[healingpage]

ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢᴘᴀɢᴇ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ʙʟᴏᴏᴍ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅꜱ — ᴀ ꜱᴀɴᴄᴛᴜᴀʀʏ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴛᴏʀɪᴇꜱ ꜱᴛɪᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱᴏʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏᴜʟ.

𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵

𝘸𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦,

𝘸𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦

𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵,

𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩

[healingpage]

𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗿𝗲𝘀 (𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶'𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝘁𝗲) - 𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗶 𝘆𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗷𝘂𝗻 | 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 2

ꕥ summary: she meets him once and thinks he’s… nice. maybe too nice. then life of a broke student catches up, late rent, bills piling high, and he notices. he offers help, but the terms make her blood boil, and she walks away, stubborn and proud. later, she’s a med student, juggling patients and internships, when she ends up caring for the important person in his life she never expected to impress: his grandmother. boundaries are clear, rules carefully followed, yet small gestures, quiet moments, and stolen glances slowly chip away at them both. and somehow, despite everything, something grows that neither of them can ignore.

ꕥ pairing: txt yeonjun x f!reader

ꕥ tags: romance, angst, fluff, eventual smut, strangers to lovers, power imbalance. slow burn, slice of life pg-13 for this chapter

ꕥ wc: 11.2k

ꕥ notes: guys! it's been so long!! so much happened and i am so glad to share that i finished my last law school semester so updates after this will probably go much faster than before :D i am also so excited to become a lawyer hopefully by the end of next year!!

TAGLIST ARE OPEN : @junnielvr @ssdandelion177

The afternoon sun filters in, pale and honeyed, slipping through the blinds of the bedroom in thin, quiet lines. Halmeoni is napping, her chest rising and falling in a fragile, steady rhythm that fills the room with a kind of careful peace.

You sit in the armchair by the window in the living room, buried deep in a massive, dog-eared textbook on neuroanatomy, the pages heavy in your hands. There is a sudden quiz the next morning, so in between checking Halmoni’s meds, you try to cram whatever might appear on that paper. Your highlighter is nearly dried out, the ink fading no matter how many times you drag it across the same sentence, and your neck aches like it’s rusted into place. Across from you, on the small sofa, Choi Yeonjun is taking a call for the nth time today, each time work related. He is supposedly working on his laptop, but the screen has already dimmed to black minutes ago.

He is watching you. You don’t notice, your eyes still locked on the page, your brows pulling together as you try to force meaning out of words that refuse to settle.

“You’ve been on that same page for twenty minutes,” he says softly, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the textbook contents.

You don’t look up, though your heart stumbles anyway. “It’s just a complicated subtopic, Yeonjun.”

“I think you’re exhausted,” he says, and this time there’s no edge to it, no teasing, just something quieter, something that lingers. He stands, putting down his laptop on the table’s surface, the fabric of his trousers shifting softly, and walks toward the small kitchen tucked into the corner. “I’m getting you coffee.”

“I don’t need—”

“You do.” He glances back, a small, almost self-conscious smile tugging at his lips. “And don’t worry. I’m making it myself using whatever’s in the pantry. I’m not hiring any staff this time.”

It lands like a joke, but softer, like he’s still trying to make up for something without saying it outright. He’s got your attention now as you fold down the corner of the page, letting the book shut. You watch him for a moment, the way he fumbles with the machine, movements slightly uncertain, like this is unfamiliar territory for him. Someone who can probably navigate rooms full of executives without blinking, now contemplating his next steps over a French press like it might betray him. You could not help but softly giggle at the way his mouth pouts when he’s focusing, making Yeonjun turn to look at you, and you hurriedly avoid eye contact, holding back the smile.

When he finally walks back over, he sets a steaming mug beside your book, careful, almost deliberate. As he does, his fingers brush against yours. It’s brief, barely there, but it lingers in a way it shouldn’t, like the air shifts around it. Both of you still for a second, the quiet stretching just a little longer than usual. Something unspoken sits between you, soft but noticeable, blurring the edges of everything else.

A loud ring from his phone, and being followed by his Macbook after just one second startled the both of you. His hand moves further as Yeonjun stands up right, a heavy breath escalates from him as he picks up his phone. The conversation seems quite tense, his voice sounding like he’s one second away from scolding the poor caller.

“Right, I’ll call you back once it’s done, and I’m only getting there tomorrow morning the earliest.” The call ends abruptly after, and you awkwardly gutters up the courage to ask. “Why are you still here, Yeonjun?” you ask quietly, finally looking up to him. “The helpers and I can watch her. Your assistant has called you five times.”

His gaze meets yours, steady, stripped of the usual ease he carries around.

“Because the board meetings and my office are uncomfortably loud,” he says, his voice lower now, more honest than you expect. “And the house is quiet. But here… with you and Halmeoni… it feels different. Like I don’t have to be a ‘Choi.’” He pauses, then adds, softer, “I can just be here, take my time doing work. Having you around.”

Something feels tight in your chest hearing that last sentence, something you don’t quite want to name. For a moment, it feels easy to stay like this, to let the silence settle around the two of you without pushing it away. Then your eyes catch the cufflink at his sleeve, gold catching the light, then his watch, carefully crafted, polished, precise, belonging to a world that has never once made space for you.

“Don’t,” you say, your voice even softer now, but unsteady. “Don’t make this into something.”

He glances down briefly at where your hand was, something flickering across his expression before it smooths out again. He nods once, small, controlled.

“Right,” he says, stepping back just enough. “Boundaries.”

---

The heavy oak front door clicks shut behind you with a muted thud that echoes through the cavernous foyer. Every joint in your body throbs with a dull, persistent ache, the residue of an eighteen-hour shift in an overcrowded emergency room where the air smells eternally of rubbing alcohol, old floor wax, and adrenaline. Your feet feel uncomfortable inside your sneakers, knees stiff as you kick off your shoes and lean heavily against the cold drywall, letting out a breath so long and weary it feels as though it pulls the last bit of warmth right out of your lungs. The white coat seems heavier than usual and you quickly remove it from your shoulder, hanging them on the rack by the door. Your stomach churns, empty since an energy bar at mid-day, letting out a sharp, hollow growl that sounds ridiculously loud in the sterile silence of the high-rise penthouse.

You enter into the living room, where you spot Yeonjun sitting on the edge of the deep charcoal sofa, his laptop resting across his knees, illuminating the sharp angles of his cheekbones in the dim, ambient cove lighting. His tie is loosened into a relaxed loop, the top two buttons of his tailored oxford shirt unfastened to reveal the hollow of his collarbone. He’s at his usual after office hours shift at home, not even having an outfit change. 

The moment the lock turns, Yeonjun’s dark eyes already snap toward the entryway, instantly absorbing the curve of your slumped shoulders, the faint dark smudges beneath your eyes, and the way you drag your feet across the polished floor.

"Rough shift?" he asks, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling timbre that seems to vibrate gently through the quiet room.

"I think my stomach has officially begun digesting its own lining," you groan, pressing the flat of your hand against your ribs as you bypass him entirely, heading straight for the massive, stainless-steel refrigerator that dominates the kitchen wall. "Tell me you have something. Anything. Cold rice, leftover soup, a piece of stale bread—I might even eat raw eggs at this point."

You pull open the heavy door. A pristine, blue-white light floods the kitchen, highlighting a scene of immaculate emptiness. Beyond three identical glass bottles of sparkling mineral water stacked in a wire rack, a small jar of artisanal cold brew, and a single lemon sitting in solitary confinement on the middle shelf, the vast interior is entirely barren. You stand frozen for a beat, the frigid air washing over your face, before snapping the door shut and spinning around to throw open the high wooden pantry cabinets. Row after row of minimalist oak shelves greet you, bare, save for a glass canister of loose-leaf jasmine tea and a dark bottle of unnecessary Italy imported olive oil.

"Yeonjun," you say slowly, turning around to face him with your arms resting against the edge of the marble island, staring at him in absolute disbelief. "Where is the food?"

He halts a few feet away, a sheepish, almost boyish flush rising along his neck as his hand comes up to scratch at the back of his scalp. "The housekeeping aunty usually restocks the pantry on Thursdays," he admits, his jaw tightening slightly in self-conscious embarrassment. "I canceled them yesterday morning because you were sleeping off your night shift. I knew how exhausted you were, and I didn't want the noise of her unpacking groceries to wake you up."

"Not even instant ramen?" you gasp, dropping to your knees to pull open the bottom drawers of the island, finding only neatly stacked cloth napkins and a set of crystal whiskey glasses. "How does a multi-million-won penthouse in the heart of the city not have a single packet of instant noodles? Isn't that a mandatory emergency supply?"

"I... don't generally eat instant ramen at home," he confesses quietly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he takes in your desperate search. "I can call my personal assistant right now. Or order from that twenty-four-hour French bistro down on the boulevard—they have a bone marrow risotto that—"

"No," you interrupt, standing up so fast your head swims for a brief second. Your stomach betrays you again, letting out another ferocious rumble that causes his lips to twitch with the barest hint of a suppressed smile. "By the time a delivery driver navigates security and gets up the elevator, I will have passed out on this marble floor. That’s fine. I’m going out."

He blinks, taken aback by the sudden sharpness in your tone. "At midnight?"

"At midnight."

Ten minutes later, the heir to one of the largest conglomerates in the city is walking beside you down a narrow, shadowy alleyway located three blocks behind the gleaming glass towers of the main avenue. He refuses to let you out all alone, and even panics when you said you were walking. He insisted on following, even offering to drive you there, but you say it’s just around the building. 

He has swapped his suit jacket for an oversized, midnight-black fleece hoodie and dark denim, his golden-toned hair slightly ruffled from pulling the hood over his head. Despite the low-key clothing, he still looks distinctly out of place, the razor-sharp cut of his jaw, his upright posture, and the subtle, instinctive way he keeps his broad shoulder positioned between you and the narrow street, keeping himself on the curb side as a quiet shield against the occasional passing scooter.

"Where exactly are we heading?" he asks softly, his breath misting into small white plumes in the crisp, autumn night air. His hands are thrust deep into his hoodie pocket, though his elbow stays lightly pressed against yours with every stride.

"To a place that caters to actual human biology," you reply, turning a corner where the damp pavement reflects the warm glow of hanging lights.

Ahead, nestled between a shuttered dry cleaner and an old brick building, sits a traditional stall, a cozy, temporary tent made of thick, bright-red vinyl, illuminated from within by string lights that cast an amber halo into the dark street. Thick plumes of fragrant white steam billow out from beneath the plastic entrance flaps, carrying the irresistible, intoxicating scents of simmered anchovy broth, toasted sesame oil, sweet gochujang, and frying batter into the chilly air.

You lift the heavy, rain-beaded plastic curtain and duck inside. The interior is tiny, intimate, and alive with heat. Three small, low plastic tables surrounded by matching red stools are scattered across the damp concrete floor. Behind a long stainless-steel counter lined with bubbling, deep-bellied vats of soup stands an elderly woman wearing a quilted floral vest over a thick purple sweater, her gray hair tightly permed into neat curls beneath a visor.

"Look who finally decided to crawl out of the nest!" the Ajumma barks the moment her sharp eyes catch sight of you, a heavy wooden ladle poised mid-air over a vat of boiling broth. Deep wrinkles fan-fold around her eyes as a broad, fond smile splits her face. "I was getting ready to call the police! Look at you, pale as a sheet, skin and bones! Did that fancy hospital swallow you whole?"

"Shift ran three hours over, Ajumma," you answer, a genuine, relaxed laugh bubbling up from your chest as the knot of tension in your shoulders loosens for the first time all day. "I haven't eaten since noon. I'm practically hallucinating."

Her keen, dark eyes slide past your shoulder, instantly locking onto Yeonjun as he ducks his head to fit under the low vinyl ceiling. He stands hovering right behind you, his massive frame practically filling the doorway, looking around the small street stall with quiet, wide-eyed curiosity. His shoulder bumps against yours, offering an anchor of warmth in the cool tent.

Ajumma squints at him, her bushy eyebrows shooting toward her visor line. "Aigoo... and what is this? Who brought a runaway model into my shabby stall? Look at those shoulders, did you steal him right off a billboard?"

A faint, charming dust of rose pink creeps across Yeonjun’s cheekbones. He immediately straightens his spine, tucking his hands behind his back, and dips into a deep, remarkably formal ninety-degree bow that looks hilariously aristocratic beneath the low red plastic ceiling. "Good evening, Ma'am. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm... a friend of y/n."

"A friend," Ajumma snorts with a loud, theatrical wave of her wooden spoon, her eyes dropping down to the way Yeonjun's hand hovers subtly near the small of your back, barely a millimeter from touching your jacket. "Sure, and I'm the country’s President. Sit down, sit down! Stop towering over my kitchen, big boy. I'll bring out the good stuff before your girlfriend faints."

The word girlfriend hangs in the air like a sudden drop in pressure. The space between you and Yeonjun instantly freezes with a stiff, agonizing awkwardness. You quickly take a half-step sideways, putting deliberate distance between the two of you, your face flushing hot under the amber string lights.

You lead Yeonjun toward one of the tiny red plastic tables. His long, lean legs fold awkwardly under the miniature frame, his knees knocking directly against yours in the tight space, but not a single flicker of annoyance crosses his face. Rather he’s looking around in curiosity. He spots a few customers, and shifts his eyes around the kitchen. His brows raise at the sight of only one person there, the Ajumma.

“She runs this stall by herself?” he’s asking, his upper lips pouting in surprise.

“I think so. Her son started studying in university just last month.”

He simply adjusts himself, his dark eyes fixed entirely on you as you hand him a pair of wooden chopsticks and pour hot, savory fish-cake broth from a battered aluminum kettle into a small paper cup.

"Drink this first," you instruct softly, nudging the cup toward him. "It'll warm you up."

Within five minutes, the small plastic table is entirely covered in steam and color: a wide oval plate heaped with thick, glossy, dark-red tteokbokki swimming in a rich chili sauce; a bamboo basket overflowing with golden, double-fried twigim, kimchi jeon, crispy sweet potato and two massive ceramic bowls of piping-hot udong, the clear amber broth glistening with sesame oil and topped with mountains of fried tofu and chopped green onions.

Without waiting further, you snap your chopsticks apart, snag a thick rice cake, and pop it into your mouth. A sound of absolute, unadulterated satisfaction escapes your throat as the sweet, fiery heat hits your tongue, instantly reviving your tired senses. "Oh, thank God."

Yeonjun watches you, his expression softening into something so tender it rivals the warm steam rising from the bowls between you. He carefully picks up his own wooden chopsticks, mimicking your movements as he takes a piece of golden sweet potato batter, dips it lightly into the crimson tteokbokki sauce, and brings it to his lips.

He chews slowly. His dark eyes widen, a flicker of genuine surprise washing over his features as he swallows. "This is... remarkably complex. The sweetness hits first, but the depth of the broth beneath it…"

"Of course it's good," you say around a bite of chewy udong noodles, shaking your head with a grin. "She’s been simmering that base broth for over thirty years. You can't buy a flavor like that in a five-star dining room with white tablecloths."

"I won't even try to argue with that," he murmurs, his lips curving into a slow, genuine smile that reaches all the way to the corners of his eyes, erasing every trace of the tense, tired executive who was staring at a laptop an hour ago.

"I ate here three times a week during my first few months of med school," you say, picking up two sets of metal chopsticks and setting one beside his paper cup of barley tea. "When my student loans ran late, she used to slip extra beef slices into my bowl and pretend it was a mistake."

Yeonjun listens, his dark eyes fixed on your face. He watches the way your shoulders finally relax under the yellow light of the hanging bulb.

"I didn't know people actually did that," he says softly.

"What? Gave out extra food?”

"Looked out for strangers like that," he clarifies. He rests his forearms on the small table, leaning in slightly. "In my world, if someone gives you something extra, it means they're preparing an invoice for later."

You stare at him, the casual bitterness in his tone catching in your chest. Before you can answer, the Ajumma slams two tins of sparkling ciders and two cups of ice onto the table, the cubes clink and shift beneath the pour, slowly sinking into the chilled drink as tiny bubbles race toward the surface.

"Eat while it's hot," she orders, slapping a small plate of fresh green peppers between your bowls before bustling off to tend to another pot. The warmth from the soup rises between you, a cloud of steam that softens the sharp lines of his face. You continue to dig in immediately, taking a hot spoon of broth and closing your eyes as the savory heat hits your stomach.

Yeonjun watches you for a second before picking up his spoon. He takes a cautious sip of the white broth now. His eyes widen slightly in surprise, the rich, deep flavor catching him off guard.

"It's very good," he admits, taking a second, larger bite.

"I told you," you say, a tiny smile touching your lips.

For a few minutes, the only sound between you is the rain tapping against the vinyl tent and the clinking of spoons against stoneware. The hunger recedes, leaving behind a heavy, cozy quiet.

"My family used to have dinner together every Sunday," Yeonjun says out of nowhere, his voice low enough that it doesn't carry to the other dining in. He keeps his eyes on his bowl, stirring the soup. "It was held at the main house. Twelve courses. Different wine pairings for each plate."

You stop your spoon halfway to your mouth, listening. He almost never talks about his family without that clinical, detached corporate tone.

"Sounds fancy," you respond, carefully.

"No. It was miserable," he says, a faint, humorless smile touching the corner of his lips. "If you held your fork at the wrong angle, my father's secretary would make a note of it. If you talked too much, you were interrupted. Meals weren't for eating. They were performance reviews."

He looks up from his bowl, his dark eyes catching yours. The vulnerability in them is sharp, raw, and completely unarmored.

"I was ten before I realized people were supposed to enjoy eating," he continues. "I thought dinner was just something you endured so you didn't get written out of the trust."

Your heart twists. You look at him, this man who can buy the building you work in, sitting on a cracked red plastic stool in a dark alley, admitting to a childhood spent walking on eggshells. You feel a sudden, overwhelming impulse to reach across the small table and place your hand over his. To tell him that he doesn't have to perform here. But you don't.

You catch yourself, your fingers tightening around your paper cup instead. The reality of his world—the boardrooms, the cold family dinners, the mountain of wealth that separates your daily life from his stares right back at you. You are a med student drowning in shifts; he is an heir with a legacy hanging over his head. You aren't dating. You can't cross that line.

Yeonjun notices the hesitation in your posture. He sees the way your hand pulls back, the subtle wall rising back up between you. A flicker of quiet hurt crosses his features, but he quickly covers it, leaning back against the cold plastic of his stool.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice reverting to that carefully controlled tenor. "You're exhausted. You don't need to listen to me complain about my childhood."

"No," you say quickly, looking directly into his eyes so he knows you mean it. "I want to hear it. It's just... it's a lot different from my world."

"I know," he says quietly, his gaze dropping to the space between your hands on the table. "Our worlds don't exactly have much overlap."

The air grows heavy again, filled with the unsaid weight of what you both feel, the intense, magnetic pull that has been building for weeks, crushed under the terrifying reality of how vastly different your lives are. Neither of you knows how to bridge the gap without getting hurt, so neither of you moves.

"Finish your soup," you say softly, offering a quiet, truce-like smile. "Ajumma gets offended if you leave broth behind."

Yeonjun looks at you for a long moment, the tension in his jaw slowly releasing.

"Alright," he murmurs, picking up his spoon again. "I wouldn't want to get on her bad side."

Yeonjun uses his chopsticks to break off a small piece of the yaktu-jeon, dipping it carefully into the small plastic saucer of soy sauce and pickled onions. He moves with an innate, quiet restraint. He chews slowly, his dark eyes fixed on the condensation dripping down the clear plastic flap of the tent.

"I used to think people only sat together like this in dramas," he says quietly, his voice carrying a raspy edge that is barely audible over the hiss of the rain. He doesn't look at you immediately; he keeps his focus on his cup sparkling cider, his thumb tracing the rough, ridge-patterned plastic. "Where everyone is cramped into a tiny space and the air smells like kerosene and grease. In my house, if you could hear the person sitting across from you chewing, or if the room was warmer than twenty-one degrees, someone was reprimanded."

You rest your chin in the palm of your hand, your own chopsticks resting across the rim of your now empty bowl of udong. The bone-deep fatigue from your fourteen-hour shift still aches in your lower back, but the sharp, empty gnawing in your stomach has finally settled into a dull, comforting warmth. "It sounds like living in a museum," you murmur softly, watching the way the dim light catches the sharp angle of his jawline.

"It was," he replies, finally turning his head to meet your gaze. His dark pupils are wide, reflecting the ambient red glow of the tent. "Everything was kept behind glass. Everything had a specific protocol. Even when my grandfather passed away, we didn't cry in the living room. We were given five minutes in a private study, and then we had to put on our jackets and face the reporters." He lets out a short, breathy exhale that isn't quite a laugh. "So when I see you... working until your hands shake, coming back here, eating at a place where the owner yells at you to eat more... it feels real. But it also feels like a world I'm not supposed to touch."

The honesty of his words hangs in the humid air between you, raw and unpolished. You feel a sudden, tight ache in your chest, the urge to tell him that he doesn't have to stay behind the glass when he's with you.

Your mouth twitches at the thought. But then your eyes catch the subtle, immaculate detail of his clothing, the hand-stitched hem of his shirt sleeve peeking out from under his dark hoodie, the quiet, undeniable weight of a world built on old money, corporate influence, and expectations that would tear a hospital intern like you to pieces. You remember the mountain of student loans waiting in your email inbox, the cramped, drafty apartment you still pay rent on just to keep your pride intact, and the stark reality that you are living in his penthouse on borrowed time.

Slowly, deliberately, you bite your word back, wrapping both palms around the warm, flimsy paper cup of tea instead.

Yeonjun catches the movement. His eyes track your hand anxiousy moving, and a faint, imperceptible tension returns to his posture. He doesn't press. He doesn't reach across the gap. He simply picks up his chopsticks again, leaning back slightly to restore the invisible, protective boundary you both keep erecting.

"You should eat the rest of the pancake," he says, his voice shifting back into that carefully measured, gentle tone as he uses his chopsticks to nudge the crisp edge of the chive pancake toward your side of the plate. "You're the one who worked fourteen hours on her feet. I just sat in air-conditioned boardrooms all day."

"A mental shift can be just as exhausting," you say softly, taking the piece he offered.

"Maybe," he murmurs, watching you chew with an intensity that makes the back of your neck warm despite the chill creeping under the vinyl flap. "But at least your work actually saves people. Mine just moves numbers from one column to another."

"It's not that simple, Yeonjun, and you know it."

"Isn't it?" He tilts his head, a small, somber smile touching the corner of his lips. "If I vanished tomorrow, the company would appoint a new board member by Monday. If you don't show up for your shift, a patient doesn't get their medication. That's the difference between our worlds. Yours matters. Mine is just... noise."

You look at him, really look at him—seeing past the expensive clothes and the polished demeanor to the quiet, isolated man sitting under a yellow lightbulb in a back alley. "It matters to Halmeoni," you say quietly. "And it matters to the people who actually know you."

He stills at that, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a sudden, heavy gravity that makes your breath hitch in your throat. For a long, fragile moment, neither of you speaks, the only sound is the rhythmic bubbling of the broth pots behind the counter and the steady fall of the rain outside, keeping two people from two entirely different lives suspended in the same quiet space.

