing but desire shining in them. he wants to hear you say it, he needs to know how good he is making you feel."
── synopsis: it’s your birthday and your tipsy, jealous boyfriend san has been patiently (impatiently) waiting to give you your gift all night … your touchy best friend breaks that patience.
⋆˚꩜｡ pairing: sub!san x dom!reader
⋆˚꩜｡ genre & word count: smut || 3k+
⋆˚꩜｡ tags: sub!san, oral (f.receiving), begging, unprotected sex (wrap up.ᐟ), praise, tipsy san, breeding kink, needy san, kind of possessive san, jealous, wooyoung cameo!!, he just wants to please you
⋆˚꩜｡ a/n: not even sure if i like this plus i didn't proofread it, but fuck it we ball !! hopefully atleast one person like it though :b
san was not jealous.
i mean sure his skin was pretty hot and prickly, and his muscles were tense. he was clenching his jaw and his fingers gripped tight around the cup of alcohol he’s sipping on. but he wasn't jealous, far from it actually.
he currently resided in the kitchen, where he was leaned up against the counter at your birthday party, attempting and failing to not send daggers in your direction. or, more to the people around you.
not like you would notice anyway … too distracted by said people. engaging in multiple conversations and accepting countless gifts from where you sat on the couch.
he was enamored by how good you looked, smiling brightly, eyes crinkling in the corners, your laugh echoing sweetly in his ears. it just wasn’t fair that everyone else got to see and hear it. he wanted that part of you all to himself. wanted you to be smiling at him like how you were smiling at them.
he’s been trying all night to get just a minute with you, brushed aside by your friends before he could even get the chance to speak. you would mumble a quick “sorry” with a grimace every time someone new whisked you away from him.
that’s when san decided to stumble his way into the kitchen with a frustrated huff and pour himself a drink…or two, who’s counting? is it a crime to want to spend time with your girlfriend on her birthday?
at the same time there was nothing more san wanted then for you to be happy. alongside the growing envy, he was genuinely pleased that you were enjoying the event he partook in planning. maybe he was just being a little selfish…
“ahh, what am i thinking?” he mumbles to himself, rubbing the bridge of his nose and earning a sideways glance from someone who walked into the kitchen for a drink. he clears his throat before chugging down the rest of the alcohol in his cup.
he can feel the effects of the alcoholic drink, his skin getting warmer, his limbs feel tingly, his balance is off as he stumbles from where he stands. he crosses his arms over his chest and leans his head back, closing his eyes to rest them a bit, just to collect himself.
“woo? holy shit, you’re here!” san hears you shriek from the other room. his eyes peek open and he turns his head to see you jump into some guys arms, presumably the one you called woo.
san’s eyebrows raise at that, his eyes gravitating towards the arms that were wrapped tightly around your waist and the hands that were gently caressing your back in small circles. he can't fight the way that his teeth grind together at that, his eyes narrowing into slits.
“a little late, but yes i’m here,” he replies when he pulls back with a bright smile and shifts his hands on your shoulders as you launch into a conversation with him.
san looks away with a pout and stares blankly at the floor in front of him, his foot tapping restlessly against it. woo? you never mentioned an woo to him, not to his knowledge atleast. he wracks through his muddled brain, pouring himself another cup and tries to recall a conversation where you mentioned anybody with that name, finding none.
sucking his teeth, he pushes himself off the counter, drinking sloshing and some droplets spilling onto his hand. he’s ready to walk over to you and ask about this guy that suddenly showed up to your party, but he freezes when he makes it to the living room.
you and wooyoung weren’t standing anymore, instead you were both sat on the couch, laughing about something he couldn’t hear over the music. san can feel his eye twitch and his fingers flex around the cup in his hand.
wooyoung was practically in your lap, well not really, but that’s what san’s drunken mind made it out to be. one leg draped over you and his arms wrapped around your shoulders, grinning and whispering into your ear and making you laugh loudly.
it was getting on his nerves watching the way you and him were interacting. he doesn’t like it. it should be him there instead. how come he gets to be so close to you, when he hasn’t even gotten a second with you all night?
he was frozen in place, tense and taking a swig every time he would get a little too close, a distraction, the alcohol starting to catch up to him. but the lingering touches were ticking him off. wooyoung’s hand landing on your thigh and running it along the smooth skin was his last straw.
he couldn’t take it anymore, downing the rest of his drink before making his way over to you. and if he almost tripped twice on the way there, what about it?
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you were startled when your boyfriend suddenly appeared in front of you. having not seeing him the whole night, you were kind of glad that he was here now. you couldn’t get a good look at his face in the dimly-lit living room, but you knew it was san by his voice.
“can i talk to you,” he huffed, his body was swaying as he clumsily thrusted a hand out for you take. you lean back, his hand way too close to your face.
you take his hand, rubbing a finger over his knuckles, “yes, but there’s someone i want you to meet.” you smile and look over to wooyoung. san hasn’t meet woo, your best-friend that was always busy with his career, always traveling. this is the first time you’ve seen him in months and you were excited to introduce the two, you figured they would get along well.
“san, this is wooyoung my be-” you start, gesturing between the two. san's eyes travel over to him, your sentence lost to deaf ears as he watches wooyoung rub your shoulder, cheesing, and his jaw tightens in frustration.
“i just-” san breathes with a hiccup, tilting his head back to contain himself before continuing. “i just want to talk to you, please.” he whispers the last word and squeezes your hand.
“o-okay,” cocking your head in confusion. was something wrong? is he feeling sick? you part from wooyoung and stand to go with your boyfriend. and san doesn’t miss the way wooyoung’s hands drop from your shoulder and drags down your waist as you go. “be right back woo.” you say with a smile and allow your boyfriend to take you away.
san brings you upstairs and down the hall to your shared room, closing and locking the door behind you both. he leans his back and head against the door, dizzy from the drinks and fast movements. he’s not sure how he even made it here without completely falling, he only tripped once.
“san, you alright…” you question, taking a tentative step towards him and placing a hand on his shoulder. he’s skin is warm, hot almost, you could feel it through the shirt he was wearing. maybe he was feeling sick...
he slowly nods, a mistake as the alcohol is setting in and even that made him a little unstable. you rush forward to catch san before he could trip over himself, his hands landing on your waist and head dropping to rest against your chest.
you gently lift his head up by his chin, taking in his disheveled state. in the lamp light you notice that his cheeks are tinged pink, a slight shine to his forehead from sweat, and the smell of alcohol was strong on his breath as he pants, his breath fanning across your face.
“are you drunk?” you ask, resting your hand against his cheek. he immediately nuzzles into, sighing at the cool touch. he looks up at you, eyes glossy and unfocused.
he ignores your question, his gaze dropping to your lips. he leans in, presumably to kiss you. but before your mouths could touch, you lean your head back and earn a little groan from san who starts to pout.
“i asked if you are drunk.”
“only a little bit tipsy,” he hurriedly mumbles as he hiccups, leaning in to kiss you again only to be denied. this time by you placing a finger against his wet mouth. “fuck, why~” he whines impatiently, fingers drumming against your waist.
“you said you wanted to talk to me, not kiss me,” you remind him of the reason why we’re here, with a giggle. san puffs in annoyance. he didn’t actually have anything to say, just wanted to finally be alone with you. “you dragged me away from my conversation with woo-“
you’re cut off by san rushing in to press his lips against yours. nibbling and licking at your bottom lip, taking control of the kiss. he doesn’t want to hear that name right now. doesn’t care about what you and him were talking about, he just wants you to focus on him.
you part your mouth, deepening it as you lick into san’s mouth. he moans into it and his knees buckle a bit, his grip on you tight to keep himself upright.
“this is what i wanted to talk about,” he breaths out when he pulls back for air, a string of saliva connecting you two. “your birthday gift.”
it’s true. san did have a gift for you, he’s been waiting all night for everyone to leave so he can give it to you. quite literally. but if this is what it took for you to forget about everyone else, forget about woo, and just give him all your attention then…
“i’m confused…” you slowly say, furrowing your brows and searching san’s face for some kind of answer. there was a lot of physical activity going on for him to be talking about a gift.
“can i show you it,” he leads you to the bed, and instructs you to get on it and you follow his instruction, curious. “i was going to wait until after the party, but i’m a bit impatient now…” he says, a whiny tone in his voice.
“san- what exactly is this ‘gift’?”
he once again ignores you, climbing on the bed and crawling towards you, hovering over you. it forces you to lean back, your head gently hitting the mattress as san looks down at you with his flushed face. his hand instantly roaming your body, up your thighs, to your waist, and under your shirt to cup a breast.
your eyes can’t help but to flutter at that, your breathing picking up slightly as you watch san’s movements. he moves in to kiss you, not holding back this time and shoves his tongue into your mouth. he whines as your tongues swirl together.
“san,” you whisper into his mouth. he pays you no mind, trying to get as much of you as he can, hoping to distract you enough. “sannie, as much as i’m enjoying this… there is a party going on downstairs and wooyoung-”
san grumbles at that, that name that you just can’t seem to stop saying. he sucks his teeth and leans back to sit up, a little too fast, his hands landing on your thighs as he wobbles.
“woo, woo, woo,” he mumbles, dropping his head down and shaking it from side to side. you rise up on your elbows to look at your boyfriend. “when are you going to pay attention to me, huh?”
“i’ve been wanting to talk to you all night. been waiting to have just a second with you. just a little conversation, a kiss, a hug, a smile, a laugh. anything, but you’ve been giving it all to everyone else. i want that too. i’m your boyfriend.” he rambles, shakily pointing a finger at himself.
you have to press a hand to your mouth to keep from laughing. he was just too cute, all pouty and angry, his cheeks dusted red. you’ve never seen this side of him before. sure, you’ve gotten drunk with him, he usually gets all quiet, often staying to himself. but this was different…
“then someone else comes in, woo, and you’re all over him. what about me? laugh with me, talk to me, let me cling to you like that, i can-” he continues and you shut him up before he can rant on for hours, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his cheek.
“sounds like your jealous,” you giggle as san lifts his head to look at you. his eyes flitter around your face, avoiding eye-contact with you, his face burning hotter.
“j-jealous, why would i be jealous?” he defensively says.
“you already answered your own question when you were rambling,” you whisper, wrapping a hand around his neck and fisting your hand into the hair on his nape, pulling him in for another kiss.
the make-out is all saliva and messy as san gasps, caught by surprise at the sudden attack on his lips. he lets you take the lead, losing himself in you. he wraps his arms around your waist from where he sat in your lap, drawing his body closer to yours.
his hips twitch against you when you bite his bottom lip, his hard cock dragging against your stomach and making san draw out a whimper.
“uhn,” he breathily moans when he grinds himself against you again. his head tilting back as he gets lost in the pleasure of the friction on his cock. you take advantage and leave little nibbles and pecks on his warm neck.
“can- can i still give you your gift, please?” he sighs, his hands skimming along your arms. the way he pleads, sends a trail of goosebumps along your skin where he touches.
you nod your head, your party forgotten about as the man in front of you starts to trail kisses down your body. he thumbs at your shirt, peeking at you, a silent ask. you take it upon yourself, stripping off your shirt.
san heavily breaths before leaning in and taking a tit into his mouth, whirling around his tongue on your nipple, making your back arch into him. he attends to both, switching between the two and leaving a few hickeys behind.
he moves down, kissing along your stomach and waist. he looks up at you when he makes it to the band of your skirt and with a playful smirk, dips his head under it and drags your underwear down your legs with his teeth.
he goes back down, burying his face into your cunt. it’s wet and messy and exactly what san wanted. he whimpers as he licks, lapping up at your juices, his nose pressing against your clit.
“sannie,” you breath, carding your fingers through his hair and tugging at some of the strands, pulling him impossibly closer to you.
san’s hip twitch against the bed, grinding down against the sheets. just him being able to taste you, turns him on. being able to please you, make you feel good, better than anyone else.
“does it feel good? am-am i doing good,” he asks, his thumb circling your clit as he looks at you with his half-lidded eyes, nothing but desire shining in them. he wants to hear you say it, he needs to know how good he is making you feel.
“so good, you’re doing so good,” you sigh, tossing your head back when san licks a strip from your entrance up to your clit.
he moans at your approval, his cock twitching where it was trapped between his pants and the bed, his body trembling as he gets close to cumming. he just wants to stay here, burying his tongue in you, he doesn’t care how messy it gets.
“fuck,” you gasp, grinding your hips against san’s face as you cum.
san whimpers, cumming untouched in his pants. he spills all over the bed, pushing his hips against the mattress as he licks up your mess, drinking you up like he did the alcohol.
once you come down, you let go of his hair and pull him up towards you. licking into his mouth to taste yourself on his tongue. you reach a hand down to his pants, hoping to return the favor and get met with a huge sticky spot there instead.
“did you…” you start, looking at san who had a sheepish look on his face. turning his to the side and clearing his throat in embarrassment.
“i-i can go again,” he whispers, removing his bottoms and stroking himself to hardness again. record speed. “i want to be inside you, please…”
he spreads your legs apart, placing himself there. he grabs onto your hips and slides his hot cock between your folds. he moans, his body shivering at the intense pleasure from just cumming.
“please, please let me put it in,” he pleads, stuttering out a moan when his tip catches on your entrance. he’s tempted to push in, but he won’t not until you say he can. “i’ll make you feel good, i- i promise.”
you don’t respond, wrapping your legs around him, you push him forward and into your wet heat.
“mm, fuck,” he loudly moans. it would’ve been too loud if not for the music blaring downstairs. even then, with how tipsy he was, he wouldn’t care if anyone heard.
he deeply rocks his hips into you, each thrust hitting just the right spot. punching short ‘ah’s’ from you.
“so good, only i can have this…” he babbles. his thrusts getting rougher, slamming his cock into you as he recalls the events from earlier.
“nobody else can see you like this, n-no one else can make you feel good…” he whines, his hold on your hips almost bruising as he pounds into you.
he feels drunk off of this. him feeling how you clench around him, how wet and warm it is. he needs more, he wants more, wants you to know that only he can do this to you.
“s-sannie,” you stutter as you can’t keep up with his pace. “s-slow down…” you moan, bringing your arms up to wrap around waist and bringing him closer to you.
of course he doesn’t slow down, it almost feels like he speeds up.
“so pretty, so tight…” he moans into your ear, his pace unrelenting as he fucks you. “wanna cum inside - i’ve been wanting it all night, i just - fuck. please let me.”
you pull him back to be face to face, his eyes closed and he doesn’t open them until you coo, “you want it that bad?”
he almost looks ravenous, his was so gone, drunk off you.
“yes, wanna cum inside,” he babbles, his voice raspy from all the moaning. “wanna fill you up, make you mine, please-“
“yeah?”
he nods his head wildly, “fuck yes, please~ i’ll be good, so good. i promise, if you just let me cum inside - let me own it.”
you lean in to whisper in his ear, “show me that you do,”
san’s breath hitches, a strangled moan stuck in his throat as his eyes roll back. one last thrust is all he had before he came deep inside.
