Hi I'm Hiseu and I live in Chicago. Ask Box is ALWAYS OPEN and I always reply. This is a place for me to share my love of K-Pop and other things I love. Fandoms: BAP, Block B, BTS, SKZ, ATEEZ, Seventeen. I am born in the 1900's
ಠ_ಠwarning/content: MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. fem reader, age gap + ddlg themes (im sorry it's got me in a chokeholdhold), rough sex, 1 spank, degradation, name calling+ pet names (princess, little girl, pervert, bitch), aftercare
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Yeosang is, and always has been, a massive pervert. Ever since his twenties, he's been into taboo and hard kinks. Things haven't changed now that he's pushing fifty. In fact — things have got worse. He's had time to perfect his mean, dominant persona in bed. He's had experience. Practice. And, now that he's older, he gets to dabble in one of the taboo kinks that have always tickled the back of his perverted mind — age gaps. He had a few one night stands with younger women. And he enjoyed it more than any woman his age could give him — because the age gaps creates an extra layer of unbalanced power dynamics. And it makes him hard within seconds just thinking about it.
But nobody compares to you. Sweet, young, inexperienced, you. With your soft skin and your innocent eyes as he fucks you stupid. You're his Princess, and you have been for quite some time. Because you feed off of each other's kinks, your deepest and nastiest fantasies. Like your age gap, for example. Nothing gets you both going like it does. Yeosang knows exactly what to say to make your pussy a gushing mess.
"Young enough to be my daughter," he groans, loud enough for you to hear in your current position; face smooshed into the pillows by his rough hand, hips in the air with your back arched as he fucks you deep and fast. "Little pervert, I bet that makes you excited." He runs his hand down the slope of your back, moaning at the feel of your soft, dewy skin. "Doesn't it?"
You can hardly catch your breath enough to yelp out through your screaming moans, "yes, Daddy!" He has you near brain dead, pussy and mind both pliable and bending to his will a she plows into you. "F-uck, Daddy, fuck!"
"Watch your mouth, little girl," he says with a smack to your ass, making you wail and clench around him. Apologies fly from your quivering lips, hands spread out on the sheets and gripping them tightly as he flattens you on the bed, pining your legs together with his own before slipping back into your twitching hole.
"Holy s-" You scream, bringing a hand over your mouth just in time to save you from another spank. He's stretching you out perfectly, getting so deep you swear he's in your literal guts. "Daddy, Daddy!" Is the only word you seem to know other than the off limits curse words flying in your mind.
"Are you about to cum? Hm?" He groans with effort as he slips a hand between you and the bed and presses above your pussy, making you feel it a hundred times more. "Are you going to cum, Princess? While I fuck you like a bitch?"
"Yes, ple-please!" And when he slips his fingertips just a bit lower, grazing your swollen clit; you know that it's permission to cum for him. It washes over you like a hot wave, tingling your entire body as you shake and shiver below him. The way your body twitches and clenches around him makes him follow, slamming balls deep and making you scream as he unloads his cum into you.
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"Shhh," he coos softly as he pulls out a few minutes later, kissing the back of your head gently. "Breathe in for me, nice and slow- there you go~ That's my good girl," he rolls you over with all the tenderness his can manage, treating you like a porcelain doll.
He grunts low in his throat as you koala hug onto him, trapping him close with your shaky arms and legs. "Thank you, Daddy."
"No," he rubs your back softly, melting into you as you kiss his smile lines, "thank you, Princess. So good for your old man~"
All That I Need pt.2 | Choi Seungcheol | angst, fluff, 🔞
Pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader
Summary: You and Seungcheol go way back. Way way back. So far back that there isn’t a day in your life you haven’t known him. But what happens when one careless outsider observation undermines everything you thought you knew?