“My childhood wasn't exactly…” You pause, rolling the paper cup slowly between your palms. “I wouldn't say it was bad. We just didn't have much.” You keep your eyes on the condensation gathering around the bottom of the cup, watching one tiny droplet make its way down the plastic before disappearing into the table. “I think I learned pretty early that if I wanted something, I probably had to figure out how to get it myself.” Your voice stays casual, almost conversational, but the words carry more weight than you intend. “My parents were always working. Sometimes I'd wake up before they did, make my own breakfast, go to school, come home and wait until someone got back. There were days when I thought the sound of our front door opening was the best sound in the world.”

Yeonjun doesn't interrupt. He has stopped eating altogether, his chopsticks resting loosely between his fingers as he listens. You glance up once and find him watching you with the same quiet attention he had earlier, except there is no pity in his expression. You are grateful for that. Pity has always made you uncomfortable, especially the kind that comes with lowered voices and sympathetic smiles, as though poverty is something that needs to be whispered about.

“We weren't miserable,” you add quickly, almost out of habit. “We laughed a lot. My mum used to sing when she cooked, even though she was terrible at it. My dad would complain about the noise from the living room, then start singing along when he thought she couldn't hear him.” A small smile pulls at your mouth before you can stop it. “We didn't have a lot of things, but somehow the house never felt empty when they were both there.”

The smile fades gradually as another memory surfaces, one you haven't thought about in a long time. “But money was always there. Not in the way people talk about it now, like investments or property or whatever.” You give a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “It was more like checking the electricity bill before turning the lights on. It was knowing which supermarket had cheaper eggs. It was my mum standing in front of the washing machine, counting the coins in her purse because she wasn't sure if she had enough for the laundromat.” You swallow, looking down at your hands. “I remember being about eleven and asking her if we were poor. She got really quiet. Then she told me, ‘We're okay.’” You smile faintly at the memory. “She never actually answered the question.”

Yeonjun's expression changes, barely. His brows draw together, and he lowers his gaze to the table as though he's trying to picture it. “Did you understand what she meant?”

“Not then.” You shake your head. “I thought being okay meant having enough money. Later I realised she meant we had each other.” Your fingers tighten around the cup. “But I also realised that only love doesn't make bills disappear.” The words come out softer this time. “It doesn't make tuition cheaper. It doesn't stop the landlord from calling when you're late with rent. It doesn't make your parents less tired when they've been working all day.” You let out a breath through your nose, almost embarrassed by how much you've said already. “So I guess I became very practical.”

“That explains a lot,” he says.

You look up immediately. “What does that mean?”

A tiny smile appears on his face. “You always have a plan.”

“I have to.”

“You carry three pens.”

You blink at that. “What?”

“I've noticed.” His smile grows a little. “You always have three pens in your pocket. Sometimes four. One black, one blue, one red. You check your phone battery constantly. You keep snacks in your bag even though you complain about being broke. You have a backup charger for your backup charger.” He leans back slightly, looking almost amused now. “You prepare for everything.”

You stare at him for a moment, caught somewhere between embarrassment and disbelief. “Why are you paying so much attention to me?”

The question slips out before you can take it back.

His smile disappears, though not completely. He looks down at his hands for a second, turning one of the chopsticks between his fingers. “I don't know.”

The answer is so simple that it leaves you with nothing to argue against. You look away first, suddenly fascinated by the rain outside. Your cheeks feel warmer than they should, and you blame it on the cramped tent, the spicy food, anything except the fact that he has been noticing things about you that you didn't realise anyone noticed.

“When I was younger,” you continue after a moment, quieter now, “I used to think becoming a doctor would fix everything.”

Yeonjun looks back at you. “Everything?”

“Not literally everything.” You laugh genuinely. “I wasn't that dramatic at twelve.” You pause, then smile softly. “I just thought if I became successful enough, my parents wouldn't have to worry anymore. I could buy them a proper house. Pay off whatever they owed. Tell my mum she didn't have to count coins before going grocery shopping.” Your voice catches slightly, but you smooth it over with another sip of tea. “I thought medicine was the answer because doctors were the people everyone listened to. They walked into a room and suddenly everyone knew what to do.”

“And now?”

You look at him across the small table.

“Now I know doctors are mostly just tired people who Google things when no one's looking.”

A laugh escapes him before he can stop it. It is quiet but genuine, his head dipping as he shakes it. “That's reassuring.”

“You're welcome.”

The laughter settles between you, making the space feel lighter. You pick up another piece of pancake even though you're already full, mostly because you need something to do with your hands. “But I still want it,” you admit. “Medicine, I mean. Even after everything. Even after the nights where I wonder why I willingly chose this.” You look toward the opening of the tent, where the city lights blur behind the rain. “There are moments at the hospital when someone gets better, even a little, and you see their family breathe again. You realise you're part of that moment. I don't think I could give that up.”

Yeonjun watches you quietly. “So you really would do it all again?”

You think about the long shifts, the cheap meals, the textbooks with broken spines, the shoes that have nearly fallen apart from being worn too many times. You think about your parents and the promises you made to yourself when you were young enough to believe every problem had a solution if you worked hard enough.

“Yes,” you say eventually. “I'd complain the entire time, but yes.”

His mouth curves into a small smile. “Your parents must be so proud of you.”

The words make your fingers stop.

For a second, you don't answer. You stare at the cup in your hands, watching a tiny drop of condensation roll down the side and disappear beneath your thumb. When you finally speak, your voice is quieter than before. “They were.” You swallow. “At least, I think they were.”

His smile fades.

“They passed away before I could finish.” You say it simply, without dressing it up, because there is no easy way to say something like that. “My mum never got to see me start medical school. My dad didn't even get to see me finish my first year.” You give a small laugh that doesn't quite sound like one. “I used to joke that they were going to be the annoying parents who told everyone their daughter was a doctor. My mum would probably have carried my graduation picture around in her wallet.”

Yeonjun doesn't say anything. You are grateful for that.

You look down at your hands again, remembering the little things instead. Your mother's fingers fixing your collar before school. Your father's habit of waiting by the door when you came home late. The cheap dinners that somehow tasted better when all three of you were sitting around the same table. “Sometimes I still catch myself thinking about telling them something,” you admit. “Like when I passed an exam, or when I got a good placement, or when something happens at the hospital that makes me think, ‘Mum would have loved this.’ Then I remember.”

Your voice trails off.

The silence that follows isn't uncomfortable. Yeonjun doesn't try to fill it with one of those meaningless things people say when they don't know how to respond. He just sits there, listening, his eyes lowered to the table. For once, there is no solution in front of him. No problem he can throw money at, no person he can call, no favour he can ask. There is only you, sitting across from him with a life that continued even after the two people who had once been at the centre of it were gone.

“I think that's part of why I can't give up,” you say eventually. “I know they're not here to see it, but I still want to finish. Sometimes it feels stupid because the person I was trying to become a doctor for isn't even around anymore.” You rub your thumb against the side of your cup. “But then I think about how excited my dad was when I got into medical school. He called everyone he knew. My mum cried for almost an hour.” A smile finally appears, small and tired but real. “So I guess I have to finish. Someone has to prove they weren't crying for nothing.”

Yeonjun lets out a quiet breath, and when you look at him, his eyes are fixed on you. “They wouldn't think you failed because they're not here,” he says.

You give him a look. “I know.” You look away again, a little embarrassed by how easily you blurted out about your childhood and family to him. “Maybe I just miss them.”

“I think that's allowed.”

The simplicity of it catches you off guard. No grand speech. No attempt to make the grief sound beautiful. Just that. You're allowed to miss them. You nod slowly, blinking once before reaching for your drink again. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I think so too.”

For a while, neither of you speaks. The rain continues outside, steady against the windows, and somewhere beyond the room, a car passes through the wet street. Yeonjun doesn't reach across the table or try to comfort you in a way you might pull away from. He simply stays where he is, giving you enough space to breathe while making it clear that he isn't going anywhere.

You glance at him after a while. “You know, if they were still here, my mum would probably hate you.”

His eyebrows lift. “Why?”

“She'd think you were too handsome.”

He stares at you for a second before laughing, completely caught off guard. “That's why she'd hate me?”

“No.” You finally laugh too, the heaviness in your chest easing just a little. “Then she'd probably figure out you're rich and then she'd hate you for a completely different reason.”

“That sounds fair.”

“She'd interrogate you.”

“I can handle an interrogation.”

“You absolutely cannot.”

He smiles, shaking his head. “You have very little faith in me.”

“I've known you long enough.” The words leave your mouth before you realise what they imply. Long enough. Not forever. Not enough to erase the differences between you. But long enough to know how he takes his coffee, how he gets quiet when he's worried, how he checks his grandmother's room before leaving even when the nurses have already assured him she's fine. Long enough to know the person behind the tailored clothes and the family name.

And perhaps, without either of you noticing exactly when it happened, long enough for him to start becoming someone you no longer want to keep at a distance.

You glance at him, attempting to distract the conversation now. “What about you?”

He seems caught off guard by the question. “What about me?”

“Would you do it all again?”

His fingers still around the chopsticks. For once, he doesn't answer immediately. His eyes drift toward the rain, toward the tiny street outside that probably looks completely different from every place he usually spends his evenings. “I don't know,” he says eventually. “I don't think I've ever asked myself that.”

You study his face, the way his expression has gone distant. “Why not?”

“Because nobody ever really asked what I wanted.” His voice is quiet. “They asked what I was going to do. Who I was going to become. What position I would take. Which company I would inherit.” He gives a small shrug. “Those are different questions.”

Something about that makes you pause.

For all the differences between you, there is something strangely familiar in what he has just said. You both grew up learning what was expected of you. The difference is that his expectations came wrapped in wealth and polished silver, while yours came in overdue bills and tired parents. Neither of you had been particularly good at asking what you wanted outside of what was necessary.

“You should try answering it sometime,” you say. “What you want.” You shrug, trying to make it sound insignificant. “Not what your family wants. Not what the company wants. You.”

His gaze stays on you for a few seconds longer than it should. “I think,” he says slowly, his eyes focusing on you, “I'm starting to figure that out.”

You know better than to ask what he means. Instead, you reach for the last piece of pancake and push it toward him.

“Eat.”

He looks down at it, then back at you. “That's your big advice?”

“For tonight, yes.”

A quiet smile appears on his face as he picks it up with his chopsticks.

“Okay,” he says. “I'll eat.”

For the next forty minutes, the distant roar of Gangnam's midnight traffic fades into a background hum. The world narrows down to the yellow glow of the string lights, the smell of toasted sesame, and the quiet rhythm of shared food. Yeonjun sheds his guarded, perfectly manicured posture entirely. He learns how to blow on the steaming udong broth before taking a sip straight from the heavy ceramic rim, and when a stray drop of dark red chili sauce lands just near the left corner of your lower lip, he doesn't grab a paper napkin or point it out.

He simply reaches across the tiny red table, his thumb brushing over your skin with feather-light precision, wiping the speck away. Instead of pulling back immediately, his fingers linger against your jaw for a fraction of a second, his calloused thumb tracing a gentle circle against your cheekbone while his dark, steady gaze locks onto yours with an intensity that makes the air in your lungs freeze.

"What?" you whisper, your cheeks suddenly burning with a heat that has nothing to do with the spicy gochujang. You pick up a tissue, wiping the spot he just touched, trying to fix it yourself even when there’s nothing anymore.

"Nothing," he says quietly, his voice dropping into that soft, velvet tone as he finally pulls his hand back, dabbing his thumb with a paper towel. "Just... I've lived in this city my whole life, surrounded by the best restaurants money can buy, and I don't think I've ever felt this full."

"It's just street food, Yeonjun."

"It's not the food," he corrects softly, his eyes meeting yours in the warm, amber light of the vinyl tent. "It's who I'm eating it with."

Before the weight of his words can settle too heavily around your shoulders, Ajumma marches over and slams a small metal dish of steaming, sliced kimbap right onto the center of the table with a loud clatter.

"Service for the handsome ‘friend’," she declares, winking broadly at you as she wipes her hands on her purple apron. "Eat up, young man. You're going to need your strength if you want to keep up with this one. She’s stubborn, she works too hard, and she doesn't know when to ask for help."

Yeonjun lets out a rich, deep laugh, a clear, ringing sound so full of genuine amusement that you realize with a sudden pang how rarely he ever laughs like that inside the pristine walls of his penthouse. He bows his head respectfully to the old woman. "Thank you, Ma'am. I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

The walk back to the high-rise is conducted in slow, deliberate steps, neither of you eager to return to the clinical silence of the apartment. The midnight air is crisp, carrying the scent of wet asphalt and ozone, biting at your cheeks as you navigate the narrow sidewalks. Yeonjun matches his stride to yours, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his dark hoodie. He walks on the street side of the curb, a silent, instinctual habit of protection that he doesn't draw attention to, his tall frame acting as a windbreak against the gusting breeze sweeping down the concrete canyon.

When you finally step into the private elevator of his building, the shift in atmosphere is instantaneous and suffocating. The doors glide shut with a silent, gold-leafed click, sealing you both inside a small box of polished brass, mirrors, and soft amber lighting. The mirror reflects the stark contrast between you: you, in your oversized, rumpled coat with faint hospital-soap scent clinging to your sleeves, and him, standing tall beside you with the sharp silhouette of a man built for boardrooms, despite his casual clothes.

As the digital display silently ticks up through the floors—40, 41, 42—the air grows thick with the unsaid. He stands so close you can hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, the faint scent of rain and dark wood cologne wafting off his skin. His hand hangs at his side, just inches from yours. You see his knuckles tense, his fingers twitching slightly as if pulling against a physical weight, debating whether to close the small gap between your palms. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat, your own mind racing through a dozen reasons why you shouldn't let him, the student loan bills waiting on your desk, the brutal hospital shifts, the cold reality of his family's expectations.

Before the hesitation can resolve itself, the elevator chimes softly, declaring your arrival at the penthouse. The doors slide open to reveal the vast, shadowy living room overlooking the sprawling, glowing grid of the city below. The moment breaks like glass. Yeonjun steps out first, holding the sensor with his hand to keep the doors wide, his eyes sweeping over you with a quiet, lingering intensity that makes your pulse race faster than the three flights of stairs ever could.

"Get some rest," he says softly, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register that seems to vibrate right through the hardwood floor. He stays by the door of his wing of the apartment, hands remaining firmly in his pockets, keeping the boundary intact even as his eyes betray the magnetic pull drawing him toward you. "I'll make sure the kitchen has actual food before you wake up tomorrow. No assistant required."

You offer a small, weary smile, taking a step back toward your room, your fingers tightening around the strap of your tote bag. "Goodnight, Yeonjun." He watches you until your bedroom door clicks shut, the soft sound echoing like a finality through the vast, quiet space, two people sleeping under the same roof, separated by a distance that has nothing to do with physical space.

The promise of making the kitchen has actual food is fulfilled. You wake up to the sound of some thumping from the kitchen. After getting ready for your shifts, you are greeted by the silhouette of the familiar tall figure, he’s all suited up in navy today, with an apron with flowery pattern wrapped around them. You huff at the unbelievable sight. His lips are puckered in focus, and as you get closer you finally sniff the smell of scrambled eggs on the pan. He doesn’t notice your presence yet, as he struggles with the salt bottle cap for a moment, twisting it the wrong way before finally getting the shaker open. Some of it goes flying next to the pan, as he curses softly at the mess.

“What are you doing?” you interrupt, his shoulder jumping at that, his foxy eyes glaring when he turns his back towards you before finally softening at your sight.

“Hey, go sit there, I’m making breakfast,” he assures, your eyes following his at two plates waiting on the kitchen counter, two pieces of pancakes on each, edges burnt, with slightly undercooked beef bacon and uneven banana slices.

“So unlike you,” you respond, finally sitting at the seat, your eyes still on his movement. Yeonjun glares at you before pouting, “Excuse me, I am being nice. I realise I am being a bad landlord, and my tenant is already starving enough so I have to make her food and make sure she eats enough.”

The sarcastic remark only left a bittersweet feeling to you. He carefully plates the scrambled eggs into the plate, the presentation awkward but it still gives off genuineness. “Thanks. You really don’t have to. I could survive by snacking on a protein bar, really.”

He shakes his head at that, disagreeing. “No. You live under my roof, and you don’t have time to eat proper meals before coming to attend my grandmother. This is the least I could do.”

For the next few mornings, the kitchen slowly becomes a place you find yourself lingering in, even when you tell yourself you are only there because the food is already made. Yeonjun never says anything about it, and neither do you, but somehow there is always something waiting for you before you leave for your shift. Some mornings it is toast with eggs, other mornings it is whatever he has managed to convince himself counts as breakfast. The food is never perfect. The eggs are sometimes too dry, the toast occasionally comes out suspiciously dark, and once, you find a pancake that is still cold in the middle. You tease him about it every time, and he pretends to be offended every time, but he keeps making them anyway.

You start noticing the little things too. He has learned that you don't like your eggs too runny, that you prefer your coffee without too much sugar, and that you will always eat the fruit first when you are in a hurry. He learns these things without asking, the same way you have slowly learned that he leaves his watch on the counter when he gets home, that he hates when people leave cabinet doors open, and that he gets unusually quiet whenever Halmeoni has a difficult night. Neither of you call it a routine, because giving it a name would make it feel like something more than it is supposed to be. Still, there are mornings when you walk into the kitchen half-awake and find him already there, sleeves rolled up and hair slightly messy, and the sight feels strangely familiar.

It is not that you have stopped being careful around him. You still keep track of the distance between you, still remind yourself that this is his house and you are here because of Halmeoni, not because the two of you are slowly becoming comfortable with each other. But the sharpness that used to sit between you has softened around the edges. Sometimes you catch yourself laughing at something he says before remembering that you are supposed to be annoyed with him. Sometimes he says something ridiculous just to hear you complain, and you have begun to suspect that he enjoys your irritation far more than he should. It is easier now, somehow, to forget the dinner that started all of this when he is standing in front of the stove arguing with a pancake that refuses to flip properly.

One morning, though, you leave the kitchen with a strange feeling you cannot quite place. You thank him before heading out, and he tells you to eat the food he packed for later instead of surviving on coffee again. You roll your eyes at him, but you take the container anyway. Neither of you knows that by the end of the day, you will be sitting beside his grandmother for four hours, listening to her breathing become shallower with every passing hour.

Halmeoni is having a bad day, her breathing is shallow, her spirit fragile as she had to be hospitalised again. The room grows darker as evening settles outside the windows, the machines beside her bed filling the silence with their quiet beeps. By the time she finally falls asleep, your throat is dry and your back aches from sitting in the same position for too long. You only notice that you had spent four hours holding her hand, reading her poetry in a voice that hides your own exhaustion as your eye catches a glimpse of the time when your phone lights up shortly from a notification. 

You wait another few minutes just to make sure she is properly asleep before carefully slipping your hand from hers. You straighten the blanket around her shoulders, check the monitor one last time, and step quietly out of the room. 

The door closes behind you with a soft click, and only then do you let your shoulders drop. The exhaustion you had been holding back all afternoon settles over you at once. You take a slow breath and look down the empty hallway, expecting nothing more than another long walk to the nurses' station. Instead, you find Yeonjun standing several metres away, staring at the white walls.

"She's finally asleep," you say, gaze fixated on his tense back. You remain two steps away from him, hesitant to be wanting to step into his personal space.

He doesn't turn around. "I heard you reading. My mother never did that. She just hired someone to do it. I used to listen from the hallway, wondering if the words sounded different when someone was paid to say them."

The vulnerability in his voice is a physical weight. You step closer, the air cools against your face. "Yeonjun..."

"I'm sorry about the dinner," he says suddenly, his voice cracking as he turns towards you. "I know it’s been so long, and this is an overdue apology. The offer. I thought... I thought that's how the world worked. You have something you want to protect, you secure it by any means. I didn't realize that by trying to help you and Halmeoni, I was insulting you."

As you glance up, the bright light catches the moisture in his eyes. He isn't the Choi heir at this moment. He’s the lonely boy Halmeoni described.

"I don't want to buy you," he whispers. "I just don't know how to keep you here any other way."

The silence on the private hallway shifts from heavy to hollow as his words settle. You take that final step, closing the two-step gap until you are standing beside him. You don't touch him yet, but you let your shoulder lightly brush his arm, a small anchor in the dark.

"The words do sound different when someone is paid to say them," you explain softly, your gaze following his to the distant corridor. "They sometimes sound like a script. Or they sound like a shift ending at five o'clock."

Yeonjun’s grip tightens on the phone on his hand, his knuckles turning white.

"But I’m not here because of a contract, Yeonjun," you continue, your voice steady despite your exhaustion. "I stayed tonight because she’s your grandmother, and she was scared. She told me that she needed to hear my voice because if she tried to be asleep with no one around, or just silence, she’d be terrified that there would be no one else around if something would go wrong."

He lets out a shaky, jagged breath, his posture finally breaking as he bows his head. The Choi Heir facade doesn't just crack, it dissolves. "You're the only thing in this entire building that doesn't feel like an arrangement," he admits, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of the hospital's ventilation. "I don't know how to handle something that isn't... transactional."

You turn your face upward toward him, finally meeting those brown eyes. You offer a small, tired smile, the first real one he’s seen from you in months.

"Then stop trying to arrange me," you reply gently, your hand lands on his sleeve to offer comfort. "You don't need a contract to keep someone around, Yeonjun. You just need to be here. Honestly, without the checkbook. That’s the only way anyone ever stays genuinely."

He looks at you, really looks at you, and for a second, the caution between you melts into something aching and real. He reaches out, his fingers hovering near your hand, hesitant to invade your space after everything he's messed up.

"Can I start over?" he asks. "No offers. Just... me."

The softness of the moment suddenly feels like a trap. As his hand hovers near yours, warm against your own cold, pale, unmanicured, a cold wave of reality crashes over you, so you pull your hand back from his sleeve, the friction of your cheap, polyester scrub sleeve rubbing against his tailored, clean cut fabric. It’s a harsh reminder of the double shifts, the ramen dinners, and the looming debt that he once tried to fix with a casual contract offer. You didn’t notice the way his face drops, as you pull away your hands before he even gets to touch them.

"I can't," you whisper, the word catching in your throat.

Yeonjun’s taken aback, his hand freezes in mid-air. The longing in his eyes is replaced by a flash of confusion. "Y/N? I just said I’m sorry. I’m trying to—"

"That’s the problem, Yeonjun," you interrupt, stepping back until your heels almost betray you. The gap between you feels like a whole sea again. "You’re 'trying.' To you, this is a beautiful, tragic moment on a balcony. To me, this is a temporary break before I go back to a life you can’t even imagine."

You look around the floor, each expensive furniture picked with care, private rooms for extraordinary patients, before your mind drifts vaguely at the glittering skyline view their mansion has, and the penthouse and cars that he owns and the slums he’s never seen.

"We’re not even on the same page. When you look at me, it feels like you see someone you need to take care of or fix. When I look at you, I just see why I’m working three jobs to get by. People like you don’t really start over with people like me. You just… drop in for a while, then leave when it stops being interesting."