“fuck, fuck, fuck…” he whiningly chants, as he fills you with rope after rope of cum. his breath hot against your neck that he was buried in.
you caress his back with one hand and his sweat-soaked hair with the other as he rides out his orgasm. weakly thrusting into you until he can’t from the sensitivity.
he pulls out with a hiss, rolling onto his back, feeling a different kind of heat and tingle in his body, one not from the alcohol.
you roll over to rest on his chest, tracing circles along his stomach.
“that was quite the birthday gift,” you laugh, with an exaggerated sigh. “you’re pretty cute when you’re jealous.”
“‘m not jea-“ he starts before getting interrupted by a knock at the bedroom door.
“hey um, i just wanted to say happy birthday again before heading out,” i voice shouts from the other side. “and it was nice to briefly meet you san, i hope we can talk more next time.” then there were footsteps.
san rolls his eyes after the second sentence, becoming aware of who was outside the door. his chest heaving and a tiny pout was on his lips.
you look at him with raised eyebrows and a knowing smile.
“i’m not jealous!” he shouts, a blush blooming on his face.
tags/warnings: MDNI, friends to lovers, reader has body image issues, praise, touchy!san, himbo!san, vague gym talk, public sex kinda, slight dry humping (perhaps there’s a theme in all my san fics), making out, oral (fem! receiving), cum in pants
Summary: You push yourself a little too hard at the gym, so San offers a private lesson to help you relax.
Read San #2 from the story ATEEZ Smut oneshots by urturningviolet with 0 reads. san, jongho, yunho. Pairing: Gym instru...
Last Christmas at the company work party, you’d gotten a gym membership from your secret Santa. Despite how it was intended to poke fun, you thought it’d be a waste not to at least go a little when you had a free year of personal training. So you only planned to show up and try it out, but you didn’t plan for your trainer to be so kind.
San was one of the most accomplished trainers at the gym, and it was easy to see why with his physique. You were almost intimidated when you first met him, thinking he would surely be a harsh critic. That couldn’t have been farther from the truth though, San was definitely one of the most positive people you knew.
No matter what time you saw him, he always had a wide smile on his face. You knew it was probably a part of the job to be polite, but he was especially patient with you. Always eager to chat between moves. Today was no different, the moment you entered he bounded over to the door, skin glistening with the aftermath of his previous workout. It did nothing to change his cheerful demeanour though.
“Good morning!”, he exclaims, towelling himself off as he approaches. “Ready to get pumped today?”, he playfully asks, jabbing fake punches your way. His enthusiasm was infectious per usual and you couldn’t help but grin back.
“Always am!” you respond, returning the gesture. San laughed warmly, turning to guide you to his usual practice room. He took a seat on one of the floor mats, patting the spot next to him which you obediently followed.
“Let’s start with some stretches”, he begins like always, large hands moving to your back to keep you sitting upright. His hands follow your every move as you stretch, trailing down your legs. He’s just guiding, as is his job, but it still leaves your skin prickling and warm.
“You’re doing a good job.”, he mutters, painstakingly close to whispering in your ear. His chest pressed against your back, you can feel the gentle rise and fall. As your arms raise, his hands snake to your waist, keeping you rod straight. You try and fail to ignore how his strong arms around you make the heat pool in your core.
“Your form is getting better and better, it's crazy”, he encourages, His hands begin to roam as he talks. They slide up and down your sides, feather light. Despite yourself, you quiver under his touch.
“Thank you, San”, your voice comes out shakier than intended, face beginning to turn red. Quickly, you get up, removing yourself from his grasp before you start making it too obvious. “Let’s hit the treadmill!”, you awkwardly interject, walking towards the machine.
“Loving the energy today!”, he smiles obliviously, following close behind. You feel almost sick with yourself for the feelings that bloomed whenever San’s hands lingered for a moment too long. He was simply thorough in his job, you reasoned with yourself. It seemed shameful to make it something it wasn’t.
So you attempted to push your thoughts aside and got on the treadmill. It would be a lie to say you didn’t think San was a very attractive man, you doubted the feelings were mutual though. He literally worked at the gym, his ideal had to be somebody as ripped as he was, and American Gladiator you were not.
You found yourself running faster than the treadmill was even set, mind clouded. How ironic to be running but making no progress, oddly fitting. You were so deep in your thoughts that it no doubt showed on your face, so much so that you were finally pulled out of it by San’s hand on your shoulder.
“Are you alright today?”, he questioned, concern written all over his features. You slow your stride, throwing the question around your brain. “You don’t have to go so hard, it’s important to pace yourself”, he nods, rubbing circles into your shoulder.
“You’re right, I'm sorry”, you shake your head, trying fruitlessly to clear your mind. He tuts, clearly knowing that something’s wrong.
“Let’s take a break, come talk to me”, he says firmly. So much for keeping it inconspicuous. Defeated, you turn off the treadmill and follow him to the bench.
“What’s on your mind?”, he asks gingerly, voice so saccharine it’s hard to meet his eyes. What would you even say? ‘Sorry for overworking, I need an instructor who's less attractive’
“It’s nothing”, you lie, unable to meet his gaze. San eyes you with a raised brow
“Nothing”, he repeats with a doubtful look, “You're so tense!”, his hands find their way to your shoulders, massaging. He hums disapprovingly as he runs across a ball of tension, “What’s got you so worked up? You know you can talk to me”, his words fall like honey from his lips as his skilled hands press into your shoulders.
“I guess I’m just trying to get that beach body for summer”, you laugh, although it wasn’t the main hitch of your discomfort, it wasn’t a lie. As the summer season approached, you once again found yourself sighing at the clothing options that left you insecure or afraid to even be seen.
San scoffs as if you’re joking, “If you don’t mind me saying so, you already have a great beach body.”
Now it was your turn to scoff at his unbelievable words, “San, I wouldn’t be coming here if I did.” Although you laughed it off, his expression was suddenly more serious than you’d seen.
“You don’t have to be muscular to still look good”, he firmly shakes his head, “off the record, if I saw you at the beach I’d be losing my mind.” Your face reddens at his words, not quite wanting to believe it. His hands drop from your shoulders, beginning to trace up and down your thighs.
“Even just seeing you here, does something to me”, his voice drops low on the last words, sending shivers through your body.
“You don’t mean that,” you mutter, trying to look anywhere but at the man in front of you. He placed a gentle hand on your chin, turning your face towards him. His eyes are pleading, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he looks you up and down.
“I mean it more than anything”, he smirks. His eyes dart to the door and he quickly walks over to it. Your heart slumps until you hear the lock clicking into place. “How about a private lesson?”, he purrs, hands on your shoulder again. “Let me help you relax.”
The implication hangs heavy in the air. You’re only able to muster a shaking, “ok,” and he’s already on you like a beast, wasting no time. His hands roam up and down your body, squeezing everywhere as he peppers kisses onto your neck.
“You’re so sexy”, he growls, sliding up your shirt to feel your bare skin. You shiver as his firm hands latch onto your breasts, pinching and twirling your nipples through the sports bra.
His eyes darken with lust as he gropes and squeezes any part of your body he can get his hands on, “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long”, his words come out in a whimper.
Instinctively your hand moves to his chiselled chest, slowly dragging down to feel every muscle. The sensation elicits a low growl from San and before you can react, he’s lifting you to place your body on his lap. Your arms wrap around his broad shoulders as he firmly plants your ass on his crotch. You whine, feeling his erection underneath you. Even through the sweatpants, it was obviously big, you shudder with anticipation.
Taking advantage of the new position, his hands go straight to your ass. You can barely think straight as his mouth attacks your neck while his hands knead your plush cheeks. As he pushes his erection further up against you, a wanton moan spills from your lips. He chuckles at the sound, rubbing into your skin as he comments, “Good girl.”
Your whole body shivers at his words and he takes notice, a smirk playing on his lips. “You like that? Being a good girl for me?”, he teases, beginning to lightly bounce you up and down on his lap. Every time you land on his muscular thighs, it ripples through your entire body eliciting a high-pitched mewl. As you whine and whimper, suddenly his hands are on the back of your head pushing his mouth into yours.
He kisses hungrily, eager to swipe his tongue into your open mouth and taste every inch. It quickly gets sloppy as the two of you moan into each other’s mouths, tongues dancing in a salivating flurry. With one hand on your tit and the other on your ass, he holds you impossibly close to him. The kiss is intimate and filthy.
Growling, he bites at your bottom lip, causing you to let out a moan directly into his mouth. He hungrily swallows the noise, grabbing at you tighter. Dizzy, you pull away from the kiss, and a trail of saliva follows between the two of you. San gazes at you with a lazy smile, eyes blown out and lips puffy and wet.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long”, he sighs blissfully.
“What else have you wanted to do?”, you tease with a giggle. Before you can respond, San has you lifted in the air with ease. You squeal, playing scared even though his strong arms have you secured. Gently, he lays you on the yoga mat, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes.
“Can I take these off?”, he whispers, hands toying with the waistband of your shorts. You nod eagerly, lifting your hips from the mat to start inching them down and he gladly finishes the job. His hands gravitate towards your now bare legs, spreading them just enough to reveal your still clothed core.
His fingers flutter against your panties, eliciting a coo from him when they come back wet with slick. “Making a mess for me already?”, he questions teasingly, making a point to grind his hand around on your quivering centre. Your arousal covers his palm and soaks through your now useless panties.
You nod weakly, shaking under his touch.
“My good girl needs some help, doesn't she?”, he whispers, getting low to the ground to be eye level with your dripping entrance. “I’ve been dreaming about these thighs around my face”, he mutters, hands back to squeezing your thighs, now to separate them for his head coming in between. His arms wrap around your lower body, pulling you close so that his face is inches away from your most sensitive region.
Without even removing your panties, he licks a flat stripe up your centre. Whether from surprise or pleasure, a gasping moan flies from between your lips. He takes this as a sign to go all in, slobbering against your mound as he savours the taste. His hands eagerly grab at your hips to have you even closer, eyes crossing as he licks and sucks.
“Mmph”, he groans, pulling away with a satisfying smack, “My pretty girl tastes so good.” You practically come undone at his words, breathy whines falling out in quick succession.
He pulls himself up, beckoning your face closer. “Taste yourself”, he commands, smashing his lips against yours. Once again his tongue floods your mouth, delivering the flavour of your arousal. The two of you whimper into the kiss, absolutely wrecked. His tongue slides against your own heavily, wanting to mark you with the taste.
When he finally pulls away for air, his cheeks are flushed, his face damp. “See how good you taste?”, he cooed, pressing his forehead against your own. In this position on the floor, his bulge teases against your dripping hole. He gets lost in it for a moment, brushing back and forth against you. His hands fall to your body again, squeezing your love handles and stomach. Your face reddens, squirming away, but he pins you in place.
“You’re gorgeous, everywhere”, he whispers, kissing his way down your plush stomach to make his way back to your aching hole. In one swift motion, he pulls your panties to the side, eager to slide his tongue inside you. Your back arches off the floor as he begins exploring your insides the same way he explored your mouth.
You feel his tongue darting in and out, spreading wetness between your folds. He whimpers in between licks, muttering about how he loves the taste. You fall apart underneath him, a string of moans filling the room. When you finally look down and catch him eating you up like a wild man, it’s enough to make you cum. Cream spurts out and decorates his lips as he hungrily licks and sucks at you. Every time he growls, it reverberates through your body leaving you gasping.
Even as you climax, San continues eating out your cum filled hole, moaning wildly into you. As you sit quivering, he takes care to clean up your pussy, gently licking all around it until it shines. When he finally pulls away and sits up, you see a massive dark spot growing in his sweatpants.
“Did you finish in your pants?”, you giggle between gasps, hands stroking his muscles once again.
“You sounded so cute coming undone for me”, he gasps out, quickly leaning down to kiss you again. You lean into it, arms wrapped around him. He pecks all over your face, a wide grin playing at his lips as he does. “You’re so pretty, did such a good job”, he whispers, muttering all sorts of praises in between his hungry kisses.
“I think as your trainer, I’m gonna have to reccomend these private sessions at least twice a day,” he smirks.
“I think that could be arranged”, you respond, pulling him back into a kiss.
you beg for his hand on your throat in the middle of sex. and san isn't ready for that, not yet, not until he does a little research.
style: bullet drabble
pairing: non idol!san x fem!reader
word count: 2.5k
tags/warnings: smut, pwp, breath play / choking, kink research, body worship, mirrors, pussy obsessed choi san, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, rough sex / passionate sex, creampie, discovered desires, two kinky idiots in love
notes: this one was a request from my bestie, carrie. i know, i know, i need to write more of boyfriend choi san!! i hope this does the prompt justice~
[masterlist]
Of the two of you, you’ve always been the kinker one. San knows this.
It’s part of what makes you so magnetic to him, part of the physical pull that yanks him back into your orbit day after day.
It’s not just about the sex, it’s about everything. The way you know what you want, the way you say it, the way you feel everything, deep in your marrow.
He never has to guess with you, never has to wonder if you’re happy, or tired, or feeling like sushi, or if whatever he tried in bed worked or not. You tell him, he knows.
Despite your appetites, your intensity, you’d never push him past his comfort zone. You’ve always made that clear, but no matter what, San is sweet. San is open, San is quite frankly fucking obsessed with you, and he always wants to try.
So when you beg for his hand around your throat in the middle of sex, frantically chasing your orgasm, and you feel him freeze up, you don’t push for it or demand it, you just guide him.
He’s never choked anyone before, he’s never even really thought about choking someone before.
But you’re panting under him with that look on your face, your hands in his hair as you lift your hips to meet his thrusts, and like all the other times, he wants to try.
You drag his hand up from your hip, over your waist and skimming along your ribs, a drag of his sweat slick skin over your sternum, settling his palm over your throat.
And he freezes.
“There,” you gasp, “San, please, please,”
He looks at you like you just cracked the earth open beneath him.
And -
He leaves his hand there, that’s all he can do.
His palm spread over your throat, no pressure, no grip. Nothing to take your breath away, just the warm weight of it where you needed it.
It still makes you moan.
“Is,” He pants, still rolling his hips, “Is this okay?” He’s uncertain, and he’s completely overwhelmed.
You nod, mouth open and eyes wide, something pulling in your expression that is so desperately needy that it hits him - You want this. You really, really want this.
He keeps his hand there, soft, a placeholder. It’s a promise he doesn’t quite know how to keep yet, but he sees your hunger, and at least for now he acknowledges it.
He makes you come like he always does, his cock thick and warm inside you, fingers rubbing tight little circles between your legs, his lips everywhere, breath hot on your skin.
He leaves his left hand on your throat the entire time.
And you fall apart under him, shaking, moaning and utterly satisfied, but if you’re being honest there’s still that piece missing, that thing that would make you feel fulfilled.
For the first time in your long relationship, he sees it.
After, you say nothing. You kiss the underside of his jaw and tell him you love him, and you step away from that kink as just another in a list of things you don’t want to pressure him too much for. On this one, you stay quiet. You fold it back into yourself and keep it for your alone time, your porn preferences, something to fantasize about when he’s away.
San spends the whole night tossing and turning, playing over the scene in his mind.
The way your eyes crinkled up, the way you felt wetter than you’ve ever been.