Word count: 22.3k (39.8k in total)
Genres/warnings: fluff, angst, smut; non-idol au; bff2l, childhood friends to lovers, slow burn-ish?, overthinking, miscommunicatioooon yesss pleaseeee, lots of complicated feelings while growing up, questionable beliefs installed by parents, dealing with doubt (aka questioning everything you knew before) and friendship drifting apart, just a lot of friendship related thots and events; pretty much a coming of age story ig; mentions of recreational drinking; mild jealousy and self-deprecation for it; there’s a one bed trope if you squint hard enough; idk what else to put here so if you find smth hit me up
Smut warnings: Minors DNI, it’s all very gentle, first time, lots of touching, making out, consent king!cheol x virgin!reader, oral (f rec), cheol is lowkey an eater, they talk a lot, protected piv sex (wow can you imagine??🫢), basically lovemaking🥰, if i missed anything lmk
A/N: pt 2 is here!! enjoy your read and i’ll be happy to see your feedback in any form you’re comfortable with: comments, asks or reblogs. i will see you in my next fic ᙏ̤̫
If you see any mistakes: I try to proofread but English isn’t my first language, proceed at your own discretion.
Masterlist. | Part 1
The guy's head snaps to the side, and he goes down like a sack of stones, collapsing against the seat.
You don't scream. You just freeze, your hand flying to your mouth. The world narrows to the sight of Seungcheol standing over him, his fist still clenched, his chest heaving. The music is still pounding, but in your bubble of shock, it sounds muffled, far away. You've never seen violence like that. You've never seen him like that—all primal, protective fury.
Mingyu is already crouching, checking the guy's pulse with two fingers at his neck. He looks up, his eyes comically big but voice calm like nothing happened. "He's breathing. Out cold, but breathing." He stands, running a hand through his hair. "But I think it's better we're not here when he comes to or when security notices."
Seungcheol doesn't look at the guy on the floor. He turns to you, his expression shifting from furious to intensely focused. "Are you hurt?" he asks, his voice rough.
You shake your head, mute.
"Can you walk?"
You nod, even though your limbs feel like they belong to someone else.
He doesn't ask again. He just reaches for your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours—his knuckles are split and bleeding, you notice distantly—and pulls you gently but firmly from the booth. His grip is iron-strong, grounding. "Gyu, get the others," he says over his shoulder, his voice low and urgent. "Meet us at the car."
Mingyu nods, already pulling out his phone, his thumbs flying as he presumably texts the group chat. "On it. Go. I'll get them."
Seungcheol doesn't let go of your hand as he leads you through the crowd, which parts instinctively, some people catching glimpses of the still form in the booth. No one stops you. The bouncers are at the front door, oblivious. It's not a movie-style escape; it's just two people walking very quickly, hearts hammering, trying to look normal while fleeing the scene of a profoundly stupid, rash decision.
The cool night air hits you like a slap as you burst out of the club's doors. You take a gulping breath, the relative silence ringing in your ears after the indoor roar. The city sounds—distant traffic, a siren—feel overwhelmingly loud.
Seungcheol finally releases your hand, but only to shove his own into his pockets. He's breathing hard, his shoulders tense. He looks down at his injured knuckles, flexing his fingers with a slight wince. "Shit," he mutters, more to himself than to you.
You're trembling, but not from the cold. You're trembling from the shock, from the violent rupture of the evening, from adrenaline. "Your hand," you manage to say, your voice so rough you have to clear your throat.
"It's fine," he shakes his head, but he doesn't sound fine. He sounds shaken, angry, and wired all at once. He looks at you, his eyes searching yours in the dim streetlight. "I'm sorry you had to see that. I just… I saw him in your space and you looked…"
He trails off, shaking his head. The adrenaline is still vibrating off him in waves. You look at him and realise you don't entirely recognise this person. This is your friend—the one who cried with you while watching Lion King, the one who used to need your help navigating conversations with strangers—and he just did something incredibly stupid and violent because someone scared you. The rational part of your brain worries this might have consequences though it probably won't. But the louder part is still stuck on the notion of what it means that he snapped like that.