"Y/n,” he warns, “don’t say that," he says, his voice dropping an octave, turning sharp with a different kind of pain. "I've never felt that way."

"Easy for you to say," you counter, your voice trembling. "You can afford to be vulnerable. If I let you in and this fails, if I lose my focus or my job because I'm distracted by you—I lose everything. You just go back to being a Choi. I go back to nothing."

The hospital lighting that made him look like a lonely boy now makes him look like a statue, cold, expensive, and unreachable. You realize with a sinking heart that even his apology feels like a luxury you can’t afford to accept.

"Halmeoni needs her vitals checked in an hour," you say, your voice regaining its clinical, distant edge. "I should go prepare the charts." You turn to leave, but his voice stops you at the fifth step.

"Is that all I am to you now? Just a hazard to your career?"

The air on the hospital’s private level turns from cold to electric. Your shoes click sharply against the concrete floor as you whip around, the exhaustion of the four-hour company for his grandmother finally boiling over into a raw, jagged anger.

"A hazard?" you snap, the word echoing off the glass doors. "You think you’re a hazard? Yeonjun, you're out of reach."

He flinches, but then his eyes narrow, his own frustration rising to meet yours. "I’m standing right here! I’m apologizing. I’m admitting I was a fool at that dinner. What else do you want from me? Blood?"

"I want you to realize that I don’t stand a chance to be with you!" you fire back, stepping toward him, all caution gone. "You stand there in a suit that costs more than my medical school tuition and tell me you didn't realize you were insulting me? How sheltered do you have to be to think the only way to bridge the gap between us is to buy me?"

Yeonjun’s jaw tightens, his knuckles turning white. "I wasn't trying to—"

"You were!" you cut him off, your voice cracking with a mix of fury and grief. "Because in your world, everything has a place and a price. But look at me! I’m a student doctor living on caffeine and prayer. If I let myself care about you, if I actually try to be with you, your world will tear me apart. Your parents will see a gold-digger, your friends will see a charity project, and eventually... eventually,” you pause, your voice breaking, “you’ll just see someone who doesn't fit into your life."

The overhead lights catch the sheen in your eyes as you take another step, closing the space between you until you’re standing right in front of him, close enough to feel it in your breathing.

"I don't stand a chance, Yeonjun. Because the second this gets hard, the second your board of directors or your mother whispers that I'm a distraction, you’ll go back to being a Choi. And I'll be the one left in the hallway, ruined, with nothing but a medical license I can't afford to lose. I can't risk my heart on a maybe from a guy who thinks love is a transaction."

Yeonjun looks at you like you’ve physically struck him. The anger in his eyes vanishes, replaced by a desperate, wild intensity. He moves suddenly, his hands coming up to grip your arm.

"You think I'm that weak?" he whispers, his face inches from yours, his breath hitching. "You think I’ve spent every night in that hospital room watching you help my grandmother fight for her life just to let you walk away because of a life I'm born into?"

He leans in, stopping just short, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him without him ever touching you. "Y/n, I don't care about the chance you think you don't have. Give me the chance to prove you're the only thing in this life I actually want to keep."

"I think you don't have a choice," you say, your voice lowers. "Your world will eat me alive, and my world will just make you resentful."

You turn to walk away from the scene, letting his hold around your arms loosening, feeling tears almost escaping, but his hand shoots out, grabbing at your arm as you lean on the wall. He’s breathing hard, looking down at you with a desperate, wild look in his eyes.

"You’re not leaving until you admit one thing," he says, his face inches from yours. The air between you is thick, the scent of his expensive cologne mixing with the sterile, sharp smell of medical antiseptic. His hand braces against the wall beside you, close enough to block your way without actually touching, leaving you caught in the narrow space between him and the quiet stretch of hallway. You can feel the warmth of him even without contact, a quiet contrast to the cool, sterile air of the hospital.

“Admit what?” you say, a little out of breath, still trying to steady yourself. “That you’re annoying? A bit too used to getting your way? I think you already know that, Yeonjun.”

“Admit you’re scared,” he replies, quieter now, but more certain. His face inches a little closer, not enough to overwhelm you, just enough that you notice. “Not because of money, or my family, or any of that. You’re avoiding this because you don’t want to deal with how you feel.”

Your chest tightens, and you look away for a second. “I don’t have the time to think about feelings, Yeonjun. I have other things to worry about.”

“You’re handling everything on your own,” he says, a hint of frustration slipping through, but it softens just as quickly. “I see how hard you’re trying. I’m not here to fix it or throw money at it. I just… I don't want you to do it alone.”

His hand lifts for a moment, hesitates, then gently brushes against your jaw. It’s such a small touch, but it lingers longer than it should. You don’t move away, even though you know you probably should.

“You’ll leave,” you whisper quietly, the words coming out more honest than you intended. “When it gets complicated, or when someone tells you I’m not worth the trouble. You’ll go. And I’ll just have to deal with it.”

He exhales, resting his forehead lightly against yours, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath. “You think I don’t know what that feels like?” he murmurs. “I’ve been left behind plenty of times too. That’s why I’m still here. I’m asking for you to give me a chance.”

You don’t say anything after that, and that is exactly how Choi Yeonjun knows he has lost this round. Not because you argued back, not because you raised your voice, but because you didn’t. He watches the way your expression shifts, subtle but enough, like something inside you quietly closes off, like a door being pushed shut without a sound. When you push him by his shoulder slowly, it gives him a horror reminder like the distance between you has suddenly been redrawn into something he is no longer allowed to cross so easily.

“I should go,” you say, your voice steady in a way that doesn’t match the way your hands briefly tighten at your sides.

He almost interrupts you. The instinct is there, immediate and unfiltered, sitting right at the edge of his tongue. Stay. Wait. Don’t go like this. But he doesn’t say any of it, because there’s something about the way you’re already turning away that tells him it wouldn’t matter. You’ve already decided. And pushing you now would only make you retreat further.

So he lets you walk past him.

He notices everything in that moment, annoyingly so. The way you don’t look back. The way your steps are just a little faster than usual, like you’re trying to get out before something pulls you back in. The faint sound of your steps against the floor, steady and controlled, even when everything else about this moment feels anything but that. He stays where he is, rooted to the same spot, listening to the sound of you leaving until it fades into nothing, swallowed by the hallway like you were never there to begin with.

Only then does he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He drags a hand through his hair, gaze fixed on the empty space you left behind, jaw tightening slightly as the quiet settles in. He knows what just happened. He pushed too far, said too much, forced you to look at something you weren’t ready to name. He has always had a bad habit of doing that, stepping past lines because he refuses to pretend not to see what’s right in front of him. And with you, it’s worse, because every time you pull away, it only makes him more certain there’s something there worth staying for.

Still, certainty doesn’t make this any less frustrating.

[healingpage]

𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗿𝗲𝘀 (𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶'𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝘁𝗲) - 𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗶 𝘆𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗷𝘂𝗻 | 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 1

ꕥ summary: she meets him once and thinks he’s… nice. maybe too nice. then life of a broke student catches up, late rent, bills piling high, and he notices. he offers help, but the terms make her blood boil, and she walks away, stubborn and proud. later, she’s a med student, juggling patients and internships, when she ends up caring for the important person in his life she never expected to impress: his grandmother. boundaries are clear, rules carefully followed, yet small gestures, quiet moments, and stolen glances slowly chip away at them both. and somehow, despite everything, something grows that neither of them can ignore.

ꕥ pairing: txt yeonjun x f!reader

ꕥ tags: romance, angst, fluff, eventual smut, strangers to lovers, power imbalance. slow burn, slice of life pg-13 for this chapter

ꕥ wc: 10.5k

TAGLIST ARE OPEN

If someone had told you back then, when you were scraping together coins just to buy instant noodles, that one day, you'd meet a man who would change everything, you would’ve laughed in their face. Or maybe cried. It depended on the day.

Being a college student had already been hard, but being a broke college student had felt like constantly treading water with no shore in sight. Every choice you made came down to one exhausting question: "Can I afford this?" Most of the time, the answer had been no.

You had gotten used to stretching every dollar, skipping little luxuries, pretending not to notice when your friends lived a life you couldn’t afford. The parties or hangouts you had missed as you worked part-time jobs instead, just to earn a little money to survive. Somewhere deep down, though, you had held onto a fragile hope, that it wouldn’t be forever.

On the day you met him, you had still been that tired, broke student, trying your best to look put-together while feeling anything but. And yet, that ordinary day had become the turning point you never expected.

It had been raining. Of course. When didn’t it pour like crazy on the day you forgot your umbrella? Sighing, the trail to the library that had seemed short enough not to even trickle down a sweat when it was sunny now felt a hundred miles away in the chilly weather. You had looked down at your run-down sneakers, the grip no longer working, and thought you might slip in the rain. But your online presentation had been in less than ten minutes, and the fact that your laptop took longer than three minutes to turn on had only added to your anxiety. You had looked around the area, everyone minding their own business, and certainly hadn’t seen anyone you could ask to walk with under their umbrella.

Muttering a small curse under your breath, you had hugged your tote around your torso, bending down and blocking the rain with your hands over your forehead. You had mumbled so many prayers, not to fall, to make it in time to the presentation. You had even added one that your professor would be in a good mood today and spare you.

You had made it to the library as fast as you could, catching your breath slightly as you stood under the edge of the roof of the building. You had squatted down, hands busy tying shoelaces that had come undone, but your eyes had lingered on a man standing a few steps away, talking on the phone. The man in a navy tailored suit had his face slightly hidden under a black umbrella that looked like it came straight from a designer’s boutique. The random thought that the cost of that umbrella alone might be higher than all the university fees and room rents you were struggling with had made you let out a slight chuckle.

He had noticed you before you’d noticed him. At first, it had been the way you moved, hurried, shoulders hunched, every step careful but desperate, like someone used to bracing for impact. You hadn’t seen the puddle splash your ankle, hadn’t flinched when the cold wind shoved your wet hair into your face. You had been too focused on getting somewhere, too focused on surviving that one small battle against the rain.

The sound of your laugh had made Yeonjun shift his umbrella slightly, angling it to watch you from under its sleek canopy. He had still been holding his phone, but the person on the other end had already blurred into background noise. His gaze had been fixed on you then, crouched by the library entrance, struggling with laces that wouldn’t cooperate.

“I’ll call you back,” he had said into his phone, not waiting for a response as he slipped it into his pocket. Without overthinking, without any grand gestures, Yeonjun had taken a step forward.

The rain hadn’t touched you at first. You had only noticed the change in sound, the softer patter of water against fabric instead of concrete. Slowly, your eyes lifted, meeting his for the first time. He hadn’t smiled right away. Just looked at you with a calm, steady expression, like he wasn’t fazed by your soaked figure or the way you stared at him in surprise.

“Looks like you could use a little help,” Yeonjun had said softly, shifting the umbrella to cover more of your side.

Up close, you could see how put-together he was. For you, maybe even impossibly so. Yet, there had been something disarming about him. Maybe it had been the gentle tone, or the fact that he hadn’t looked down on you, not metaphorically, not even physically. He had bent slightly, meeting you where you were. “I’m heading inside too,” he continued, nodding toward the library entrance. “No reason to fight the rain alone, right?”

For a moment, pride and gratitude had spread inside you. You hadn’t been used to people offering help without strings attached. But something in his voice had told you this wasn’t charity. It had simply been… kindness. Or you believed so.

You nodded, brushing damp hair away from your face. “Thanks. I, uh, I’ve got a presentation. Not looking forward to being a drowned rat on camera.”

That had earned you a small, real smile from him. The kind that crinkled at the edges, like he hadn’t smiled for a while but was glad to remember how. “Then we better get you through the door dry, at least,” Yeonjun said, matching your pace as you both walked under the shared cover of his umbrella.

And just like that, the weight had felt a little less heavy. You hadn’t known it then, but it hadn’t just been a random act of kindness. It had been the beginning of something.

--

A few weeks passed after that. You yawned, just woke up from a nap, one that is accidentally too long. The initial plan was to just take a fifteen minute rest, shutting your eyes for a bit before completing your due assignment. Unfortunately, you were only woken up when it’s almost 11 pm, by the sound of your friend calling, reminding you that you had to turn in the assignment before midnight. You got up in a rush, thanking her and quickly finished it, submitting before the late indicator turned up. After scrolling through your phone a bit, you felt a bit hungry and feeling like it’s not best to cook now (not that you have ingredients in your fridge too) so you quickly put on a hoodie over your head, heading out to the nearest twenty four convenience store.

A letter in your postbox was poking out, igniting your curiosity. Your right hand reached for the paper, reading that it’s from the landlord. You sighed as you read the content, yet another warning from them that you are three months late in rent, and you have to settle it as soon as possible before they take action. 

You sneaked the letter inside the pocket of your pants, having already locked the door. As you walked down the street, the weather slightly chilled so you fastened your pace, keeping your hand inside the hoodie’s front pocket to keep warmth. 

It was nearly midnight when you pushed open the glass door. The fluorescent lights were harsh, buzzing like they might burn out any second. The aisles were empty, save for the tired cashier half-dozing behind the counter. You were here for one thing, the instant ramen that costs less than two dollars but feels like comfort in a cup.

Your fingers trailed over the familiar shelves. You didn’t notice him at first. Not until you reach for the same cup of ramen, and so was he. You both froze.

Of course. Him again.

The umbrella guy, you still had not known his name, stands there in an oversized hoodie, sweatpants, and a cap pulled low over his damp hair. He looked like any other student pulling an all-nighter. But something about him still felt… not quite ordinary.

He glanced at your hand, then back to the ramen cup, and smiled. “Popular choice tonight, huh?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Clearly, I have competition.”

“Tell you what,” he said, picking up the cup and inspecting it like it’s a rare find. “I’ll fight you for it.”

“You were the one with the umbrella,” you said slowly, testing the words. “Thanks for that.”

He shrugged, unbothered by it. “Seemed like you needed it.”

You snorted. He offered you the ramen without another word. No insistence, no dramatics, just a simple gesture. You took it. “Thanks, mysterious ramen thief.”

“Mysterious, huh?” He chuckled, stepping back. “I’ll take that.”

You both wandered toward the fridges. He grabbed two bottles of water and a triangle kimbap, heading towards the counter. You pretended to browse, but your curiosity won.

“Do you live around here?” you asked, casual, like it doesn’t matter. Like you hadn’t been wondering why he keeps showing up in the same places you do.

“Sort of,” he said, paying for his things. “I stay close by when work gets busy.”

“Late-night ramen as stress relief?”

He gave you a lopsided grin. “Something like that.”

It’s vague. But not dismissive.

You paid for your ramen and stepped outside. The air is cool, the streets quiet. He lingered beside you, cracking open his bottle of water.

“You always this late to eat?” he asked.

“Only when life’s a little heavier than usual.”

He nodded, like he understands that weight.

There was no need for more words. You sat there, side by side, eating convenience store food like it’s a shared ritual. Strangers again, but less so than before. For a moment, it felt like the city had shrunk, and in this small pocket of time, you’re not so different. Just two people, surviving the night. You shared a small talk together. He introduced himself as Yeonjun, and he worked at a building near your area. You learned that he’s quite shy at first, his voice soft and giggle that sounds awkward, with mostly you carrying the conversation but as the time goes, he’s out of that and starts laughing and chatting with you genuinely.

By the time you finished your cup, it was already late at night, you hastily bid him a farewell, not wanting to sleep later as you had early morning classes. Yeonjun agreed, sending you off with a reminder to be careful on your way back.

The warmth of the ramen cup seeped into your fingers as you stood up, throwing it into the trash can before you stepped out into the night, the soft drizzle tapping against your sleeves like impatient fingers. It was quieter then, the rush of the earlier storm reduced to a whispering mist. You hugged your hoodie tighter, shoulders curling inward, and began walking with quick, purposeful steps, as if outrunning the weight of the day. Behind you, the convenience store’s fluorescent lights buzzed on, indifferent, casting your retreating figure in a pale glow before the darkness swallowed you whole.

You didn’t notice something that fell behind you. The envelope. It slipped from your pocket with barely a whisper, a thin, battered thing that flutters pathetically before landing face-down on the wet pavement. The drizzle soaked into its corners immediately, blurring the edges, like even the rain itself knows the shame carried in those words. You kept walking, oblivious, your mind elsewhere, on rent, on work, on the constant, exhausting math of survival.

But Yeonjun saw it. He stood, still under the store’s awning, his gaze following you, more out of habit than intent, but the flash of movement near your feet pulled him back. His eyes dropped to the envelope lying in the rain, its cheap paper already surrendering to the damp. Something made him step forward. Not urgency. Not nosiness. Just instinct, a small, simple act.

He bent down, fingers brushed over the soaked letter, lifting it gently like it’s something fragile. The ink had begun to bleed, smudging the sharp, impatient strokes of a landlord's ultimatum. He felt bad for even setting his eyes on it, seeing the detailed name and address of yours on it. But the words in bold remain legible enough to strike:

"Final Reminder, 3 Months Late Rent. Payment Required Immediately."

A frown tugged at his brow, subtle but there. His thumb lingered on the corner of the paper, as if trying to smooth out the wrinkles, but it's pointless, the rain has already done its damage. Yet somehow, that felt fitting. It's a quiet kind of cruelty, how life seems to pile on when you're already cornered.

He looked up. You’re still walking, your figure small beneath the heavy sky. The way your shoulders are hunched isn’t from the cold alone. For a moment, Yeonjun debated calling out to you. He could jog up, tap your shoulder, hand you back what you dropped. It would be easy. Expected, even. But something held him in place. Maybe it was the unspoken agreement that tonight, you’re allowed to keep your dignity. Maybe it’s because, right now, you didn’t know he knew. And that feels important.

With a quiet sigh, he folded the letter once, twice, careful with the already fragile paper, and slipped it into his pocket. The weight of it felt disproportionate to its size. Just a piece of wet paper. Just someone else’s problem. And yet, it lingered in his mind heavier than it should.

Yeonjun stayed there, watching the dark street until your figure disappeared around the corner. The city was still alive around him, the sound of cars passing, neon signs flickering, a siren somewhere far off but it all felt muted. His grip tightened slightly around the plastic of the kimbap in his hand, his other hand absently brushed against the letter now tucked close to his heart.

Three months late on rent.

It was not curiosity that settled in his chest. Not exactly. It’s something more restless. A quiet itch beneath his skin. At that point, he didn't know you personally. He had no knowledge of your story. But tonight, standing under the convenience store awning with a stranger’s eviction notice in his pocket, he felt an unfamiliar pull. He told himself it’s nothing, none of his business even. But deep down, he knows it’s the beginning of something.

--

“Hey, y/n? The class is over.”

The voice woke you up, startled. You looked around the room, the lecturer’s gone and most of your lecture classmates have already left, some are chatting while they pack their things up. You yawned slightly, careful to put your hand over your mouth. You muttered a soft thanks to Kazuha, who was kind enough to call you out. She smiled before walking away with her group of friends.

The lack of sleep was making you lose focus in class lately. You hurriedly packed up your things, tossing them into your backpack before storming out of the class. You had around 30 minutes to get to your apartment, change and head out for your part time work. It has only been three weeks since you started, the jump in schedule makes you restless, with so much university work, catching up on your studies for tests and quizzes. Along with assignments. You were surviving, barely, on less than four hours of sleep daily.

The rent was another problem. You asked the landlord for some extra time to catch up. You told them you were going through a tough financial patch and promised to pay the missed rent bit by bit each month, along with the current rent. They weren’t happy with it of course, but agreed to cut you some slack since you are a student.

The work? Humbling really. Your shifts on days coupled with classes, you feel like you have to chug down three cans of energy drinks every time. The pay ain’t even that high for the consumed energy but you don’t get to complain.

“Hey, y/n? Do you mind going until closing today? I have a date tonight. Please! I will change shifts with you twice, whenever you need.”

It took everything in you to reject Yuna, yet you said yes because she’s literally putting her puppy eyes to work. She was also the only one at work that’s actually nice to you, others are unfriendly and there is one who directly shows their disapproval once you start working there. You managed to secure a part time job at a medium sized cafe, located near the area you live in. The manager was reluctant to accept you at first, citing that they had enough workers already, but eventually agreed when you clarified your urgent situation and you had experience in the industry. That was obviously a lie though, that’s why you are thankful for Yuna as she helped get you through your first week.

Hours passed, the cafe slowly got more empty. You took the cue to clean the countertop, spraying disinfectant and wiping it. The bell chimed once, signalling a new customer, you greeted them without looking, focusing on the chores. You peeked on him barely from the corner of your eyes, as he stood by the menu first, probably scanning through them.

“Hey, could I get a matcha latte?”

The familiar voice got your head up, surprised to see the face. You quickly put the spray and cloth away, wiping your hand on your apron before approaching the counter.

“Sure, iced or warm?” 

That was the second time you sat together. Unlike the first, he has become friendlier, the conversation mostly being led by him as you sat down, bringing along a cup of hot chocolate for yourself. The shop had its front porch light shut, and you remembered to flip the open signage into close. He mostly questioned your current life, and you don’t remember well what questions you answered honestly and what was made up with a bit of a lie. Afterall, he was still a mere stranger, and you didn’t know if he was truly a good person, or someone who might have malice intentions.

But as the minutes passed, marking an hour since you had to get off work, you have grown fond of him. He was quick to apologise when he realised that the chit-chat had taken too long, stumbling over his own feet as he rose up from the chair, the action made you giggle a bit, met with a flushed face of his, still smiling.

You ended up separate ways but this time, with each other’s number on the phone. The action left you feeling giddy inside, like a middle schooler who gets noticed by a crush. Yeonjun took his long, sweet time to initiate a text, and you never bump into him anymore after that. Almost a month later, a simple hey from the saved number pops up into your notification centre. You being petty, choosing to reply almost a whole day later, just to show him that you were occupied with life, and you had not been waiting for his contact since forever. It was funny that Yeonjun actually thought you had changed your number, or even had your number wrong because of the late reply. He had asked you to join him for dinner, just to catch up. You had a mental breakdown because of that, as you contemplated whether to go full glam or be your usual self. You didn’t even know if he considered it as a date or a mere friendly hangout.

Yeonjun had brought you to a fancy restaurant, one you would never imagine stepping foot into, at least in this lifetime. They had classicals as background noise, chandeliers hanging from the ceilings, and workers that were so poised, you would mistake them as trained robots. You had ordered a simple steak with potato gratin as a side. Yeonjun was a bit overtaken by calls, you assumed it was for work as he discussed them professionally. You realised at that moment that you had never asked him what he does for work.

“Sorry about that, important call,” he clarified, you absentmindedly replied that you didn’t mind, and you both got into eating. The food tasted delicious, though it was expected with the price. You hummed as the potato gratin made its way into your mouth. Yeonjun chuckled at that, mumbling “cute”, under his breath. You raised your brows at that, but chose to not say anything further. The silence went on for a while, with you slightly making eye contact with him.

“What is it?”

“Huh?”

“You look like you have something to ask me,” he shrugged, picking up the wine glass. “It’s bothering you, just ask already,” he continued, drinking the red wine that has been carefully selected as beverage for tonight.

