“Passei anos seguindo mapas, acreditando que o tesouro estava sempre em algum lugar distante. Cruzei caminhos errados, desviei de rotas seguras e aprendi a me perder. Até entender que certos mapas não apontam lugares, mas encontros. O amor verdadeiro não estava marcado com um X. Ele era o próprio caminho — e tudo o que eu procurava sem saber.”
— chegou a vez do maioral, ✨kim mingyu✨.
— começando pelo fato que é de conhecimento público: manhoso. ele é um homem enorme, e extremamente manhoso. do tipo que ama carinho, contato físico, atenção, aquele grude grude mesmo.
— gosta de estar com você. então se você tá fazendo comida, ele vai estar lá sentadinho papeando com você. se você tá no banho, ele vai sorrateiramente entrar pra tomar banho com você. se você tá trabalhando, ele vai ficar do seu lado quietinho mexendo no celular, só por estar.
— vive sem camisa pela casa, hater das cuecas também. fica só de bermuda pra cima e pra baixo.
— borboleta social, o tipo de namorado que arruma amizade até com o tio da padaria. não existe UMA pessoa que não goste dele, principalmente as mais velhas. as velhinhas são apaixonadas por ele.
— sim, dorme pelado. peladinho peladinho como veio ao mundo. inclusive isso já foi um problema, quando a mãe dele foi visitar vocês de surpresa e pegou vocês dois dormindo da seguinte maneira: você com a camisa dele, meio enroscada na coberta, e ele com a lua cheia pra fora, te agarrando de conchinha.
— FIEL. solteiro pode ser um cachorro, que seja, mas namorando com você não existe homem mais fiel. não precisa nem temer que ele olhe pra outras mulheres, porque pra ele, elas nem existem.
— romanticamente falando, é intenso. daqueles que gosta de viver o amor em todos os aspectos, até na hora de sofrer. consequentemente, é meio dramático.
— é meio emocionado. no segundo encontro com você, a boca já coçou pra lançar um “te amo”.
— não tem medo de dizer o que sente. consegue lidar bem com os sentimentos e com as frustrações só na base da conversa, por isso, brigam pouco.
— ele geme. ele GEME. do tipo de homem que geme manhosinho, arrastado, que se entrega, que não tem vergonha nenhuma de mostrar o quão excitado está.
— ama cafuné, carinho no rosto, e ama que você passa a ponta das unhas das costas dele até o pescoço. fica todo arrepiado.
— muito organizado. arruma casa, lava roupa, varre tudo, lava louça, cozinha… muito comum chegar em casa e ver ele agarrado com a vassoura passando pano.
— daquele tipo de homem que sabe fazer de tudo um pouco. troca resistência de chuveiro, lâmpada, coloca prateleira, sabe fazer até gato na luz. tudo que você precisa você só tem que dizer: “gyu, faz pra mim?”. ele ama que você mande nele.
— do tipo que se o jk ligar pra sair pra beber, vai dizer: “pera aí, deixa eu ver com a minha mulher se eu quero ir”, e se você disser que não, ele nem liga. prefere ficar com você mesmo.
— se der uma dor de barriga nele que seja, o mundo já acaba. você reza pra ele não ficar doente, porque quando fica… um drama só.
— AMA quando você vai malhar com ele.
— apaixonado pela sua bunda.
— perto de outro homem que faça ele se sentir enciumado, ele vai passar o braço em volta do seu pescoço, flexionando o máximo possível pra mostrar os músculos. eita como é perigoso.
— isso se ele não te jogar na parede mais próxima e te dar um amasso de deixar sua perna bamba. só pra deixar bem claro que você é a mulher dele.
SYNOPSIS.On the night of your eighteenth birthday, you and Wonwoo made a pact to lose your virginities together. Ten years later you're co-parenting your unexpected child while figuring out where you stand with each other.
PARING. Wonwoo x F!Reader
GENRE | TAGS. Smau, series, non idol!au, best friends (idiots) to lovers, unexpected pregnancy, slow burn, angst, pinning, fluff, humor/comedy.
WARNINGS. Brief gaslighting, intense emotional distress and relationship uncertainty.
AN. I recommend listening to Landslide when you get to the written part!!
WC. 3k+
STATUS. On-going.
← PREVIOUS | SERIES MASTERLIST | TAGLIST
You come home later than usual.
It wasn’t late-late, but it was enough that the apartment feels quieter than the usual mess of three adults and a child. Hyunwon’s nightlight leaks a soft blue glow under your shared bedroom door, the hum of the white noise machine steady. Mingyu’s shoes are gone from the entryway, his jacket missing from the hook, and you know it’s because he’s out on a date.
The apartment is so quiet it almost feels empty. At this time of night, you’d usually find Wonwoo on the couch, either watching TV or reading, unless he was holed up in his room gaming, which was never exactly quiet. But he was nowhere to be found, and the kitchen was clean, save for a small plate on the counter, covered with plastic wrap beaded with condensation.
You drop your bag by the couch and loosen your coat, after leaving your shoes by the entrance, already halfway through the ritual of unwinding when you notice the soft light glowing on the balcony.
The sliding door is cracked open, and you pause in your tracks when you see Wonwoo sitting out there alone.
Not scrolling on his phone or smoking. Just there, sitting on one of the patio chairs of the set you chose together, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped, staring out at the city. He looks so deep in thought you almost feel bad thinking of disturbing his moment. But after everything that happened lately, the sight of him like this unsettles you.
You slide the door open quietly, and the night’s cold slips into the living room, raising goosebumps along your uncovered arms. He clearly hasn't noticed you there, now looking up at the sky, and still lost in his own thoughts.
“What are you doing out here?” You announce yourself with the question, wrapping your arms around yourself against the cold.
Wonwoo glances over his shoulder, surprise flickering through his eyes, clear proof he hadn’t heard you come in at all. The moment he registers you standing in the doorway, something in his expression loosens. His shoulders ease, his gaze softens. You catch it instantly, the exact second it happens, and warmth blooms quietly in your chest.
He looks at you like he’d been waiting.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugs. “Wanted air.”
You nod, finally stepping outside and pulling the door shut behind you so Hyunwon doesn’t wake up by the sound of your voices.
The balcony is small but achingly familiar, a witness of the life you’ve built together. The old set of chairs you bought when you first moved in still sits where you placed them, one arm draped with the same worn blanket. A small table rests between them, and along the railing your little garden thrives in stubborn pockets of green. Succulents cluster in mismatched pots, a pothos trails lazily over the edge, and a philodendron stretches toward the city lights, miraculously alive and growing.
Before you can sit beside him, Wonwoo reaches for you, taking your hand in his, one arm around your waist, tugging you down onto his lap. You don’t resist, settling against him sideways, legs curled up on the chair, your head finding its place on his shoulder. The familiar spot, right where his collarbone dips. He smells like laundry detergent and night air.
For a moment, neither of you says anything, remaining wrapped in each other, and letting the silence do the work. The city hastily fills the silence between you with the sounds of cars rushing somewhere important, voices drifting up from the street, and the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. The world keeps going uninterrupted, even if Wonwoo wants to pause everything for a moment.
He presses his cheek against the top of your head. His arms tighten just a little, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear or run away if he loosens them.
“I missed you today,” he confesses quietly into your hair.
You chuckle softly, before whispering against his neck, “I was gone for nine hours.”
“I know.”
You don’t tease him for it. Don’t even make a joke about him being cheeky. You just breathe him in and let yourself be held, because somehow, even if it sounds insane, you missed him too.
“Hyunwon missed you too,” he adds, his hand brushing the curve of your waist. “Total mama’s boy.”
“Oh yeah?”
He hums, nodding. “Can’t blame him. I’m a little crazy about his mom myself.”
“Careful,” you murmur, a smile tugging at your lips because of his statement. You’re not far behind when it comes to Hyunwon’s father, either. “You’ll spoil me with your sweet words, Jeon.”
“What can I say? It’s my favorite job.”