He’s hard again just thinking about your face like that, the way you clenched around him.
Your desperate “please”, and his name, it plays on a loop and it just won’t go, no matter how much he tries to think of other things.
In the morning, he lets regular life things distract him.
He makes you breakfast, he goes to the gym, he runs a few errands and sends you countless texts that have nothing to do with your needs, even with sex, just normal relationship stuff like what you want for dinner and if you saw this funny video.
In the back of his mind though, it’s there. Your pupils blown wide, mouth open, breath tight.
So when he gets home and he’s alone, he finds himself on forums. Message boards, sex-positive kink blogs, the deeper he dives the more he finds. Pressure points, risks, techniques, safety checks.
He’s shocked at how much information there is, he’s shocked at how many people love this.
He’s shocked at how hard he is sitting at his desk trying to pretend this is just research.
He practices with his hand on his own throat, finding the soft sides that control blood flow and how too much pressure on the front of his neck makes him need to cough, clear his throat, and take a long sip of water.
He learns fast: thumb and forefinger, collarbones, trachea, carotid artery.
He thinks he should be going to medical school for all the things he’s learned about blood flow and oxygen to the brain, but he catalogues it all.
He doesn’t bring it up the next day, or the one after that.
You feel it in the way he looks at you though, something in the quiet focus behind his eyes. You don’t know what he’s been wondering about, but he’s been thinking constantly, and his eyes have been trained on you now more than ever.
It shifts on a random Thursday, after dinner on the couch and the end of the new drama you’ve been watching together. He kisses you like he always does, and then he touches your hand, “Come with me,”
You follow him, drawn to the back bedroom with him, unsure of what he’s been thinking until he stops you in the middle of the room.
Your eyes glance to the bed, expecting sex, expecting where you always go.
With warm hands he turns your body until you’re facing the full length mirror.
Something pulls low in your belly.
His hands rest on your shoulders, and his breath is warm against your ear, “Take your clothes off,” he says, “I want to watch.”
Your heart stutters, but you obey, slow and silent, peeling off your trousers from work, unbuttoning your blouse.
He watches the whole time, eyes fixed on your hands.
When you’re down to your underwear and you pause he nods, “All of it, baby,”
You strip the rest, wetness pooling in your core already.
Kissing your shoulder, then your neck, his hands soft on your hips, and then his eyes flick up to catch yours in the reflection.
“The other night,” He kisses again, slow, “you asked for something new,”
You freeze, your breath quickening.
He takes in your expression, and you see the curve of a smile on his mouth as he lets his lips travel to your shoulder, then back up, “I didn’t know what to do then,” he admits softly, “but I do now.”
Your breath catches.
San wraps his arms around you, bringing you back into his broad chest, and then slowly he reaches around, his hand coming to rest warmly over your heart.
“If this is something you want,” He brushes against your skin with his thumb, “I can do it,”
“Y-yes,” You nod, eyes blown wide with want, “I want it,”
His hand slips up and rests over your throat, “Tonight?”
“Yes,” You answer clearly, unequivocally.
“Okay,” He kisses your temple, and squeezes his hand just once, just enough to make your breath skip and your knees go weak.
He doesn’t fuck you right away.
He takes his time, he worships you.
You know the promise of it is coming, but for now he takes you apart the way he likes.
He guides you to the bed and works your cunt with his mouth like he was made to do it, the only man who’s ever made you forget your own name with his tongue inside you, lips on your clit.
He warms up you with the kind of passionate obsessive kisses you’ve grown to love from him, until you’re rutting your cunt on his thigh and begging him to do the thing he promised he would do.
It’s then that he lifts you, turning you in his hands like you weigh nothing, pushing you right to the edge of the bed with his body seated behind you, knees spread wide around your body caging you in.
He draws your eyes up, and you see yourselves reflected back.
“Look,” He whispers it, nipping your ear, “Look how much you want it,”
You can only manage a nod
He hooks your legs over his, fucking you with his fingers slow and deep, rubbing you over and over until the sound of your messy cunt in the room has you moaning, gripping his thighs for purchase.
His free hand stays steady at your throat, and then slowly he presses.
Your mouth falls open, eyes rolling, your body melting back into his arms as you shudder.
You make a tight, needy sound, your voice vibrating against his fingertips.
“I got you,” He promises, eyes locked with yours in the mirror, “just let go,”
Your orgasm hits you so hard, completely without warning, your thighs snapping shut and your body wrenching in his arms as you shake, melting into boneless tremors.
The second your breach catches funny, his hand releases, and he slides you both back onto the bed.
His fingers smooth back your hair
“Jagi, Jagiya,” His voice rough, “you okay?”
You tell him it’s perfect, you tell him it was everything, and Choi San just laughs.
A wide grin as he hugs you, kisses peppered over your hair.
Tipping you back into the bedsheets, lips on yours, stealing your breath another way -
“I’ve been thinking about this,” He confesses, nuzzling your nose with his, “I wanted to make it perfect for you,”
“It was,” You breathe, “God, San,”
As you reach to him, he catches your wrist with gentle pressure and pins it back to the mattress, “Let me,”
You go still.
You melt.
He presses one kiss to the inside of your wrist, and then trails his mouth lower, teasing, getting you wetter and needier until you’re pulling at the front of his shirt and begging.
“Sannie, please,”
“There it is,” He sighs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “you sound so pretty, baby,”
Your stomach flip flops, muscles tense and aching for more, and then his hands fall to his belt and you shiver.
“Are you ready?” He pulls the leather loop free and tosses it aside before sliding down his zipper, his cock straining against the fabric.
“Yes, god,” You shiver as he pushes his pants down enough to free himself, “you’re so fucking hard,”
“I’ve been picturing this all week,” He laughs, confessing it honestly as he settles himself between your splayed knees, “I feel like I’ve been hard for days,”
Your breath catches when his cock nestles between your folds, but you blink up at him, “You liked it?”
He nods, lip caught between his teeth as he sinks the head of his cock inside you, “Liked it,” he nods, “liked the way it made you fall apart more,”
“Oh, fuck,” You grip the sheets, “baby,”
“I’m… I’m going to try to take my time, but jagi,” He sinks his cock in, shuddering at the feeling of your warm, tight walls, “I need you,”
“Me too,” You breathe, “please, just fuck me, we’ll figure it out later, I just need,”
He sinks forwards before you can finish your babbled sentence, and his cock pushes in deep, his hands closing around your wrists and maneuvering you so that both are held tightly in one of his hands, interlocked over your head.
“Oh,” Your hands clench, body jerking with nowhere to go.
“Tell me you need it,” He nods, sweat beading on his brow.
“I need it,” You beg him, your voice sinking into thready want, “please, please, San, I can’t,”
His eyes close, a warm exhale from his lips.
“I can’t,” You whisper, barely sure of what you’re saying.
But San knows, like he always does, he sees the way your eyes prick with tears and the way your chest is heaving under him in fits and starts, he knows.
“You can,” He murmurs, “I know you can,”
He kisses you so sweetly it nearly undoes you, but when your lips part, his free hand finally slides up and over your throat.
“Oh god,” You nod, mouth falling open, “please,”
He squeezes, careful and measured, and the sound it pulls from your chest makes him groan.
“Oh, baby,” He whispers, watching you relax under his hands, flushed and panting and his.
He holds your wrists together over your head with one hand, the other still wrapped perfectly around your throat, and his thumb strokes against your pulse.
Your breath catches, hips twitching under him.
“You look so good like this,” He says, his voice trembling, “god, you don’t even know,”
Your cunt clenches around him, and you know you’ll come fast, he can feel it. Your thighs are still trembling, hips tilting up to chase sensation.
Finally, he leans in, forehead pressed to yours, and his hips roll deep and slow.
“I just want to make you feel good,” He pants, “you’re everything,”
You whimper, your eyes going glassy.
His hand around your throat presses, perfect pressure on either side of your throat, your head buzzing.
Pleasure arcs up your body, and you move together.
Your hips jutting up to meet every thrust, the weight of him pressing you into the sheets.
His hand stays a steady controlled pressure on your throat, not too much, not too little.
Your breath is thin, dizzy pleasure rolling through your mind.
“Come for me like this,” He begs, watching your expression turn soft and pliant, “let me feel it, come on my cock just like this,”
Your orgasm hits so hard you lose your breath entirely, a headrush taking you under until you’re crying out, body locking up and jerking against his tight hold. You arch, shaking as you crack open, chanting his name on your lips.
“Oh, fuck,” You hear through the haze, “I’m, baby, I’m right there,”
You take a hitched, pleasured breath, your walls clenching around him and then he’s coming too.
He moans into your neck, collapsing over you, his hand releasing pressure but never leaving your throat while the other loses its grip on your wrists, clinging to the sheets as he pumps into you hard, chasing his release, staggering out his pleasure as your hips connect again and again.
You gasp, your lungs finally filling with fresh air, chest shuddering beneath him.
He’s shaking above you, but he kisses across your face, gathering you close, “You okay? Did I hurt you?”
You shake your head, gripping the back of his shirt, “Perfect, so perfect,”
He exhales hard in relief, a firm kiss to your forehead, “You’re okay?”
“I’m–,” You feel your body limp in his arms, “so good, I don’t, I can’t,”
He smiles, kissing your lips just once, “So we can do this again?”
You smile, your hand tracing a line down his cheek, “Yeah, baby,” you breathe, “we can do this again.”
🔮 preview. Wonwoo wears glasses, but he’s not blind. He knows you’re a very gorgeous girl, and you’re sweet and smart to top it all off. He’s used to restricting himself, not allowing visions of you in compromising situations to pass through his mind’s eye, although this image is strictly medical, and he knows it shouldn’t stir something inside of him, but it does anyway, and a wave of shame passes over him as a result.
tw/cw. Protected sex, lots of talk about birth control/IUD’s in specific, awkward warning, fingering, praise, dirty talk, Wonwoo’s a touch pervy, dry humping, grinding, foreplay, multiple reader orgasms, orgasming together, breast/body worship, etc…
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.7k
🍭 aus. Best friends to lovers, nurse!Wonwoo, roommates au, crack/comedy, realism, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. I’m not going to lie, this one is awkward comedy crack realism. I thought it would be funny to touch base on birth control, and some of the weird things that happen with IUDs. while birth control is often mentioned in passing in fic, I’ve never seen an in depth thing about it, or a fic with a plot centered around an IUD gone rogue lol. I love awkward nurse bestie Wonwoo, and I hope you do too!
Prologue:
“You look tense,” Wonwoo, your best friend, notes as you sit down with him in the library. “What was that phone call about?”
“It was my roommate Sumi,” you sigh. “She’s decided to move in with her boyfriend, and now I don’t know how I’m going to afford the apartment.”
The nursing major pushes his glasses back up his nose, studying you in the quizical way he’s been studying everyone since you were children. “So what are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. Give up the lease? Move out of my dream apartment on campus and go live with my parents, deal with the two-hour commute-” Even thinking about it is making your heart race with anxiety, and you let out a huff, putting your head down on the table.
“There are other options,” Wonwoo points out.
“Like what?”
“Find another roommate.”
“Sumi was enough of a mess to live with, and she’s been my friend since I met her at the welcome-to-university day last year. Where am I going to find a nice, quiet roommate, who doesn’t bring her boyfriend over to bang every night or want to throw parties or leave the kitchen a mess-”
Wonwoo chuckles, leaning back in his chair as he watches your meltdown.
“If it’s not weird, I could move in with you,” he offers once your rant ends.
You stare at him.
Wonwoo’s been your best friend since grade school, and although the two of you are super close, you’d never considered a coed living situation with him. You know he’s a clean freak with a hint of ocd, it’s part of the reason he’s doing so well with his nursing classes- but, could you really live with him?
You’ve always found Wonwoo to be attractive, well, the attraction had grown in high school when the thin sweetheart had grown out a bit, his shoulders broadening and his baby fat disappearing with frequent stints at the gym.
“Would you really do that?” you ask. “Move in with me?”
Wonwoo shrugs. “My lease is up on my one-bedroom. Your place is actually on campus, so I wouldn’t have to commute thirty minutes to and from school. We’re comfortable with each other, and we’ve been friends long enough to sort out any roommate growing pains. I think it could work out.”
He’s always so reasonable, so logical, and staring at this man, you realize he’s found the perfect solution to your problem, just as he always does.
“You know what, Wonwoo?” You let out a breath and find yourself smiling. “Let’s be roommates.”
One:
Before you’d moved in with Wonwoo, you two had been extremely close, but after a year and a half of living together, the only way you could be closer is if he was literally inside of you and fucking your brains out every day.
It’s because of this closeness, as well as his major, that you go to him when you begin to have stomach aches that persist for two weeks.
The nurse-to-be is sitting in the living room, reading through a textbook with a notepad to jot on when you approach.
“Hey, I’ve got a question for you,” you say, taking a seat next to him.
“What’s up?” he asks, immediately putting his studies to the side to focus on you.
“I’ve been having these stomach aches,” you sigh.
“Has your diet or water intake changed recently?”
“No.”
“So you’re eating properly and not resorting to a one hundred percent ramen-based diet like you did last final season?”
You laugh, pushing his knee. “No, I’m being good, I promise!”
He studies you carefully. “What kind of stomach pain?”
“Sometimes it’s sharp, and sometimes it’s like a dull ache.”
“Show me the location?”
Releasing a sigh, you bring your hand to your lower abdomen. “It’s kind of around here.”
Wonwoo looks down at the spot you’re indicating, then back up to you. “When was your last period?”
“Like… two weeks ago?”
“So you’re not due for one, which means it’s not period pains.”
“I know period pains,” you assure him, “and this is different.”
“Would you say it’s in a similar location to your usual period pains?”
You know his line of questioning immediately, and you let out a scoff. “I’m not pregnant, Wonwoo. We both know this is a celibate apartment since we’re married to our studies, and besides, I have an IUD.”
Wonwoo nods, and you can see the wheels in his mind turning. “How long have you had the IUD?”
You shrug. “I don’t know, a couple of years? Why is that relevant?”
“Well, I don’t know much about birth control, but I do know that sometimes IUDs or other birth control implants can… shift.”
Shift.
The word sounds so ominous, and you can’t help the mortified expression that crosses your face. “My IUD hasn’t shifted,” you insist. “That can’t be what’s happening.”
Wonwoo shrugs. “If you say so.”
Your mouth feels dry, and the idea that the tiny foreign birth control object inside of you has shifted makes you feel nauseous, so you’re impatient to change the subject.
“I’m sure it’s just anxiety or something,” you tell him, letting out a deep breath.
“Keep an eye on it, and let me know if the stomach pain persists. If you need me to take you to the on-campus hospital, I’m sure they’d figure it out for you. Give an ultrasound if they think it’s IUD-related, or offer alternative possibilities.”
“I appreciate that, but I’m sure it’s nothing,” you insist. For someone who’s best friends with a nurse, you don’t like hospitals very much, and getting the IUD inserted had been a traumatic enough experience to deter you from anything gynecological until the timeline on your implant has ended. You’ve got a couple of years until you’ll need to get the bugger taken out, and nothing is going to inspire you to go check on it, especially not a recurring stomach ache.