Your phone suddenly vibrated on the table, you took a quick glance, recognizing the number as your landlord. You silent the device, putting it facing on the table, not realizing Yeonjun was far more observant than you would ever notice, catching the way your face changed. 

“How old are you?” you initiated the conversation again, impatient to take the curiosity off your chest.

“Right. Never talked about that before,” he chuckled, you make a mental note to remember the way his nose scrunches cutely when he laughs. “I am twenty seven, what about you?”

“Oh, so you’re like three years older than me,” you replied, surprised at how young he is, yet he seems loaded like he’s got something built since birth only for him. “What do you work for?”

“For myself, it’s just a kind of family business,” he mumbled, loud enough only for you to catch it.

“Oh, you’re like rich-rich.”

He lets out a genuine laugh at that. “What makes you think of that? I’m honestly not.”

A deep silence suddenly fell in the full restaurant, you tapped your foot under the table in anxiety. Yeonjun gestured vaguely at the crystal-heavy room with his fork. "What you see is just a performance. Don't let the chandeliers fool you."

"Easy for you to say," you muttered, shifting in your seat. The silk of your dress, the only 'glam' item you owned, suddenly felt thin and inadequate. "I spent twenty minutes debating if this dress made me look like I was trying too hard. Meanwhile, you look like you own the place."

He leaned back, your phone vibrating again, his eyes tracking the way you nervously smoothed the tablecloth, ignoring the buzzing device. The playful glint in his gaze softened into something more observational, more clinical. "Your phone’s been blowing up for five minutes, and it’s not usual. May I know why?"

You froze, your thumb hovering over the screen tucked beside your plate. "Is it that obvious?"

"The furrow between your brows is a dead giveaway," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "Class? Or the landlord?"

The richness of the steak suddenly felt cloying, a weight in your stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. You set your silver fork down with a sharp clink that sounded too loud in the quiet room. "Mr. Lee stopped sending reminders weeks ago," you admitted, the words tasting bitter. "Now it's just fluorescent pink eviction warnings that scream through the mail slot." You tried to laugh, but it came out as a brittle, dry sound. "Turns out, being 'occupied with life' involves a lot of math where the numbers never quite add up."

Yeonjun didn't offer a pitying smile, which you were grateful for. Instead, he swirled the remains of his wine, watching the legs of the wine streak down the glass. "How short are you?"

"Does it matter? It’s not your—"

"Two months? Three?"

"Just one," you snapped, the heat rising to your cheeks. "But in his eyes, I might as well be burning the building down. I'll figure it out. I just need a bit more time."

"Time is the one thing people like him don't trade in," Yeonjun said. He set his glass down and leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table. The distance between you vanished, replaced by a heavy, magnetic tension. "I have a lot of space in my life, but very little consistency. And you... you're clearly in need of a benefactor who doesn't care about 'final notices'."

You blinked, confused. "A benefactor? Yeonjun, I’m not asking for a loan."

"I'm not offering a loan," he corrected, his voice dropping to a smooth, business-like silk. That playful, nose-scrunching warmth was gone, replaced by a predator's focus. "I enjoy your company, and I certainly enjoy the view across the table. We both know there's a tension between us that has nothing to do with rent."

You felt your heart hammer against your ribs. "What are you saying?"

"Let’s be straight-forward. No strings, no attachment, no 'where is this going' texts. Just us. Whenever I’m in town and whenever you’re... stressed." He reached out, his fingers grazing the back of your hand just for a second. "I handle your rent, and you handle the spaces in my schedule. A mutual arrangement. No expectations beyond the bedroom, and no more neon envelopes on your front door."

The warmth that had been bubbling in your chest since the 'hey' text turned to ice. His touch on your hand, once a spark, now felt like a brand, a marking of property. You looked at his face, searching for a trace of the man who had scrunched his nose and laughed, but found only the cold attitude of the man on the phone calls just now.

Slowly, you pulled your hand away, tucking it into your lap.

"The gratin was amazing, Yeonjun," you said, your voice steady despite the burning feeling in your lungs. "And the steak was probably the best I’ll ever have."

His expression faltered, a shadow of confusion crossing his features. "Yeah?"

"But I think I’d rather deal with Mr. Lee’s neon envelopes than look at you and see a transaction," you said, reaching for your purse. The "glam" felt like armor now. "I’m not a line item in a family business. I thought we were catching up, not negotiating a contract."

You stood up, the chair scraping against the polished floor. Yeonjun remained seated, his jaw tightening as the "cute" version of him vanished entirely, replaced by the professional man who had been taking "important calls" all night.

"I'll pay for my half of the steak," you added, digging for your wallet.

"Don't be ridiculous," he muttered, his voice cold, face stern. "Sit down."

"Goodnight, Yeonjun," you said, putting down a few notes on the table with trembling hands, and turning before the prickle in your eyes could spill over. You walked out with your head high, passing the poised, robotic waiters who were just as hollow as the man at the table. You left the chandeliers and their artificial light behind, preferring the honest darkness of the street to the gold-plated performance he'd just staged.

--

The first time you saw him again after that embarrassing dinner, it was through the glass of the hospital cafeteria. You were two months into your final year clinical posting at one of the hospitals in town, clutching a lukewarm coffee, when you spotted a familiar silhouette near the elevators. He looked exhausted, the sharp lines of his expensive coat clashing with the weary sag of his shoulders.

You didn't call out. Instead, you ducked behind a pillar and waited for the elevator doors to swallow him whole. You weren't ready for any conversation, should you encounter him.

The second time was a week later. You were rushing through the VIP wing with a tray of charts when you saw him sitting on a waiting room bench, his head in his hands. He looked human. Not the "rich-rich" negotiator from the restaurant, but someone fraying at the edges. Again, you took the long way around, choosing the service stairs over the hallway that would lead you past him.

Fate, however, had a different timeline.

"Student, I need you on 402," your supervisor, Dr. Cho, barked while checking his watch. "The patient is refusing her midday meds. She’s already chased off two nurses. Just get the pills down her, I don't care if you have to shove them down her throat for it."

You took the tray, your heart sinking as you saw the room number. Room 402. The VIP suite.

When you pushed the door open, the silence was thick. An elderly woman sat by the window, her jaw set in a line so familiar it made your breath hitch. And there, standing by the bed with his back to you, was Yeonjun.

"I told you, I’m not taking those chalky things," the old woman snapped, her voice surprisingly strong. "They treat me like a faulty toaster. 'Take this, Mrs. Choi. Swallow that, Mrs. Choi.' No one even asks how the garden is doing."

"Halmeoni, please," Yeonjun’s voice was a low, desperate plea. "You need the medication."

"I need someone who doesn't smell like antiseptic and indifference," she countered.

You cleared your throat softly, stepping into the light. Yeonjun froze. He turned slowly, his eyes widening as they landed on your lab coat, your name tag, and finally, your face. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The electricity he had once joked about was there, but it was heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

You didn't acknowledge the restaurant. You didn't acknowledge his messy hair or the dark circles under his eyes. Not even his presence. You simply looked at the tray, then at the woman by the window.

"The garden is probably doing better than you are if you keep skipping these," you said quietly, stepping toward the window.

Mrs. Choi looked at you, her eyes narrowing. "And who are you? Another robot in a white coat?"

"I'm the one who’s going to listen to you complain about the tea while you take these," you replied, offering the water cup.

Yeonjun watched you, his mouth slightly agape. He looked like a man who had been holding his breath for months and finally found a reason to exhale. As you spent the next twenty minutes coaxing his grandmother into cooperation, not by force, but by asking about the peonies she missed, you felt his gaze on you. It wasn't the gaze of a "benefactor." It was a look of pure, unadulterated relief.

He followed you out into the hall once she finally fell asleep.

"You're a doctor," he breathed, the words sounding like a revelation.

"A student," you corrected, keeping your tone professional despite the pity stirring in your chest. Seeing him like this, stripped of his bravado, made the anger from six months ago feel like a heavy coat you were tired of wearing.

"She likes you," he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping. "She hasn't spoken three sentences to anyone else here. They’re too... technical. Too cold."

"She’s lonely, Yeonjun. This place is a gilded cage for someone like her."

He looked at the floor, then back at you. "I can't get her to agree to the surgery unless she trusts the team. And right now, she only trusts you. I know I have no right to ask you for anything, especially after..." He trailed off, the memory of his "offer" hanging in the air.

You looked back at the room, then at him. The power had shifted. Months ago, he offered to "take care" of your life for a price. Now, he needed you to save the only thing he couldn't buy.

"I’ll do it," you said, making a decision. "I’ll be the one attending her for this rotation. I’ll handle her meds, her vitals, and I’ll be the one to walk her to the operating room."

Yeonjun reached out, almost touching your sleeve before drawing back when you leaned away a bit. "What's the catch?"

"There is no catch, Yeonjun," you said, meeting his eyes firmly. "This isn't a transaction. It’s a job. And unlike you, I don't put a price tag on showing up for people."

He winced, but nodded slowly. "Right. Okay. Thank you. Truly."

"Don't thank me yet," you said, turning to walk away. "I’m doing this for her. You're going to stay out of my way."

--

Three weeks later, Mrs. Choi was discharged. The surgery had been a success, but the recovery was going to be a long, fragile climb. Because you were a mere student doctor, your duty ended at the hospital’s revolving doors. You said your goodbyes in the lobby, ignoring the way Yeonjun lingered by the expensive black sedan, looking like he wanted to say something, anything, to bridge the gap you had carefully maintained.

The silence that followed was peaceful, at least for a while. You threw yourself back into the grueling schedule of the general ward, the quiet nights of study, and the hum of hospital life. Then, the calls started. Not to you, but to the department.

Mrs. Choi was at her estate, and by all accounts, she was making life a living hell for the stream of elite caregivers Yeonjun’s family business had hired.

"Another one gone," your supervisor sighed one Tuesday, tossing a file onto the desk. "That’s the fourth one this week. Top-tier nurses, highly recommended by the board. She calls them 'plastic dolls' and 'stiff-necked snobs.' She refuses to eat unless the person serving her knows the difference between a hydrangea and a weed."

You kept your head down, focusing on your weekly logbook, but you could feel the narrative shifting.

Back at the Choi estate, the tension was reaching a breaking point. Yeonjun stood in the grand library, watching as yet another candidate, a woman with impeccable credentials and a voice like a pre-recorded message, hurriedly packed her bag with tears in her eyes after being told she had "the personality of a damp rag."

"Halmeoni," Yeonjun groaned, rubbing his temples. "She was the best in the city. Her father is a surgeon."

"Then her father can go and be bored by her," his grandmother retorted from her armchair, her eyes flashing with that familiar, stubborn fire. "I don't want a resume, Yeonjun. I want a person. Someone who doesn't look at my chart before they look at my face."

"Okay, look, we’ll find—we’ll try to find someone else. We have a list—"

"I don't want your list," she snapped. She leaned forward, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial but firm tone. "Where is that girl from the hospital? The one with the smart mouth and the warm hands? The one who knew about my garden and peonies?"

Yeonjun stiffened. "She was an intern, Halmeoni. She has a life. She’s... she’s busy."

"Then make her un-busy," Mrs. Choi commanded. "We have money. Arrange anything, until she’s agreed. She’s the only one who didn't treat me like a ticking clock. I want her. Not as a nurse, but as my personal taker. If you want me to finish this recovery, you find her."

Yeonjun looked out the window, the memory of your parting words “stay out of my way” ringing in his ears. He had tried to respect your boundaries. He had tried to be the man who didn't buy people. But his grandmother was his world, and you were the only bridge left.

Your phone buzzed on the hospital nightstand during a rare fifteen-minute break. It wasn't a 'hey' this time. It was a long, carefully drafted message from a number you hadn't deleted, despite everything.

She’s asking for you. She won't cooperate with anyone else. I know what I said before, and I know I promised to stay out of your way... but please. Name your terms.

You stared at the screen, the blue light reflecting in your tired eyes. You thought about the eviction notices, the fancy restaurant, and then, the fierce old woman who just wanted someone to talk to.

Slowly, you began to type. After a lengthy contemplation that your short break almost ends, you press send.

--

The changed schedule was crazy. You managed to fit in visiting the grandmother in your schedule. After hours at the hospital, you took the subway to go down towards the east of the city, where his family’s house was located. You would arrive at around 6, taking the bus and stopping at the nearest stop to his house. It was around 300 meters walk before you were presented with a beige coloured three-storey bungalow, located in a highly private residential area, the guard looking at you skeptically before you explained your purpose here. You rang the bell, nervous that no one’s inside seems to be acknowledging your presence. After ringing the bell twice more, the gate slowly opened, as a housekeeper accompanied you inside after your introduction. You carefully place your worn down sneakers among the neat, tailored, designer shoes at the rack, swallowing your gulp at the stark difference of life.

“Mrs. Choi is in the garden at the back, I’ll have the tea brought up later for both of you,” the housekeeper leaves you at the garden entrance, your foot stepping on the soft insoles slippers for guests, humming to yourself as the comfort seeps in after a long day in a tight fitted sneakers. Crazy to think that their guest’s slippers feel more comfy than your own shoes.

“Ma’am?” you start, catching her figure seated on a white bench, staring at the sun that is slowly coming down. She slowly turns around to look at you, presenting a straight smile. “You’re here.”

“How are you feeling today?” you ask, shifting in your seat to face her directly. Your professional eye involuntarily scans her appearance; despite the expensive silk robe, there is a puffiness to her jawline and a subtle sheen of edema in her forearms that wasn't there during her last rounds at the hospital. Post-CABG, that slight 'fullness' is a warning bell, a sign that the heart might be laboring, fluid beginning its slow, treacherous accumulation in the lungs. It’s a tell-tale mark of missed diuretics or perhaps a spirit too stubborn to admit the body is failing.

“Alright,” she replies, though the word is punctuated by a short, shallow breath that she tries to mask by reaching for her cup as the housekeeper sets the tea down for both of you. “Aren’t you busy? You young doctors always look like you’re chasing a runaway train.”

“I’ll manage, ma'am. I am here to tender to you with enough care, and not just robotic meds handing,” you say, offering a soft smile. You’re relieved when a small, genuine laugh bubbles out of her, even if it ends in a dry cough.

“‘Ma’am’ is far too formal for someone who has seen me in a hospital gown,” she says, her eyes twinkling with a sudden, sharp clarity. “Call me Halmeoni, little girl. Everyone else treats me like a delicate vase, but you... you treat me like a nuisance. I like that.”

You are taken aback for a second, the title carrying a weight of intimacy you hadn't expected to bridge so soon. You nod slowly, adjusting to the new rhythm of the conversation. “Right... Halmeoni.”

“Good. Feel free to wander everywhere around this house, it’s far too empty anyway. My children live overseas, chasing their own shadows, and my only grandchild is buried under the weight of a business that never sleeps. I am always alone in these gilded rooms.”

You raise an eyebrow at that, your mind flashing back to Yeonjun’s professional detachment and the way he seemed to wear his wealth like a heavy, solitary armor. “Oh, Yeonjun’s parents live overseas? I... I realized I didn't know much about his family life.”

“Since he was a teenager,” she sighs, looking out at the perfectly manicured garden that she can no longer walk through. “They left the roots for him to tend to while they enjoyed the fruit. He learned very young that the only way to keep people around was to pay them to stay. It’s a lonely way to grow up, isn't it? Thinking everything, even a 'hey' or a dinner, has to be a negotiation.”

The tea in your cup has gone cold, but you don't notice. Her words cast a new, flickering light on the man who had offered to pay your rent, not as a villain, perhaps, but as someone who truly didn't know how else to ask for your time.

“Halmeoni, have you been skipping one of the medicines? The yellow coloured one,” you carefully start shifting the conversation to the purpose you came here today. She sighs, before coming clean. “Yeah, that’s one a bit hard to swallow.”

“If you keep on skipping that one you probably would have to take a higher dose of other medication you know,” you didn’t mean to sound so strict, so you hold her hand, softly rubbing the back of her hand as you give her puppy eyes. “Let’s eat the medicine after dinner, then we can watch a documentary on flowers. Flowers, you like them right? I know a youtuber that does gardening and she’s very, very good at it.”

“How do you know my Yeonjun?” she switches the topic, her eyes directed on your now nervous face. You fidget your fingers around the jacket wrapped around your body as your brain hurriedly thought of a story.

“Uh, he was there when I was at university. I think he might have something to do there, and we stumbled into each other.”

“Oh you went to SNU? He had a talk there a few months ago.”

“Yeah, there.”

The heavy oak doors of the conservatory creaked open, and the subject of the conversation appeared, his silhouette framed by the harsh afternoon light. Yeonjun looked as though he hadn't slept in forty-eight hours, the crisp lines of his white dress shirt were marred by creases, and his tie was loosened to the point of negligence. His eyes immediately sought you out, darting from your face to the cold tea set, then finally settling on his grandmother.

"I didn't expect to find you both so... settled," he says, his voice raspy. He walks toward the table, the rhythmic click of his shoes on the grass sounding strangely invasive in the quiet space. He stops just short of touching the back of your chair, his presence a sudden, warm pressure behind you.

"Your little doctor is lecturing me on my stubbornness," Halmeoni says, her tone softening with a rare, uncharacteristic warmth. "She noticed the swelling before I could even hide it under my sleeves. She has eyes that see more than just heartbeats, Yeonjun. She actually looks at a person."

Yeonjun’s gaze shifts back to you, and for a fleeting second, the professional mask slipped. He isn’t looking at you as a doctor or a contracted employee, he is looking at you as the only person who had ever walked into his life and refused to be bought, yet stayed to care for the one thing he loved most.

"I'll have the housekeeper bring fresh tea," he murmurs, his voice losing its boardroom edge. He seems caught in the gravity of the room, unsure whether to step away or stay within the circle the two of you had formed. "Halmeoni, you need to listen to her. If she says there's swelling, and you need to take your medicine, you don't argue."

"I know, I know," the old woman grumbled, though she breaks your hold on her hand and instead be the one to pat your hand with her own this time. "She's already planned out my evening. I'm a prisoner in my own home, Yeonjun, and I’m enjoying every minute of it."

Yeonjun’s eyes lingers on your hand beneath hers. A ghost of a smile, the "cute" one you hadn't seen in months, tugged at the corner of his mouth before he composed himself. He looks exhausted, yet there is a flicker of something lighter in his expression as he watches you both. "Then I won't interrupt you. I have some calls to take in the study."

He turns to leave, but before his step takes him away, he pauses, looking back over his shoulder. The sunlight caught the sharp line of his profile, making him look exactly like the lonely boy his grandmother had described. "Thank you," he speaks, the words barely a whisper, meant only for you. "For agreeing."

--

Accepting the role as Mrs. Choi’s personal carer was a choice born of affection for the old woman, but the commuting quickly became a nightmare. The Choi estate is a fortress of limestone and manicured hedges on the edge of the city, closer to the hospital, but your small apartment is deep in the urban center. Every day was a grueling relay, a twelve-hour hospital shift, a one-hour commute to the estate to manage Mrs. Choi’s evening recovery, and another two hours to be back in your apartment. By the time you fumbled with your keys at your apartment door, it was always almost 12:00 AM. Your feet throbbed, and your eyes burned from the lack of sleep and proper rest.

You reach your breaking point on a rainy Friday. You arrive at the estate late, drenched and shivering, only to have Mrs. Choi tut-tut at your pale complexion.

"You look like a ghost," she remarks as you check her heart rate. "Is the city air turning you gray, or are you just trying to work yourself into an early grave?"

"It's just the distance, Halmeoni," you mutter, adjusting her pillows. "The trains are unreliable this late. It's a long way back."

You do not realize Yeonjun is standing in the doorway until you hear the low, familiar scrape of his voice. "If the distance is the problem, fix it."

You didn't look up to respond. "I'm a med student, Yeonjun. I can't exactly teleport."

The next evening, as you are leaving after the breakfast check-up, you find him standing in the driveway next to a sleek, brand-new white hatchback. He is holding a set of keys out, the silver emblem catching the unnecessarily bright porch light. You think of avoiding him, but he stands right at the door entrance.

"What is this?" you ask, stopping dead.

"A solution," he replies simply. "It’ll cut your commute in half. No more waiting for trains at midnight."

You stare at the keys, then at him. The old anger burns again, hot and sharp. "Are you serious? You think you can just give me a car? Like I’m one of your employees or... or one of your 'beneficiaries'?"

"It’s for your safety," he argues , his jaw tightening. "Coming home at midnight is—"

"I told you six months ago, I am not a transaction," you snap angrily, your eyes burning on him. "I don't want your car, Yeonjun. I don't want to owe you a single thing that can be measured in monthly payments."

You walk to the gates, your pride stinging more than your tired legs. But the exhaustion didn't go away. For three more days, you drag yourself through the midnight commute, arriving at the hospital the next morning looking more like a patient than a doctor.

On the fourth night, as you are preparing to head out into the cold, Yeonjun stops you in the grand foyer. He doesn’t have keys in his hand this time. He looks unusually hesitant. "The car was a mistake. I get it," he starts, blocking your path. "But the fact remains that you're killing yourself for a commute that makes no sense."

"I'll survive," you lazily react, reaching for the door handle.

"Wait." He steps closer, the scent of expensive sandalwood and fatigue clinging to him. "My apartment. The one in the city. It’s only five minutes from the hospital."

You pause, your hand on the cold door handle. "And?"

"I’m barely ever there. I stay here at the estate most nights to watch over Halmeoni anyway," he explains, his voice dropping. "Live there. With me. Or without me—I don't care. It solves the distance, it keeps you close to the hospital, and it keeps Halmeoni happy because you won't be too exhausted to talk to her."

You think back to moments a few days back. Halmeoni seems bothered by your lack of attention to her, making her repeat her sentences a few times because you didn’t catch her the first time. He holds up a hand before you could interrupt. "No rent. No contracts. No 'benefits.' Just a place to sleep so you don't collapse in the middle of the day."

Your eyes ogle at him, searching for the catch, the hidden price. But all you see is a man who looks tired of fighting you, and genuine in offering help. "You're asking me to move in with you?"

"I'm asking you to be practical for once," he rebuts, though the way his eyes lingers on yours suggests it was anything but. "Your apartment is an hour away. The hospital is five minutes from my front door. You do the math."

You think of the  almost midnight and early morning subway rides. You also think of the weird  "electricity" feeling that still sparks every time he stands too close. Moving in is the logical choice, but the most dangerous one you have ever made. “But—”

“The car or the apartment. Or I’d be hiring a personal chauffeur for you everytime. Do you prefer that?” he adds, leaving you at a dead end. You scoff, preferring anything but that.

"Okay, okay! I’ll take the apartment. I don’t know how to drive. Only until she’s fully recovered," you whisper at the end of your sentences, defeated. Yeonjun holds back a smile, but the tension in his shoulders finally releases. "Whatever suits you."

--

The city apartment is a suffocating sort of beautiful. It is all floor-to-ceiling glass and shadows, a high-rise sanctuary that feels too quiet after the chaos of the hospital shifts.