Wonwoo’s thumb moves in slow circles against the skin of your hip. The feeling it’s nice, it’s familiar and grounding. It’s the touch that makes you feel at home, a safe place to fall even when everything else feels slightly out of sync.
You stay like that a little longer, savoring the moment. Long enough for the cold to creep up your ankles, brush the tip of your nose, and for the city noise to blur into the background.
Eventually, you exhale.
“What’s going on here?” you ask, brushing your hand through his hair, a small tap to his temple. “You’ve been quiet.”
“So have you.”
“Yeah, but that’s normal for me when I’m tired.”
He exhales through his nose, a little laugh without humor. “Guess I can’t hide anything from you.”
"Considering we've known each other since we were five," you click your tongue, your voice a hint of laughter. "I can say I know you very well."
Wonwoo isn’t laughing this time. You lift your head slightly, just enough to analyze his profile. His jaw is a little tense, eyes behind his glasses unfocused, staring at nothing. You know him too well not to see that there’s something bothering him deeply.
Your eyebrows furrow, and you run your fingers gently through his hair, and his eyes fall shut at your touch as if the weight finally has somewhere to go.
“Talk to me?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his arms tighten around you, like he’s buying himself time. Like if he holds you long enough, the words he has to say soon won’t have to come out. You feel his chest rise and fall beneath you, and then Wonwoo tilts his head, resting his temple against yours.
For a second, it feels like he might back out and say he’s just tired, that everything’s fine. But then he exhales, long and shaky. “Do you ever feel like,” he starts, stops, swallows, “life hasn’t been fair to us?”
Your chest tightens, and you feel yourself gripping the fabric of his shirt.
The answer to that question, in your head, isn't so simple. It has never been. It lives with you now, follows you through the day, and comes back strongest at night, when you’re alone with your thoughts and no longer pretending it doesn’t matter; that it’s okay if you’re not meant to be.
“All the time,” you simply say.
“Every time things start to feel good,” Wonwoo keeps going, opening his eyes, “actually good… something comes along just to remind us we don’t get to be comfortable for long.”
You close your eyes too, your head settling back against his shoulder as you listen to him. The words land right in the middle of the ache you’ve been carrying. For the first time you realize that he might be carrying this too.
“I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” he continues. “About us. About everything that happened these last two years. Joshua. Your engagement. Saerom.” His jaw clenches when he says her name. “The lie.”
You shift slightly on his lap, sitting up just enough to see his face again. He’s not crying, but his eyes are glassy now, fixed on the skyline again like it’s safer than looking at you.
You know how hard it is for him to open up like this, to let himself cry at all. Most of the time, he’s the one listening to you while you fall apart. So you know that even though Wonwoo is always sincere, whatever he’s feeling now must have built up until it became impossible to hold in any longer.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you say immediately, meeting his eyes as your hands rush to his face, smoothing over his cheekbone. “That was on her.”
“I know.” He kisses the top of your head, grateful for you jumping into his defense. “Logically. I know. But it still feels like… I lost something. Or maybe like I lost time.”
You nod slowly. “We both did.”
His gaze flicks to your eyes then. “Were you angry at me when you found out about Saerom’s baby?”
You don’t hesitate. “No.”
“Not even a little?”
You shake your head, reassuring him. “I know it looked like that,” you shrug, pressing your lips together. “But I was angry at life. At the timing. At how unfair it felt that after everything we’ve survived, this was the thing we got handed.”
He studies your face, like he’s checking for cracks. “You never hated me for it?”
“I hated the situation,” you admit, holding his gaze so he can see you mean it. “I hated that it put distance between us. But not you. Never you.”
That was the problem. During the days you spent at your mother’s house, deliberately avoiding Wonwoo, that was all you could think about. How unfair life had been to the two of you.
And the irony of it all wasn’t lost on you. You were acting like a teenager again, sulking the way you had in your first year of high school when your childhood best friend Jeon Wonwoo started dating Kang Chaeyoung and you refused to speak to him for a week. Not like a twenty-four-year-old woman, a mother to a five-year-old boy.
You watch the air leave his lungs in relief, his shoulders sagging.
“I was scared you’d resent me,” he confesses. “That you’d wake up one day and realize it would’ve been easier to stay with Joshua.”
The name of your ex-fiancé hangs between you, and you bite your lower lip.
Joshua was perfect. Sensible, attentive, saying all the right things at exactly the right moments. With him, you never had to ask for more. He was a gentleman in all the expected ways. He opened doors, made space for you, made you feel safe. You were comfortable with him.
And yet, he failed the one requirement that mattered most.
“Joshua was easy.” You inhale slowly. “But he wasn’t you.”
Wonwoo’s throat bobs. It’s strange how you’ve already admitted this to everyone else, yet this is the first time you’ve said it directly to him. His only response is to furrow his brows not in confusion or surprise, but in something that looks remarkably like affection. He doesn’t try to hide it.
“I didn’t leave him because of the mess,” you continue, the truth spilling out now that you’ve started. After everything you’ve been through, hiding feels pointless. “I left because I had feelings for you. And that hasn’t changed, no matter how messy this year has gotten.”
He looks down at his hands, fingers lacing and unlacing around without letting you go off his hold. “I don’t know how you still choose me.”
You cup his face gently, forcing him to look at you. “Because you’re worth choosing. Even when things are hard.”
For a moment, he only looks at you, like he’s trying to memorize this version of your face. The balcony light casts soft shadows beneath his eyes, leaving him looking tired in a way that tightens your chest. You know it hasn’t been easy for him to carry two things at once: the lie and the betrayal. And it makes you furious that someone made him feel so easily deceived.
“My boss talked to me today,” he says suddenly after a long minute in silence. His eyes wander far away from yours, and your stomach flips, your mind already sprinting through worst-case scenarios.
“Yeah?”
Knowing both of your histories, it wouldn’t surprise you if something went wrong at his work now, and just thinking about it makes anxiety coil in your chest.
“There’s… an opportunity.” He inhales deeply, like he’s been bracing himself for this moment all night. “He offered me a study program in photography and imaging.”
“Wonwoo, that’s amazing—”
“But it’s in Tokyo.” He cuts you off before you can finish, eyes landing on your face again.
Your mouth remains open, words caught somewhere between your chest and your throat, the air suddenly dry. Your jaw opens and closes once, useless. The idea of Tokyo suddenly loops in your head.
“For how long?” It’s all you manage to ask, already bracing for an answer you know you won’t like.
“A year.”
You inhale, then exhale, lowering your head slightly. How ironic is that?
“That’s huge.”
And you mean it. It’s the biggest opportunity Wonwoo’s ever had in his career, and no one deserves it more than him. He worked relentlessly for this, giving more of himself to that studio than he should have, all to make sure you and Hyunwon were safe and secure.
His eyes linger on yours, brows drawing together slowly. “You’re not… upset?”
“No. I’m proud of you.”
You’re being completely honest with him, and that makes Wonwoo’s face finally soften. He knows you too well to know you’d never pretend to be happy for him about something important like this.
“Thank you, love.”
“What did you say to Hyungsik?”
“I told him I’d think about it,” Wonwoo says. “I wanted to come to you first, because…” He stops, and swallows hard. “It means leaving for a year. Leaving you. Leaving Hyunwon. And I don’t know if that’s the right choice.”
You shake your head immediately. Your heart aches, but you smile anyway, holding his face between your hands. “I think you should go.”
“What?”
You don’t hesitate. “You should go, Wonwoo.”
It’s his turn to shake his head, confusion flashing across his face, eyes widening as your response catches him off guard. “I didn’t even finish—”
“I know.” You cut him off. “But I don’t need you to.”
“Just like that?”
There was no doubt in your mind. If Wonwoo wants this opportunity, he should take it. You know he isn’t abandoning you, that he would do the same for you if the roles were reversed—just like he had when you needed to go to Busan. Not supporting him now would be selfish of you.
So you nod, shrugging. “Just like that. This year took so much from you. I don’t want it to take this too.”
“But us—” he starts.
“Us will survive. Even if it’s different for a while.”