Two:
Wonwoo’s walking to a seminar with his classmate Yeji when you pop into his mind. It’s been a couple of days since you told him about your stomach aches, and he wants a female perspective on it.
He’s heard horror stories about IUDs and other forms of birth control, but Wonwoo’s man enough to admit he doesn’t know enough about the subject.
“Hey, Yeji?” Wonwoo asks.
“What’s up?” she responds, not looking up from her phone, where she’s looking over notes to prep for the seminar.
“So my roommate mentioned she’s been having cramps for a while-”
“Is she eating and drinking water okay?”
“Yeah, she’s good.”
“How about alcohol?”
“Neither of us are big drinkers,” Wonwoo admits.
“Okay, what about her period?”
Wonwoo loves how Yeji is asking all the questions he’d asked, it’s a sign he was doing the right line of enquiry. Wonwoo respects his classmate, and to know they have the same thought process is encouraging.
“She’s not due for it yet, not for another week or two.”
“Is she on birth control?”
“An IUD.”
Yeji looks up from her phone, and there’s a knowing twinkle in her eye, making Wonwoo chuckle.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “I think we’re thinking the same thing.”
“It’s probably an IUD-related issue,” Yeji confirms. “Was the pain in her lower abdomen?”
“Uh huh.”
“Kind of like an ache, but sometimes sharp feelings too?”
“Yeah.”
“She has to check for her strings,” Yeji deduces.
There’s an immediate rush of embarrassment and heat to Wonwoo’s ears, and his voice cracks when he repeats, “Check for her strings?”
“You know, reach up in there and see if she can feel them. That’s a good way to see if the IUD is in place without needing an ultrasound or a trip to the hospital.”
Wonwoo swallows thickly. He’s a nurse, and physical things like this shouldn’t affect him so much, but there’s something about the notion of you checking for your own strings-
Wonwoo wears glasses, but he’s not blind. He knows you’re a very gorgeous girl, and you’re sweet and smart to top it all off. He’s used to restricting himself, not allowing visions of you in compromising situations to pass through his mind’s eye, although this image is strictly medical, and he knows it shouldn’t stir something inside of him, but it does anyway, and a wave of shame passes over him as a result.
“I’ll uh,” Wonwoo coughs, “I’ll pass on the message to her.”
“It’s good to check your strings frequently,” Yeji continues, completely oblivious to Wonwoo’s discomfort. “If she has any sexual partners-”
“She’s single,” Wonwoo interjects, unable to help himself.
“Well, IUDs can be knocked out of place even without something poking at them, so you never know,” Yeji shrugs.
God, Wonwoo had known there would be challenges that came with living with a member of the opposite sex, but he’d never imagined having to discuss female anatomy, birth control, and the checking of IUD strings.
Three:
You’re sweating.
One foot is up on the bathtub, the other firmly on the ground, and you’re bent at an odd angle trying to reach inside of yourself to find some stupid IUD strings.
Wonwoo had come home and shyly told you that there’s an at-home way to check for IUD shifting, and you’d been less than enthusiastic about it- but more enthused about the idea of checking yourself than going to a clinic and having someone else do it for you.
This whole thing is awkward, and try as you might, you simply can’t feel any strings inside of you.
With a sigh of annoyance, you pull your fingers away, removing your foot from the tub so you can wash your hands.
Your heart is racing, panic and anxiety setting in- if the strings aren’t there, that means the IUD is misplaced, which means a gyno visit, which might actually be the end of the world for you right now.
You’re not ready to accept that fate, and desperate times call for desperate measures.
“Wonwoo?” you call, finding your best friend in the living room.
He looks as nervous as you feel, which is a foreign emotion on the generally stoic man’s face.
“Did you find them?” he asks.
You shake your head.
“Well, what if we go to an urgent care clinic? Or set up an appointment with your doctor?” he suggests.
“My doctor is a man, and the clinics might have a male doctor, and they’d probably want to check on the spot without sending a referral to the place that put the IUD in, and- Well,” you can feel tears burning in your eyes, “I really don’t have the mental capacity to have a man I don’t know looking up inside me right now-”
“I could call Yeji-”
“I don’t even know Yeji,” you groan. “This whole thing is so fucking awkward.”
“So.. what are you going to do?”
“I hate to ask this…” correction, you can’t believe you’re about to ask this, “but… could you maybe… would you, uh… do you maybe want to help me check for the strings?”
Wonwoo simply stares at you.
“Please?”
He swallows thickly. “I’ll go get some surgical gloves.”
You’re doing this, and you’ve just got to suck it up. As awkward as the idea is of your childhood best friend fingering you to find some fucking IUD strings is, the notion of some random man at a hospital doing it is even worse.
While Wonwoo is getting gloves, you go to your room to change into a dress. That way, you’ll be covered, but there will still be easy access.
Once you’re dressed, you head to the bathroom, where you find Wonwoo waiting. There’s a bottle of lube on the sink, and it’s clear he’s slicked up his gloved fingers in preparation.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a walk-in?” he asks, and you can tell from the pink of his ears that he’s as awkward about this as you are.
“Wonwoo, you’re just going to close your eyes, put your fingers into something, and see if strings poke you,” you tell him, letting out a deep breath. “It will be simple.” You’re trying to convince yourself, but it’s not working.
Now it’s Wonwoo’s turn to sigh. He kneels down on the floor, then actually closes his eyes.
“Can you guide my hand?” he asks.
“Yeah.” You swallow a lump in your throat, reaching to grab his wrist. Slowly, you bring his fingers between your thighs. “It’s uh, right here.”
The first contact of Wonwoo’s gloved digits on your core has you jolting, and your skin immediately heats with embarrassment.
“After this one, remind me to never get another IUD,” you groan.
“There are other methods,” he muses, his fingers gently slipping into you with aid from the lube.
“I don’t want pills or an implant, or a shot, or one of those diva cup ring things,” you insist.
“Condoms are pretty dependable.”
“Yeah, if a man actually wants to wear one. Most guys are such crybabies about a bit of rubber that they’d rather put their girlfriend through humiliation of IUD insertion, or the trauma of pills that fuck up your emotions and body-”
You’re so busy ranting that you almost don’t notice Wonwoo’s fingers pushing deeper, but then he begins searching around, and he accidentally makes contact with your G-spot, which immediately makes you choke on your words.
“Sorry,” Wonwoo says softly. “Uh, tell me more about bad birth control?”
“Yeah, uh…” God, you can feel yourself sweating, and you can’t bring yourself to look down at Wonwoo, so you close your eyes, tilting your head back to focus on your female rage rather than your hot best friend inspecting your pussy for IUD strings. “The fact that men get sedation or whatever for vasectomies but women still have to get this shit inserted with no local anasthesia or anything, it’s barbaric and misogynistic, not to mention anti-woman.”
“That definitely sounds like a double standard,” Wonwoo agrees.
“If men had to endure the pain we do for an IUD male equivalent procedure, they’d for sure get full sedation and pain meds,” you declare.
“You’re probably right about that.”
“Wonwoo?”
“Yeah?”
“Please tell me you can feel the fucking strings.”
“No luck, yet. Sorry.”
You groan. “You uh… feel pretty deep in there.”
“I’ve got long fingers.”
“Yeah, that’s why I wanted you to do this.”
“If I’m being honest, I think we should call it. I can’t find any strings.”
“Just…” You swallow the lump in your throat. “One more minute.”
“If you say so.”
A bead of sweat rolls down your neck, your heart racing in your chest.
Please find the strings. Please for the love of God-
“Wait, I think something just poked me!” Wonwoo tells you, and your eyes flash open.
“Is it the strings!?”
He pushes his fingers just a touch deeper, and after a moment, Wonwoo nods. “I think it’s the strings!”
“Thank God!” you practically scream.
In response, Wonwoo tears his hand away from you, and you immediately cover yourself with your dress again.
Your best friend opens his eyes and looks up at you. “We found the strings, but I still think you should get a referral for a minimally invasive ultrasound just to make sure it’s in place where it should be.”
“Wonwoo, we’re going to celebrate the small wins,” you tell him. “And we are also never going to speak of this ever again to anyone, do you understand?”
He nods solemnly. “I have zero memory of anything that just took place.”
“Good boy.”
Four:
As someone who’s entering the medical field, Wonwoo knows he’s not supposed to feel weird about the human body.
After all, a body is just a body.
But… there’s something about the fact that he was just up and close with your body, and he feels ashamed that the whole situation is affecting him the way it is.
There shouldn’t be anything sexy about stomach aches and possible misplaced IUDs, and yet… Wonwoo feels flushed every time he thinks about it.
You’ve been best friends since you were both children, but it’s a far reach to say that Wonwoo has ever seen you as a sister. The two of you had been inseparable for your younger years, and when you’d both hit puberty, the dynamic had shifted somewhat.
Sure, you’ve both had significant others, and been supportive of each other in everything- but… Wonwoo can’t pretend he’s not attracted to you.
It’s something he’s always been able to push to the side, after all, he’d never jeopardize your connection for the chance of getting his rocks off. He’s not that kind of man, which is why this whole IUD situation has put him in such an uncomfortable position.
It’s been two days since he checked your strings, and things have felt different. The two of you don’t know how to be around each other now, and that’s evident by the way you both stutter and give each other a wide berth in the kitchen at dinner time.
Wonwoo can feel his skin getting warm as he steps back to give you space to move to the fridge, and he swallows the lump in his throat, uncomfortably adjusting his glasses.
“I feel like maybe we both need a drink,” you say with a deep sigh.
The two of you are not big on alcohol, but there’s a mixed spirit drink bottle in the top cupboard for extreme situations, and this definitely feels like the right time for it.
Wonwoo helps you pour the liquid into two large glasses, and with an awkward smile, you clink your cup to his own before taking a sip.
“Let’s watch something,” you suggest next, and the two of you go to the living room.
You’re both interested in Netflix documentaries, and you find one that looks interesting. It’s something to get your mind off of things, but as Wonwoo continues to drink, his thoughts start to wander.
As a non-drinker, Wonwoo’s tolerance is substantially lower than he’d like it to be, and he can feel his skin heating. His mind feels fuzzy now, and his gaze keeps slipping over to you.
The two of you can’t live this way.
You just can’t.
Things can’t be this awkward forever, and if there was ever a time to tell you he’s into you as more than a friend, it would be now.
One episode of the documentary finishes, and as the screen cuts to credits, Wonwoo lets out an extremely deep breath.
“I need to tell you something,” he states.
“God.” You immediately hide your face, nearly knocking over your drink in the process. “What is it?”
“I don’t want things to be awkward between us because I had to help you find your IUD strings,” Wonwoo says first.
“Well, there’s not much we can do about it, can we?”
“I like you.”
“Huh?” You look over at him with confusion.
“This might make it more awkward if you don’t feel the same way,” Wonwoo admits, his mouth getting dry. “But… I like you a lot, and… helping you with that whole thing… well, it doesn’t make me see you any differently. In fact, uh… maybe kind of the opposite.”
Wonwoo can’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth.
Did he just admit that being gloved and two fingers deep in your pussy made him even more into you?
Yes. Yes, he did.
“I think maybe it’s time for bed,” you tell him, and his heart sinks in his chest.
“Okay. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, we can talk about it in the morning.”
The two of you stand up after turning the TV off, and Wonwoo doesn’t even know if he should look at you.
Then, surprisingly, you step forward, cupping his face and pressing your lips to his cheek. “Get some sleep,” you tell him.
He stands there in shock as you head to your room, offering him an awkward smile as you close the door behind you.
Wonwoo continues to just exist blankly, unmoving in the living room for a solid five minutes before he’s able to shake himself out of things.
He doesn’t know what the future might bring, but the future is best brought sober.
Five:
You’re sitting in the kitchen when Wonwoo comes out of his room.
Neither of you have classes today, and you’re kind of happy about that, because Wonwoo looks disheveled in a way you’ve never seen him look before.
His glasses are askew, his hair is a curly mess, his eyes have bags under them like he’s hardly slept-
“You okay?” you ask immediately.
Wonwoo lets out a deep breath. “Sorry about last night. I said some things I shouldn’t have, and I probably hurt our friendship-”
“It’s fine,” you assure him.
“No, it’s not. I stepped over a boundary-”
“Wonwoo,” you say his name firmly, grabbing his attention. “You didn’t mess things up. You told me you like me, and I wanted to say it back, but you were drunk, and I thought it would be best to tell you when you were sober, or at least… hungover or something.”
Wonwoo blinks at you. His lips part, but he’s not able to speak for a few moments. “You like me too?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Like… as more than a friend?”
“I mean, you and I have been inseparable since we were kids. I’ve always had a crush on you, Wonwoo, but I pushed it aside for our friendship.”
“So did I.”
“Who knew all it would take was an IUD and a very awkward situation of trying to find us for us to admit this sort of thing?” You let out a small laugh, and Wonwoo joins in with you, which eases your anxieties.
“So…” He swallows thickly. “What now?”
“We could just watch movies and hang out today, you know, like a lazy Sunday date.”
“But we watch movies and hang out all the time, shouldn’t I… I don’t know, take you out for brunch or something?” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.
“Well, I was thinking, while watching our show, we could cuddle, which isn’t something we’ve ever done.”
“I think I would like that,” Wonwoo admits.
“How about you go find us a new show, and I’ll make you some ramen. It looks like you need some food.”
Wonwoo nods, moving to the living room while you get water boiling for the noodles.
You’re trying to hide it, but you feel jittery. At the same time, the awkward atmosphere has shifted. Things feel a touch back to normal, but amplified in a way. No longer are you just making food for your roommate; you’re making food for a man who likes you the way you like him.
Suddenly, things feel domestic in a way they’ve never felt before, and that sensation brings you joy as you prepare the ramen and join Wonwoo in the living room.
The two of you agree on a show, and in the first fifteen minutes, Wonwoo slowly eats and sips on water.
Once he’s finished, he sets the bowl to the side.
“So… do you want to move closer?” he asks.
Your heart is racing as you snuggle up to his side, and Wonwoo’s arm goes around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You release a deep sigh, already very comfortable, and it’s in this position that you spend most of the day.
The whole documentary miniseries you’re watching comes to a conclusion, and you shift. You sit back up to stretch, and Wonwoo watches you.
When you let out a sigh and allow your arms to rest by your sides again, Wonwoo finally asks, “Can I kiss you?”
Your heart lurches into your throat, and you swallow it back down.
“Yeah.”
He leans forward, and you mirror the motion.
You stare at your best friend, admiring all the little things about his handsome face.
He cups your cheek, thumb stroking your skin.
The moment feels suspended in time. It feels fast, yet slow, all at once, and then, Wonwoo closes the distance.
His mouth meets yours, hesitantly at first, but when you lean forward, grabbing his shoulders, he relaxes a little.
Neither of you are dreaming this up; it’s real.
You’re kissing your best friend, and fuck, it feels so good.
You love how gentle Wonwoo is, how it’s not immediate intensity. He’s soft, and his motions are tentative, as if he’s trying to figure you out.