You force yourself to look away and breathe. As many times before, you're not ready to dig into the implications of what this all possibly means. Right now you just want to go home, to the safety of your walls, to the warmth of your bed where nothing happens and no one gets knocked unconscious for you, because of you. It's too many things to process in one night.
"Hey. Let's get to the car, okay?" You pull his attention gently, taking his uninjured hand and tugging so he starts walking. Your fingers wrap around his, and you feel the fine tremor running through him. Seungcheol just nods and follows, his feet moving mechanically. You can tell he's in just as much shock as you are, maybe even more. The adrenaline that fuelled him is crashing, leaving hollowness in its wake.
Being the only sober person leaves you as the designated driver, just like you thought you would be. Mingyu emerges from the club with the others—Soonyoung looking bewildered, Violet and Ginger clutching each other's arms, Chan and Vernon bringing up the rear with matching expressions of what the fuck just happened. Mingyu takes charge of herding them to the car, his voice low and urgent. After everyone gets in you take time giving everyone a ride to their places. Then you drive to Seungcheol's apartment.
He's silent the entire ride, sitting in the passenger seat by your side. His split knuckles rest on his thigh, and you notice he's clenching and unclenching his jaw. The city lights slide across his face in rhythmic intervals, illuminating a blank, shuttered expression you've never seen before.
Only because he insists—a mumbled, slurred protest as you try to leave him at his door—you stay at his apartment for the night, taking his couch. He tosses you a blanket from the hallway closet, his movements heavy and uncoordinated, and disappears into his bedroom without another word. You lie there in the dark, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of his space, replaying the image of his fist connecting with that man's jaw until exhaustion finally pulls you under.
The next morning, you're up before him. Grey light filters through the blinds, painting stripes across the ceiling. You stay on the couch, unmoving, just staring upward and listening to the faint sounds of the city waking. Your mind is a static blur, too tired to process, too wired to rest properly.
When Seungcheol finally emerges from his bedroom, he looks like hell. His hair is a disaster, his eyes are bloodshot, and he's moving with the careful deliberation of someone whose head is pounding like a church bell. He pauses in the doorway, taking in the sight of you bundled on his couch, and something flickers across his face.
He shuffles to the kitchen, downs a glass of water, and then appears in the living room doorway again, leaning against the frame. "Hey," he croaks.
"Hey."
He rubs the back of his neck, wincing. "Listen. About last night. I'm so sorry." The words tumble out, raw and earnest. "I'm sorry you had to witness me like that. I was just—I was drunk, and I saw that guy, and he was in your space and you looked so uncomfortable and I…" He trails off, shaking his head. "I snapped. That's not who I am. I don't do that. I just couldn't stand the thought of some creep making my best friend feel unsafe."
Your heart sinks a little. It's a tiny, traitorous movement in your chest, but you feel it. Best friend. He says it so intentionally, so clearly, like he's reinforcing the walls between you. Not because he hated seeing someone bother you specifically, but because you're his best friend and that's what friends do—they protect each other. The distinction shouldn't matter. It does.
You don't let it show. You've had years of practice hiding these small, sharp disappointments. You just offer him a small smile, the one you've perfected. "It's nothing, Cheol. Really. That guy was a creep and he deserved what he got." You shrug, aiming for casual. "You've got nothing to be sorry for. I mean, sure, maybe don't make a habit of knocking people out for your friends, but I'd be more disappointed if you did nothing at all," you give him a small reassuring smile.
He exhales, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You swing your legs off the couch, stretching. "Now go shower. I don't want to go anywhere near you, I can imagine what you smell like just from one look."
He laughs, a small sound of relief, and disappears back into his room.
After all, if he's putting you in a specific box with a specific label, there isn't much that you can do about it, right? You can't argue with the way he sees you. You can't rewrite the definition he's settled on. So you don't. You just go back to what it was. The careful, precious friendship you rebuilt. The one you told yourself was enough.
You pull the blanket over your lap and wait for him to emerge, ready to be normal again.