“What about Hyunwon?”
“We’ll figure something out. We always do,” you assure him, a closed-lip smile on your face. “I’ll try to fly there. Maybe bring him with me for a bit. You can come back here sometimes. We’ll make it work.”
It wasn’t like Tokyo was on the other side of the world, anyway. The flight was reasonable, close enough to feel almost like a neighboring city. Almost.
“I want so badly to ask you to come with me. Both of you.” There’s desperation in his eyes now, something close to fear. You squeeze his hand. “But I know it’s not fair. You just started a new job. Hyunwon’s settled. Our whole life is here.”
“I know.”
“And I want to go,” he admits, voice low, almost ashamed. “Because the money is good. Like, insanely good. It would give us a stability we’ve never had before. And I’ve never experienced college. I went straight from high school to work ungodly hours, and this feels like… maybe my only chance.”
“And I want you to take it,” you say without hesitation. “I’m happy for you. Genuinely.”
Wonwoo laughs weakly, disbelief laced through it. “You’re being too calm about this.”
You smile sadly. “I’m not calm. I’m just… certain.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“Oh, it’s not.” You search for his eyes. “But loving you has never been simple.”
Tears slip down his cheeks now, quiet and unguarded. You brush them away with your thumbs, your own vision blurring at the sight.
“I want to ask you to come with me.”
Your breath catches in your throat. You both know that possibility isn’t even within reach right now. In another life, you would have jumped headfirst with him, wherever life led. But this life has never been easy for the two of you.
“But I know it’s not fair,” he rushes on. “With your job. With Hyunwon. With everything. And if you tell me to turn it down, I will. I swear.”
“No. Don’t you dare.” You cup his face gently, voice firm. “You don’t give this up for me. Not like that.”
“Where does that leave us?” he asks, voice breaking.
You don’t answer immediately, staring at the sky for a moment as if it might have the answer. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I really don’t.”
He nods, closing his eyes as tears spill freely down his face. You don’t even realize you’re crying too until they mingle with his, dampening the fabric of the shirt against his chest. It’s as if you’re both crying for everything, not only for the fact that he’s about to leave the country. And you can see it on his face that Wonwoo feels the same.
“I want to ask you to wait for me. God, I want to. But it doesn’t feel fair to ask that of you after everything.”
“If I could,” you whisper, voice shaking, “I would follow you to the end of the earth. You know that.”
He lets out a fractured sound, a ragged mix of sob and laugh, nodding slowly.
“But I can’t,” you continue. “Not right now.”
Wonwoo presses his forehead to yours, his arms tightening around you like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together, as if letting go could erase every memory you’ve ever made. You can feel the unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat through his chest, wild and pleading.
“We’d figure it out,” you murmur, desperate to bridge the impossible distance between what you want and what you can give. “We always do.”
---
# NAVIGATION | MAIN MASTERLIST | PERMANENT TAGLIST
Every ask & comment gives me life 💗 If you’re enjoying it, don’t forget to reblog, helps so much and gets the fic out there!!
SYNOPSIS.On the night of your eighteenth birthday, you and Wonwoo made a pact to lose your virginities together. Ten years later you're co-parenting your unexpected child while figuring out where you stand with each other.
PARING. Wonwoo x F!Reader
GENRE | TAGS. Smau, series, non idol!au, best friends (idiots) to lovers, unexpected pregnancy, slow burn, angst, pinning, fluff, humor/comedy.
SYNOPSIS. On the night of your eighteenth birthday, you and Wonwoo made a pact to lose your virginities together. Ten years later you're co-parenting your unexpected child while figuring out where you stand with each other.
PARING. Wonwoo x F!Reader
GENRE | TAGS. Smau, series, non idol!au, best friends (idiots) to lovers, unexpected pregnancy, slow burn, angst, pinning, fluff, humor/comedy.
WARNINGS. Heavy angst, emotional whiplash, pregnancy talk (nausea, appointments, baby prep), kid angst, mentions of unprotected sex, condom failure. Y/N is going through emotional hell, but what's new. There's a little spelling mistake.
A/N. After many, many soons, here it is !!
STATUS. On-going.
← PREVIOUS | SERIES MASTERLIST | TAGLIST
---
# NAVIGATION | MAIN MASTERLIST | PERMANENT TAGLIST
Every ask & comment gives me life 💗 If you’re enjoying it, don’t forget to reblog, helps so much and gets the fic out there!!
papo aqui: é muito raro ver no kpop grupos com 7 ou mais de 7 membros durarem por muito tempo, principalmente com a formação original...disband, saída de membro, término de contrato, hiatus e coisas deste tipo sempre acontecem, mas cara, o seventeen me surpreende
eles são família e como o coups disse: para o resto da vida deles
contexto: você é uma artista brasileira famosa. calhou de conhecer mingyu em um desfile da calvin klein, e se apaixonarem. a relação é tratada com bastante esforço, já que são de culturas diferentes, moram em países diferentes… mas tentam ao máximo fazer dar certo, apesar das dificuldades. o natal deste ano, a família dele vem da coreia para o brasil, para conhecer a sua. linguagens diferentes separam as famílias, mas a paixão de vocês dois é maior que qualquer coisa. e é isso que move vocês.
avisos: smut com plot, conteúdo sensível como preconceito entre culturas diferentes, sexo desprotegido, semipublic!sex.
O céu era de um azul nunca antes visto por Mingyu. As árvores eram verdes demais, palmeiras espalhadas por todos os lados, coqueiros, frutíferas, flores. E bem, as montanhas. Uma quantidade enorme de montanhas arborizadas, um frescor típico de um país tropical. Abençoado por Deus. É bonito por natureza.
Era mais um início de verão no Rio de Janeiro, com seu típico calor irreal, praias lotadas de uma água fresca e cristalina; cheirinho de protetor solar e churrasco. Pessoas indo ao shopping de chinelo, e saída de praia, marquinha de sol, e mercados lotados para programação de mais uma ceia.
Ele estava nervoso, não nega. Iria conhecer sua família pela primeira vez, e iria apresentar você a família dele. Tudo de uma só vez. Acharam uma brecha na agenda de ambos, e decidiram aproveitar para juntar ambas.
Leeseo, sua mãe, estava munida de potes congelados de kimchi, japchae, e bulgogi. Não confiava 100% na comida tradicional de outro país, e não estava totalmente feliz de abandonar sua cultura em uma data importante, para cruzar o planeta. Achava que Mingyu seria mais feliz com uma moça de sua própria cultura, de seu próprio país.
Já Minwoo, seu pai, e Minseo, sua irmã mais nova, estavam extremamente animados em estar no Brasil. A atmosfera carioca os encantava, mesmo ainda dentro do transfer, segundo para a casa da namorada de Mingyu, você.
Seus pais, exagerados como sempre, prepararam um banquete. Um peru enorme, salpicão, arroz, farofa, moqueca, churrasco, mesa com buffet japonês fresco… Tudo que pudessem imaginar. Seu irmão mais velho, a esposa, e seu sobrinho já haviam chegado em sua casa, assim como sua avó, e seu avô.
Você estava tensa, temia não agradar a família de Mingyu, temia que sua família fosse invasiva com a dele, já que eram bastante reservados. Queria que tudo fosse perfeito. Você e Mingyu, fluentes em inglês — além de seu irmão, sua cunhada, e a irmã de Mingyu, fariam o trabalho de traduzir o contato entre as famílias. Qualquer palavra errada poderia causar um desastre.
Quando o portão de entrada foi aberto, e o Corolla preto subiu pela entrada, seu coração disparou. O de Mingyu também. Nunca tinha visto uma casa tão grande, uma vista fabulosa de uma extensa praia oceânica, uma piscina de borda infinita imensa, um jardim com paisagismo impecável. A casa tinha detalhes em madeira, em pedra, e bastante vidros. Era uma casa de filme. Ainda tinha a quadra de futebol, e a de tênis. Ouviu sua mãe murmurar algo como “aish, pra que uma casa tão grande?”, mas preferiu ignorar.