Meanwhile, a need is growing inside of you, so you’re the one to take things to the next step. You open your mouth, licking Wonwoo’s lip, and he mirrors you.
A soft moan escapes you, and you shift closer, wanting to be pressed to him, wanting to feel his heart as it races alongside your own.
Things are getting heated fast, and soon, you’re crawling on top of him, straddling his hips on your living room couch.
Wonwoo’s hands stay in a respectable place on your hips, but it’s simply not enough for you anymore.
You reach down, guiding his grip to your bum.
Wonwoo groans beneath you, breaking the kiss to look up at you. “Should we take a minute?”
“Why?”
Wonwoo blushes. “Well, uh…”
That’s when you feel something pressing against your core, and you realize your grinding has caused him to get hard. Your pussy flutters, and you swallow thickly. “Do you really want to stop?”
“Well, I mean… you’ve been having stomach pains. Your IUD might be in the wrong place-”
“You felt the strings, that means it’s there.”
“What if it’s not working?”
“I read online that as long as it’s in me still, it’s likely working.”
“Do you want to risk it?”
You swallow thickly. “I want you.”
“What if this messes things up?”
“It won’t,” you tell him.
“How can you be so sure?”
Wonwoo’s looking at you with such pure eyes, and your heart melts for him. “I just know.”
You can see the moment he gives in.
You’re both putting your friendship on the line, but if there’s one man in the world who you know would never hurt you, it’s Wonwoo.
Slowly, you press your lips to his again.
The momentum is like it was the first time, a gentle, gradual build, and you’re doing your best not to start grinding on him again.
Your body wants one thing, but your mind knows you have to take this slow.
Wonwoo’s a thoughtful man. He’s a thinker. And thoughts don’t easily slip from his head. You don’t want to scare him away, so you meet his pace, allowing him to be the one who instigates progression.
His hand begins to grip your bum again, and you release a moan, kissing him deeper.
Your fingers thread through his hair, gently tugging to earn your own sounds of pleasure.
God, Wonwoo’s so sexy. Your entire body is humming with energy as you make out like teenagers on your living room couch.
You can feel yourself getting wetter by the second, and soon, Wonwoo seems to break too.
He pulls away from the kiss, letting out a groan. “Do you want to go to my room?”
“Okay.”
You’re breathing heavily as you stand up, and you let Wonwoo lead you to his room. Once you’re there, it’s as if the unknowing comes to the surface again. You and Wonwoo look at each other, two people in a room you’ve been in a hundred times, but this time, everything is different.
It’s like starting from ground zero again, both of you tentatively connecting, lips meeting. His hands are on your hips, and the two of you slowly move toward the bed.
You grab the bottom of his shirt, and Wonwoo breaks the kiss to allow you to remove it.
God, his body is so perfect. It’s lean but muscled, and even with his heavy nursing workload, he always finds time to go to the gym.
You remove your hoodie next, revealing the lacy bralette beneath.
Wonwoo swallows thickly, his eyes flicking up to meet your own. His ears are turning pink, and you know he’s shy about checking you out, but unfortunately for him, he’s just going to have to get used to it.
You grab his hand, pulling him to the bed, where you sit down first, looking up at him.
“Can I be honest with you?” you ask.
“Of course.”
“This might be a little awkward for both of us, first times always are,” you note, “but, I think we were always meant to be together, and after this, things will be a lot easier.”
Wonwoo is quiet for a moment, but then he nods. “I agree with that.”
“Try to get out of your own head for a minute, okay?”
“Okay.”
You stroke his hand, and then you guide it to your breast, prompting him to squeeze you gently.
A soft groan escapes your lips. “Feels good.”
Wonwoo swallows thickly, bringing both hands to your breasts so he can massage you through your bralette.
He continues this for a minute before you get too horny, and you reach behind your back to remove the last piece of fabric blocking him from direct contact with your chest.
As the material slips off, Wonwoo takes a sharp breath.
“It’s okay,” you assure him, guiding his hands back. “I like this.”
His thumb brushes over your nipple, and you shiver, core pulsing with interest.
“Here,” you offer, “come sit against the headboard.”
Wonwoo does as you tell him, no questions asked, and once he’s situated, you straddle him like you did on the couch.
Your lips meet, and the kiss is filled with passion. His hands are on your hips, but you grab them, guiding him to your breasts again.
It feels so good to be kissing your best friend while he massages your chest, and you begin to grind down against him, eliciting moans from both of you.
You’re overwhelmed in the best possible way, and you break the kiss, which prompts Wonwoo to kiss your throat, then down to your collar bones- soon, he has your nipple in his mouth, and your whole body lights up with the sensation.
You thread your fingers through his hair, keeping his face pressed against your boobs, a silent plea for him to continue.
Your hips are still swiveling, and you can feel Wonwoo getting harder and harder with each passing second.
Soon, you can’t take it anymore, and you stop. “Let’s get naked.”
“Yeah.”
You get off Wonwoo, standing so you can remove the last of your clothes. He does the same, and then he reaches for his bedside table, removing a condom package and a bottle of lube.
“Condom?” you ask.
“We’re not a hundred percent sure about your IUD yet, and I don’t want to risk anything,” Wonwoo muses.
You decide that if you try to have sex without protection, he’s just going to be in his head, so you promise yourself to get a clean bill of health from your doctor (with perhaps the help of an ultrasound machine), and then you can enjoy the raw feeling of your best friend.
Wonwoo joins you on the bed again, but the condom is still on the side table. It’s clear he wants a bit more foreplay, so you wrap your legs around his hips and draw him close, lips crashing against his own.
The two of you continue to make out, your whole body on fire. One of his hands is still massaging your breast, but then it begins to descend. He rubs your clit, and you whimper, shifting below him for better access.
“Been thinking about fingering you,” he admits.
“Got a taste and you couldn’t forget it, huh?” you tease. “Me neither.”
“Yeah?” He slips two digits into your soaked core.
“Your fingers are just so long, and they fit perfectly. You hit the perfect spot-” you whimper when he touches the exact location you were just talking about. “Fuck, someone’s a fast learner.”
“I noticed how you reacted last time. It wasn’t the time or place then, but I promised to utilize it later if I ever got the chance,” Wonwoo breathes, stroking your g-spot expertly.
Your eyes close, and you give in to the pleasure, whimpering and desperately clutching his shoulders.
Wonwoo’s lips move to your throat, and he worships you, making your mind go blank and your legs numb. God, he’s good with his fingers, repeatedly hitting your G-spot while his palm rubs your clit-
“Don’t stop,” you whimper, feeling your release bubbling already. Foreplay and longing have contributed to a fast unraveling, and Wonwoo just knows what you like. Sure, this is a first time for you both, but he knows enough about you to infer things, and your vocal nature edges him on as he works you closer and closer to the edge.
You’re getting louder and louder, and soon, you’re belting out, “I’m gonna cum!”
Wonwoo finger fucks you even faster, and you explode like a firework. Sparks of jittery energy combust through you, taking over your entire body as Wonwoo pleasures you.
You gasp loudly, and Wonwoo helps you ride out the orgasm with unwavering dedication.
His kisses are a constant on your throat, and he works you through it until your core stops pulsing around his fingers.
Then, Wonwoo removes them.
You’re shocked to open your eyes and see your neat freak best friend lick his digits clean, and your core throbs at the sight.
His cock is completely erect, and it looks beautiful. It’s long, but still thick enough to be balanced, if you can describe a penis as balanced, that is.
Wonwoo reaches for the condom package, and you watch, breathless, as he slides the rubber on.
“You still want this?” he asks.
“More than anything,” you confirm, opening your arms to prompt him to come closer again.
“Do you want me to use lube?” he asks.
“I’m wet enough and we both know it.”
“I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he assures you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.
God, you love this man.
You’ve loved him for years, and you can tell in this moment that you’re very much at risk of being in love with him within the week.
You draw his lips to yours as he adjusts his cock to your core, rubbing the tip between your soaked pussy lips.
Wonwoo is slow about pushing into you, giving your body time to adjust.
You haven’t had sex in a while, so it’s definitely a jump from fingers to cock, and you groan into the kiss as he sheathes himself.
Once his hips are flush to your own, your mouths separate so you can both moan at the sensation. Wonwoo swallows thickly. “Should I move?”
“Yeah,” you nod, eagerly awaiting what’s to come. “Feels good already.”
Wonwoo takes a breath as he begins to thrust, it’s shallow and slow at first, but the pleasure is so great that you find yourself grabbing his shoulders.
Your head falls back against the pillows, eyes closing to enjoy everything Wonwoo is giving you.
As his pace accelerates, he draws your lips to his own again, and you kiss him desperately as he fucks you.
One particularly deep thrust has you squeaking, and Wonwoo pauses, breaking the kiss. “I can definitely feel your strings.”
“What?”
“The IUD, I felt them.”
“Like… on your cock?”
Wonwoo laughs. “Yeah.”
“Is that normal?”
Wonwoo shrugs. “I don’t know much about it. But if my fingers could reach them, I guess we shouldn’t be surprised my dick can.”
When you’d gotten an IUD, you hadn’t known any of this stuff. “Did it hurt?”
“Not really, it was just a feeling.” Wonwoo begins to thrust again, but you can tell he’s keeping it shallower.
If he were to go deeper, you get the sense he’s afraid he might mess up your wonky IUD even more, and while part of you wants him to let go and just decimate you, you respect that he’s being careful.
His lips meet yours again, and the kiss distracts you from all things IUD.
Each thrust is like heaven, and your core is so soaked that every movement is easy.
You’re whimpering more and more, and Wonwoo’s returning your sounds with noises of his own.
Sex hadn’t felt this good all those months ago when you had it last, had it?
No, you think the pleasure is because you’re having sex with Wonwoo, and your whole body warms at the notion.
“You feel so good,” Wonwoo groans, his lips moving to your throat. You love the sensation of his hot breath on your skin, and you thread your fingers through his hair to keep him close.
“Sounds…” you swallow thickly, “sounds like you’re close.”
“Yeah, maybe I need to slow down,” Wonwoo admits.
“It’s okay, neither of us has done this in a long time,” you remind him.
“I don’t want to be a three pump chump.”
You never thought you’d hear that phrase coming from Wonwoo of all people, and it makes you giggle. “You’re not a three pump chump,” you assure him.
“You’re not going to be disappointed?” he asks.
“We can always do this again in twenty minutes or something,” you point out.
“I guess that’s true,” Wonwoo laughs. “I just want to make sure you’re… satisfied.”
“I’ve cum once already, which is more than I can say for the last guy I was dating, so… I think you’re off to a good start.”
Wonwoo lets out a sigh. He never liked your ex.
“Okay,” he says finally. Then he kisses you again, beginning to move.
He’s found the perfect amount of depth. It’s deep, but not so deep that he’s hitting your strings or making you uncomfortable.
You give in to the feeling again, forgetting your little interlude as you’re taken over by pleasure once again.
Wonwoo’s fingers thread with yours, and he begins to moan again, getting close to the edge while pleasure builds within you, too.
“I think I can cum soon,” you tell him between kisses.
Wonwoo doesn’t respond, but his free hand moves between your bodies, and he begins to rub your clit, causing jolts of pleasure to erupt through you again.
You moan desperately, muscles tightening with each pass of his fingers, combined with his cock working your insides.
“Don’t stop,” you whimper, gripping the feeling and refusing to let go as it builds-
Wonwoo lets out another groan, and the sound is so sexy it makes your insides twist into knots-
One more rub of his fingers on your clit has you exploding. Your core clamps down on him like a vice, a strangled gasp escaping you as the fireworks return, sparkling through you.
Wonwoo shivers, fucking you even harder, and a moment later, he lets out his own sound of pleasure. His thrusts falter, and although you can’t feel him filling your insides since he’s filling a condom, you can tell from the pulsing of his cock that he’s cumming too.
Your fingers thread through his hair, and you draw him close, both of you panting in the throes of passion.
His movements stop, and you both just stay still for a few moments, trying to regain composure after two explosive orgasms.
Wonwoo swallows thickly, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.
Then, he pulls out of you. There’s no mess of cum, no need to clean anything up, so once he’s gone to the bathroom to discard his condom, he returns and collapses into bed with you.
You immediately cuddle up next to his side, releasing a sigh of relief as his arms wrap around you.
For the first time, you can tell Wonwoo’s not thinking about anything, that he’s fully in the moment with you. He looks peaceful, and it makes your heart sing.
Who knew all it would take was an extremely awkward interaction over IUD strings to bring the two of you together like this?
He’s your person, he always has been, and he always will be.
☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! IUDs can be a shit show but nurse Wonwoo is so hot.
🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below!
🔮 preview. There’s no contraption to break or misplace inside of you, and being birth control free with the intention of pregnancy feels a little something like liberation from the shackles that once dictated your sexual relationship.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 160
🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader
bonus
You and Wonwoo have been together for four years now, married for one, and life is complete bliss.
Sure, things can be difficult; after all, he’s now a full nurse, and hospital hours can be hectic. But outside of general life ups and downs, your relationship is as solid as it ever has been.
About a month ago, you’d gotten your IUD taken out. It was horribly uncomfortable to get the device removed, but it was almost comical to see the tiny little ‘T’ contraption that had kick-started the most important romantic relationship of your life. You were glad to see the little bugger go, and it’s absence now signifies the start of a new chapter for you and Wonwoo.
In the year you have been married, the two of you have slaved over finances and life planning, and now that your birth control has been removed, your doctor has given you the go-ahead to start trying for a baby.
☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.3k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here
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🔮if nothing strikes your fancy, check out my m.list
SYNOPSIS ⤏ mark, desperate to talk to the cute girl in his japanese class, forms a study group. who knew that other struggling college students might want to join a study group?
PARING ⤏ nonidol!mark x nonidol!fem reader
GENRE ⤏ smau, written, rom-com, fluff, college au, slowburn, mark is so down bad, but so is y/n eventually
FEATURING ⤏ mark, donghyuck, jaehyun, jungwoo, and johnny from nct 127, julie from kiof, kim jiwoong from zb1, minnie from idle, and allen from cravity (+ mentions of a TON of other idols)
FACECLAIM ⤏ faceclaim for y/n purely for picture purposes!! (@ 0ki0h on ig)
WARNINGS ⤏ swearing, sexual and kys/kms jokes, pls ignore timestamps 💔, mentions of jaehyun being a stoner, a bit of bullying, more to come
PLAYLIST ⤏ at least it was here, the 88 | 200, mark | red wine supernova, chappell roan | i wanna be yours, artic monkeys | dandelion, jaehyun | just for me, pinkpantheress | snap out of it, artic monkeys | urs, niki | right here, keshi | falling in love, cigarettes after sex
STARTED ⤏ 9/21/2024
STATUS ⤏ complete ♡
NOTE ⤏ community is literally my favorite sitcom, so when their tiktoks started popping up on my fyp, i couldn't resist making a smau inspired by it 🥴
As you all know (I’m literally talking into the void) I’ve been LOVING smau fics, especially MORK. Him being down BAD is the best trope.