Ready to pretend the box fits just fine.
It's only a couple of weeks later that you're hanging out with his friend group again. You really should consider calling them your friend group now, with how frequent a guest you've become in his circle. Sure, you don't really talk to them outside of these planned gatherings—no late-night texts, no shared memes, no inside jokes that don't involve Seungcheol as a bridge—but still, you think you're getting close to it despite your earlier judgment. The edges don't feel as sharp anymore. The laughter doesn't sound as foreign.
Tonight you're at a bar. It's still not your scene really, but at least it's quieter here, the music a background murmur instead of an obstacle to be overcome for proper communication. You can actually hear yourself think, which is a luxury you've come to appreciate. You'd be happy to say that tonight is nothing different from the rest, another easy evening of shared drinks and scattered conversation.
But it is.
And you hate it.
As your bunch waits outside for Soonyoung and whatever friend he's bringing—he'd been mysterious about it, which should have been your first warning—you really don't mind a single thing in the world. The evening air is warm but not sticky. The streetlights cast a soft glow on the sidewalk. You're chuckling at something Violet said, a ridiculous story about her cat learning to open cabinets, and the sound of your own laughter is loose and genuine. The guys are talking about their own thing—something about a video game, you think, catching fragments of Chan's animated explanations.
You're fully aware of Seungcheol, though. You always are. He's literally at your back, close enough that if you leaned just slightly, you'd press against his chest. His presence makes the hairs on the nape of your neck stand, a physical awareness that you've stopped trying to suppress. It's just there now, a constant hum beneath your skin whenever he's near. Sometimes you feel his fingers play with the strands of your hair absentmindedly as he talks and it sends shivers up your spine, to the point where you have to hiss at him to stop because it's disturbing (you're just afraid you might whimper at one point).
This is when you hear Soonyoung's loud ass calling out to your group, his voice cutting through the ambient city noise and dragging everyone's attention toward him. He's jogging up the sidewalk, all long limbs and chaotic energy, and there's a girl by his side.
When she comes closer and beams a smile at everyone, you think she's pretty. Objectively, immediately, painfully pretty. She has the kind of face that makes strangers want to befriend her—open, warm, approachable. You also realize some of the group know her briefly. Introductions ripple through the circle: Mina is a friend of Soonyoung's, and she shares her major with Seungcheol. Business, you remember. She's in some of his classes.
You don't mind her. Not yet. There's no reason to.
Until the very moment your little group—since there are fewer of you tonight than usual—trickles into the bar and takes a booth. Which is no longer than five minutes.
You're absentmindedly heading for your usual spot, the one by Seungcheol's side that's become instinct by now. Your body knows where to go. Your feet carry you there without conscious thought. Only to suddenly find it… occupied.
By Mina.
Your brain buffers for a good, frozen second, processing the change like a computer with too many tabs open. She's sitting there, next to him, like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like she belongs there. Like she doesn't even know she's taken something that wasn't hers to take. To be frank she actually doesn't, but you think that to be beyond the point.
It's when she notices you standing there, hovering awkwardly at the edge of the booth, that she speaks. "Oh, I'm sorry—do you want to sit here? I can move, I didn't realize—"
She's already half-rising to usher Seungcheol to slide deeper into the booth, her expression genuinely apologetic, and that makes it so much worse.
You unfreeze, throwing out a hurried, "It's fine, don't bother," before your brain can catch up with your mouth. The words come out too bright and fast, and you're already turning away before you have to see her settle back into your spot.
You make a full one-eighty and zero in on Mingyu on the opposite side of the table. He's sprawled comfortably, taking up more than his fair share of space.
"Move," you say.
He looks up, blinking. "What? Why? There's room over—"
"Move your ass, Mingyu."
He starts to protest, a whine building in his throat, but you just stare silent daggers at him. You feel your patience running out, a thin, fraying wire ready to snap. Something in your eyes must convey this because he immediately shuts up, his mouth clicking closed. He hasn't seen you this annoyed since the club incident, and you do keep bringing that up every opportunity you get just to make Seungcheol groan and bury his face in his hands. So seeing you this mad now certainly means something, and Mingyu clearly doesn't want to find out what the consequences of pushing you further might be.