Preferiu ignorar, porque quando abriu a porta do carro, deu de cara com você, na escadaria que dava do jardim, para a varanda, ansiosa o esperando, descalça, com uma sainha, e a parte de cima de um biquíni.
Havia te conhecido em um evento da Calvin Klein em Nova York, e depois de uma noite de vinho, muita conversa, e um beijo muito gostoso, com gostinho de quero mais, fora difícil de largar. Trocaram números, mensagens, ligações de horas. E cada país em que estavam próximos era motivo pra uma visita secreta, um encontro, e mais beijos.
Até que em mais um encontro em Milão, após uma semana de moda, ele te levou para um encontro na Torre Eiffel, e te pediu em namoro. Tiveram a primeira vez de vocês, em uma noite íntima e romântica, e ali selaram o pacto de nunca mais se separarem. Sabiam das adversidades que um relacionamento entre duas etnias diferentes apresentava, mas podiam superar. Ou tentariam.
Segurou a vontade de sair correndo até você e te beijar, em respeito aos próprios pais, e aos seus pais. Mas não evitou te abraçar com a maior força possível, respirando seu aroma, sentindo sua pele, e em seguida, seus lábios, com o selinho rápido que você deixou na boca carnudinha.
“— Gyu…” — você murmura. Obviamente meio emotiva, sentindo falta do toque dele, dos beijos dele, do calor da pele dele na sua.
“— Oi, linda…” — a testa colada na sua, o sorrisinho frouxo. “— Que saudade de você.”
Se pudessem ficariam daquele jeito pra sempre. Mas os pais dele já estavam ali, de pé, com suas malas, encarando o afeto trocado dos dois.
“— Olha, essa é minha mãe, Kim Leeseo, meu pai Kim Minwoo, e minha irmã mais nova, que você já falou por telefone, Kim Minseo.” — eles abaixaram os corpos levemente em referente, principalmente Minseo. Você olha curiosa para Mingyu, e repete o gesto. Já havia visto ele fazendo aquele tipo de comprimento.
“— Olha, é um prazer conhecer vocês.” — diz em inglês. Leeseo e Minwoo nada entendem. Minseo sorri, dizendo o quão bonita você é. Se sente grata por receber calor e animação de sua futura cunhada. “— Ahn… Mannaseo bangawoyo.” — diz meio sem graça. Aprendeu a dizer prazer em te conhecer, e mais algumas frases, exatamente para essa ocasião. Seu futuro sogro sorri meio sem graça, e sua futura sogra não esboça uma reação positiva, muito pelo contrário. Ela murmura algo que você não entende.
“— Essa menina é doida? Por que ela está falando de maneira informal comigo?”
“— Omma…” — Mingyu a repreende sem graça. Você nada entende.
“— Fiquem a vontade, vamos entrando. Vou alocar vocês nos quarto, mas antes quero apresentar minha família. Estão todos na churrasqueira.”
E todos estavam lá realmente. Seu pai, sua mãe, seus avós, seu irmão, sua cunhada, e seu pequeno sobrinho.
“— Gente! O Mingyu e a família chegaram.” — você diz com as bochechas vermelhas, não só pelo calor, mas pela timidez de pela primeira vez apresentar um cara pra sua família. “— Esse é o Mingyu, meu namorado. Minseo, a irmã mais nova dele, Minwoo, pai dele, e Leeseo, mãe dele. E essa é a minha família; meu pai, Otávio, minha mãe Alexandra, meu irmão Rafael, minha cunhada Jéssica, meu sobrinho Yuri, e meus avós, Francisco e Helena. Sei que são muitos nomes, mas vamos nos conhecendo melhor durante o feriado.”
Sua família não estava muito diferente da dele. Sua mãe, que exibia um corpo bronzeado em uma saída de praia de luxo, olhou de cima a baixo para Leeseo, capturando cada detalhe da roupa que cobria quase totalmente seu corpo. Ela não estava com calor não? Por Deus! E o idiota do seu irmão segurava o riso, provavelmente pensando em alguma piadinha sem graça sobre pastéis de frango.
A mais simpática era sua avó, uma senhora elegante, educada, e doce. Havia se levantado da cadeira onde estava para iniciar os comprimentos. Após falar com toda a família de Mingyu, fora a vez dele.
“— Seja bem-vindo, meu filho. Espero que você esteja fazendo minha menina muito feliz, viu? Fica a vontade.”
Você traduziu a mensagem carinhosa para o inglês, e assim fora a manhã do dia 24. Traduções, apresentações, e muito, muito, estranhamento.
“— E aqui é o quarto de vocês. Imaginei que Minseo gostaria de ficar junto com os pais, então pedi que preparassem esse quarto com uma cama de casal, e outra de solteiro pra vocês. Tem um banheiro grande, closet, e a varanda é com vista pro mar, e pro jardim.” — você diz, mostrando o quarto, enquanto a família de Mingyu olhava em volta. Ele estava ao seu lado, aguardando ansioso pra ter um momento apenas com você, para poder matar a saudade.
“— Mingyu vai dormir aonde?” — sua sogra pergunta. Novamente você não entende, e olha para Mingyu, esperando uma resposta, que não vem. Ao menos não em inglês, e não para você.
“— Eu vou dormir com ela, Omma.” — foi o que ele disse antes de tomar um tapa no pescoço.
“— Foi essa a educação que eu te dei? Conheceu os pais dela hoje, eu, seu pai, e principalmente sua irmã no quarto ao lado! Aish, você não tem noção? Quer morrer? Você vai dormir com a gente!”
E era melhor nem discutir.
“— O que houve?” — você murmura baixinho, e ele nega com a cabeça, sorrindo sem graça, e te puxando para fora do quarto.
Já no corredor, murmura baixinho:
“— Ela não quer que eu durma com você. Acha que pode ser desrespeitoso com seus pais.”
“— Hein? Não! Claro que não, eles não se importam. Ela não precisa se preocupar com isso.” — você sorri doce, sem ao menos entender a gravidade da situação.
“— E… Ela também disse que não se sente confortável. Que eu durma com você, com ela, meu pai, e minha irmã no quarto ao lado. São umas coisas culturais, e…”
“— Gyu. Sua mãe não gosta de mim, não é?”
“— Princesa. Não diz isso, ela gosta sim, só que é tudo novo pra ela.”
“— Eu sei que ela preferia que você namorasse uma coreana. Não sou boba.”
“— Amor.” — ele segura seu rosto com as duas mãos, e leva seu corpo até a parede, o prensando com o dele. “— Ela pode preferir o que ela quiser. Eu sempre vou preferir você. Eu quero você, eu preciso de você. Eu ‘tô completamente apaixonado por você, e feliz em amar você. Entendido?” — murmura com os lábios coladinhos nos seus, finalizando com um selinho.
“— Entendido.” — você sorri boba.
Como se o dia já não tivesse sido confuso o suficiente, a ceia fora pior. Leeseo apareceu com suas comidas típicas, e se recusou a comer a ceia oferecida. Minwoo além de comer a comida da esposa, comeu a ceia, o buffet, e tudo que podia, e não podia. Terminou a noite com dor de barriga trancado no banheiro do quarto deles. Minseo adorou seu sobrinho. Ficou basicamente responsável por cuidar do pequeno durante toda a ceia, o ninando, brincando, assistindo desenhos. Sua mãe se sentiu profundamente ofendida por Leeseo, e seu pai tentou apaziguar a situação. Seus avós foram dormir cedo, depois do seu avô passar da conta no vinho, e seu irmão e cunhada acompanharam o pequeno bebê para descansarem.
Sua garganta seca, o nariz ardendo, e os olhos vermelhos denunciavam o caos que a noite fora. Você estava extremamente chateada, e era inegável. Sabia que seria uma relação difícil de manejar, mas admite que havia criado outras expectativas. Expectativas positivas, afinal. Sua sogra te odiava, seu sogro estava com dor de barriga, sua mãe super brava, seu avô bêbado… E você só queria que as famílias se dessem bem.