The dynamics between the characters is also SO GOOD ( Hyuck is a chaotic baby, but we love him)
The way Jae and y/n interact is literally me and my sister. I do agree with the FNAF meme she made bc if had sleep paralysis, Jae would be my demon (specifically bc I saw an edited version of him in the woody costume and his mouth was made so big ㅠㅠ)
In conclusion, Jae and jungwoo should get together. You’ll have to read to know what I mean 🤷♀️
Ohmygoshwhereisthe7thchapter IM GOING FERAL WANTING TO KNOW WHAT GYU TEXTED TAEHYUN
right hereee! this part got so long LOL
part six / part seven
(wc: 9.8k / warnings: more crying and arguments, making outttt, manipulation kinda, gyu reeks of desperation, fingering, loss of virginity!!!!!, cheating, unprotected sex… sorry, pull out method… sorry, gyu is emotionally constipated)
“imagine my shock when i saw your name finally appear on my phone screen again,” taehyun laughs. he was quick to pick up beomgyu’s call, and maybe that speaks to how much taehyun’s missed him, but beomgyu doesn’t care as much as he probably should.
“my bad. i’ve been busy,” beomgyu says. he mindlessly plays with the strings of his hoodie, fidgeting out of boredom.
“what’s up?” taehyun asks.
“right now? not much.”
taehyun hums. “so what finally inspired you to call?” his tone is light, but beomgyu knows taehyun better than that. there’s a little bit of hurt behind his words. beomgyu probably would’ve felt bad for that a couple months ago, but he can’t bring himself to pity taehyun now. he has everything beomgyu wants—there’s no reason to feel sorry for someone who already has it all.
“your girlfriend asked me,” he answers.
“oh,” taehyun says. his surprise is mild, but definitely apparent. “how come?”
“she thought we should talk more.”
taehyun laughs a little. “it’s cute that she cares about our friendship.”
“yeah.” beomgyu wraps his hoodie string around his finger. their friendship, which was once so valuable. the years of laughter they’ve shared, the random calls at midnight asking for a ride, the times they’ve saved each other from stupid little things, the deep conversations that changed beomgyu’s life. it should mean more to him, but it doesn’t, and he almost wishes that it frustrated him more. his heart refuses to care about anything but you.
“what’s kept you so busy recently?” taehyun asks.
touching your girlfriend. trying to convince her to leave you. other explanations beomgyu shouldn’t say.
“i’ve been hanging out with y/n,” beomgyu answers. taehyun probably thinks beomgyu’s joking, but his laugh is tense and forced nonetheless.
“that makes two of us,” taehyun says. beomgyu bites his tongue. an ugly feeling rises all the way up to his throat, and it’s all he can feel.
“yep.”
it’s quiet for a few seconds.
taehyun clears his throat and starts up again, “yeah, she’s fun. i’m going out with her later.”
“nice.” beomgyu doesn’t sound rude, but he doesn’t sound quite interested, either.
there’s another tense pause. beomgyu wonders if taehyun’s catching onto anything at all yet.
“what do you guys even do when you hang out?” taehyun asks. seems like he’s getting a little shaken up. beomgyu would be a little smug about it, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s still the loser in this game. sure, he gets little pieces of you physically, but taehyun has you entirely—heart, mind, soul, body soon enough. a bitterness spreads through beomgyu’s chest.
“ask her yourself,” beomgyu says. “you’re hanging out later anyway.”
a really selfish, mean part of beomgyu feels so gratified finally getting to plant these seeds into taehyun’s head. he can imagine taehyun’s thoughts right now, the images that are conjuring up. he bites down on a smile, excited that he’s finally letting his feelings breathe a little. bottling it up only makes things worse anyway, so this is a good thing, really.
not really. things probably won’t ever be alright unless beomgyu can get you to leave taehyun. “don’t worry about me,” he says.
“okay, you’re just being kind of weird. no offense.”
alright—well that makes beomgyu a little upset. weird feels like an insult here. before he can speak, taehyun continues, “i don’t really get what you’re insinuating between you and my girlfriend.”
beomgyu has a choice here: he can be peaceful and just drop the topic, or he can add fuel to the fire and risk everything. he knows how bad you’d want him to keep the peace—he can practically see your pleading eyes asking him to shut the hell up—but danger is addictive and beomgyu loves toeing the line and testing every limit.
“ask her,” beomgyu says again. he keeps his tone flat enough to avoid any arguments. as awful as it is, it feels so good to get the tiniest piece of this off his chest. honestly, he’s within his right; he had you first, and he’s still having you now, so your boyfriend might as well know that he’s got competition.
it’s quiet for a minute. maybe taehyun’s biting his tongue. beomgyu knows very well that taehyun isn’t an idiot, and they’ve known each other long enough to recognize when a silence is tense.
“i’m gonna go now,” taehyun says, not sounding mad—not sounding like much at all, really. he’s always been good at holding back his feelings when he needs to. “i’ll talk to you later.”
“yeah, see you,” beomgyu says. the phone hangs up.
maybe saying that stuff to taehyun was as stupid as it was petty, but it was only a matter of time until something happened anyway. a childish, rotten part of beomgyu feels satisfied knowing that you’ll talk to him again if taehyun says something to you. you’ll come to beomgyu’s apartment or have him go to yours, and you’ll be so upset, just crying on and on about how he’s ruined everything, but you’ll still need someone to comfort you, and beomgyu will be happy to do so.
he’ll be happy to kiss away your tears, to cling onto your hands and beg you to let him make things better. he hates seeing you so sad, but this one time he can indulge in it. he especially hates being the one to get you all upset, but if it means he gets to be the one to make you feel alright again, then he has to do it. it’s the only way he feels alright these days.
so he waits, and a couple of boring hours pass before he hears from you. it’s like he knew right when you were about to text him, cause he sees your message immediately when you send it.
[y/n] we need to talk
your words should strike fear in his heart, but all he feels in his chest is a flutter. his brain is quickly becoming a useless thing; his heart eats away any reason or logic it may have.
he’s rushing to text you back, frantic fingers flying across his keyboard.
[beomgyu] okay
[beomgyu] ur place?
you only take a few seconds to respond.
[y/n] yeah, just come now
beomgyu wastes no time in running out the door. he could be flying too close to the sun, but he doesn’t care. he won’t feel the heat until he’s burning alive.
you’re quick to open your door when he knocks. “hi,” beomgyu greets, a little out of breath. your face is stone, and you don’t say hi back. you stare at him for a long while. it gives him the chance to stare at you, too.
“are you just gonna stand there?” you ask. beomgyu blinks out of his stupor.
“no,” he says dumbly, shaking his head a little and finally stepping inside. “sorry.”
you shut your door and sigh, and it takes you a few seconds to look at beomgyu. he almost worries that it’s because you can’t stand looking at him anymore.
he waits for you to say something. maybe you’ll tell him you hate him. maybe you’ll demand he steps out of your life forever and force him to watch you choose taehyun for good. he thinks, though, that he might be able to convince you to let him stay. he knows you’re soft and spineless, and he knows you want to be a good person so bad, but no matter how hard you try, you’re better off not being with taehyun—you’re better off being only beomgyu’s. it’s a truth that he believes in as strongly as some might believe in god.
“do you have something you want to tell me?” you finally ask.
he looks between your eyes, and he’s sure you already know. there’s no point in saying it himself besides to just let you hear it from his own mouth. he almost says it anyway.
“do you?” he asks instead. he can’t tell if it’s disappointment that flashes on your face or if his mind is just making things up.
“yeah,” you answer.
“then say it,” beomgyu urges, and it sounds more like a beg than it does a command. you look away for a second, as if you can’t compose your thoughts when your eyes are on beomgyu. your gaze is fiery when it returns to him.
“you piss me off so much.”
if you thought those words would hurt beomgyu, you’re wrong. he doesn’t bother asking why you’re mad; that would just be an extreme display of stupidity, and it would only serve to piss you off more.
“i’m sorry,” he apologizes hollowly.
“no you’re not,” you say. “you told taehyun about us.”
he doesn’t want to be annoying, but his response definitely comes off like it: “not really.”
“yes, really!” you argue. you scrunch your brows like he’s being impossible. “why would you do that to me?”
“why do you do this to me?” he counters.
“what? let you do whatever you want with me cause you know i can’t say no to you? yeah, how dare i,” you spit.
“you’re treating me like i’m your side piece! i am your side piece!”
“like you’d want anything more!”
“i do!”
“like what?” you ask incredulously. “to fuck me? that’s all you want. it’s the only reason you stick around.”
“no it’s not,” he insists.
“then why else?”
“you know why.” he saw it in the way you tried to let him down easy when he found out you were dating taehyun. you have nothing to say to him; must be because you don’t want to admit the truth or to play dumb and force him to say it.
beomgyu starts again, “what did taehyun say?”
you sigh, and he can see the fight leaving you. “he asked if there was anything going on between me and you.”
some sort of pride swells in beomgyu’s chest. “and you said..?”
“that there was.” he’s surprised at your honesty. he doesn’t know if he expected you to lie. you correct yourself before he can gloat, “that there kind of was.”
a bitter feeling stirs inside him. “hooking up is more than kind of something,” beomgyu says.
“yeah, well…” you start, but struggle to find a defense. “that’s what i said.”
“okay, then what?” he asks.
“he told me everything will be fine. we didn’t linger on it.” you get quiet, but beomgyu can tell there’s more to it than that.
“that’s it?” he’ll be incredibly disappointed and frustrated if that’s all that happened.
“well, he told me not to see you again,” you finally say. beomgyu immediately takes a step towards you, as if the thought of putting space between him and you was impossible.
“so then why am i here?” he’s a fighter. he’s not backing down. you look like you’re about to burst into tears.
“cause we needed to talk,” you answer.
“no,” he says. “why am i here?”
“cause i wanted to yell at you.”
“that’s not true though.”
you frown. “no. i wish it was.”
he tries again, “why am i here?”
he’s standing so close to you now. he doesn’t even know how he got this close, all he knows is that you look even prettier like this. you look into his eyes so deeply that it feels like you’ve reached his soul. the tears that brim your eyes make them shine even more than usual.
“cause i have to say goodbye.” your voice breaks when you say it. that’s how he knows this one’s the truth.
“no you don’t. you can stay,” he says. clearly you don’t want to leave beomgyu if the thought has you crying like this. he’s brought back to the last time he saw you, how you cried that time too. he didn’t understand in the moment, but he does now. you like him. maybe even more than you like taehyun.
“no, but…” you trail off, taking a moment to hold beomgyu’s soft gaze. “taehyun doesn’t look at me the way you do.”
beomgyu knows what that means. he sees your resolve cracking, and he takes his chances while he can. he grabs your hands, clutching them desperately.
“so leave him,” he urges. “be with me.”
“beomgyu…”
“you know this isn’t the last time. you know i’m not leaving.”
your big doe eyes make his heart clench. “i know,” you answer in a whisper. you drop your head in defeat.
beomgyu picks your head back up, hand cradling your face gently. “why don’t you just leave him? won’t that save you so much drama? do i have to beg you?”
“don’t beg me,” you insist pitifully.
he doesn’t listen. “please leave him. please.”
it’s like hearing him say that hurts you. he can see it on your face.
“i can’t,” you say.
“you can. i’d do it for you.”
“no. i can’t leave him.”
“what does he have over you? and what does he have that i don’t?”
“i like him,” you answer. beomgyu’s world stops for a moment.
“don’t say that,” he begs quietly, shaking his head.
“i like him, beomgyu. i’m sorry.”
“no. you don’t mean it. you like me.” he refuses to believe anything else.
“we shouldn’t be doing this,” you say, trying to step away, but beomgyu doesn’t let you.
“i don’t care,” he says. he holds onto you tighter, scared to let go. “please, baby.”
“don’t say that…”
“baby.”
“beomgyu, please.”
“please what?”
he waits for an answer. you just blink up at him, pathetic and doll-like and frustrating and gorgeous, and it all just riles him up so much.
“please leave,” you whisper.
he keeps holding you and doesn’t budge. he kisses your cheek.
“beomgyu, please, leave.”
he kisses your other cheek.
“why do you never leave?” you groan. he doesn’t answer.
he presses the tiniest kiss against your lips, then waits for you to reprimand him. you don’t. he kisses you again, staying just a second longer. you let him once again. he stares at your pretty face for a long moment until he decides that he’s held himself back long enough. he comes in again, more desperate to taste you, opening his mouth a little more, happy to see you accepting it so easily.
he walks the two of you backwards until you’re against the door, hitting the surface with a tiny mewl. he doesn’t pull away from your lips for a second. part of it is because he’s scared you might tell him to leave again, part of it is because he wants to make your brain turn to mush so you can’t think of taehyun anymore, but most of it is just because he really likes kissing you.
he holds your hands in his, then drags his hands up your arms and over your shoulders until they land on your face. he holds you in place while he tilts his head, kissing you deeper like it’s all he was made to do. he’s desperate to keep you here with him, to keep you in this moment forever, to never stop kissing you because it’s going to hurt when it’s all over.
he breathes into your mouth, not daring to part from you. he’d sooner run out of air than risk hearing you tell him to leave again. you emit all these little sounds that only encourage beomgyu further, making his head spin and his stomach tie up in knots.
he licks at your lips, a silent plea for you to open up for him, and it’s not long before you do. you must be drunk in him too, lost in the feeling. he feels like he’s good for you in moments like these, like he’s good enough to make you forget your stupid boyfriend and all the stupid commitments you have to him.
beomgyu could make you happy too. he’s not only good for this stuff—he’s pretty good at planning dates, he could show you. there’s that lake nearby that looks beautiful at sunset, and it’s got all these flower bushes around it, you’d like it so much. they’re prettier than the flowers taehyun brought you to see. beomgyu knows the best places. he’ll find more if he runs out, he’ll show you the world.
he whines when his tongue collides with yours, hot and desperate and aching to be further inside you than he can get. he wants you to choke on him, to feel and think nothing but him, and even that won’t be a tenth of how he feels for you. he wants you to see it. he wants you to realize how bad you’ve got him.
beomgyu wonders if you even know what it feels like to be this crazy over someone. does taehyun haunt you like this? no, that’s impossible—you wouldn’t have enough room in your mind to think about beomgyu if that were the case.
he presses harder against you, like he wants your body to merge into his own. nothing is ever close enough. his fingers press into your skin, dying to dig himself inside of you. he wants more than you could even offer. he’s greedier than ever, and all he has is your mouth. he feels nothing but blinding need; he’s never been so consumed by a feeling before.
this is him proving himself, this is him showing you how he wants you like no one else could. you’re crying into his mouth now, pulling at his hair, and maybe you need air but he can’t give that to you. he just needs a little more. he’ll always need a little more.
his lungs ache, body shaking from the need to breathe, limbs getting weak and head getting light. he could die like this—he could die and be happy, collapsing at your feet, but he can’t let you die too, so he pulls away and finally allows the two of you some air. at least you can’t tell him to go away when you’re gasping for breath.
his chest heaves as his lungs get their fill, but he doesn’t regain his composure. his eyes are zeroed in on you, admiring your open mouth sucking in all the oxygen you can get. there’s a hazy look in your eyes, blinking slowly as you stare at him. there’s something like admiration in the way you look at him, like he’s just shown you the light. it sends a rush through his body, and he just has to keep you looking at him like that.
his mouth moves to your jaw, lips closing around the skin and sucking. he pulls away and keeps his dark gaze on you, gauging your reaction. you still wear that dazed, needy look, and he can tell that you’re finally as desperate as him. he grins, body lighting up with an overwhelming feeling of victory. he clings to the sensation and chases it further, dragging his lips down your throat until they’re pressed against your pulse point. he lingers there for a moment, closing his eyes and indulging in the feel of your pulse against his lips.
he pecks you sweetly, then comes back to your mouth for another short kiss. he brushes the hair from your face, then holds your head still so he can admire you again. your breathing seems regular now.