He scrambles to shift, grumbling under his breath, and you slide into the newly vacated space with a muttered, "Thanks."
The rest of your evening, you spend in a spoiled mood.
It's exhausting, this silent, secret surveillance you're conducting. From across the table, you watch them. You can't help it. Mina leans in to say something to Seungcheol, her hand brushing his arm, and you feel your jaw tighten. She laughs at something he responds with, her head tilting back, and you notice the way his lips quirk in response. She's just being friendly. You know this. She's new to the group tonight, of course she's going to gravitate toward the person she already knows best.
But jealousy that stems from insecurity is an ugly lens. It warps things to a degree that is difficult to unsee. It colours everything Mina does in this greenish, sickly tint. Every smile she gives to Seungcheol, every look, every brief, casual touch on his arm while she talks animatedly about something you can't hear—it all feeds the tight, hot knot in your chest.
You hate it. But maybe you hate yourself more. For feeling all of it at all. Because what right do you have? What claim can you possibly stake?
You're his best friend. That's the box. That's the label. You agreed to it. You told yourself it was enough.
But it's just so painfully clear now, watching her, how easy it could be for someone else. How uncomplicated. She doesn't carry two decades of history like a weight. She doesn't have a cracked foundation to rebuild from. She's not too much. And your history with him is too much, you realise. You're too much. All those summers, all those silences, all that shared, tangled past—it's not a foundation, it's a fortress, and you're trapped inside while she gets to walk in through the front door.
Of course he would prefer a girl like her. A blank canvas. Someone who doesn't come with a decade and a half of baggage, of fights and reconciliations and awkward apologies and unspoken questions. Someone he can just… like. Simply. Without the weight of everything that came before.
And of course, you shouldn't even bother thinking about it because it doesn't matter. You're his best friend. That's the role. That's the assignment. You don't get to audition for a part when you already have been cast for a role.
You aren't very talkative when you're in a group of people. It's just how you're wired. You always prefer to listen when there are more than three voices in the conversation. Seungcheol's friends have learned that about you, accepted it as part of the package. But tonight you're even more silent than your first time meeting them. The quiet has shifted from comfortable to conspicuous, and it reveals something you wish it didn't.
Your intolerance of Mina grows when, for some wicked reason, her attention falls on you. Maybe she's noticed your silence. Maybe she's one of those people who can't stand someone being left out. She starts trying to involve you in the conversation, asking your opinion on something someone said, turning her warm smile in your direction.
It happens when Violet pauses mid-story, reaching for her drink, and the conversation lulls for just a beat. Mina seizes it.
"So you've known Seungcheol forever, right?" Her voice is bright, genuinely curious. She's looking at you across the table with those warm, open eyes. "He just mentioned about that time you two got lost in the woods as kids. It's adorable."
The table's attention shifts. It's like a physical weight, settling on your shoulders. You feel heads turn, eyes land. Even Seungcheol glances at you, a small smile tugging at his mouth like he's anticipating some shared joke in response.
You force your lips into something approximating a smile. "Oh. That."
"I'd love to hear more," Mina presses, leaning forward slightly. Her elbow rests on the table, her chin in her palm. She looks genuinely interested. It's excruciating. "You must have so many stories. Growing up together like that. It's so rare."
Your skin feels too tight and heated. The warmth of the bar, comfortable moments ago, now presses in on you like a blanket that's too heavy and suffocating on a summer day. You're acutely aware of everyone listening, of the expectation hanging in the air. You feel a spike of irritation. Why don't you ask him then if he mentioned it at all? And who the hell finds getting lost in the woods adorable?
"It was just…" You search for words that will end this on the spot. "We were kids. We did kid stuff. Nothing exciting."