Estava sozinha, sentada em uma espreguiçadeira na beira da piscina, com as luzes apagadas, observando o céu limpo. Haviam tantas e tantas estrelas, satélites passando, aviões em suas rotas. Você suspira. Apesar de tudo se sentia muito grata em estar em casa. Viajar o mundo a trabalho era sensacional, uma oportunidade em um milhão, mas nada era melhor que sua casinha, seu país. E se sentia mal em ter arrastado Mingyu para ali, porque ele provavelmente pensava da mesma maneira. Ainda o fez carregar sua família junto.
Fechou os olhos sentindo mais uma lágrima fujona cair, enquanto a agradável brisa marítima da noite beijava seu rosto com leveza. Ouviu um barulho atrás de si, e não precisou abrir os olhos para saber quem era. O perfume perceptível, impossível de não reconhecer.
“— Mô… Cê tá chorando?” — a voz é baixinha, cuidadosa. Você abre os olhos, o encara com um sorriso triste. Ele havia sentado na beirada da espreguiçadeira.
“— Eu tô bem.” — você garante, mas ele te conhece. Se aproxima, se deitando ao seu lado, e limpando suas lágrimas.
“— Eu sei que não foi o melhor primeiro encontro de famílias, mas vai melhorar.” — acaricia sua bochecha.
“— Eu sei, é só que… Eu esperava outra coisa. Acho que criei expectativas demais.” — sorri triste.
“— Tá tudo bem. Sério. O importante é estarmos juntos. Minseo se divertiu demais, sabia? Ela adorou o Yuri.” — ele diz, e você sorri, desta vez verdadeiramente.
“— Quando sua mãe disse que não iria comer nada, eu achei que o olho da minha mãe ia saltar fora. Meu pai quase se engasgou com a farofa.” — você brinca desta vez.
“— Viu? Uma hora eles se entendem. Vai dar certo, princesa. Te prometo.”
Você o olha. Repara cada partezinha do rosto bonito dele. O cabelo curtinho compõem perfeitamente com o nariz vultuoso, com uma pintinha delicada na ponta. O rosto limpo te chama atenção, sem maquiagem alguma. Ama a feição travessa dele, com os dentinhos de um lobo. Mas não há nada que você ame mais em Mingyu que sua língua presa. É tão, tão fofo.
“— Gyu…” — ele te responde com um ‘hm?’ “— Quer nadar?”
Ele sorri aberto. Era um grande sim. Vocês vão para piscina, ele com a bermuda que estava, e você apenas de calcinha e sutiã. A casa está silenciosa, todos dormindo naquela madrugada, mas o calor carioca ainda era presente. Por isso, um mergulho era bem vindo.
“— Eu nem pude te beijar direito hoje.” — diz tristinho.
“— Então aproveita agora.”
Ele se aproxima de ti, prensa seu corpo na borda da piscina. A respiração quente dele próxima ao seu rosto te faz fechar os olhos instintivamente. Logo os lábios carnudos dele estão colados nos seus. São selinhos castos, todavia. Mas logo ele desliza a língua por sua boca, até beijá-la de verdade. As mãos grandes estão pousadas em sua cintura, aproximando seu corpo, do dele. Suspira com o aperto dele. Mingyu é forte, mas ainda assim consegue ser delicado quando o assunto é você.
Alguns segundos se passam, e você está com as pernas encaixadas no tronco dele, enquanto é amassada de todas as formas possíveis. As mãos dele já desceram de sua cintura há tempos. Antes de chegar até sua bunda, passaram pelo quadril, apenas para pegá-la no colo. Agora já estavam ofegantes, o beijo carregado de saudade, vontade, amor.
“— Amor… Melhor pararmos.” — ele murmura com os lábios colados nos seus. Já é evidente o quão duro ele está, o pau marcado na bermuda roçando bem no seu pontinho, ainda por cima da calcinha. Você, tão afetada quanto ele.
“— Por que?” — pergunta, manhosa.
“— Não vou aguentar continuar te beijando sem acabar comendo você aqui na piscina mesmo.” — diz baixinho, te fazendo pulsar.
“— E quem disse que você não pode? Me come, Gyu. Aqui mesmo. Eu tô com tanta saudade.” — você diz. Mesmo sem enxergar direito, sente os olhos de Mingyu nublarem. Ele torna a te beijar, desta vez com mais vontade, sem nenhum impedimento. Passa a se esfregar em você com mais força, te fazendo soltar resmungos baixinhos, implorando por mais contato.
Se arrepia quando o sente descer a própria bermuda, o pau teso salta em sua virilha, enquanto ele continua te beijando. Ele suspira em alívio, finamente livre para seu toque. Segura o próprio pau com a destra, enquanto a canhota coloca sua calcinha para o ladinho. Roça a cabecinha por sua fenda babada, com o cenho franzido pelo tesão acumulado. Entra em você aos poucos, centímetro por centímetro, gemendo baixinho sem vergonha alguma, uníssono com você.
“— Gyu…” — geme baixinho o apelido dele.
“— Eu sei, amor, eu sei.” — diz com dificuldade, tão afetado quanto, te pegando no colo contra a borda novamente, para poder meter em você. “— Tão gostosa, tão feita pra mim. Você é minha, toda minha.”
As investidas são lentas, mas profundas. São só vocês dois ali, a brisa gostosa, o barulho das ondas, e os gemidos baixos. As testas coladas tornam o ambiente íntimo, romântico. Ele aumenta as estocadas, encaixando o rostinho contorcido pelo prazer em seu pescoço. A respiração quente dele em sua nuca te faz arrepiar ainda mais, com os gemidos dengosos dele em seu ouvido. Segura com força os cabelos dele, tentando puxar ainda mais o corpo musculoso para perto.
A maneira que a pelve dele roça perfeitamente em seu pontinho te põem bem mais próxima de um orgasmo iminente. Não resiste a passar as unhas pelas costas largas, mas quanto mais se aproxima do orgasmo, mais força usa. Depois provavelmente se arrependeria dos arranhados, mas naquele momento não. Não enquanto recebia mordiscos no pescoço, não enquanto estava sendo tão bem preenchida por ele. Não enquanto as bolas cheias dele batiam em você repetidamente.
Palavras desconexas saiam da boquinha dele, “princesa, minha linda… te amo, caralho… que buceta gostosa, que saudade que eu tava de te comer assim… você é tudo pra mim. porra… você me engole tão bem, tão apertadinha”, e todo o mundo ao redor parecia ter sumido. A mãe dele poderia ate estar olhando pela varanda, que vocês não ligariam, não parariam.
O orgasmo chega avassalador, com seu interior mastigando o membro de Mingyu, o trazendo ao ápice com você. Ele jorra em jatos longos dentro de ti, o corpo tremendo, quente, tentando ao máximo prolongar o momento gostoso.
Até normalizarem as respirações, continuam na mesma posição. Você no colo dele, com ele dentro. Sorriem juntos, selando o momento com mais um beijo casto.
“— Eu te amo. Lembra sempre disso, tá? Não existe nada mais importante que isso. Eu amo você, e vou fazer de tudo pra te fazer a mulher mais feliz do mundo. Prometo ser o homem perfeito pra você. Porque você é perfeita pra mim. Ta?” — ele diz, e você com um biquinho nos lábios, e os olhos cheios de água, concorda com a cabeça.
“— Você já é o homem perfeito pra mim. Vamos fazer dar certo.”
“— Vamos fazer dar certo.” — ele repete.
A madrugada segue com vocês nadando na piscina vazia, trocando carinhos, palavras de amor, e conversando trivialidades. Sempre iria se lembrar daquele céu estrelado, e de Mingyu com a cabeça recostadinha em seu peito, recebendo um cafuné seu, enquanto conta coisas bobas. Saem da piscina próximos ao amanhecer, e mesmo com muita vontade de chutar o balde e dormir agarradinho com você, ele respeita seu pedido de acatar a ordem de sua mãe, e ir dormir com sua família, afim de evitar confusão.