“you okay?” he asks. it’s a little cruel how much of a power rush he feels by having you so docile in his arms.
“i’m okay,” you say.
he brings his hands to your thighs and urges you to jump onto him. he holds you close and walks to your bedroom, delighting in the feel of you clinging to his body.
your body looks so perfect sprawled out against the mattress, like this was the way you were made to be looked at. you’re still dressed up, still wearing a cute dress that taehyun must have loved, still wearing your make-up that’s gotten all smudged from the kisses. if beomgyu tries hard enough, he can imagine that he’d just taken you home after a date with him. no taehyun, no messy drama, no arguments, just you and beomgyu and the little sparks that go off every time you’re with him.
he’d work so hard all day, tell all these dumb jokes and make a fool of himself just to hear you lose your breath laughing so hard. then he’d take you home and kiss you the whole way back. you wouldn’t be able to pry him off of you, and he’d have you laid out just like this. you’d look up at him just like this.
he puts his hands on your thighs, his touch innocent. he looks at the skirt of your dress. he knows very well by now what lies beneath it, but a part of him feels like it’s the first time all over again. he brushes his fingertips over your stomach, lightly tracing lines down to the hem of your dress, where the fabric meets your thighs.
“you look pretty,” beomgyu murmurs absentmindedly. his eyes dart back up to your face, waiting for your response.
you gulp. “you look handsome too.”
beomgyu smiles. you don’t even know you’re feeding into this domestic little fantasy he has. his hands run down your thighs again, keeping the pressure light. it makes you shiver, which makes him swoon.
he wants to push you a little further, so he does. his fingers just barely slide under your dress, rubbing the smooth skin he finds there. he kisses your neck and stays there for a second to inhale your scent.
“baby, you’re perfect,” he says against your skin. your hand comes up to run through his hair, and it makes his heart skip a beat.
“don’t make me cry,” you say, a sad smile on your face as your fingers brush his hair back. he kisses you sweetly.
“i won’t.”
he urges your legs apart a little further. he wants to take care of you, he wants to be the only one who sees you like this. he wants to be the only one you run to when you’re wet and desperate to get off.
his hands go beneath your dress to hold your hips, brushing his thumbs over the fabric of your panties. in his mind, you wore these just for him to take off, for him to lose his mind over, and no other guy even crossed your mind. you’re so sweet to him in these daydreams. you only care about him, and he only cares about you.
“pretty,” he whispers, tracing his nose against your jaw. you turn your head to look at him. you wear that same innocent look that captured him in the first place. your eyes are wide and curious and aching to know a world unexplored.
“beomgyu,” you whisper back.
“can i touch you?” he keeps his voice quiet, not needing to talk too loud when he’s so close to you.
you hold his gaze for a long while, and he wonders what you must be thinking about. what could be keeping you from letting beomgyu make you happy? what’s so wrong with living in the moment, not letting anyone else fog your mind and change your decisions?
his chest stings the longer you go unresponsive. there’s a vulnerability cracking open inside him, and he’s trying to force you into that crevice, unable to stand your silence or rejection. he’s scared now, and fear fuels his actions when he dips his fingers beneath your panties, ready to tug them down.
“say yes,” he begs, uncaring how pathetic it is. “let me have you. you need me. let me show you.”
“but”—
“no, forget him.” he knows exactly what you were going to say. “he’s dead next time i see him anyway.”
“beomgyu!” you scold.
“come on, please,” he whines, almost ready to start crying. “i need to feel you, need to feel like you like me.”
your lips tug downward. “i do like you.”
“not the way i need you to. not enough for me to be the only one for you.”
“gyu, i like you a lot.”
“no you don’t,” he sulks, bringing his head to the crook of your neck.
you soothe him with your fingers tracing down his scalp and neck. he sighs, melting into the feeling.
“you can have me,” you relent. beomgyu picks his head up immediately.
“yeah?”
you nod. “yeah.”
“you want it?”
“i do,” you say, rolling your hips up needily. he smiles and starts peeling your panties down, kissing your cheek as he gets rid of them for you.
“how bad?”
“so bad, i like you so much. i wanna prove it,” you say.
“so perfect for me,” he hums happily, touching all up and down your legs. he pushes the skirt of your dress up, and you take it upon yourself to pull it off of you entirely. you throw your bra to the ground too, and beomgyu sits back starstruck for a moment. it feels like you really want him. it fuels his need to be the best he can be for you.
he attaches his lips to your nipple, hungry for your sensitive skin. he laps over the bud until he hears you whining, then sucks some more. you shouldn’t be able to stand how bad you want him, you should be crying and shaking for him, needing his touch like how he needs yours. that’s how you’ll prove you like him, he decides. you’ll give him everything he wants.
he brings his mouth to your other tit, giving it the same attention as you writhe beneath him. he grins when you arch your back, seeking out the pleasure he’s giving you. you moan a little as he grazes his teeth against the flesh of your mound.
he inches his fingers towards your cunt, and he feels the heat radiating from between your legs. he loves being the one to do this to you, he loves that he has an effect on you. his fingers ghost around your pussy, dancing against your skin teasingly.
“gonna let me fuck you on my fingers?” he asks, looking up at you with a pleased grin because he knows your answer.
“yes, i need it,” you say, bucking your hips forward to try to get him to touch you.
“tell me how much you need it, and everything you want me to do,” he says, tracing circles over your lower stomach. he doesn’t usually tease you, but he feels like he has to right now. he wants you to chase him a little, it’s unfair for him to be the only one to do it all the time.
“so bad, i need to feel you inside me,” you whine, pouty lips shining in a way that makes kissing you irresistible. he steals you for a kiss for only a second, because he wants to hear what else you have to say. you look so far gone, and it makes him feel accomplished.
“tell me more,” he says.
“i want your fingers, i can’t stand being so wet and empty.” your words make beomgyu moan. when did you get so fucking dirty? did he make you like this?
“need me to stretch out that tight hole? get you ready for a real cock?”
you whine and shut your eyes, rolling your hips up, dying for friction. beomgyu gets a wicked sense of satisfaction from it, urging your hips back down to the bed. he watches your reaction as he brings a finger to your entrance, gathering your arousal unhurriedly. he doesn’t push in, he only lingers at your hole, prodding only enough to drive you crazy.
your sopping cunt continues to leak as he teases you more and more, and it’s the most satisfying sight in the world to see you shake with need beneath him. your hole flutters, practically begging him to get inside you, but he only drags his finger up to your clit to tease you there too.
your fists tighten in his shirt, clutching desperately as if to speak how urgently you need him, and he can feel it now. he can feel that you’re worked up beyond hunger, beyond desire, beyond lust—you’re becoming desperate and miserable, something more like him. he almost laughs in triumph, coming in to kiss you because he just can’t help it.
you chase his lips when he pulls away, and he lets you have his kiss again. he brings his finger to your entrance again, pressing down almost enough to start sliding in. you moan into his mouth and push your hips forward greedily, and he finally lets you have it. you’ve been so good in letting him be a little mean.
“fuck, beomgyu, thank you,” you sigh out, finally getting a fraction of the relief you’ve been looking for. he’ll give you something to be thankful for. he wants to be good for you so badly, wants to hear you make noises no one else has heard, wants to make you feel things that no one else has.
you’re tight around him, and he gives you time to adjust to his finger inside you. god, he’d piss you off a thousand more times if it meant another night with you like this. feeling you so intimately beneath him, feeling you give yourself up to him, it all makes beomgyu feel like he’s done everything right in life.
if only that were true—if he’d done everything right, you’d be his alone right now. the ugly thought returns that he’s not your only one; in fact, he’s probably the less important one between him and taehyun. he doesn’t occupy your entire mind the way you do to his. the thought is accompanied by a small ache in his chest.
it seems like nothing beomgyu does is ever enough for you. he refuses to give up, though, even when it gets draining and hopeless and painful for him. maybe he’s just not good enough yet. he has to be a little nicer, a little smarter, a little better.
your hands come up to his face, touching him in a way that makes him pause. you hold him like he’s delicate. you hold him like you’re cherishing this moment. he locks eyes with you, finding something soft and vulnerable there.
something’s different now. he’s not sure what happened, but that one look is all it takes for the pain in his heart to subside. that one look and the way you hold him is all it takes for him to realize that he’s wasting time thinking about taehyun—the only thing that matters right now is making you see how bad beomgyu wants to be yours.
he holds your gaze as he fucks his finger into you. he’s slow and careful, making sure not to hurt you by taking too much too soon. your brows are upturned from your pleasure, your mouth dropped open to expel your heavy breaths. his heart beats faster in a way that almost scares him.
he pushes a second finger into you, feeding the flame eagerly, cherishing the moan you give him in response and the way your hands move to rest around his shoulders. a warm feeling grows in his body, more greedy and overwhelming than just lust. the feeling makes him fuck you with a greater goal in mind, needing to bury you in his affections and force you to face his need.
your noises encourage him further, and he hooks his fingers up to hit a spot inside you that has you giving him those cute high-pitched moans that he loves so much. he craves more from you, the fire never dies out. his hand finds your waist, holding you down like he’s scared you might run off. he needs you here with him. he needs you only here, only with him, forever and ever, like nothing else matters but this, like no one else matters but him.
“gyu, so good, i love it.” your words are whiny and make his heart soar. he keeps up his pace and curls his fingers inside you again, smiling when you keen.
“you love it?” he repeats.
you nod vigorously. “yeah, love it.”
he bites his lip and thrusts his fingers into you a little harder. you cry out and arch your back, nails digging into his shoulders. it’s such a rewarding sensation.
you look too pretty like this, too gorgeous and he just can’t be normal about it. he needs to have you forever. he needs to be yours, it repeats like a mantra in his head and corrupts his mind. it makes him dumb, makes him spill out words he shouldn’t say.
“call me your boyfriend,” he says, panting, digging his fingers deeper inside you.
“what?” you ask, voice all shaken.
“call me your boyfriend, tell me how good i am to you,” he repeats.
he feels your walls clamp around him, he feels how close you are, and he wants to give you everything and get you off and be that man for you. he wants to believe he’s yours, even if you’re only saying it because you want to cum. he doesn’t care, he’ll take what he can get.
no words leave you. it seems like you’re making him work for it. “come on, say it. don’t you want your boyfriend to make you cum?”
you gasp, and beomgyu brings his hand up from your waist to your breasts. he takes a handful of your flesh there, enamored by how sensitive you are to his touches.
“y-yeah,” you stutter out, eyes growing more hazy. you look at beomgyu like he’s the only man in the world.
“i’ll take care of you, pretty. won’t you thank me?” he rubs against a spot that has you gasping out, watching with a grin as you struggle to obey his wishes.
“thank you..! thank you!”
beomgyu hums happily, continuing to rub that spot inside you as you start to squirm under him. he sinks himself back into this fantasy where you’re back home from a date, and he’s being the best boyfriend to you by getting you off just how you like. he knows your body better than anyone else, knows how to command its pleasure, and he’ll be damned if anyone else ever steals his place here with you.
you grow senseless, arching up toward beomgyu’s body, clinging onto him desperately, whimpering like the sweetheart you are. you’re so close, and you’re so delirious, and he’s so consumed by the sight.
“please, i’m gonna…” you trail off, and beomgyu laughs a little.
“mhm? gonna cum for me? i touch you that good?”
“yeah, so good, gonna cum on your fingers, my boyfriend’s fingers,” you pant. beomgyu nearly blows his load hearing you say that. he’s frenzied now, he has to stop himself from hammering into you, has to be mindful that you’re still so new to this and he can’t just go crazy because he wants to.
he’s probably saying a lot of stupid shit right now, but he barely registers it. it’s a lot of urgent pleas for you to cum and a lot of sweet names that roll off his tongue so easily for you. he thinks he’s not even human anymore, that he’s just something made to touch you and serve you. he watches you twist up in pleasure, lips parting over a moan as your orgasm crashes over you.
he loves this, loves everything about it. he loves how you look cumming for him, he loves how you feel squeezing around his digits, he loves how useful it makes him feel. he bucks against your thigh, needing a little relief for himself, unable to contain his own pleasure from watching you.
he pulls his fingers out of you once you’ve come down, letting them drag out of your walls slowly. he rests his forehead against your chest, feeling it rise and fall as you catch your breath. his hands find your hips, holding them like he needs it for his comfort.
the air is thick. you lie limp and easy and pliable beneath him, and he gulps because he can’t believe how much he’s holding back. it’s horrifying how bad he wants to take it further.
this should be enough, he shouldn’t want more. you’re so pretty and innocent and he’d be evil to try to go further. he’d be evil to ask for more. he’d be awful. he’d be wicked and terrible and selfish, and he can’t be like that to you.
but he’d be gentle. he’d be kind. he’d watch you and listen to you sincerely, and he’d make you feel wanted and cherished. maybe even loved.
he kisses your chest, right where he may feel your heartbeat if he lingers too long. he picks his head up slowly, catching your eyes to see if you’re still lost in this fantasy with him. you look dazed as ever, and it works to get beomgyu’s heartbeat to pick up.
you’re his girlfriend. for just this moment, he can pretend you are, and you can be good and let him. his hands are almost hesitant as they find your thighs, spreading them a little wider to allow him more space.
the moment feels just as dangerous as it does sacred. it feels like dragging an angel down to earth, like heaven’s losing something. he gives your skin a gentle squeeze.
“if you’re my girlfriend, if you’re all mine”—he brushes your hair back, careful and sweet—“then you should feel all of me.”
he slots his hips between your thighs, not forceful or rough, but with enough pressure to make your breath hitch, as if to remind you that the night’s not over. he watches you, waiting, aching for your next words, as if you’ll determine the fate of the rest of his life.
your hand cups his cheek, holding him like he’s delicate. the gentleness of it makes him throb. you’re all soft parts and pretty pieces.
your response comes in a whisper, “then show me all of you.”
he leans forward, kissing you because it means more than any words he could speak. you’re too perfect, too good, and he’s going to have you forever. he’s going to be yours, and he’s going to make you happy.
your hand falls to his pants, prying them down slowly along with his boxers, letting each second drag so the moment can last. beomgyu cradles your cheek when he parts from your lips, holding your face still so he can uncover every emotion you must be feeling.
he lets his cock drag through your folds without any rush, savoring the sensation of your warmth right against him. his mouth drops open, moaning without shame, letting you hear how bad you affect him. you’re soaked, and he’s not even side you but you already feel like heaven against him. he’ll be done for the moment he pushes in.