The first week is a series of silent, charged encounters. You wake at 5:00 AM to find the kitchen already smelling of dark roast coffee and a single, unread newspaper. Yeonjun is always gone before you emerge, leaving only the ghost of his presence, a lingering scent of sandalwood and the cold handle of the espresso machine.

On the third night, you return to find him in the kitchen, not working, but simply staring out at the Han River. He is wearing a thin grey t-shirt that clings to the breadth of his shoulders, a far cry from the armored suits he wears at the estate. He doesn't say a word as you pass, but you feel his eyes trace the line of your spine, a heavy, physical sensation that makes the fine hairs on your neck stand up. You retreat to your room, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm that has nothing to do with fatigue.

For the first two weeks, you live like a ghost. You use the room he designated for you, but you keep your things packed in your duffel bag, as if at any moment the "bill" will come and you'll need to flee. You also make it a habit to avoid the common areas. You drink your coffee standing up in the kitchen at 5:30 AM, staring at the polished marble islands and feeling like an intruder.

Yeonjun is like a shadow in his own home. You would always hear the front door click shut at 2:00 AM, as a lightsleeper, you see the discarded watch and a few rings he would always have on his fingers placed on the side table by the shoe cabinet. He is honoring the boundary, but the silence between you is louder than any argument you've ever had.

The shift begins on a Tuesday, not with a grand gesture, but with a box of Band-Aids.

You come home after a grueling double shift, your heels blistered and your back aching. You’re sitting on the edge of the kitchen stool, trying to peel off a stubborn, blood-dried bandage from your heel, when Yeonjun walks in. He stops, looking at the mess of antiseptic wipes and your tired, trembling hands.

He doesn't say anything at first. He just goes to a cabinet, one you hadn't bothered to open, and pulls out a professional-grade first aid kit. He sits on the floor at your feet. You watch as he brings out an antiseptic cream, and a bandage.

"I can do it," you whisper, pulling your foot back.

"You're shaking," he says, his voice devoid of its usual sharp edge. He gently takes your ankle. His hands are warm, startlingly steady. He doesn't look at you like an employee or even a housemate. He looks at the wound with a quiet, focused intensity. "Halmeoni told me you didn't eat lunch today. She said you were too busy arguing with the pharmacist for her new meds."

"It's my job," you murmur, watching the top of his head. Up close, he smells like sandalwood and sun-warmed cotton. You note that he has a small scar around his right eye while he’s not looking, and you have never felt a pain carved into someone’s skin constitute something so beautiful.

"It’s not," he corrects, bringing your attention back, his thumb brushing the skin of your ankle as he applies antibiotic cream on the spot. You jolt, the electricity of his touch something you aren’t familiar with yet it settles softly, not overwhelming. You feel your heart thump, before you shut the unfamiliar feeling quickly by convincing yourself it’s just the meds doing. "Managing her health is your job. Fighting the chief pharmacist for her sake is... something else." He looks up then, and for the first time, you don't see the man who offered you a contract. You see a man who is genuinely confused by someone doing something for free.

"Why do you care so much?" he finally asks, eyes burning into yours with curiosity.

You hesitate, answer lingering long at the end of your tongue because you have no idea whether he would understand you. You have been long taught to help people in need, even with no relation to them. Learning medicine has always been one of your biggest dreams, determined to become the pair of steady hands people reach for when the world tilts and the ground beneath them shakes uncontrollably.

Not for glory. Not for praise. But for the quiet miracle of relief in someone’s eyes when pain loosens its grip and when hope flickers back to life like a candle stubbornly refusing the dark.

 "Because she’s a person, Yeonjun. Not everything has to be about what you get back."

He looks back down at your foot, brows furrowed and his jaw tightening. "I know that. I'm trying to learn that." You could see the way he fidgets with the bandage, ripping it off quite harshly. You bite back a squeal as he gently applies it on top of the wound, pressing it gently to make it intact on the skin. His eyes stay there for a moment longer than necessary, his hand still resting on your ankle. The heat from his palm seeps into your skin, and for the first time, the fire you feel isn't anger. It’s a terrifying, soft curiosity. Maybe he isn't just a predator. Maybe he’s just someone who was never taught how to ask for help without a price tag. “But she isn’t anyone to you.”

“If there is suffering in this world, I would rather stand in the middle of it, fighting for it, than watch from afar and do nothing,” you clarifies, pulling away your foot from him after the bandage had been placed on the wound. “Thank you for this, anyway. You really don’t have to.”

He leans back, standing up with no emotion on his face, leaving you with a mended wound but wrenched heart.

--

The second time his action made your heart skip was the next day of the bandage treatment. You come home that day, with your worn out shoes that were holding your entire life together. A parcel is waiting for you on the entrance door, in the darkness of the house, you reach down to them, believing that it perhaps was left by the courier for Yeonjun. You bring them inside, slowly setting it to rest on top of the cabinet near the entrance. Without thinking much, you go straight into a shower, winding down after a long day at work. While you are putting on your basic skincare, you hear your door knock. You hesitantly twist the knob open, and you are met with Yeonjun, evident that he was back from office from his outfit, neck tie hanging loosely around his neck, two of the top buttons open and tired eyes looking at you..

“Hey, I was just—um, this, is for you,” he hands out the box you saw earlier, the parcel packaging has been removed and the font on the box reads Maison Margiela Paris. You stay silent for a moment, calculating your next actions, before his voice cracks again, “Uh, I was just wondering if you need new pairs after seeing your feet get all hurt from the torn heel lining.”

Right. The shoe. How embarrassing for you to keep using it until he thought it was a good idea to give you a new one.

You laugh, forced one, “Yeonjun, I swear I was okay. I do not, really do not deserve this,” you eye the box, gulping down as you think of how many months of savings would probably cost you to buy the shoe. Heck, you might not even be able to afford the box. “You could probably give them to someone else.”

“Who’s someone else? I got it in your size,” he replies innocently, you hate how cute he looks when he unknowingly pouts. The box tumbles in his hands as he smoothes over the surface, “Look, it's 240 size. Correct, right?”

“How do you know my size?” you question, shocked at the accuracy. He shrugs, mindlessly saying he got it by guess. One of his hands slides over yours, as he puts the box in your hand, by force. “Yeonjun–”

“I don’t accept rejection.” He makes it as simple as it is said. You are just about to argue, but he immediately cuts you off, “It’s late. Go to bed, good night.” and you are left with a box, and a heart that refuses to stop quickens for no clear reason at all.

The next morning, the box is still there, exactly where you left it last night. Sitting on the small table in the guest room occupied by you like it has quietly decided it belongs in your apartment now. The black letters Maison Margiela Paris stare back at you every time you pass it, looking far too polished for a place that usually holds your keys, a stray receipt, and whatever small things you empty from your pockets after work. For a while you simply pretend it does not exist. You make your usual morning coffee, scroll through your phone, tie your hair up in front of the hallway mirror. But the box keeps catching the corner of your vision, stubbornly present in a way that makes ignoring it feel childish.

Eventually, curiosity wins. It always does.

You crouch down and pull the lid open, slower than necessary, like you are still half expecting this to somehow be a misunderstanding. Inside sits the pair of sneakers, perfectly placed, the leather bright and untouched like they have never stepped outside a showroom before. For a second you just stare at them, quietly comparing them to the pair of shoes resting near the door. Your old ones look even worse in the daylight. The heel lining is peeled open at the back, the fabric frayed and tired, the stiff structure beneath it pressing outward in a way that explains exactly why your ankle had been suffering these past few days.

You reach in and lift one of the new sneakers, turning it slightly in your hands. They feel lighter than you expected, the leather smooth and structured without being stiff. Expensive, unmistakably so. The kind of shoes you would normally only admire through a store window before walking away quickly, reminding yourself you have more important things to spend money on.

Your phone buzzes suddenly on the counter. You glance at the screen and see his name.

Choi Yeonjun: Wear the shoes.

That’s it. No greeting, no explanation. Just the instruction sitting there like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You stare at the message for a moment, lips pressing together in disbelief before a quiet laugh slips out of you. The audacity of this man. As if he knew you would spend the entire morning debating whether you should even open the box.

Your thumbs hover over the screen before you type back.

That’s bossy.

Three little dots appear almost immediately.

Just wear them, he replies. Your ankle was bleeding yesterday.

You glance down instinctively, the faint pink line near the back of your ankle still visible, though the bandage he put on last night is gone now, replaced by a new one you put on yourself. For a moment you imagine him noticing it again, that slightly concerned crease forming between his brows the way it did when he crouched down to look at your foot yesterday.

Without letting yourself think too much about it, you sit down on the edge of the chair and slide your foot into one of the sneakers. The inside is soft, the heel snug in a way that feels secure rather than tight. When you stand and take a few careful steps across the room, there’s no scraping, no sharp pressure at the back of your ankle. Just the quiet tap of the sole against the floor. You look down at your feet, flexing slightly as you take another step. It’s comfortable, perfectly fit for your feet.

Your phone buzzes again.

Are you wearing them?

You shake your head a little, typing back while walking slowly around the living room.

Maybe.

A few seconds pass before his reply comes.

You’re wearing them.

The corner of your mouth lifts despite yourself. There’s something oddly ridiculous about this whole situation, standing alone in your apartment wearing a pair of shoes you definitely did not buy, texting the person who insisted you should have them in the first place.

You glance at your reflection in the mirror near the entrance, the white sneakers bright against the floor. And for some reason, as you take another step, there’s that same small, unfamiliar giddy feeling again. Light, quiet, sitting somewhere in your chest like it showed up overnight and decided it might stay a little longer.

[deadghostgirl12345]

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

fanfic writing culture isn’t “oh dang! I wanted to write about this prompt with this character but someone else already wrote it, so now I can’t”.

fanfic writing culture is always “two cakes is better than one. the more the merrier. there can ever be enough fics of this character with this prompt!”

[healingpage]

i'm trying to post a fic once a month :D next year i'll be in final year of law school so there's that. let's try to keep the momentummm (and have 8725892 drafts in my google docs)

[healingpage]

𝑡𝑤𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡 - soobin, taehyun

ꕥ summary: When Y/N playfully suggests that Taehyun might have the better body—after a livestream that stirs up the fandom—Soobin’s pride flares in all the right ways. Determined to prove himself, he invites Taehyun over that same night, turning a harmless tease into a slow-burning standoff of tension, charm, and barely restrained desire. As the lines between competition and temptation blur, Y/N finds herself caught in a game between two irresistible men, each wanting to outdo the other—not with words, but with touch?

ꕥ pairing: boyfriend!soobin x afab!reader x taehyun

ꕥ genres: smut

ꕥ rating: 18+ mdni

ꕥ wc: 7.5k

ꕥ warning: smut! dom!soobin and dom!taehyun, sub!reader, unprotected sex, pet names, threesome, MMF, abs (lol that deserves its own warning), possessiveness, jealousy, degradation, overstimulation, light slut shaming, fingering, handjob, blowjob, oral (both m and f rec), squirting, double penetration, they’re competitive as fuck, reader cries, mention of safe word and traffic light system as safety, cum play and creampies lol, just raw, filthy smut. not really proofread

ꕥ taglist: @starrias @taehyunsloves @marvelwars068 @binzdoll @feet4liferss

Going through X and Tiktok is wild. The response, assumptions, everything. You gasp upon stumbling upon the context, watching the uncut one minute bits from the livestream, where they made public of the state of your boyfriend’s and his friend’s… naked bodies.

“Hey…” you begin slowly, swirling the remnants of your drink in the glass between your fingers, the ice tapping lightly against the sides. Lightly dropping your phone on the coffee table, you turn to face your boyfriend, who’s unaware of your stare, his phone in hand in landscape, probably watching something of his interest. The faint buzz of the conversation from the live still echoes in your mind, along with the chaos in the fandom that had exploded just hours ago. “They really think you and Taehyun have the best bodies?”

Soobin pauses his screen, brows raising at your sudden question. He’s on the couch, his oversized hoodie rising just enough to expose a sliver of his toned stomach he worked so hard on recently. The casual, boyish sprawl he’d sunk into on the couch suddenly seems more self-conscious. He gives you a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when he isn’t sure if he is being complimented or roasted. “We were just messing around,” he mutters. “You know how they are. Where did you see that?”

“Mmm, kind of hard to miss. Everyone in X and Tiktok was going wild.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar nervous habit. “Well, we work out a lot… it’s not like we compare or anything.”

You blink in concentration, curious. “But you have seen each other?”

“Of course. We’re close, you know? It’s nothing weird.” Soobin leans in and nudges your nose lightly. “Why? Jealous?”

You grin. “Not jealous. Just curious.”

There is a beat of silence after that. His eyes search for yours, playful but thoughtful. Then, as if thinking out loud, he mumbles, “Taehyun is kind of proud of how he looks.”

You study his features slowly, resting your elbow on the back of your hand on the table. “Really,” you hum noncommittally, tapping your chin with one finger. “Where would you rank yourself?”

“Huh, first?” he only answers half a second late, making you gasp and laugh at the confidence. He looks at you confused, lost at the reaction. “Aren’t I?”

“Funny, because Yeonjun didn’t agree. Actually, he said he agrees with Taehyun’s having the best, probably number one. You… he didn’t particularly acknowledge that.”

That makes Soobin go still. It is subtle, just a twitch in his jaw, a flicker in his eyes—but you noticed. He tries to mask it with a shrug, playing cool, but you know him too well. You see how your comment affects him. You see the competitive spark it lit.

You lean in just a little closer, letting your voice drop into a teasing lilt. “I mean, Taehyun’s built, and he knows it. He doesn’t even try to hide it when he takes off his shirt. You, though…” You let your gaze drift down his body deliberately, then back up. “You’re more modest. Almost shy.”

“I’m not shy,” he says, again, too quickly.

You huff. “Debatable.”

“You want proof?” he asks quietly, voice velvet-smooth. His deep almond eyes narrow at you, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The flicker in his gaze has changed, no longer wounded and uncertain, but sharp. Focused. A little dangerous.

You tilt your head, not answering right away. There is this heat building in the air now — something that feels slow and electric, like the hush before a thunderstorm. “What do you mean?”

“I could call Taehyun right now,” Soobin declares, reaching for his phone, the words slipping out so casually it makes your heart skip. “Have him come over. Let you see for yourself.”

You blink. You’d only mean to push his buttons, just a little. You did not expect to flip a switch. “Wait—you’re serious?”

He doesn’t even look at you as he pulls up his messages, thumb scrolling smoothly through his contacts. “You said he’s better,” Soobin states, tone cool, passive aggressive. “Let’s see it.”

Your pulse kicks up, equal parts of excitement and nerves. This isn’t the playful banter you’d started with. Something is shifting. The air has thickened around you, humming with anticipation, with challenge. A dangerous one at that.

"Soobin—" you start whining, hesitant to apologise but he cuts you off with a glance. Not angry. Not upset. Just... determined.

“He probably won’t say no,” he adds, as if reading your hesitation. “And you? You brought this on yourself. Wanna see,” he implies, voice low and slow, “...which one of us will drive you more crazy?”

Your breath hitch. Not because you were surprised—but because, suddenly, you aren’t sure if you don’t want to find out.

And just like that, the text is sent. Read. Some seconds later, the notification chimes. Replied. You see Soobin replying something too, but did not have the guts to ask what.

The chill room suddenly feels smaller, warmer, like the walls themselves were leaning in to listen. You feel more suffocated as minutes pass by. Soobin sits back on the couch, unaffected as he continues watching his phone while you panic inside. His arms are stretched behind his head, casual, an act that is innocent and familiar—but you couldn’t help but have an intense stare at the muscles that pop up a little. You try to read his facial expression, you see his relaxed state, but there’s a bit of tension running through his jaw. Through the way he waits.

You couldn’t stop replaying what you have just done—what you have started. A little teasing that actually, you don’t know, turns into this. And now, there’s no taking it back.

Taehyun arrives sometime later. Three sharp knocks sound at the door, each one striking like punctuation on something you hadn’t meant to write. The air goes still. Heavy. Soobin says something like "he's here," as you panic inside.

Wanna see which one of us will drive you more crazy?

The words echo in your head like a dare you’re already halfway to accepting.

You swallow and eyes Soobin as he makes his way to the door, his steps slow, measured, betraying the pulse racing beneath your skin. When he opens it, Taehyun stands on the threshold, relaxed, eyes sparkling with something close to mischief.

“Evening,” he says, voice smooth, familiar. He’s dressed in black top to bottom—always sleek, always understated. There’s a chain around his neck, a glint of metal at his throat, and his hair is styled just enough for you to be staring.

He glances past you, walking straight into the living room. “Didn’t think I’d be getting called in as backup tonight.”

“So…” he says, eyes flicking to yours, “this about me being hotter?”

You open your mouth, but no words come out fast enough. “That’s not exactly what I—”

“Yeonjun said it,” Soobin interrupts. He’s standing straight now, gaze steady. “Y/N just agreed.”

You shoot him a look, but he doesn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk deepens. Taehyun laughs, amused, stretching one arm lazily behind his neck. “Didn’t realize we were holding auditions.”

“Thought we’d let her decide in person,” Soobin suggests, sirens blaring inside your head as you feel so small between them, ashamed a bit.

Taehyun raises a brow. “What, like a live ranking?”

Soobin shrugs, slow and deliberate. “Not ranking. A challenge.”

There’s a beat of silence. The kind that thickens between three people who all know exactly what’s being left unsaid.

Taehyun’s grin fades just slightly—his posture relaxes, but his gaze sharpens. He steps closer, like he’s testing the edge of something invisible, watching for your reaction.

“And how exactly are we supposed to settle that?” he asks, voice lower now, more focused.

You don’t breathe. Because you feel it—this subtle shift in energy. The way your body lights up under both of their eyes. The way your thoughts begin to spiral, messy and unfiltered.

Soobin answers without hesitation. “Easy. We see who drives her crazier.”

Taehyun turns to you now, slowly, like he’s decided to take this seriously. His voice softens into something deliberate, intimate.

“What about you?” he asks. “You good at handling attention from two guys at once?”

The question lands with a quiet, wicked weight. Not accusatory. Just curious. Dangerous. And you are sure now it’s not innocent anymore. Not just you comparing their toned abs, everything. It’s even more specific, detailed and explicit.

You should laugh. Shrug it off. Pretend it’s just a joke. But you don’t. Because the truth is, your mouth is dry, your skin is warm, and every part of you is suddenly aware of where this is going.

And the worse part? You don’t think you don’t wanna do it anyway.

You sit on the bed in the room Soobin sends you off to. You don’t remember much, Soobin doing most of the talking for you as he commands you to wait there for a bit. You oblige without asking much, leaving the two in the living room as you shut the door, waiting patiently for things to unfold.

You imagine them in the living room, still standing a few feet apart. Maybe Taehyun is asking questions. Maybe Soobin is explaining boundaries. Or maybe they’re just… quiet. Measuring each other. Waiting, too.

Minutes pass. Or maybe seconds. Time isn’t working the way it usually does. Then you hear the door open, and footsteps. Soobin steps inside, alone.

He closes the door behind him and leans against it for a moment, watching you. His expression is unreadable at first—serious, searching, but his shoulders relax slightly when he sees the way you're looking at him. You don’t speak, just hold his gaze. You want him to make the first move. He always knows where to start.

“Hey,” he says, coming to stand in front of you. He’s close, but not crowding. His eyes meet yours fully, stripping away all the teasing from earlier. “Before anything happens… talk to me.”

The shift in his tone anchors you. His hand brushes your arm, gentle, grounding.

“We don’t go further unless you want to,” he says. “Fully. Not just because it’s hot or because you teased me into this. I need to know if this is something you want.”

Your heart thuds. Not because you’re unsure. But because he’s doing this—right. Carefully. With that soft steadiness that always reminded you why you trusted him with your whole heart.

“I want to,” you say softly. “But I don’t know what to do.”

Soobin’s lips twitch into a small smile, warm, not smug. “That’s okay. I can lead, even we, if you want.”

“I’d like that,” you pause, Soobin grabbing your hand and squeezing it softly. “Do we stop if things get… uncomfortable?”

“Absolutely,” Soobin says without missing a beat. “You say the word and we stop. No questions, no hesitation.”

You nod slowly, digesting the situation. “And you’re okay with this? With… sharing?”

He stays silent, just for a second. Then he gives you a look that’s equal parts fond and intense. “I’m okay with you being curious. I want you to feel safe, not torn. This isn’t a game to mess with you. If we’re doing this, it’s together.”

“Oh, he knows the boundaries,” Soobin clarifies, addressing the nerve and tension you are feeling. “And I reminded him again. Nothing happens without you saying yes. Every step of the way.”

You nod slowly. “And you?”

He lifts your chin gently between two fingers. His eyes flick down to your lips, giving a quick peck there before his eyes go back up on yours again. “I’m not doing this to test you. Or prove something. I want you to feel…” He pauses. “Worshipped. But safe. Do you trust me?”

You nod again, firmer this time. “Yes.”

His smile is soft, almost reverent, muttering a praise of, “Good girl.” That did something to your stomach.

He steps back, just far enough to move toward the door again. Before he opens it, he looks over his shoulder, catching you smiling, cheeks a bit flushed and nodding.

And this time, when Taehyun walks in, it’s different. Slower. Intentional. His eyes flick to you instantly, taking in your posture, your expression, the way you're sitting now on the edge of the bed, half-steady, half-burning.

He says nothing yet. Just closes the door behind him.

Soobin takes his place beside you, his hand brushing briefly against your shoulder as if to say I’m here. Taehyun’s gaze moves to him, then back to you. There’s no awkwardness, no smirk, no cocky line ready to go. Just quiet understanding, and an overwhelming confidence aura that he seems to always have it within. And the unspeakable heat, ready to untangle between the three of you.

“One rule,” Soobin says, his hand settling lightly against your back. “She’s the center of this. Not me. Not you.”

Taehyun nods once. “Understood.”

Soobin takes the cue to sit down on the bed, pulling you to sit on his lap, facing the standing Taehyun. He turns your face towards him, holding your jaw as you get the first kiss of tonight. Soobin chuckles, pulling away from the kiss as he senses your cheeks getting more red as you make eye contact with Taehyun.

“Don’t be shy. How are you gonna survive me, and him both?” The tease is subtle, you gasping as Taehyun stretches out his hand, touching your clothed self. The touch foreign to you, but you are not backing away, softly whining as he slightly runs his hand around your chest. Your boyfriend’s hand is now travelling south, playing with the hem of your shorts.

Taehyun closes the gap between both of you, tugging your top, “Can I?” he asks, you hesitantly nod, raising your arms a bit as you let the shirt fall down on the floor. You hear both of the guys cursing softly as their eyes are blessed with the view. You had no idea choosing a simple lace baby pink bra would rile them up like this, Soobin cups your breasts through it, kissing your neck, leaving a few bruises there just as you like it.

“Feels good, princess?” Soobin questions, unclasping the strap and letting it get loose, earning a satisfied hum from Taehyun as he watches.

“Yes,” you reply, voice hoarse out of nowhere. Soobin chuckles, pulling the bra off you and catching both your wrists before you could cover them.

“How is she? My girl’s pretty, isn't she?”

The question is for Taehyun. You feel your heart racing at the possessiveness of his tone, the grip on your waist but here you are, all displayed for his friend to see.