Mas chegando no quarto, se jogando no colchão no chão, sem camisa, ainda com o corpo meio molhado, Leeseo o observa. Os arranhões frescos nas costas, o sorriso bobo nos lábios, a feição tranquila e feliz. Se sente uma péssima mãe. Seu filho estava visivelmente amando, e sendo amado, e ela querendo destruir a felicidade dele por puro capricho. O que importa se você não era coreana, não seguia a cultura e os padrões? Seu filho estava feliz. Mingyu estava sendo bem cuidado, tinha uma mulher carinhosa ao seu lado, e mais importante que qualquer princípio, era isso. Amá-lo. E você fazia isso muito bem.
Decidiu por si só que dia vinte e cinco seria diferente. Foi a primeira a se levantar, e colocou para seu café da manhã comidas típicas brasileiras. Era o seu sinal de paz, e deu certo, já que assim que sua mãe desceu, ficou encantada ao vê-la comendo de tudo um pouco. A comunicação entre as duas fora limitada, mas Mingyu e você ficaram felizes em vê-las tentando uma conversa, e comendo juntas. O resto do dia fora tranquilo, bem melhor que o dia anterior. Mingyu parecia explodir de felicidade ao ver a família tentando se incluir, e sendo tão bem acolhida.
No fim da tarde, Leeseo fora até seu filho, dando um tapinha em suas costas.
“— Quero te pedir desculpas.” — Mingyu arregalou seus olhos. Nunca havia escutado aquilo vindo de sua mãe.
“— Omma…?”
“— Essa moça te faz feliz, e sua omma entende o quão difícil essa vida de artista pode ser… Nunca te vi com nenhuma namorada, e me assustei um pouco quando a primeira menina que você nos apresentou veio de um país tão longe. Mas sou sua mãe, e a sua felicidade é a minha. Se ela te faz feliz, eu como mãe, devo apoiar, e prezar por te ver desse jeito. Alegre. Vivo.”
“— Omma, eu.. Eu realmente a amo. Tô feliz, tô apaixonado, eu gosto demais dela. Pra mim é importante que você saiba e entenda isso. Obrigado.” — ele a reverência levemente.
“— Mas não quero o senhor dormindo enfiado no quarto dela. Ainda estamos na casa dos pais dela e devemos respeito. Ainda tem sua irmã que é uma adolescente, e não precisa ver o irmão dela se agarrando com a namorada. Entendeu?” — tenta soar séria, mas Mingyu está tão feliz que apenas sorri concordando, e se lembrando da madrugada deliciosa e secreta que teve com você na piscina. “— E pede pra ela maneirar nos arranhões da próxima vez.”
O sorriso dele some na mesma hora que ele entende que a mãe dele percebeu. Desta vez ela que sorri, escondido, achando graça do espanto do filho.
Aquele havia sido apenas o início, de uma vida inteira ao lado dele. Com dificuldades, planejamento e um manejo diferenciado, mas que com amor, tudo dava certo.
genres/tags: soulmate au, idol au, comedy, romance, dumbassery
relationship(s): ot13 x reader
chapter warnings: coarse language. kithing. a liiitle svt on svt violence
note: ik it's been a long time please be nice to me <3 (this isn't edited... I'll take a look at it when I have the time)
When soulmates are suddenly thrust upon the world, you are one in a million who wishes they weren’t – and that’s before you meet the person (people?!) making your life much harder than it needs to be. And before someone asks you to sign an NDA.
series masterlist
prev ⭒ chapter seven (4.0k) ⭒ next
“Where are they?” Myungjun asks as soon as Jihoon and Junhui enter the room they agreed upon.
Junhui braces both of his arms on the back of a chair. “What do you mean?”
“Your soulmate—” Cutting himself off with a sigh, Myungjun pinches the bridge of his nose and answers his own question. “You didn’t bring them.”
Yejung, who was sitting at a table with her laptop, shuts it with a frown. “Why not?”
Junhui shrugs. “I’m just here because Jihoon dragged me out.” He shifts between looking at the three other people in the room. “You guys know I just met my soulmate, right? I don’t like not having them here with me, either.”
“Well then why didn’t you—”
“They don’t know.” Jihoon cuts off Myungjun’s words, then pulls out a chair and drops himself in it. He stares at a random spot on the table. When he doesn’t elaborate any further, Yejung sends a furtive glance Myungjun’s way.
“Don’t know…” She leans her forearms on the table and scoots her chair closer. “...what? That you’re their soulmate? That there’s more than one of you? That you’re famous?”
Junhui snorts. “All of the above?”
At Junhui's quip and Jihoon's continued silence, Myungjun raises a cynical brow.
Junhui's eyes skirt to Jihoon; he's unwilling to share his own reasons, though he doesn't quite understand this about himself, either.
Jihoon sighs. "I don't know. It's complicated. Things happened too fast the first time we—"
"The first time?" Myungjun echoes. "So you've been with them multiple times."
“Don’t say it like that.” Jihoon almost pouts, but the facial expression just makes him look angry. “Look. I ran into them when the vocal team was on the way to that radio show. We’d stopped by a cafe and there wasn’t much time and I was so out of my mind that I—” He cuts himself off. “It doesn’t matter. I got their number, and then they left. I asked to meet today and we did. Jun was already there for…” With his arms crossed, Jihoon looks over at Junhui, remembering that he still doesn’t really know what Junhui was doing at the same cafe you apparently frequent. Is this the same cat cafe Junhui is always talking about? “…some reason. Then someone started singing, and they told us their soulmate is stupid and annoying because their mark…”
“It’s not like ours,” Junhui finishes for Jihoon, though this only deepens the confusion written on Yejung and Myungjun’s faces.
“If it's not like yours, then how do you know they're your—”
“It's them, Hyung.” Jihoon can't help noticing the hopelessness in his own voice. It's you. He knows it's you.
But you don't know it's them— him.
And he's not sure you want to know.
“Their mark, like, grows,” Junhui explains. “Ours just stay on our hands, but when one of us sings, the notes go all over their arms and neck. Maybe other places — I don’t know — but they obviously don’t think it’s either of us since we weren’t singing when their mark did its thing.”
“So…” Myungjun crosses his arms and taps his finger on his bicep. “They don't like their mark.”
Junhui doesn't nod right away, but he does eventually.
Myungjun turns to Jihoon. “And you think that means they don't like you.”
Groaning and rubbing his hands over his face, Jihoon doesn't dignify that with a response. “Even if they did like their mark, it’s an insane situation. Thirteen soulmates? They’re gonna run for the hills when they find out.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” Yejung says, to which Jihoon gives her a dry look and Junhui’s eyes light up. She clears her throat. “We just need to find a way to calmly inform them of the situation — preferably in a safe, comfortable environment.”
Myungjun recognizes a Yejung Game Plan brewing when he sees it. “Basically, what she’s saying is…”
“Let me talk to them.” Yejung opens her laptop again and begins typing away. “We just need to go about this in a calm, logical manner.” She gives a little nonchalant wave of her hand. “This’ll be easier than a design meeting.”
⭒
You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, arms crossed, legs too, as you stare down at the shiny black credit card lying there between you and Heejun. His position mirrors yours, head tilted while he studies the card.
“It could be fake,” you say. Your knee bounces up and down, up and down.
Heejun lifts his head to give you a look. “Why would it be fake?”
“He said he doesn’t believe in banks.”
“It doesn’t look fake.” Heejun reaches out and takes the card, flipping it over in his fingers to read the back. “Looks like any other credit card. We should test it.”
You frown. “How?”
“Uh,” Heejun speaks like the answer is obvious. “Buy something?”
Okay, it is obvious, but the idea doesn’t sit too well with you. “Isn’t that stealing?”
“He gave you the card.”
“Yeah, but the police don’t know that,” you argue. “If I got charged for fraud, it would be his word against mine— no one would believe coffee guy just handed me his black card.”
Without moving his head, Heejun glances up from the card to look at you. "Why would he lie?"