“let me have you, pretty,” he says, voice quiet like that too may break you.
“you have me,” you answer. you gasp when the head of his dick catches your clit. he focuses his attention there a little longer, adoring your reactions.
“only me,” he says.
you nod, staring at him with big eyes filled with need. “only you.”
“and only i can take care of you. it’s just you and me.” he kisses your neck, wetting your skin with his tongue like that could portray all his affections.
“just you and me,” you repeat. he brings his tip down, collecting your arousal one last time before stopping at your entrance. he’s still holding your face, still looking into your eyes, still trying to unveil every thought that must be running through your head.
he spends some time like that, a few long seconds that feel like the ending of a chapter. everything changes after this. all is still.
“i’m your first?” he asks. he already knows the answer, but he appreciates it anyway when you give him a meek nod to confirm. he can’t stop himself from smiling. he always knew he’d get you like this, and he’s going to make sure he does everything right for you.
he used to have thoughts about ruining you for anyone else. he used to think about taking your virginity the same way he’d take you from taehyun: with ultimate sin, filled to the brim with pride and lust and greed—but this moment doesn’t call for that. weighty, selfish motives like that don’t cross beomgyu’s mind at all. instead, he feels attuned to you, like he’s not stealing something from you, but giving you something, building something.
he pushes in slowly, just an inch at a time, and watches the way your breathing picks up, the way your hands scramble to find purchase on something. he takes one of your hands in his own, smiling at you comfortingly.
he’s got his tip inside you, and he’s already gathering his breath trying not to burst. even after stretching you out on his fingers, you’re insanely tight around him.
“does it hurt?” he asks, voice strained.
“no, just… stay like that for a minute,” you say. beomgyu obliges, letting you adjust to his girth. he knows he’s big, that he’s a lot to take, but he knows you’ll be perfect for him. he’ll give you all the time in his world, he just has to hope he can last that long.
you’re warm and wet and everything he could have dreamed, and it leaves beomgyu whimpering above you. he’s wanted this for so long, wanted you for so long, and he can’t believe he’s finally getting you.
it’s the intimacy of the moment that’s really twisting his stomach now; he feels closer to you than ever, and it excites him in a way that triumphs however else he’s ever imagined having you. all the thoughts running through his mind beg him to make you feel good, to reward you for being so sweet to him.
your free hand trails down beomgyu’s back, grazing your fingers against him soothingly. it sends a chill throughout his body, igniting sparks that he’s already familiar with thanks to you. you entrance him effortlessly, always putting him under this spell that makes him crave you in ways he’s never felt for anyone else.
“give me more,” you finally say, allowing him to move again. he sighs in relief, hissing as he gets another few inches of himself into you before letting you adjust again. you’re gorgeous and so worked up beneath him, and he can’t wait to see how good you’ll feel when he gives you all of him.
he imagines how you may react when he starts really fucking you. he wonders if he’ll get to hear any new noises from you, or if he’ll feel your body tremble and quake in different ways. he can imagine your cunt sucking him in so deep, just begging for his load, and he has to stop the thought there because his cock twitches from the excitement.
“still okay?” he asks.
you nod with a whiny moan, and it makes beomgyu want to coo at you. “gyu, i—ah—i feel so full already…”
he laughs, “i know, baby.” he eases his hand over your body, finding amusement in the way you shiver when he brushes over your tits.
“you’re so big,” you whine, throwing your head back. you’re making it hard for beomgyu to keep his focus by saying things like that.
“can you take more?”
“yes, want more,” you moan. he smiles, feeling his heart warm at how good you’re being for him. he knew you’d be such a dream.
with your permission, beomgyu sinks into you further, groaning as he finally bottoms out. he’s blinded by the pleasure for a second, and in that short time he thinks he sees his entire future with you. one where you’re always here, always with him, always ready.
he calms himself down enough to check up on you, scanning your face for any discomfort. he comes in to pepper kisses onto your cheek, hoping they spell out how proud he is and how amazing you are. it’s not beyond him how lucky he is to be the first to have you—or to have you at all, for that matter.
“you need some time?” he rasps out. he hopes you say yes, because he needs a breather himself. he’s way too close to cumming already.
“yeah, please,” you breathe. he obliges easily, spending his time kissing your neck and listening to your pretty sighs. he stays sheathed inside you, and your walls wrap around him so tight that he worries if he’ll even be able to move much. you’re so warm and wet and nice, and it’s fucking crazy that he’s the first to feel you like this.
his hands are in constant need to be filled by you, grabbing at every inch of your skin like it’s all his to claim. you’re finally his, in your most bare and precious form; you’re his in the most meaningful and beautiful way. he’s as close to you as he could possibly be.
his mind is running faster than he can possibly keep up with. his brows scrunch, trying to ground himself as he leans his face into your neck, but he feels all too floaty to come back down. he holds your hips, firm and strong, groaning when you get impossibly tighter around him for a second.
“you’re still mine?” he asks, pulling himself up to look down at you. you don’t look too put-together anymore. beomgyu loves it. the messiness suits you well, it brings out something more genuine in you.
“yeah,” you agree easily.
“my girlfriend?” he doesn’t care how much of an idiot it makes him sound like. he needs to know you’re still in this with him.
he grinds his hips against you a little, earning a delicious moan from you that has his mouth dropping open in awe. he could devour you whole right now. he could blend your bodies into one, spend an eternity deep inside you.
“y-yeah, your girlfriend,” you repeat back, and he grins. you make him so proud.
he picks himself up a little more, leaning back so he has better leverage on your body. “so i should be a good boyfriend then and fuck you just right?”
your lips pull up, giving him a smile that’s just as sweet as it is enticing. he smooths his palms over your thighs, enjoying your soft skin while he’s still buried to the hilt inside you.
“take me, baby,” you moan. he almost ruins the whole night by passing out at that.
“gonna take it all, pretty,” he promises, coming down to kiss you one last time. he starts pulling out slowly as his mouth is on yours, letting his cock drag through your walls and memorize every inch. he eases himself back in, drinking up your noises eagerly.
god, this is the meaning of it all. he’s never pulling out of you, he can’t, this is where he belongs. he grunts into your mouth as he bottoms out again, holding your waist like you’ll disappear if he won’t. he slides out a little yet again, and thrusts back with the slightest more vigor this time.
“gyu, fuck!” you cry out.
“too much?” he asks, thumbs soothing your skin as he pauses his movements.
“no, it’s good, i love it,” you babble out.
“yeah? you love it? love having my dick in you?” he does the same thing again, pulling out just a bit to slide back in hungrily.
“yes!” the whine in your voice has him holding back whines of his own. it’s unreal how perfect you feel around him. you take him so well, it’s like you were made for him.
it’s so easy to lose himself into the idea that you’re only beomgyu’s when you look up at him like this. it’s like you realized he’s the piece that you’ve been missing in your life, like you’ve finally figured everything out and you’re seeing it laid in front of you now.
it works out in his mind perfectly: he’s your boyfriend, and he’s dedicating his life to you, and you’re letting him take your virginity like the good girlfriend you are. he wonders if that’s what you see too—he hopes with his whole heart that’s the case.
he pulls out a little more this time, sliding back in with a groan. you’re too good for him; it’s impossible to cherish this moment enough. you whimper so sweetly, and it just makes him want to take care of you forever.
“god, you’re so good,” beomgyu grits out.
“feel so full, gyu.” he can’t help but to press down gently where he’s buried deep inside, letting his palm sit right there while you gasp and writhe beneath him. you’re figuring out what to do with all the pleasure, and beomgyu can’t get enough of it.
“yeah, gotta make sure my girlfriend’s nice and stuffed. gotta keep her wet, keep her happy,” he pants out, hypnotized by the feel of your cunt. you bunch up his hair in your hand, arching your back. you bite your lip, but it fails to hold back your moans.
he doesn’t want this to end, but he can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. he needs to make sure you’re there too, needs to feel you cum on his cock before he has to pull out. his thumb finds your clit and you jolt, overwhelmed.
“beomgyu!! oh, god!” you yelp, nails digging into him. the pain only encourages him, has him thrusting a little more fervently.
“cum all over me, baby. show me how much you like me, just like you said you would.” you’re tightening around him again, and he can barely move so he focuses all his attention on your clit instead, keeping his pace steady until your breath hitches and you’re right there, on the edge, surrendering everything to him.
you cum with his name on your tongue and his dick buried inside you, and there will never be anything more fulfilling than that. his fingers dig into your hips as he forces himself not to cum inside you, holding out for just a few more seconds until you calm down.
he pulls out then, jerking himself with half his mind gone. he’s shaking, turned on beyond belief, and he needs to let you know how bad you have him. if you’re his girlfriend, and you’re giving every part of yourself up to him, and you’re doing everything so well, then you should know—he should say—
“i love you,” he pants. he sees the surprise in your eyes, and you open your mouth to say something, but he covers it with his palm before you can, gentle but firm. “i love you. just let me love you.”
his cum spurts out of him after that, dribbling onto your stomach as he lets out a moan from deep inside his chest. he’s breathing heavily, clinging onto the moment so reality doesn’t crash onto him yet. he wants to be here forever. he wants to hold you down and do whatever it takes to make you stay. he was doing good warding off that possessive feeling for a while, but it comes back like second nature.
“you’re still mine,” he says, staring you down so you know he means it. he slowly lifts his palm from your mouth.
you don’t say it back this time.
beomgyu grabs your dress, ready to use it to wipe his cum off you, but you grab his wrist and push it far away from your body. he blinks at you innocently, wondering what he did wrong.
“grab a towel! why are you trying to ruin my dress?” you ask. beomgyu laughs at how your voice has gone a little raspy.
he heads to your bathroom and comes back with a towel, wiping your skin and tossing it aside carelessly. he sits in front of you as you lay before him, legs still spread to accommodate for the space he takes up.
beomgyu doesn’t want to say anything and risk ruining the peace. he doesn’t ask what now? even though it’s all he wants to find out.
he got what he wanted, he supposes. he’s probably supposed to feel satisfied now. he tries his best to.
still, the weight of something more hangs in the air. he can feel it in the silence that takes over the room, and he can see it in the way you can barely look at him. you pretend to find interest in your bedroom walls.
can he still kiss you? does he still get that? did everything just end right before his eyes?
“i guess you got what you wanted,” you say, half-hearted and light like it’s supposed to be a joke. beomgyu doesn’t find it funny. he doesn’t even think you do.
“don’t say it like that,” beomgyu says.
“then tell me what else you want,” you prompt. your tone holds no challenge, only curiosity.
“i want to talk to you,” he answers. he lays beside you on the bed, getting in the way of that staring contest you were having with the wall. you blink and breathe and do everything a human would, but beomgyu still thinks you’re a doll. you endear him endlessly.
“okay,” you agree. “what do you want to talk about?”
beomgyu smiles. “isn’t it kind of obvious?”
you laugh, “kind of.”
beomgyu wraps an arm around you and urges you closer, holding you against him. you accept his embrace, and there’s a happy thrum in his chest when you lean on him.
“maybe we should talk about something unexpected then,” beomgyu jokes.
“like that wasn’t unexpected enough?” you both laugh.
“yeah.”
“so stop dancing around it and just say it,” you order, swatting his chest playfully and making him laugh again.
“you’re not a virgin anymore.”
he practically feels you deflate.
“oh.”
“what?” he asks. you act like you didn’t know that.
“nothing.”
panic rises within him, even more so when you start pulling away. you sit up, and he follows.
“baby, what’s wrong?”
“why are you still calling me that?” you counter.
he’s utterly confused. you were so bubbly and fun a minute ago. did he really ruin your mood that much by pointing out the truth?
“what did i do?” he asks.
you shake your head and sigh. “nothing. it’s me.”
beomgyu groans, “oh my god, this better not be about taehyun.”
“it’s not,” you bite. “he didn’t even cross my mind. not for a second. so if it counts for anything, you win.”
beomgyu scrunches his brows. “i don’t get it then.”
“don’t worry about it. i don’t even think it matters to you,” you say. this is so unfair. you’re not even giving beomgyu a chance.
“just tell me,” he pleads, softening his voice.
“i thought it was obvious,” you mutter. beomgyu’s lost. is this still about your virginity?
“i don’t want you to be sad. not after what we did. please.”
you look at him and sigh. there wasn’t fight in you to begin with, but your resolve dissipates nonetheless. he can see you giving in now.
“when you said…” you pause to find your words, then shake your head after a few seconds. “no, nevermind.”
“no, tell me,” beomgyu urges. you sigh, unable to meet his eyes, so he grabs onto your hand to try to soothe you. to his surprise, you pull your hand away, almost as if you can’t stand his touch anymore.
his eyes go wide, darting across your face for an explanation or a sign. “baby..?” he tries.
there’s no way you’re sending him out after this. he’s not walking out, he can’t after what just happened. he’ll bury his feet into your floor if he has to; he’s not leaving.
“when you said you love me,” you start again, bringing your gaze back to his. there’s a vulnerability in them that makes you look more fragile than a porcelain doll. “was that pretend, too?”
you blink at him expectantly. his mouth drops open, but he struggles to find an answer.
“tell me, gyu,” you insist, but your tone holds no bite.
“i… don’t know.” it feels like the wrong answer. with the way you bow your head, he guesses it was.
“okay,” you say. you look dejected, and beomgyu can’t seem to figure out why. you’re the one who already has a boyfriend. you shouldn’t even be asking these questions. god, why did you have to ask that question? beomgyu’s so in his head now.
“baby, please, this isn’t”—
“stop calling me that.”
“this isn’t fair and you know it! how could you expect me to answer that?”
you laugh like this is so beyond you. “then why the fuck would you say it? and why did you seem so ready to tell me you loved me earlier?”
beomgyu’s head hurts. you must be reading too much into it. fuck if he knows why he does anything—his only answer is always you, you, you. you drive him crazy, you make him do crazy things. you’re doing so right now, too.
he doesn’t think about things so deeply like that, because when he does life gets even messier. love tangles things up in knots. it doesn’t make sense to him, he’s not smart like you and taehyun. if he knows one thing, though, it’s that he doesn’t want to let you go. that must count for something.
of course he craves you. he yearns for you. he wants you to feel loved, but he—fuck, his mind is whirring too fast and he doesn’t know anything, but you deserve an explanation and you deserve better than him, but you shouldn’t ever have anyone but him and, and, and—
“beomgyu, stop, calm down,” you say, putting a hand on his shoulder.
he looks up at you. he didn’t realize when he started breathing so heavily.
“sorry,” he murmurs.
“just… lay down,” you say. he does. you pull the sheets over him. you sit there for a minute, watching him until he feels better.
you get up then, and beomgyu feels his heart pick up again. “you’re leaving?” he asks.
“go to sleep, beomgyu.”
“don’t leave me.” he feels like crying.
you turn to him and level him with a stare. “i’m just showering.”
he blinks, and a tear falls from his eye. “okay.”
he shuts his eyes, but he doesn’t dare fall asleep until he knows you’re not lying. he feels the bed dip beside him some time later, the familiar weight of you coming into bed. he’s asleep within seconds.
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