“Very,” Taehyun’s voice is calm, collected as he takes time to stare. His eyes follow the movement of the leader’s hand, sneaking a glance to your face from time to time. You got too caught up in the moment, realising that your shorts are off you now. You feel the fingers of Soobin on your clothed pussy, hearing his laugh at the way your core is dripping and sticking to the panty.

“You’re very excited for this considering that shy attitude earlier,” Taehyun comments, grabbing your thighs, helping them to spread wider. Soobin grins at that, “She’s much more wild than she seems.”

You feel Soobin growing hard under you, poking your ass so you try to get your hands on his bulge, but Soobin is quick to stop you. “No touching yet,” his command is soft, but stern. You freeze at that, letting your palm rest on your own thighs instead, before Taehyun intertwines it with his.

Soobin is going much slower tonight, he keeps fidgeting with the only fabric left on you, directly touching your core before pulling it away and teasing, growing you frustrated by the second. “Soobin,” you try to scold him.

“What, baby?”

“Need more,” you protest.

“Tell Taehyun what you want,” he directs, your gaze falling on the said man, his neck tensed as you grab him closer by tugging his shirt.

“Taehyun?”

“I’m here, doll,” his voice deep as he slowly breathes out.

“Want your fingers on me, please,” your voice sounds as pleading as possible, escaping a scoff from Soobin.

“Already begging for him? I was the one who touched you earlier,” the tone filled with jealousy, making Taehyun smirks. “Not my fault she finds me hotter.”

“That’s not true,” Soobin swiftly disagrees, though he doesn’t complain when Taehyun’s finger brushes against your clit, pressing his index finger there and circling it. You moan softly, enjoying the touch.

“This what you want, doll?” he asks, playing with your pussy lips next, a grunt leaves your mouth at that. You give him an eager nod of your head, and Soobin brings his hand up to tilt your head, his mouth now hot on your throat. The throbbing between your thighs grows painful, and you squirm against Taehyun’s roaming hands, while your boyfriend’s hand makes its way to play with your breast, Taehyun’s veiny hand teases your aching clit. “More, please.”

“More? Be specific.” he lands a slap on it, your mouth hangs open at the unexpected pain.

“Fuck! Inside, inside. Your fingers. Need them inside,” you immediately say, words mumbled together but still understandable. Taehyun’s middle finger slides along your hole, your breath hitches as you try to stay still, head landing on Soobin’s shoulder as he uses one of his hands to grab your inner thigh, spreading your hole for his friend.

“What a pretty little play thing,” Taehyun lets out his praise for you as he slides the finger in, feeling your walls making way for the foreign thing to go inside. You bite your lip, his fingers are definitely not as long as Soobin’s, but their girth is something. He adds a second finger, then third. “Fuck, you’re doing so well, hmm?”

“Make her cum on your fingers,” Soobin states, Taehyun instantly nodding, “Of course. This hole is gripping me like they don’t want me out.”

The stretch is slowly burning, and you are so wet it makes a squelching sound as his fingers go in and out of you. Closing your eyes, you plead Taehyun to go faster, and direct him to your spot as you can feel yourself closer. Soobin groans as you finally reach the first orgasm of the night, on his friend’s fingers, that Taehyun licks your arousal around his fingers as he takes his fingers out from you.

They let you catch your breath for a while, Soobin’s hand never stops caressing your thighs, calming you. Your sight falls on both of them, still fully clothed and that makes you feel a bit irritated. “Clothes off, both of you.”

“Why don’t you help us with that? See which one you’d like better.” You could hear the hint of tease and suggestiveness in Taehyun’s tone, referring exactly to what leads to this. You turn your head to Soobin, he’s not saying anything but his gaze is darkened now, catching you on guard.

“Can I touch you?” you don’t forget to ask for his permission, remembering how he told you no touching minutes ago. Soobin whispers a silenced approval, so you leave his lap, knees shaking a bit from earlier and you move your hand to his shoulder, tugging at his hoodie string a bit before moving your hands down, both hands clutching the fabric of his hoodie. The atmosphere becomes hotter after that, you absentmindedly tracing the outline of his abs that catches your attention. What you didn’t notice is the smirk sent by Soobin to Taehyun’s way, the latter scoffing at the pettiness.

“I’m taking this off too, ‘kay?” you enunciate with confidence, bending down as soon as Soobin nods. Then all that covers him is off from him within an instant, your eyes are met with his bulge, leaving you gasping at the sight. The seconds feel too long for the slightly upset Taehyun.

“I’m feeling left out here, y/n.”

You are taken aback, hands come to a stop hearing the bitter voice coming from Taehyun. His hands find your wrist, pulling you a bit as he motions you to undress him. You hesitantly put your hand on his stomach, the thin shirt barely doing anything to cover his row of lean muscle there. His shirt clings to his abs, outlining every ridge and groove like sculpture.

“Better than him, right?” is the first sentence that left Taehyun’s lips. You stay silent, peeking to Soobin as you notice him rolling his eyes at the younger’s exclamation. “I would not say yes if I was you, y/n.”

“Come and see for yourself, then,” Taehyun mumbles under his breath, encouraging you to unravel his button down shirt. You swiftly, yet still carefully do so, Taehyun tensing up, feeling the intense heat from your touch on his skin. Once you are done with six of them, Taehyun untangle the sleeve from his arms, the shirt carelessly being tossed by him to the nearest cabinet, that being your dressing table.

You could not help the squeak you let out at Taehyun’s sudden bringing of your palm to his traced abs, “You can survive a touch, I won’t bite. Unless you want.”

Soobin shoots him a sharp look, barely holding back a sarcastic remark. He does not interrupt somehow, choosing to enjoy the show as he sits at the corner of the bed quietly.

“I will let you handle the rest,” Taehyun insists, letting your hand go as he directs them to his pants. You kneel, staring up to him with doe eyes, undoing his bottoms with ease. He hums satisfied at your experience, his cock appearing hard. He is slightly girthier than Soobin’s, his tip ready with pre cum as you slightly tease him by kissing it. He growls, grabbing your head and warns “You don’t get to tease us today.”

You comply, earning an urge from him to suck him, his hands are grabbing onto your hair as you slowly sink him into your warm mouth, slurping and swallowing sounds around his cock. Taehyun settles your hair into a makeshift ponytail, to keep it out of your way, and some of his moans cloud into the air as his hips jolt forward to chase his high.

“Doing so well, doll,” he utters a praise, feeling proud like he’s just won the petty competition by the way you’re bobbing your head and humming around his inches. His eyes fall into the space Soobin is in, sending a mere smirk his way as he senses the tense, jealousy and possessiveness lying undertone of the calming state that Soobin carries. The sound of your whimper snapping his attention from Soobin, as he feels the orgasm building up quickly, your eyes have been watery now at the intensity.

“Wrap your hands around what your mouth can’t fit,” he directs softly, waiting for you to do so. You oblige in seconds, a tear slips down your cheek as he hits the back of your throat. The sight makes Taehyun moan, mumbling how pretty you look at his mercy. He has to tighten his hold on your hair to stop himself from letting out a louder moan. The slight pain unintentionally has you whining around his length, and then he’s letting out the loudest whine of your name as you feel his cum spurting inside. You take everything he gives you, your drool and the remainder of his cum connects between you when you pull him off.

You stay on the floor for a while, catching your breathing properly. Moments later you are pulled by Soobin, his kiss pressing to your lips instantly. You have your hand around his neck, deepening the kiss before he’s leading you on the bed. The soft mattress hits your back after that, and instinctively, your hands are on his back, trying to make an effort to get your boyfriend on top of you but he has another plan.

“Patience, darling,” he coaxes, basking in your half open lid. Your core is aching to be filled, with anything, feeling awfully empty after all the foreplay. You gawk on him, confused as he gently removes the hair from your damp sweaty face, taking a seat just next to your head.

Your begging does not go unnoticed though, as you are manhandled by Taehyun, him spreading your legs, ordering you to spread it wider as he positions himself at your entrance. Your breath hitches as he sinks into you for the first time, your walls enveloping him warmly that has his mouth grunting your name.

“Shit—you feel so fucking good.” Taehyun grips on your waist, his thrust speeding when you’re fully adjusted around him. Your eyes are rolled as the pace shifts, grabbing on his shoulders for support. It feels like he’s punching the air out from your lungs, your moans filling the room. You stutter a broken cry when Soobin’s hand finds itself on your breasts, fondling them just the way you like it. He moves closer to them before sucking on your right one, his other hand giving attention to the other. Before you know it, your hand leaves Taehyun’s shoulder, instead holding onto Soobin’s natural hair on your chest.

Disliking the way you are distracted by Soobin, Taehyun takes a hold of your left leg, bending them close to your chest as you voice out “Aa—ah,” at the sudden angle change. “You just got tighter, babe, you like being used at our mercy?” he asks, his sinister smile breaks out as you could only respond with whines, unable to construct a proper word. The pleasure goes on for a while, you are nothing but a moaning mess as both of them wreck you closer to your limits. You cream around Taehyun’s cock with a loud whimper of his name, back arching off the bed. His thrust stops for a bit, before he is pulling out of you, making you sigh at the loss.

“Turn around,” Taehyun commands, tapping your waist twice as he waits for you to get into position.

“What?” you question, your focus losing as your eyes tremble with tears. You are replied with a smack on your hips, wincing at the pain. “I said fucking turn around.”

Your legs shake as you try your best to do as he told you, too slow that ignites the breaking of patience of Taehyun. “Fine, gotta do everything myself. Your fucking boyfriend treats you like a pillow princess I guess.” He manhandles you onto all fours, pressing on your back waist to get you into that beautiful arch.

You are now facing Soobin with the prettiest face he’s ever seen. Your half open eyes, the stream of tears drying on your cheeks, your lips pouting, and the cherry on top being your drool that has become a mess on your chin. He tugs on your neck slightly, choking you as you roll your eyes when Taehyun is inside you again.

“Let me fuck you right, hmm, doll? Show your lovely boyfriend that you can handle being treated like a slut,” he’s mumbling bitter praises, yet you are so turned on that you grow wetter on his cock. “Fuck, she’s fucking dripping on me, Soobin. Too dumb to follow simple instructions, but she’s enjoying this too much.”

Soobin has been examining your whole body language as you are on your hands and knees, be it your opened mouth, your strained whimpers, your heaving chest, your jelly legs that has now been supported by Taehyun himself. You look so perfectly wrecked, that he can’t bring himself to stop Taehyun from degrading you, when usually he himself rarely does to you, but your tears are rolling non stop hence he inquires, “Your colour, princess?”

“Huh, umph, green, oh my God—” you stumble face first on the sheets, the familiar peak creeping inside your stomach as Taehyun laughs madly at your answer, his dominant left hand landing a few smack on your ass. “Told you she can take it.”

Taehyun wastes no time as he feels his own high approaching, one hand grabbing on your hair and his other hand roughly fondling your ass, nails digging fresh marks into the flesh. You pant pathetically, short, repetitive moans accompanying each of his thrust into you.

Soobin’s gentle consideration for you is thrown out of the window now as he kneels, his tip touching your face. You let your lips part for him, his length being invited into your warm mouth. Soobin hisses and thrusts wildly, your mouth that envelopes him vibrating each time you moan has him twitching.

The sound of Taehyun and your skin slapping against each other in a pace that is quicker than anything your thighs could keep up with has Taehyun in bliss. He rubs the skin of your bottom that is reddening by time, sending him over the edge as you feel the first load of the night inside. "Yes. Fuck—yes. Good fucking doll..." he moans out. He’s pulling out even before he’s finished cumming, his cream spreading all over your pussy lips. He licks his lips at the sight, fingers uncontrollably making a mess on your pussy with them. Your soft whine breaks out around Soobin’s dick as Taehyun’s fingers are teasing your clit.

“Shit—baby, need you,” you are interrupted by Soobin’s desperate voice, he’s pushing your head away before his cock leaves your mouth. Soobin is all over you before you can even process it, his big hands position you on top of him, his cock already nudging at your wet entrance. He doesn’t care that it has his friend’s cum all over, you place your hands on his chest, steadying yourself as your whole body burns hot as he presses you down into him.

You would generally have to take your time with your boyfriend’s dick, but not tonight. His whole length is inside you within seconds, thanks to all the natural lube from your previous orgasms and Taehyun's nut. He is already fucking into you with deep, desperate thrusts, his bulge evident on your lower stomach as he forces you to take all of him like this. He is fucking you so good, like he couldn’t wait for even a minute anymore, like he needed you the second he got his hands on you. He’s panting against your neck, whining as he sinks his teeth into your skin, sucking marks that he would adore later.

“Baby,” he groans, his deep voice shifts to a needy whimper. “You feel so good—baby, you’re so—tight—fuck, all that and still clenches on me like that.” You could do nothing but moan out his name, brain too fogged up with the intensity of his thrust, you could not remember when was the last time he was this harsh on you.

“This pussy misses me, hmm? Taehyun’s not enough to satisfy her?” he teases, grunts at how tight and warm you feel wrapped around him, tone filled with competitiveness, trying to show his friend who you really belong to. Taehyun says nothing, jaw clenching as he shifts closer to you, your soft hands are on his dick, pumping him as you are being treated like a mere fuckdoll to them.

Soobin’s heaving on your neck, nudging his nose against your jaw—humming at all marks that are starting to show, an evidence that you are his. His hands skilfully plays around your clit, “Oh—! Shit!” you curse as your eyes are rolled back, squirming on Soobin’s lap. His other hand catches your waist, keeping you in place as your tears start to come back as he’s making you take all his deep thrust, particularly angling to the spot that he has knowledge you are most sensitive to. Your entire mind crumbles, feeling that your high will unravel anytime with how experienced he is with you. “Please—please, Soobinie! Arghh!”

It is not a surprise that you squirt all over him after, sobbing as his cock being forcefully pushed out, he has you blacked out for a moment, head falling on his chest as he lets you calm down, rubbing your back lovingly. He smirks confidently to Taehyun, the snide remark follows after, “Think you can outdo the doer?”

“Anyone could do that, I was just more cautious as I don’t know her limits well,” Taehyun snaps back, refusing to back up from the fight. They simply wait for almost a minute, waiting for you to open your eyes or say anything. Soobin patiently caresses your waist, asking if you’re okay to continue. You nod your head not even five seconds later. “Sure, you haven’t come yet.”

“Hear that? She wants my load,” Soobin brags, his cock makes its way inside again, you whimper at the intrusion, your legs shaky as you attempt to ride him. Soobin lays his back on the bed, letting you take control this time. Your bouncing tits being groped by him, your soft moans curl around the room like heaven.

Taehyun takes the chance to creep behind your back, his cock head prodding against the same hole Soobin is in. You freeze, trying to comprehend the situation you’ve never been into. Soobin, acknowledging your hesitation, grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “Can you, princess? We’d be gentle, at first.”

“Uhh, never done that before, we–we could try, I guess,” you mumble your answer reluctantly, voice so slow they’d not hear it if the room isn’t silent.

“We’d stop anytime if you don’t feel like it, okay? Don’t be afraid to tell me your colours,” Soobin reminds you of your set up safe words, his tone so caring, the touch on your waist secure, and your hand in his perfectly reminds you that you are well taken care of. You nod, confirming that you affirmatively want this. “Good girl.”

As quick as Soobin’s words left his mouth though, the tip of Taehyun’s cock is being pressed against you. Wasting no time, he slid in quite easily, you choke a moan as your walls struggle to fit them both in. He's going slow at first, Soobin’s growls here and there as he’s also sensitive, having another cock right beside him. “It—it feels weird, can I have a moment?” you voice out, a single tear escaping at the first time feeling.

“Of course, doll,” Taehyun pauses all his movements, he’s giving your back kisses as you relax. A minute passes, then two, as you feel yourself adjusting to their sizes. “Okay, please—please continue.”

“I promise it’ll feel good later,” Soobin promises, giving your lips a peck as Taehyun starts to move slightly, pulling out before pushing in again. “Don’t hurt her,” he does not forget to alert Taehyun, you could not see your behind but the younger guy’s nodding at Soobin. His thrusts start slow, incoherent whines from three of you filling the room. You gasp at how full you feel, whereas both of them grunts when Taehyun’s whole length is fitted inside you.

Taehyun leans forward, pressing all his weight into you. You are indeed, a pillow princess, as Taehyun does all the work, his pumping helps you in riding your boyfriend’s dick as well. Soobin touches your lower belly, feeling both of their cocks there as you let out the whiniest moan at the sight. Soobin chuckles for a second before moaning, “You like that, don’t you?”

You’re already too fucked out to reply back, barely able to think at the way they are re-arranging your guts. Every thrust pushes all the air out of your lungs, your head full of nothing but the feeling of them—Taehyun’s weight on your back, Soobin’s heat on your front, their cock twitching inside you as they keep rutting against each other inside you.

“Soobin—need, need your cum. You and Taehyun’s, please. Inside! Wanna be full of your cum!”

The statements are enough for these men to go crazy on you. “Fuck, you don’t just say that and expect us to not lose control,” Taehyun frantically snaps, furious at your words as his thrusts suddenly hardens. Soobin does not hold back this time, amused at your new limits that he thankfully discovers today. His arms wrap around you instantly as he moves his hips upward to also pump into you. You let yourself left at their mercy, your right hand on Soobin’s chest and left hand gripping onto Taehyun’s biceps on your side.

“Ngh—fuck, I’m gonna fill you up,” Soobin whines, he’s fully seated now, delivering his thrusts into you the same pace as Taehyun. He has his forehead pressing against yours. “Gonna—fuck! Gonna stuff you full, baby, nggh—” And he does. He buries himself to the hilt, his body trembling as he cums, filling you up so much, so deep—still pressing hot kisses against your lips.

The spurt of Soobin’s cum sends Taehyun and you over the edge, his biggest whimper of your name heard as he also explodes inside. The two men grunts at the feeling, you have never felt stickier your whole life. You three take time to relax, Taehyun's being the first to move as he pulls out of you, cock softening as he presses deep, gentle kisses on your shoulder. “Took it like a champ.”

Your body shakes as suddenly you are thrown onto your back, Soobin getting on top of you as he starts moving again, as if he can’t stop. Your legs are thrown over his shoulders, him manhandling you into the mating press position. Taehyun shudders at the sight, choosing to sit front row on the couch over the window of your room.

“Just one more, pretty,” he whimpers, rolling his hips against yours, cock still twitching inside you. His voice is all shaky and breathless as he calls you by name, nicknames, all sorts of things he can think of, as he pins you down again. “Just—fuck—just one more, baby, I promise—”

“Oh! Soobin! Fuck, hnghh, please,” you moan out loudly, uncaring at how you could probably wakes the neighbours up. He has both your hands pinned down on your head, your pussy welcoming him every time, and it feels painfully good that you could not bring yourself to even say yellow to beg him to slow down.

“Shit—shit, I can’t—” He cuts himself off with a choked little gasp, watching how their cum is being pushed out from you at his thrusts, his big hands gripping your hips like he’s scared you’ll slip away if he lets go for even a second. “So fucking tight—squeezin’ me so good—mmf—please, baby, princess, I need it—need to show him how it’s done!”

It’s not like you could stop him. As if you’re anything but a dumb little mess under him, movements restricted fully, brain completely shut, mouth hanging open in wordless little gasps. You can’t even think of Taehyun at the way he’s pounding into you now, desperate and wild, messy kisses all over your face, your lips, anywhere his heart shaped lips can reach. “Pussy spent but still taking me so well, y’want me to breed you stupid, huh? Want me t’fill you up again? Show Taehyun how it’s done? Want me to stuff you full and messy?”

He’s buried deep inside you, moving with such perfect, needy rhythm that you can’t even respond—completely lost in it, clinging to him with nothing left to give. And he adores it—adores how you’ve already melted into something that only he can command. The ego boost as you mutter his name—again and again, like a prayer, your cunt clenching around him like you are made for him, and him only.

“Ohh, fuck, baby—you’re gonna cum?” his voice wavers, also just as wrecked and breathless, watching you fall apart underneath him and he fucks you through it, grinding his hips against yours as he chases his climax. “Fuck—feel so tight when you come—y/n—baby, I’m cumming inside, make you all pretty and full of me.”

At some point, Soobin lets go of your wrists, allowing your hand to scramble in finding its way to Soobin’s shoulders, as you lay there, full on sobbing and taking his load. You feel boneless against his frame, as you attempt to recover from the session, breathing out in stuttered gasps. Soobin has his face resting on your collarbone, gently using his fingers to ease you from your high, his touch nothing but tender on every part of your body that he cherishes so much. As you relax from the hardest night you are laid, you feel Soobin’s even breath against your neck. His cock has already softened, out of you as he checks for your reaction. “Alright?”

“Yeah–” your words come out raspy, Taehyun handing you a glass of plain water that you had no idea when he got them. You let the water down your throat, some of it spilling on you. “Slowly,” Soobin scolds you for it, and you chuck the water down carefully this time. Taehyun takes the empty glass, a head pat accompanies his praises for you for doing so well.

And with tenderness, Soobin leans down, gently rubbing your cheek before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He exhales, lifting his head just in time for Taehyun to press a kiss to the top of your head. It doesn’t take long for Taehyun to rise to his feet quietly, brushing himself off and saying goodbye, leaving Soobin to be in charge again.

“How’re you feeling, sweetheart?” He’s back to being a gentle giant, picking up a pillow as he lays your head on it. You just give him a small smile, ensuring that you are perfectly fine before having your eyes closed. Soobin protests at first, insisting that he needs to clean you up first, that you haven’t had proper dinner yet and that you deserve the world’s best aftercare.

“Do as you please, you drained the shit out of me,” you simply respond, your eyes grow heavy, blinking slower each time, until they hover at half-mast. Limbs feel loose and weightless, like they’re drifting underwater. Every sentence of your boyfriend grows distant, as all you want is the warmth of a pillow, the hush of stillness and his comforting presence. Soobin huffs, giving up as he pulls you to his chest, traces of kisses planted on the crown of your head.

Well… at least Soobin’s sure he’s the winner this time.

[healingpage]

page is under construction 😉

[healingpage]

because of this live...

i write this...

lemme know if anyone wanna be tagged. oh and it would be spicy 🥵

edit: OUT NOW

also dunno what goes on their mind when they revealed this in public?! who's naked bodies is the best?! tmi x txt

[healingpage]

guys i have three wip, i have started writing all of them but currently my inspiration/mood to write for them are all basically the same. which one would you wanna see first?

pick which one should i complete and post first

soobin (arranged marriage au) - why flowers and flames don't go well together

yeonjun (sugar daddy/fwb au) - dangerous desires (and i'll buy you the world)

yeonjun (mafia au) - tempt & tame

Voting ended onMar 13, 2025

[healingpage]

vindicated (swear i'd never do it again) - choi yeonjun

ꕥ pairing: bf!yeonjun x afab!reader

ꕥ genres: smut, angst

ꕥ rating: 18+ mdni

ꕥ warning: dom!yeonjun, sub!reader, arguments, confrontations because they are adults, reader cries a lot, cheating (implied), make up sex, unprotected sex, oral (m&f.rec) multiple orgasm, fingering, riding

ꕥ wc: 6k

ꕥ a/n: i actually hate this... i've been gate keeping it since last year because of it but nevertheless enjoy

The noise of rain tapping on the windows corresponded with the racing beat of your heart. Weeks had passed since the previous arguments, yet the ensuing silence felt even more distressing. Yeonjun's brown coloured long trench coat still hung by the door, his cologne subtle yet persistent in the air—a harsh reminder of all that was left unsettled between you.