"Um, because he already has? Who knows— maybe this card is connected to illicit activities and he planted it on me to implicate me."
“Which he would do because…?”
You throw your hands up in the air, then let them drop emphatically at your side. “I don’t know! Why did he do any of what he did?”
He raises a brow. “Because he’s a weirdo who likes you?”
“Okay but have you ever given your credit card to a person you’ve only met twice?”
Heejun’s shoulders rise in a shrug. “I’ve wanted to.”
“Seriously?” You can’t imagine your friend going that gaga over a crush, but then again, there was that girl in fourth grade whom he gave all his choco pies to. Heejun loves choco pies.
“Mine would decline though. It wouldn’t exactly impress.”
You lightly shove his shoulder. “Oh come on, it wouldn’t decline.”
“It would if they went over the limit. People only give people their credit cards for expensive stuff. You know that, right?”
The black card gleams up at you, almost tauntingly.
“Expensive stuff like what?”
He shrugs again. “Like a car?”
“You’ve been watching too many CEO dramas.” You exhale and place both hands on the floor with a pointed slam. Standing, you pick the credit card up and brush imaginary dirt off your pants.
“You won’t be so sarcastic when Park Seojoon tells you to keep that thing.”
You roll your eyes as you toss the card into the same trinket dish you keep your keys and other miscellaneous things in. “Isn’t that guy like six foot?”
“So was Huijun,” he counters.
“So are you. Is that all it takes to be a CEO nowadays?” you joke, pulling out your phone. “Height?”
Heejun scoffs, then frames his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “That and my devilish good looks.”
“Please.” You tap on a notification from an unknown number. “If that were true, you’d be the one handing out black…cards…”
At the way you trail off, Heejun furrows his brow and walks over to you. “What’s up? Did you fall for another online scam?”
Not this again. “Okay, first of all, that was not a scam, and I did not fall for it—”
“You didn’t fall for a not scam?”
“Shut up. What do you think this means?” You turn your phone towards him, and he takes it from your unsteady hand.
He reads aloud. “‘Hello, this is Shin Yejung of Pledis Entertainment.’ Did you apply there?”
“No,” you say, then shake your head and wave your hand. “I mean. I don’t know. Maybe. I applied to like five hundred places. But this isn’t that. Keep reading.”
Heejun takes a breath and starts reading like he’s holding a new edict. “‘It has come to my attention that you are in possession of one of my coworker’s bank cards.’ Oooooh, you’re in trouble.” He drags out the last syllable. “‘Please meet me at…’ whatever building, numbers numbers numbers… ‘so I can retrieve it. Please reply to this number for more information, and thank you for your time.’ Hm.”
“What do you think… am I getting arrested?”
Lowering your phone, Heejun gives you a seriously? look over it. “The cops are texting criminals now?”
“So you agree I’m a criminal.”
“You get annoying when you’re nervous, you know that?” When you roll your eyes, Heejun mirrors the expression and pokes your forehead long enough that he pushes you backward. “Look bub, you wanted to give the stupid thing back without using it, and now the opportunity has been handed right to you.” He waves your phone in the air like evidence. “The only question is why coffee guy didn’t just text you himself.”
You cross your arms. “Maybe he doesn’t like me as much as you thought.”
“One more self-deprecating comment out of you and I’m posting those pictures from your twentieth birthday.”
A gasp wrenches from your throat. “You wouldn’t!”
⭒
Joshua Hong doesn’t think he has that many unread messages on his phone.
He looks down.
Oof. 682.
Well, it’s not his worst.
Notifications fly by at the top of his screen.
[vernon] where is this guy
[chan] hyung this is important!!
[wonwoo] when have we known that guy to answer anything
[soonyoung] someone text yejung!!
It’s probably not that important, whoever they’re talking about. His members are likely just freaking out over this whole soulmate thing again.
Joshua lifts his hand and stares at his weird, natural — supernatural — tattoo. He still can’t bring himself to believe it.
Soulmates? Really? In this economy? This isn’t Tumblr.
At least… Joshua looks around the dance practice room… He’s pretty sure this isn’t Tumblr.
His phone rings, which is weird since he always has it on silent. Sliding the answer button, he brings the phone up to his ear. “Yejung?”
“Where are you?”
“The practice room,” Joshua answers plainly. “Isn’t this where we’re supposed to be today?”
Yejung sighs on the other end of the line. “I said in the group chat that we were dealing with soulmate stuff. Upstairs.”
Ah, so that’s what has everyone in a tizzy. “Alright, okay. Where am I going?”
“Room eight-thirteen—” He hangs up and starts to pack his things before Yejung can say, “Wait, no, nine-thirteen. We'll start when you arrive. Joshua? Hello?”
⭒
You check your phone for what must be upwards of the fifth time.
Yup, Shin Yejung of Pledis Entertainment definitely told you to meet her in room 813, and yet here you are. In room 813. Alone.
You shift on the leather couch. It’s a lounge-like room you’re in. You don’t really understand the purpose of such a room in an entertainment company, but whatever. You’re only here to return something you never should’ve had in the first place.
Although…
You turn the card over in your hand, watching the way the fancy lighting bounces off of it.
Why would Jihoon give it to you if he was just going to get it back like this?
Also, now that you really think about it, Jihoon did say something weird when he left yesterday with Huijun. Something about not letting “the rest” scare you off. Whatever that means.
The rest of what?
Or… whom?
You know Jihoon must work for the company in some capacity. The fact that both he and Huijun were wearing masks makes you think they could be artists…
Oh. Duh. Why didn’t you think of this earlier?
Switching apps, you tap the search bar and start typing. Just as you’re done with the last character of Jihoon HYBE, the door you entered through opens. You hastily slip your phone into your back pocket as you stand to greet the person coming in.
“Hello, you must be…” Your eyes scan over his face. He’s… delicate looking, until you move your gaze downwards a little, and his broad shoulders and thick arms are decidedly not delicate looking. “…Shin Yejung?”
You tilt your head. With no mask on the lower half of his face, he seems familiar. Now this guy must be an idol — you probably saw him on the walls when you were making your way through this maze of a building.
He just raises a brow. “Who are you?”
“Oh, uh…” You stay standing in front of the couch as he approaches you, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m just here to return this.” Lifting the black card up, you hold it out between you and the man. “It’s Jihoon’s.”
“Jihoon’s?” he echoes, then moves to take the card from you, pinched between his thumb and forefinger.
You both see it at the same time.
His mark, five black lines, clear as day.
Yours, peeking out from where your sleeve is pulled halfway up your hand.
You look up from your not-really-joined hands, then look down again.
No fucking way.
“Twinkle twinkle, little—” The notes, whatever they are, dance across his mark.
No fucking way.
You meet his eyes. “...Songbird?”
He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. A few too many seconds.
Then, “So it’s you.”
“Holy—!”
At the same time as you try to jerk away, he attempts to turn your hand over and get a better look. Neither plan really works out. You stumble backwards, and with your hand in his, he gets pulled down with you onto the couch. His free hand shoots out to keep himself from slamming into you, but, persistent as the universe is, your faces end up very freaking close to each other anyway. Warmth from his knee on the couch cushion next to your thigh seeps through your clothing.
He doesn’t move. You don’t either.
For some reason, you feel stuck in place. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but… you just feel like you should be exactly where you are.
You’re almost too close to make real eye contact, so you just watch the way his eyes study yours.
“Songbird?” you whisper, though you have no idea what you’re trying to ask.
He stops analyzing you and finally looks at you. “Yeah?”
“…Are you leaning towards me on purpose?”
His lips (since when were you looking at those?) curl down at the corners. “Are you?”
Slowly, like your mind is trying to catch up to your body, you shake your head. “No…”
He drifts closer. Or you do. Or you both do.
Or something.
Your lips brush over his, and you feel just as much as you hear him whisper. “Then neither am I.”
In the span of a second, his free hand moves from the back of the couch to cradle your jaw, his thumb grazing gently just under your ear. He kisses you, lips moving over yours in a way you’ve felt before, but also in a way you’ve never felt before.
It’s strange.
Not bad strange, but strange in the way that it feels like you’ve just put the last of the groceries in the fridge. It’s like folding that final piece of laundry. Like coming home to the bed you made when you left in the morning.
It’s… satisfactory?
But that’s not the word people normally use when they think of putting their tongue in someone else’s mouth, right?
You’re running out of breath, but Songbird is insistent, and so are his lips, which you find yourself unable to get enough of. He pulls back for half a breath, registers your kiss me again or so help me facial expression, and dives right back in. He’s kissing you and you’re kissing him and you’re soulmates and…
Wait.
Soulmates?
“Wait,” you say, though it comes out more like, “Mmaem” Climbing both your hands up his — whoa — strong arms, you cup his cheeks in preparation to push him away, but he seems to like your touch. He covers the back of one of your hands with his warm palm, and he hums in a way that is not PG-13.
The sound has you melting, unfortunately.
Not for long though.
He’s ripped from you just as quickly as he fell onto you, pulled back by some guy with fluffy black hair, cozy attire head to toe, and… shit, a you’re in trouble glare the likes of which you’ve never seen before. He’s not even looking at you, yet you feel scolded.
“Yah!” he yells at your soulmate, who’s now on the floor. Then, after glancing at you for half a second and apparently finding zero more words to say, he shouts at him again. “Yah!”
Your soulmate opens his mouth, but then he turns to look at the now-open door, which leads you to do the same. A mob of prettyboys stands just outside, some with their jaws dropped and some looking like murder just got legalized and they’re on the prowl.
Someone’s despondent voice shouts, “Hyung!”
You feel like hiding under a blanket. Before your flight instinct kicks in, though, you recognize two familiar faces. “Jihoon?” His eyes meet yours when you say his name. “Huijun?”
One of the many boys among those you don't recognize echoes, “Huijun?” while sending him a weird look.
Someone pushes through the crowd — more like slinks through, occasionally nudging one of the other guys out of the way. His eyes stay firmly on you as he approaches, but you find no fear rising despite that. For some unknown reason, even as this completely unfamiliar man strides over to you with a frankly alarming amount of eye contact, you feel… safe.
Or at least, something close to it.
He kneels in front of where you're still seated on the leather couch, hand resting mere centimetres from leg. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice slightly nasal, but so, so gentle.
“Uhh…” Self conscious, you wipe at the corner of your mouth with your sleeve. You spot your soulmate catch you doing so, and a look of hurt crosses his face. His own reaction, though, seems to startle him, and his hand rises to gently prod his shiny bottom lip with one of his fingers. He looks confused.
Well, that makes two of you.
Taking in the man right in front of you — pretty, lithe, concerned for you despite his unfamiliarity — you fail to answer his question. “Are… you Shin Yejung?”
He lets out a laugh, relieved, maybe, that you're not not okay. “Jeonghan,” he says simply.
You nod. “Jeonghan.”
At your voice echoing his name, the man’s eyes light up. “Yes?”
“Oh, uh…” You weren’t trying to call on him for anything, but as you study his gaze, you find yourself lost in his confident ease. Something in his eyes says that he knew this would happen.
Maybe not this, exactly — your soulmate has found a spot on the floor and has not stopped staring at it, while the rest of the strangers are still watching you — but taking up the same space as you, facing you, smiling at you with a soft quirk at the corners of his lips.
“Ugh!” A woman’s exasperated voice makes you look up at the crowd by the door. “Get— out of the way, you… ugh—” She breaks through, pushing aside a tall guy who looks like he’s about to cry. “—you men!”
Stumbling to her feet, she rights herself and brushes her bangs out of her face with a huff. “Now, what is—” She spots your soulmate still on his ass and mutters something you’re pretty sure can’t be aired on any broadcasting network. “...my life.”
Your eyes meet hers as she takes another breath. “Please tell me you’re Shin Yejung.”
“Yes, we spoke over the phone.”
“Thank god.” Shaking off all the weird feelings you’d accumulated in the last — what? Two minutes? — you stand from the couch and sidestep Jeonghan. The black card fell at some point during that lapse of judgement (aka kiss), so you swipe it up off the floor and hold it out to her with no preamble. “I swear I’m not a stalker fan or anything. And I didn’t use it, so…”
You glance over at Jihoon, whose expression gives off an oncoming panic. Is he scared to see you? Why? Huijun looks just fine, happy even, with you here. You can practically hear the ‘hello’ he wants to say out loud.
You clear your throat. “Anyway, um. I didn’t mean to, uh…” As you nervously cross your arms, you nod towards your soulmate. “I’m his— I mean, we are… sorry. This is… I wasn’t exactly expecting to find the person who’s…”
Maybe you shouldn’t say you’ve been annoyed by your soulmate since you got your stupid mark. At least not while he’s in the room.
“That’s actually what I brought you here to talk about,” Shin Yejung tells you, a bit like a doctor who’s about to deliver the bad news first. She doesn’t even take the card from you. “Would you like to take a seat?”
You scrunch your eyes shut for a second with a little shake of your head, trying to manual reset your brain because clearly it’s still muddled. “Sorry, what? You want to talk about…?”
The mob of men in the room get hidden from your vision as Yejung strategically places herself between them and you. “Soulmates,” she says.
You look down at the black card, then back up at her again. “Soulmates.”
“Yes. Your soulmates. I was hoping to talk to you alone first.” She sends a pointed look at the men behind her. “But it’s not exactly easy to get these guys to lis—”
“Sorry.” You wave a hand in the air to get her to stop, unable to comprehend any of her words after— “Did you say my soulmates? As in… mates, multiple? Mates with an S at the end? I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
Remaining calm while your mind spins, Yejung nods. “I know this is a lot to take in.”
“Know what is a lot to take in?”
Yejung opens her mouth to answer, but a voice blurts out behind her, “We’re your soulmates!”
Maybe you haven’t known him long enough or talked to him that many times, but you recognize Jihoon’s voice, and something in your gut suddenly grows sharp. Not painful, but begging for you to feel it. Yejung shifts so your field of view is once again filled by men too pretty to be all in the same room. Jihoon’s standing there, fists clenched at his sides, out of breath for no discernable reason other than…
We’re your soulmates.
Seeing your hesitation, Jihoon huffs and tears a bandaid you never really noticed off the back of his right hand. Even before he completes the motion, you know what must be under the bandage. He holds his hand up, though, and the evidence is very near damning.
Next to him, Huijun smiles and lifts his arm, pointing to his own five lines with his opposite hand.
Most of the guys behind them show you the same thing. Five lines on the smooth backs of their hands, near the base of the thumb. Dear lord, you don’t even know how many of them there are.
The angry one who pulled the man off of you earlier, at least, just looks lost, like he once had control and now has none. Relatable.
You stumble back a bit. Instinctively, you say, “Songbird?”
Though quite a few of the men seem to perk up at the nickname, only the one you already gave the moniker to truly reacts. Your soulmate — god, one of your soulmates? — looks up at you from the floor and answers, “Yeah?” before realizing he’s even doing it.
“Never mind,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “Ms Shin?”
“Yes?” She steps closer, a worried look on her face.
Jeonghan, too, moves toward you with a similar look on his face.
You try to take a steady breath and fail. “I think I’ll take that seat now.”
Swaying backward, your body falls onto the leather couch.
You hear approximately ten panicked shouts as you go down.
prev ⭒ chapter seven (4.0k) ⭒ next
new chapters for atus are not on a schedule nor guaranteed. there is no taglist. thank you for reading!
contains: smau, guitarinstructor!vernon, bestfriend!dino, vernon and reader both try to act nonchalant but are very much chalant, college au, bestfriend!seungkwan, they aren’t dating but they should be
🎐 thanks for reading , please enjoy ! feedback and reblogs appreciated 🏷️ - @starmessngr410
to escrevendo uma coisinha com o woozi, ai eu fico olhando pra essa foto dele pra ter inspiração... (estou a mais tempo olhando para a foto do que para o texto de fato...)
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