You sit on the floor of your shared apartment with legs crossed, browsing through the pages of a vintage photo album. Your eyes soften at the shiny pictures that seem like it quite narrates a tale of love that seems unstoppable for both of you. Yeonjun was smiling at a summer festival, his eyes almost closing as you guys were hit with warmth from the sun. You were right there by his side, kissing his cheek. Another picture captured you resting on his shoulder during a late-night train journey. At that time, your friends had playfully teased you about your inseparability, during your early stages of relationship, attached closely to each other’s hips all the time.

However, it seems that his love, you don't know, maybe it has faded as time passed. Like a withering flower that is waiting for a moment to shatter on earth, words that were once delivered with sweetness now carry a sharpness. Of course at first, the arguments began minor: late response to messages, any sorts of miscommunications that could have been resolved with an apology. Soon arrived the yelling disputes, doors being slammed, and evenings spent in different rooms. Yeonjun was always the avoidant type, rather than to sit together and talk he prefers to distance himself, stressing you out at the lack of communication.

As you are occupied with countless thoughts, you hear the door slowly being opened, causing you to look up abruptly. Yeonjun enters, his jet black hair evidently wet from the rain. He appears unchanged yet changed, his eyes bearing a heaviness that didn't exist previously. For a brief time, neither of you said anything. The atmosphere in the room was dense, laden with unspoken thoughts.

"You’re still around," Yeonjun eventually says, his tone distant.

"Now you don’t want me here? Where could I possibly go?" You coldly answer, hurt by the question, or his choice of words. Your hands quickly shutting the album and putting it down.

He moves a step closer, then two, then he is standing not even two steps away from you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. "I was wondering if perhaps you… I'm not sure." His voice is toned down at the end, like he’s not sure what to say.

"Isn’t that what you do?" The resentment in your voice was unignorable, tugging at the string of his heart. "You are gone whenever situations become too tense, you always walk away."

Something flinches inside Yeonjun hearing that, but he refuses to look away. “And you always hold on too tight,” he counters back, his voice trembling. “Like you’re afraid if you let go even a little, everything will fall apart.”

“Because it will fall apart, Yeonjun!” Your voice goes up three tones higher, it even cracks, but you care less about that when you have tears welling up. “It already is. Can’t you see that?”

“What do you want me to do, Y/N?” he asks, his voice breaking as well. “I’ve tried to fix this. I’ve tried to be enough for you, but maybe… maybe we’re just not compatible.”

His words hang between, heavy and suffocating. It feels like he’s admitting defeat, like acknowledging the storm both of you trapped in will never clear. And God, does it hurt. The constant effort you make to understand him better, the lies he told to your face you turned blind eye into, the missed important dates.

“You think I don’t know that?” you whisper, your voice barely audible to him. “But even after everything, I can’t walk away. I… I love you, Yeonjun. Even when it hurts. Even when you hurt me, over and over. I can lose everything, but not you…”

Yeonjun’s shoulders droop, and for the first time in a long time, he looks guilty. He stares at your wet face, your disheveled form, your trembling hands. You never look so broken, his sweet darling, the apple of his eyes, his precious love appears like a broken piece of glass before him, it wrenches his heart thinking that it was from all his doings.

“I love you too,” he admits, his voice raw. You can feel his gaze soften a bit, eyes no longer angry. “But is love enough if all I do is hurting you?”

The question is like a stabbing knife to your heart. You both knew the answer, but neither has the courage to say it aloud. Silence fills the air once more, the rain pouring outside is like a brutal mirror to the storm inside your apartment.

Finally, Yeonjun closes the distance between you. He hesitantly kneels in front of you, his hands trembling as he cups your face. “I don’t want to lose you either,” he says, every word that comes up from his mouth shakes. “But I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Maybe we can’t fix it,” you replied, your tears spilling non stop now that he’s got his hands on you. It is obvious that his hand is cold from the freezing weather outside, yet it spreads warmth inside you as you lean further into his comforting, healing touch. “Maybe we just have to accept that we’re broken. But I’d rather be broken with you than whole without you. I don’t wanna give up on us, Jjunie.”

Yeonjun leans his forehead against yours as he hears the nickname, his own tears falling. You let him engulf you in his arms, arms brushing over each other giving you goosebumps on the realisation that you went on a week without him. His chest heaves up and down, relaxed heartbeat calming you down as you savour the moment.

“I am sorry, baby,” he is the first one to break the silence. You could not pinpoint whether he is sincere about it, but his eyes are telling you like you matter the most in his world. “I hurt you, didn't I? How’d you sleep this past week?” His voice laced with concern, tone so dulcet and sweet you feel like you are falling into a gush of sugar. Knowing you hardly fall asleep without him around, his mind floods with sorrowful guilt.

“Horrible, I missed you,” you come clean, him smiling so softly you would miss it if you weren't right in his hug.

“Poor baby, I missed her too,” he uses his usual baby tone to talk to you, stroking the back of your head while you find yourself closing your eyes at the comforting contact.

“Wanna cuddle?” He's asking so nicely, not even waiting for your answer as he lifts you up from the cold floor, wrapping your legs around his waist. He walks you both to your shared room, your heart thumping as you feel butterflies all over again. The room hasn't changed since the last time you guys slept in the same bed and room, clean simple beige sheets that Yeonjun had changed after your last intercourse being where you land on.

He's taking off his jacket, the only thing that he wears on his upper body being the black sleeveless shirt that drives you crazy everytime you see those on him. Your eyes that are set on him trembles a bit, forcing you to let out a cough.

“It's January. You shall wear something more warm.”

“I could warm up being next to you,” he's quick with his witty answer, already jumping on the bed again, pulling you yet again into his embrace. His face is buried in your neck, lips dangerously wandering around your sensitive areas you breathe deeply as you bite back a moan.

“Jjunie, I thought we were only going to cuddle,” you interrupt, yet you find your hands tangling in his strands of hair, noticeably longer since the last time you held onto them.

“Aren’t we?” his lips latching on your skin by now, gently sucking on the flesh before he lets go, leaving a fresh mark of him on you, reclaiming his territory. He retreats for a while, lips part as he hears the small gasp that comes up as you notice the hickey. “So beautiful…”

As you remain captivated by his alluring move, seemingly innocent as he keeps making out first, then his hands start to roam not only over but now under your clothing a little. He strips your top off first, fondling at your tits.

“Tell me if you don’t want me,” he pauses, looking at your expression. Your doe eyes look at him, a bit glassy. His stomach churns at that, just a moment ago, you were yelling at him but now, under him you could not deny his contact with your body.

“Oh—” you moan out, feeling every inch of your body craving for his touch more and more, you could feel your underwear sticking onto your entrance by now, your arousal grows greedier. “Yeonjun.”

“Am right here, baby. Tell me what you need.”

“Want you, need you, all of you, oh my god—” your words are cut at how he would make easy work of the tiny shorts that wrap you, he slips them off quickly, palming your ass before slipping off the lacy underwear too.

Then his shirt is off in a minute, before long you're staring at one spot on his chest, your voice that says his name shrieking. Yeonjun is confused at first, before he looks at the direction you are setting your eyes to. His eyes widen as you shove him away, your trembling hands pulling the comforter to cover your body.

“Was–was there someone else?” your voice comes up shaky, eyes glistening with tears that pools at your lower lid. Yeonjun is silenced, a lost look evident in his face. “Y/n…”

“Answer me!” Your tears are falling now, your heart crushed at how he’s not quick to reassure you, to deny your assumption, anything. The bruise mark on his chest, one that was not created by you. Sure, your relationship had been quite flimsy at times after a solid three years, but you never had a reason to doubt his love for you. Every time you argue, it was never about a third person. The third person has never come into the picture. “Did you sleep with her?!” you shout, Yeonjun flinches at the tone.

“Baby, I don’t–”

“Then, what the fuck is that on your neck?” you ask, squinting at a faint purplish mark near his collarbone. It was positioned enough to be hidden when he’s wearing a shirt, but now that it’s off, it’s so evident.

Yeonjun covers the hickey with his hand, the movements rushed and awkward. “Oh, this? It’s... nothing. Just a bruise from a fall,” he mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

“Let me see,” you say after a long silence, your tone firm but he can see the way your lips tremble. Yeonjun hesitates a little, but you reach out your hand, and he lets you inspect the spot. You feel your stomach turn as you lightly run your fingertips over it. You aren’t foolish, it was not just any bruise; it was distinctly shaped and coloured like a hickey.

Your heart drops as you feel the reality of the situation. “That has nothing to do with a fall. Be honest with me.”

Yeonjun’s face changes, and the room falls quiet for a brief period. Both of you, especially Yeonjun, feel anxious about the occasion.

He wobbles with "I... I can explain," but his words sounded unsure, and you feel that is an insincere answer. Like he’s hiding something.

Your head whirl with feelings of betrayal, rage, hurt, and disbelief. This has turned into the rifts in the trust you had established together, not simply about the mark. Your head feels heavy, turning down as you cry.

“It’s not what you’re thinking, y/n!” he’s also yelling now, frustration overcoming him. Guilt, sadness and anger mixed in as he breathed in, his own eyes wet. His heart breaks seeing your state, it’s not the first time he sees you crying but this time you look incredibly heartbroken, miserable and not just upset at him.

“Then, what, what would explain this, Yeonjun?” you are fully sobbing, words imprecise swallowed by your cry.

“I was just… at the club okay? I was drunk, I don’t even remember–”

“Fuck that!” you cut him off, your voice burst with fume. “Do you realize how this looks?! How does it feel to even think you might’ve cheated on me? You try to sleep with me when that mark hasn’t even disappeared?!”

“Baby,” he tries again, trying to get closer to you.

“Don’t baby me,” your voice cold as ice in line with the gaze you now give him. “I don’t know, I thought you would never do that to me. I would never find someone else as long as I’m your girlfriend, Yeonjun. So stupid of me to hold on to you, I should have left long ago, so I don’t feel this hurt, because now I love you so much—too much, it feels even more painful…” you confess, finding yourself laughing at the absurdness yet your tears keep on rolling non stop. “If you don’t like me anymore you could just tell me. I would pack my things myself so you don’t have to rub it in like this.” Sniffles exit your nose, the back of your hand become the temporary napkin as you rub your tears away.

His eyes softened as he reached for her hands, his touch warm but cautious. “Y/n, I’d never hurt you like that. I love you. Please believe me.”

You pull your hands back, turning away to hide the tears welling yet again in your eyes. But before you could retreat further, Yeonjun closes the gap between you both, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“Y/n, look at me,” he whispers, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re everything to me. I can’t stand the thought of you doubting that.”

You turn slowly, her tearful eyes meeting his. There is sincerity in his gaze that makes your heart falter, and along that, a little of expectation because you can still feel the love. It’s still there in his eyes, filled with it and warmth as he looks at you.

“Explain to me,” you say, trying to steady your voice but Yeonjun, knowing you through, could catch that you are still hoping for his denial, still hoping that it isn’t true what you see. With a regretful smile, he cups your face gently, brushing tears away, his fingers on you treating it as delicate as possible.

“Won’t you judge me?” he carefully asks, studying your expression as your brow rises in confusion.

“It depends,” you answer, short, simple and clear.

“Saturday,” he starts, “I was at Taehyun’s. I was stressed out about our fight, and then he persuaded me into going to the club. Relax a little. I had a drink, maybe two but I was so wasted, I don’t remember who was it, I don’t know her, it was a random girl there, I’m gonna be honest we make out a little, and she did this,” he pauses, touching the mark, before his gaze settles on you confidently this time, “Taehyun came up, and he dragged me out there, telling me all about it the next morning. He was meaning to tell you everything first, but I told him not to, because I want to settle things ourselves.”

“Why didn't you tell her you’re not single,” you complain, lips pouting as you contemplate the story, it seems believable but you don’t know for sure. “And why do you have to be so hot, people literally couldn't leave you alone.”

He softly laughs at that, before turning serious again. “I am sorry, pretty girl,” he apologizes, “I don’t know how to mend things that have already happened, I know I should’ve known how wasted I’d be and just head home.”

He then grabs your comforter covered waist, pulling your head to land on his chest, letting you wet it. Your sobbing grows louder first, hands reluctantly creeping up to touch his shoulders. “I am sorry, oh baby, you don’t know how sorry I am, it’s all my fault, should have stayed that night, just hold you close until you’re not upset at me.”

“What can I do to earn your forgiveness, tell me, gorgeous,” his voice is whiny now, almost pleading when your sniffles haven't stopped. The hand that is holding onto your back scatters random shapes on it.

“Then prove it,” you mumble, looking up to him again, your voice barely audible.

Yeonjun cups your face gently, you look very endearing with cheeks red, eyes swollen and lips pouting a bit, his thumbs brushing away the tears remaining on your cheeks. “I’ll spend my entire life proving it,” he says, the sound of his confession thick with emotion.

Your lips meet together in a tender kiss, one that starts slow but it quickly deepens as you could feel the desperation in his touch, the regret, the unspoken promise that he’d never betray your trust.

He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you back on the bed where you can place your head on the pillow comfortably. His hands roam your back as yours are tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. The tension between you dissolves into a shared need for closeness, for reassurance, for reconciliation, for love.

Seconds later, he's immediately invading your personal space, arms around you in a tight, needy embrace. He has his face nestled in the crook of your neck, a heavy breath that tells you he's relieved and something familiar, something that you hunch as love.

“Jun—“ he smashes his mouth against yours, tongue pushing past your lips, the taste of chapstick that you're familiar with, the one that he only uses during winter due to dryness. Desperate sounds leave both your mouths, you are whining while he's half groaning. His body pressed against yours, separated by the cover that hasn't left your body. When he finally pulls away from the passionate kiss, his eyes find yours, filled with affective and yearning.

“I missed you s’ much, princess, how did I survived a whole week without you,” he presses a kiss to your neck, tongue tracing the collarbone with a cherish that signifies his worship on you.

“Would you allow me, princess, I want to make it up to you, please,” he looks up at you with his big, puppy-like eyes, an expression so pitiful it’s admirable. The desperation behind them makes it difficult to say no. You aren't better, your whole body is craving for him.

“Touch me,” you let out a soft whimper, arching into his touch. "Please," you breathe out, and he happily obliges, the cover is off the bed instantly.

Then his hands travel down your sides to your hips, fingers digging in as if to keep you anchored to him. The hand then kneads the meat of your ass, your breath hitches as he goes down on you, nails digging into his arms as you inhale deeply as if committing you to memorise his scent.

“My girl’s so pretty,” he slurs out, before he dives into your pussy, your hand goes flying to grab onto his hair as he splits you open through his tongue.

“Yeonjun!”

“Sorry,” he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise in its wake. He says sorry, but his action doesn't match the word. “Has been so long since I munched on this.”

Your toes curl, eyes thrown back at the way he is switching between licking and sucking, almost like that's the whole purpose of his life. his scruffy cheeks hollow as he sucks a hickey into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He was right though, it has been a while, the pleasure is almost foreign to you.

“Are you still my girl?” he questions, sounding cocky like the usual Yeonjun you know. The sexy, intimidating confidence that has you weak in your knees every time. Your only response is a moan, causing his lips to turn into a smirk, “Of course you are, I‘m the only one that can get you this wet, baby. Correct?”

No longer able to give him a reply, he continues to work his mouth on you. His tongue is relentless, it is sucking onto your entrance, then it is swirling around your clit with increasing fervor. The pace is sloppy, uncoordinated, messy even sometimes, but it only serves to bring you higher to the excitement of it all. Each time he pulls back, you can hear his heavy pant in search of breath, feel the way his mouth lets out your name.

“Oh, Y’jun—” your mindlessly thrown words trail off into incoherent mumbles as you feel closer to the edge, bringing you the sensation. “So close, please.”

The urgency in your begging translates to him as an invitation to continue. The way your entire body is wound up so tense, unwittingly ready to snap. He moves his thumb finger to press on your clit, skilled enough to actually let another two of them be inserted in your pussy, curling them just right so that they’re pressing against that dangerous spot that has you seeing stars.

“Shit, you just got way wetter, you have been craving me that much, huh,“ he chuckles against your thighs, and he's not completely wrong. The way he's re-arranging your inside, it's like he's trying to prove a point, to prove that as much as he needs you, you need him too.

"Wanna cum, please," you gasp out, and then he increases the intensity, your thighs shaking like crazy before it all stops as your liquid gushes out. Yeonjun is more than glad to pick up some of it, slurping them from his fingers. His sexy gaze and your quivering ones meet, silent praises and apologies heard from the way he's caressing your waist gently.

“You haven't come yet,” your sweet voice echoes in his ears. You are still the bundle of love for him, always thinking of his pleasure when you were just crying betrayed by his trust earlier. With agony, Yeonjun is shaking his head, presenting you with a small smile.

“No, it's okay princess. I should be fine, let's go to sleep, hmm? You are tired, I'll hold you,” he's denying you, aware of how relaxed your body is after having your orgasm, you must be so sexually frustrated the whole week. On top of that he knows how bad your sleep was affected due to your argument. Your eyes have been drowsy for a while now, yet you find strength to get up, straddling his lap.

“Love shall go both ways, as much as I mean the world to you, you mean the same to me. What you want from me, I want you the same way too.”

Your eyes staring at him, the honesty in it clear as crystal. Your hand that he is missing so much takes off his pants. The skin against his feels so soft, you are moving a bit behind to kneel before him.

“You really don't have to, princess,” he's saying again, hands caressing your hairline. You look up to him with round eyes, determined to mean what you said earlier. In a brief moment, you are presented with his hard-ons, the sight making you drooling. He's denying you once again with the look in his eyes, so you confidently reply, “I wanna do this.”

“Fuck," Yeonjun breathes out, eyes twisting shut as he feels your warm throat enveloping him. He collects your hair in his fist gently, holding it as you swallow him whole. Your hands move to rest on his thighs, pretty acrylics pressing on it whenever another inch of him goes in.

The feeling of your mouth enveloping him has him pulsing in your throat, his lips part as lewd sounds of him moaning leaves. “You're doing so well for me, babe.”

You take the praise to relax your jaw, letting his tip hit the back of your throat. Your eyes water at the feeling, hurriedly tapping his thighs to let him know the cue. He tightens the grip he has on your hair as he starts to move your head on his length, forcing you to take more and more of him till your nose brushes against his pelvis.

He moves your head up and down, his thrust harsh as he makes you take his entire length then leaving only his tip before repeating the entire process, moaning out your name whenever his head brushes against your throat.

You know he is getting close—you could feel him pulsing in your mouth, as a layer of sweet coated his forehead despite the cold room, making him glow so charmingly. You inhale a deep breath, before sucking in your cheeks, humming his name around him, knowing it is exactly what it would take to throw him over the edge.

“I'm close, baby,” he pleads, inaudible chatters of moans follows after as you double your efforts, and as expected a few seconds later his release spreads through your throat as you continue to bob your head to swallow.

Yeonjun’s chest is heaving, his hair a disheveled mess as he leans his hand heavily against your head, staring down at you like you’d just knocked the wind out of him. You guys stay silent for a while, eye contact with each other being the only sole communicator.

And when you place your legs on either side of him, both of his hands finding their home on your waist, your hole wet and slick enough, ready for him, he’s once again starstrucked, the feeling's overwhelming like you’re made just for him. He bites his lip when you slide down with a whiny mention of his name, you stay still for a moment, and he's all but resist as he needs the comfort of you being wrapped around him right now just bad.

Your eyes could not help but trail down to the mark from earlier, upsetting thoughts taking over you as you encounter the upsetting thoughts again. Your eyes tremble with tears as you hold onto Yeonjun’s shoulders, you begin to sob again, the sight making Yeonjun uneasy as he’s even more apologetic when you are so clearly hurt by the smallest mark, yet the biggest mistake he had made.

"You're mine, you got that?" you sniffle, your touch on him soft but it feels possessive enough to Yeonjun at that point of time.

"Of course, all yours baby, only yours," he breathes as you part your lips, looking down on his neckline. Your eyes briefly glance over the hickey painted over his chest and it leaves the feeling of your heart throbbing in your chest. Unshed tears sting at your eyes, the sound of incoherent sob immediately puts him to sit up against the headboard, holding you close to him.

“I’m sorry, we shouldn’t do this, let’s just—”

“No,” you decline immediately, hands clasping together at his shoulder trying to push him back to let you be in charge. You bite back a sob, “I want to do this. Want this off you,” you snivel, looking pitiful and so eager to get the mark to be hidden by your own, your lip finding its way to his skin, sucking on it before your teeth sink on the same exact spot that leaves Yeonjun wincing in pain. He’s staring at you deeply now, heart wrenched as droplets of tears roll down your cheek in frustration.

"I should’ve been better, should’ve tried harder, I'm gonna make things right, love, I swear," he's spurting all his emotion out, hands scrambling to make their way to your thighs and helping you to move.

“Swear I’d never do it again,” he adds, his pillow-y soft lip rasps across your sensitive neck as he plants gentle kisses all over it. The action is filled with reassurance, infatuation, and warmth. Quite literally soft and tender, far from the agony that had filled your heart only moments before.

“There, princess?” he's asking, his tip reaching your sensitive spot, your voice exceptionally high pitched when you reply to him a yes.

He's much more attentive tonight. Usually sex with him was rough, which you couldn’t complain about or dislike, but there is something adorable about him being so soft with you that always made this a lot more enjoyable than usual. His kisses and praises doubles, along with the occasional apologies, his promise to do better. Your mind goes out from while to while, unable to comprehend the actual sentence that he forms. You are just glad he's holding you, grounding you from blacking out.

“Let me show you my love,” he helps you on your back, his dick sliding out for a while, smiling softly when you make a fuss for it, “I know, it's okay, baby,” comes out his mouth as he thrust up into you, sucking at your neck to leave a few more love bites.

“Faster,” you whimper, dissatisfied at the slow pace.

“We'll get there, so impatient,” Yeonjun chuckles, his hand brushing against your arms to settle into your breast, fondling it. Your desperate moans filled the room, the pace slowly building up. Your hand travels down to your clit, rubbing it before it gets shoved away by Yeonjun instantly.

Before you could question his denial, he whispers a stern “I could do that,” as you relax to his touch, his skilled fingers working its magic. You wrap your arms around his shoulder, pulling him into a kiss, moaning into his mouth as he brings you closer to your high.

He hums against your lips as you tighten around him when you reach your orgasm, peppering the softest kisses all around your face while his hands mapped out your precious body that he’s come to cherish so much. Someone as lovely, as flawless, and as serene as you is a blessing for a man like him, a man who is emotionally lacking and aloof. Your body shakes with the overstimulation, a small smile escapes as he slows the pace, tender and consistent thrust to relax you.

“You feel so good, baby.” His eyes trailing down your body to where you are connected, the base of his cock wraps with thick white rings of your arousal, and his mouth opens at the vicious sight. He watches closely for your expression every time he plunges forward; your hips moving to meet his, thrust for thrust despite your previous orgasm. “Pussy made for me, yeah? Missed me that much?”

Each harsh thrust makes your tits bounce and forces a moan out from you as a response. Yeonjun chuckles at your lack of words, the sight admirable for him. The pleasure on your part made it difficult for you to even make out his expression or words anymore, feeling like you are on cloud nine for a second and a second later you are back on ground.

“Gonna make it up to you, promise,” he’s mumbling in between his praise for you, left at his mercy as he draws various shapes on your clit to push you further in ecstasy, another orgasm creeping in as you hold onto his shoulder tight.

As you let go for him, the endless words of flattery along with assurance of the love he has for you acts as your company. He’s slowing down, waiting for you to come down from your high. As your breath and heartbeat falls into a stable rhythm again, he’s back to thrusting slowly, your breath hitches as you are flooded with oversensitivity, wincing at the intrusion.

“Shh… I’m sorry, just a little bit more, pretty,” his whisper sends relaxation, trusting him with everything as you nod, occasional whimpers leaving your mouth at the slight discomfort. You shift your entire focus on him as he reaches his release, eyebrows furrowed with a slightly opened mouth as you reach your hands out to touch him on the cheek. The contact subconsciously draws a moan from him, resting his forehead on yours.

“Baby,” he calls out, “I’m sorry, I love you.”

Your lips twitch into a small smile, nodding as you rub his cheek yet you say nothing. The silence is deafening, Yeonjun himself cringing as he pulls out from you slowly. None of you breaks the silence as he gets up first to clean himself, allowing you to take a small nap before being woken up by him, for the never forgotten aftercare.

“Do you mind if I sleep with you tonight? I wanna have you in my arms.” The question arises from him as he buttons your pyjamas for tonight. He takes in your cozy state, eyelashes fluttering as you look up to him. You rarely ever see his nervous state, he is a person that always exudes such kind of charisma, carrying himself with confidence, at least around you, yet he seems least intimidating, nervous and very cautious with that simple question.

He isn’t looking for grand gestures or dramatic declarations. What he’s asking for is something simple, intimate, and deeply human: the opportunity to lie beside you, to hold you, and maybe even to begin the slow process of rebuilding what was lost, piece by piece. For a moment, you let yourself believe that this time, it might be different. That he genuinely wants to start anew and make amends, not just relive the moments of the past.

“Of course, Jjunie. Hold me, and don’t let go.”

At your reply, Yeonjun nearly jumps, placing you snuggly in his hold, not missing the opportunity to land a kiss every each and a while on your forehead as you relax and allow yourself to doze off.

[healingpage]

i don't like how my yeonjun wip turns out. that was supposed to be posted two weeks ago... reason why i have not yet released it

[healingpage]

ohh??? thank you for 300 followers !! more fics are coming

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𝐼𝒻 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒟𝑒𝒸𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝟥𝟤𝓃𝒹 - hueningkai

ꕥ pairing: hueningkai x reader

ꕥ genres: angst angst angst don't read if you're sad

ꕥ warnings: open ending and you will end up with a wrenched heart i think

ꕥ wc: 1.3k

ꕥ a/n: happy new year!

•❅──────────✧❅✦❅✧──────────❅•

Snowflake glistens quietly over the city, blanketing the streets of Seoul in a soft, ethereal glow. You stand by the frosted window of the small café where you always spaced out in, staring out into the swirling flakes. Your breath fogs the glass as you traced invisible lines, fingers trembling from the cold that had seeped into your heart long ago.

It had been exactly eight months since Kai left—244 days since he had smiled at you for the last time. He had walked away on a blooming spring evening, his words ringing in your ears like an unsettling melody you couldn't forget. "I’d be back before December ends. Wait for me."

Your heart fluttered the moment he said that. The promise that he would come find you again, the desire for you to stay put, anticipate his comeback. Months passing by quickly as you can’t wait to see this year ends, so he could appear right before your eyes again.

But today’s December 31st. The last day of the year. He hasn't come back, you haven't moved on. How could you? You have been stuck, trapped in the same moment, the same heartbreak, as if time itself refused to carry you forward.

“I wish there’s December 32nd,” you mutter to yourself, voice barely audible over the soft jazz playing in the café. A day that didn’t exist, where time could stretch just a little longer, where you could find him again.

As if answering your unspoken wish, the bell above the café door jingles softly. You turn, your heart leaping for a moment before sinking again. It wasn’t him. Just another stranger barging in, escaping the cold.

The barista brings over a cup of hot chocolate, placing it gently in front of you. “Still waiting for someone?” she asks kindly, though she already knows the answer. You would come here every week, always alone, always seeming to be waiting for something, someone perhaps.

You nod, offering her a weak smile. “Maybe he’ll come back,” you reply, though the words feel hollow. The barista passes you a sympathetic smile, off to her shift later.

As the hours tick by and the snow falls heavier, the world outside the café seems to blur, as if reality itself is shifting. You finish your drink, wrapping your scarf a bit more snuggly as the weather gets cooler as it is approaching midnight. Your footsteps then lead you unknowingly to Han River, the sacred place where you last encountered Kai.

You sit on one of the benches there. There are families, couples, a group of friends and even people alone by themselves, yet they don’t seem as lonely as you. You keep glancing at your watch—and then here comes the midnight. January 1st. The sound of fireworks ignites your soul, laughter from people around Han River celebrating another year.

Your eyes blink rapidly at your phone, notifications and wishes from your loved ones chirping in. The screen shows it is January, but for you, it is still December. The last day of December, over and over again.

When you closed your eyes, you could still see him. His laughter as he ran through the snow, his scarf trailing behind him like a ribbon caught in the wind. The way your hand fit perfectly in his when you walked along the Han River, whispering dreams of a future that would never come.

The snow continues to swirl around you, settling in soft layers on your coat, the ground beneath your feet. It's as if the world itself has frozen in time, just like your heart. Your fingers numb from the cold, but you don't mind. The chill is familiar, a quiet companion to your silent waiting.

The distant sounds of fireworks from the city blend with the steady hum of the river, but it all feels distant, detached from the reality you're living in. You glance at your phone once more. There’s a text from your friend asking if you're okay. You haven’t responded. There's no need. No one understands the weight of what you’re carrying, the promise that has kept you rooted in place.

"I'll be back before December ends," he had said.

It was a simple promise, but promises were like threads in the wind—so easy to break, so fragile when you clung to them too tightly. The words ring in your mind again, more haunting this time, more distant. The wind picks up, biting at your face, and you pull your scarf tighter, the soft fabric doing little to warm your heart.

The lights from the city twinkle across the river, beautiful, lively, but they feel hollow to you now. You had imagined this night—this new year, this crossing of time—would be different. You had imagined he would be here, just as promised, pulling you into his arms and whispering how he had never stopped thinking of you. Perhaps you could even share a kiss together like in romantic movies.

But the truth is as cold as the weather. He's not here. He hasn't come.

A couple walks by, laughing, their joy echoing through the winter air, but it only deepens the ache inside of you. They don’t know. They don’t know the story you’re living—the one where time has stopped, where you are stuck in a loop of hope, waiting for someone who may never return.

You wonder, briefly, if he’s forgotten you. If he’s moved on with his life while you’ve stood still, waiting. But that thought, that fear, feels like a betrayal of the love you’ve kept for him. It’s too cruel to entertain, so you push it away. He promised. Promises are sacred, aren’t they?

A deep breath escapes your lips, fogging the air in front of you. You’re still here. You haven’t moved, haven’t given up, not yet. The cold doesn't bother you. It never has. The cold, like your waiting, has become a part of you, shaping you into someone who holds on, even when it feels like there's nothing left to hold.

Your fingers brush the familiar edge of your phone once more, but you hesitate. Another message, maybe? Perhaps Kai? Your heart leaps at the thought, but nothing. You lock the screen and shove the phone back into your pocket.

And then, in the distance, you hear footsteps.

At first, you think it’s just your mind playing tricks—your hope weaving illusions, creating something that isn’t really there. But the footsteps draw closer, unmistakable, as if each step was measured, deliberate.

You turn slowly, the sound of your own heartbeat loud in your ears. But it isn’t him. It’s another figure, a passerby, someone out to enjoy the night. Their laughter feels like a cruel reminder, so you avert your gaze, unwilling to look further.

Still, a part of you wonders, What if? A voice inside you—the one that still clings to hope, that refuses to let go—whispers, What if he’s just running late? What if he’s actually out there looking for you right now?

The thought makes your chest ache, a feeling so profound, so empty, you could almost cry. But you don’t.

Instead, you pull your coat around you tighter and settle into the bench, your eyes scanning the river, watching the reflections ripple gently. You don’t look at your phone. You don’t check the time again. You just sit there, waiting. And in the quiet of the night, amidst the murmurs of those celebrating around you, the snowflakes continue to fall, soft and steady.

A small part of you still believes—still hopes—that there’s a December 32nd, and that, when it comes, Kai will be there. But the night stretches on, the seconds ticking away, and the year is now over.

Your phone vibrates again, but you don’t check it. You don’t want to. Maybe, just maybe, Kai is out there, somewhere, waiting for you too.

And yet, the clock in your heart begs to turn into something impossible: December 32nd.

There’s no January 1 for you. Your calendar hasn’t ended. It’s December 32nd, 33rd. It’s still December until he comes back.

But what could you do when the year comes to an end, when you have to turn the last calendar page?

Still, Kai wouldn’t come.

[healingpage]

how do we feel of arranged marriage au with maybe... soobin 🫣

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currently writing ^^

[healingpage]

guys...

[healingpage]

Not made of glass - choi soobin

ꕥ pairing: choi soobin x afab reader

ꕥ genres: smut (basically pwp)

ꕥ warnings: soft!dom soobin to hard!dom, sub!reader, fingering, unprotected sex, big!dick soobin lol, oral m!receiving, so many petnames i melted, squirting, spanking

ꕥ wc: 2.9k

ꕥ a/n: the title is pretty much self-explanatory... my first smut for soobin! i want him so bad merry christmas to those celebrating!!

taglist: @hanhani29 @bloomngspring @hhoneyhan

A few months in since you started dating, Soobin is still ever the kind, composed and gentle boyfriend. Princess treatment is always on the maximum level, the reserved soft spot only for you that you can’t help but wonder sometimes how he is the same guy that can’t skip a day without getting into silly quarrels with Beomgyu. He takes you on a date at least every once in a while, knowing his hectic schedule you are more than grateful that he makes some time for you. His love language being act of service, you won’t have to lift a finger around him. Your friends call him a gentle giant, a nickname that makes you laugh every time you are reminded of it.

At the end of a date day, usually he would stay overnight at yours. You are doing your night routine by the vanity, onto the last part of your skincare when he creeps up behind your back, his arms finding their ways around your waist. His head rests on your left shoulders, lips attracted to your neck like how bees are to honey.

“God, I missed you so much,” his voice comes out much whinier than he thought. You put down your moisturiser on the table, turning around to face him. The wet hair that is evident from the earlier shower he had made his bangs droop down adorably, and sexy at the same time.

“Show me how bad then,” you say teasingly, the provocative smirk you give Soobin is enough to set him off as he lifts you from the ground, the placement of his hands on you careful to not hurt you in any way. Your giggles fill the entire room as he places you on the soft, silky sheets that you just changed this morning.

He leans in, his mouth hovering over yours as he mutters his words of love to you before your lips connect together. The ghostly touch of his hands on your shoulder first, slowly going down to your breasts making you gasp. You continue making out for a while before he lets go and cups your cheeks, giving a peck on your forehead. The intimate action gives you butterflies, watching him closely as he works around to undress himself. The eye contact is maintained, and it’s insanely hot you can’t help but blush seeing him.

“Like what you see babe?” he asks, completely aware of your flustered face. You reach out a hand to trace his toned muscle, his abs appearing even more prominent than the last time you saw them.

“Very. Looks so hot on you, oh my god—” your breath cuts short as he accidentally tugs the only thing left on your body, your bra to be exact, harder than he intends to as the fabric tears.

“Oh! Sorry baby, did I hurt you?”

Yes, he did. In fact, he ruined you. In the most sexy way possible. You stare at him closely, lips puckered as he tries to read your expression. When you say nothing, that’s when he inches closer, promising to buy you another, even ten sets of underwear if you would want him to. You chuckle lightly, both hands supporting his neck and pulling him closer.

“Soobin, I could care less about that. I like it,” you confess, his eyes soften. Without waiting for his reply, you flip him over. His length is already poking through, Soobin hisses when you touch him there, the feeling shoots him in like electricity when your soft hands contrast with the veiny muscle there.

“This hard for me?” you start with a kitten lick, his hand is flying to hold your hair in place for you, wrapping it nicely around his wrist like a ponytail. Always very attentive and gentle.

“Only for you, love,” he answers, lids drowsy as you start to take him down your throat. You’re long past caring about the drool that drips from your stretched lips to your sheets, Soobin coos at your state and mumbles a few praises as your mind overwhelms with the way his tip presses the back of your throat, the weight of one big hand never leaves stroking your hair.

Moments later, he finds you struggling with his length, eyes watery as you look at him, he can’t help but to anxiously remind you to take only what you can. Your hand that is placed on his thighs is gripping harder on it, yet you show no sign of tapping out like what both of you agreed on whenever any of you feels uncomfortable to continue.

“Y/n–” his own breath hitches, the feeling good to him as well, the urge to just push you further down on his cock blooming in his mind but he puts it aside as he looks at his darling, sweet girlfriend on the verge of tears.

“Love, you can stop now,” he incites, feeling bad for you. With all the constraints, you manage to shake your head, insisting that you can take much more. You relax your throat a bit, breathing through your nose as you push him in deeper. Soobin groans at the action, hips jerking and thrusting sloppily. You work your best to satisfy him, until he’s left a whiny mess, as he reaches his first orgasm of the night.

He’s humming softly, lost in his own world of pleasure while you fight to stifle your gag reflex, letting the liquid go down your throat before finally releasing him from your mouth. The drool that follows through as you backs away in search of proper breath is wiped away instantly by him, feeling bad as he strokes your cheek lovingly.

“Don’t push your limit if you can’t, baby, remember?”

You could only let out a smile, pulling him on top of you. “I have never not, Soobin. I promise I am okay,” you answer, his gaze on you feels a little too strong, so you continue, “It’s a good kind of hurt.”

“Really?”

“Uh uh. Now hurry,” you urge him, your puppy eyes paired with your pout instantly puts Soobin in position, in between your legs. He’s pushing your thighs apart, working his fingers delicately on your dripping core. You relax to his touch, responsive moans here and there fill Soobin’s ears. “So fucking wet…”

Soobin rarely swears around you, but whenever he does in bed it drives you nuts. The low voice of his, with a little bit of grunt on it and the fact that you're making him feel that way has you pooling down there.

“Am ready now, come on,” you whine out, almost running out of patience as he slowly works his fingers wonderfully inside your pulsing cunt. Soobin is far from stupid, especially in knowing how your body works, he knows it’s calling for something more. Something that only he can give you. You keep on squirming around, desperate for more friction than what he’s already giving you.

“Please—want you so bad, Binnie,” your voice comes out as weak, a high pitched moan follows after when he retracts his fingers.

“Shh, I know babe, just getting you prepared for me, don’t wanna hurt you, hmm?” he coos, spreading your legs further just so he can snug up in between comfortably. His length makes its way to your entrance, your joined moans breaking out as he gathers the slick to coat around it. The pleasure gives you goosebumps, finding anchor in his hand that holds on your thigh.

He finally pushes in his tip, his cock finally stretches you out. The sensation triggers him, watching closely how your walls are pulsing to let him in. Even though he was being gentle, nothing would help when you will never get used to his size. You could not even get a hold of it when a tear drop stains your cheek, his girth inside too overwhelming. His growing concern from earlier only expands, his thumb finger delicately brushes it off from you, pecking your lips after. “Baby…”

“No, I—ah,” you are cut off from one of his thrust, unknowingly hitting your sensitive spots, filling you to the hilt. “Feels so good, Soobin..”

As he sees you struggle and non stop squirming under him, he could not help but to feel bad, slowing his pace and rubbing the skin of your waist to ease you up to accept him. Your expression confused, quite dismayed at the slowing pace. He takes his time with you, stroking your messy hair, pecking every surface of your neckline yet you grow greedy and needier by time. With a desperate huff, you call out his name, he whispers a soft hum in your ear to ensure he’s listening.

“You don’t have to be that gentle with me, Soobin. I am not made of glass,” you say, eyes glistening with lust as Soobin cups both your cheeks

“Did I do something wrong? Do you not like how I act in bed?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” you reassure quickly, scooting him closer. You reach out and take his hand, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “You’re so gentle with me, Soobin. And I love that about you. You always make me feel safe. But...”

He tilted his head, lips pouting in focus, studying your expression. “But what?”

Your cheeks are warming, feeling intimidated by his stare. “Sometimes... I think you’re holding back. Like you’re scared of pushing too hard, saying too much, or being too... intense with me.”

Soobin blinks once, twice, his mouth parting slightly as if to respond, but no words come out. You almost melt at the sight, his perfectly shaped lips look very fluffy and inviting so you pull him down to you, giving a small kiss on his lips.

You massages his palm, your voice soft but resolute. “I want all of you, baby. The gentle side, the intense side, even the messy parts you think I am not capable of handling. I can take it. I want to take it.”

Soobin looks down at your intertwined hands, his thumb now tracing over the smaller yours. “I guess... I'm afraid of hurting you. You mean so much to me, baby. I didn’t want to risk being too much, I don’t ever wanna cause you pain.”

“You won’t,” you deny firmly, voice stern. “I trust you. And I want you to trust me to take whatever you’ve got. Don’t hold back on me anymore.”

For a moment, you both stay in silence, the weight of his body on top of yours never feels uncomfortable, or too much.

"Do you trust me?"

"Babes, if I didn't I wouldn't be here. I would run away once I set my eyes on your big cock," you jokingly say to ease the tension, his dimple appearing as he chuckles.

“Alright. No more holding back, I guess. You asked for it.” He sinks his face further in your chest, leaving a few marks of him there. Your heart flutters, a spark of excitement dancing in your chest. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

The rest is history, you can't quite describe the feeling of being ravished by him for the first time. It is amazing. You are too fucked out, too weak to do anything besides moan and writhe underneath him, letting him use you as he wishes, limits all thrown out of the window as he rams inside you aggressively. You are more like a living fuck doll to be filled with him and his seed only.

“You like that, baby? Y/n?” He repeats his hard thrust over and over, distant noise ringing in your ears, his large and veined hands gripping your hips and leaving bruises on the soft flesh. Your body has been decorated with hickeys and bite marks, your wrists bruising from when he held them earlier.

Soobin then reaches around with one hand, rubbing circles on your swollen and overstimulated clit, tears rolling down your cheeks at the added sensation. He only grins at that, loving your response to his touches as two of his fingers rub circles on your sensitive bud. “Gonna cum for me? Come on, show me how good of a girl you are.”

“Yes! So good— argh!” you scream out as you reach your high, your cunt tightening around his cock as he pauses his thrust, waiting for you to loosen up a little before continuing. You lay weak in his arms, sweat trickles down your neckline at the heat. As you catch your breath and the overstimulation passes, your trembling hands come up to his hair, tugging on it a bit.

“More, baby.”

He laughs at that, iris darkening as he looks at your state. Eager for more, although it seems like you are on the verge of tears by now.

“Aren't you an impatient little one?”

“Want you to use me,” you demand assertively, eyes wide and round. Your lips pursed a little, Soobin leans down to steal a quick peck there.

“My baby wants more? You can take it?”

“Yes, of course, I love you—oh fuck!” your voice gets louder as his fingers hovers around your bud, he’s pressing some friction on it so your hands that are on his hair grasp it harder. He chuckles at your desperate action, your legs trying to escape from the euphoric pleasure so bad he has to hold onto it. “Soobin! Oh my–god!”

Your legs start quivering so much, the build-up is insane, three of his fingers start moving inside your cunt uncontrollably, hitting all the right spots. You squeal as his skilled fingers continue making a mess of you, the sheets wet with your cream as you feel your high approaching quickly. Soobin watches you closely in amusement, your thrown back head, eyes rolled to the back, mouth open. You never look so beautiful, gorgeous, very stunning, he could not take his eyes off you.

“Love you too, y/n. So much, baby. Come for me, hmm? I got you,” his soft voice accompanies your loud whines. Beyond his expectation, he’s getting more than what he wanted. As the pleasure increases, you could not hold it in so you suddenly squirt all over him. Your surprising outcome that shocks even you makes you squeal, as you hold onto his shoulder for support. You have never even squirted before.

“Oh fuck, fuck, baby,” Soobin groans, collecting the liquid to smear it all over your aching pussy. “You just did that, for me?”

You are given not much time to recollect your thoughts when you are suddenly being wrapped around his arms, he’s setting you into another position. The touch on your hips are far from gentle as you are manhandled on all fours before him. Before you can complain, his tip is already inside, soon you are swallowing his whole length. Your eyes widen at the change of angle, much more intense than before.

“That was so hot, babe, damn, you want me to ruin you that bad? You like it when I’m fucking you rough?” he’s whispering in your ears, hand coming down to land a smack on your pretty flesh bare on his hips.

“Mmngh, oh! Sen—sensitive, oh please,” your weak hands wobbly in finding support on the sheets, grabbing whatever you can to stay arched for him.

He stays silent at your plea, ignoring it as the slapping skin of his against your increases in sound, his thrust fast and precise for his own release. Your drenched pussy makes nasty noises as his cock rams inside, sounding like music to his ears. "You can take it, come on, be a big girl," leaves his lips wheneve your legs almost give up, his big hands hold you up, not letting you go anywhere further than now.

“Look so cute, you want to be filled, sweetie?” he’s dirty talking now, your mind already going anywhere you find yourself nodding desperately. His cock twitches inside, forcing you to take the whole of him, his tip dangerously poking to your cervix by now. And god, does it feel so good.

“Yes, come in me please,” the honeyed voice of yours could never make him deny you, you are his baby after all, his length buried so deep inside you before his hips shake. The thrust is now shaky and unstable as his cum spills, warming your inside. “Argh, fucking take it!” Soobin grunts.

Immediately after he’s done, he’s pulling himself out, letting the combined release of yours leak. Carefully, he takes your waist, helping you to lay on your back, head pillowed by the softness of your plushie on the bed. You moan at the sight around your legs, his lips pressing kisses around your thighs, anywhere near your pussy but there to not let the oversensitivity overcome you. Your eyes then follow his movement, kneeling to scoot closer to you as he removes the hair strand from your face.

“Satisfied?”

“Never have been so before. Thank you, I love you,” you confess. His hands are now finding home on your back, wrapping you in a warm embrace.

“Love you more, baby. Did it hurt?” he’s asking, eyes wandering around your expression for honesty, afraid he has taken it too far. Your head shakes as you smile, convincing him that all is good. He lets out a sigh of relief, your night spent together while he takes care of you like always.