Mina laughs, a light, easy sound. "I'm sure it was more exciting than you're letting on. Seungcheol's told me a few things already." She glances at him, and something in her smile shifts—softer, more private. You might throw up or throw something across the table. "I think he's very fond of those memories."
Something hot curls in your stomach. He's told her things. Of course he has. Why wouldn't he? She's in his classes, he knows her, they do talk most likely. Or maybe he's been whispering stuff to her right now, smiling about it to her. Ether way, she gets to hear the sanitized, cute versions of your shared history while you sit here, the actual participant, reduced to an anecdote.
You know you're warping it excessively and still do it.
"Fond is one word for it," you manage. Your voice sounds strange to your own ears. Too flat. Too controlled.
Violet, oblivious, chimes in. "Tell the one about the mud cake! That one's hilarious."
You want to sink through the floor. Instead, you pick up your drink and take a long sip, using the moment to gather yourself. When you set it down, you keep your eyes on the glass.
"There's not much to tell. We made a mess. My mom was mad. The end."
It comes out dismissive. You know it does. You see the flicker in Mina's expression, the slight recoil. She wasn't expecting that. She was expecting warmth, camaraderie, the easy sharing of memories—that aren't hers to be shared, aren't anyone's but yours and his.
Seungcheol shifts in his seat. "It was a little more dramatic than that," he says lightly, trying to smooth things over. "It happened in her mom's flower garden and I don't think it fully recovered even to this day."
A few people chuckle. The tension eases slightly. Mina smiles again, though it's more hesitant now, her eyes studying you with a new, curious wariness.
You hate that she's studying you. You hate that she's trying. You hate that she's sitting there, pretty and kind and perfectly pleasant, and all you feel is a hot, irrational loathing that you have to choke down with every sip of your drink.
Not wanting to snap at her for no reason—not wanting to reveal the ugly, green thing clawing at your insides—you excuse yourself from the table. "Bathroom," you murmur, already sliding out of the booth before anyone can respond.
You escape. The bathroom is mercifully empty, a small, tiled space. You grip the edge of the sink and stare at your reflection. You look normal. You look fine. No one would know that inside, everything is churning.
He's very fond of those memories. The words loop, sticky and persistent. You press your palms against the cool porcelain and try to breathe. It's not her fault. You repeat it like a mantra. She doesn't know. She can't know. She's just being friendly, just trying to include you, and you're sitting out there like a cornered animal, snapping at kind gestures.
You run cold water over your wrists, watching it pool and drip. The hate you feel is ugly and unreasonable and you despise yourself for it most of all. She's pretty and warm and she makes him laugh. Of course she does. Why wouldn't she?
When you can't justify hiding any longer, you dry your hands and head back.
The walk to the booth feels longer than it should. You can see them from here—Mina talking about something, Seungcheol responding, the easy energy of their conversation. You slide into your seat by Mingyu's side, and you catch Seungcheol giving you a look. A crease between his brows, a question in his eyes as his brow raises. He noticed it took you long.
You respond with a smile, one you hope looks reassuring. It feels like a mask, stiff and unconvincing on your face, but he seems to accept it and turns back to whatever Mina is saying.
After that you deliberately take your attention off of him. You fix it on Soonyoung, who's talking about something you don't really care to catch up to. You just nod at the right moments. You even manage a chuckle when someone else laughs. You're physically present but everything inside you is silently screaming.
And across the table, Mina laughs at something Seungcheol said, and her hand finds his arm again.
You look away. Your eyes land on your glass, half-empty, condensation beading on the outside. You trace a finger through the moisture, drawing invisible lines, focusing on the cool wetness instead of of their interaction just across the table.
"So what do you think?"
Violet's voice cuts through. She's looking at you expectantly. The whole table is, actually. You missed the question entirely. In fact you don't even know how much of conversation you missed and what's the topic at the moment.
"Sorry," you say, shaking your head slightly. "Zoned out. What was that?"
"I said, don't you think Mina and Seungcheol would make a cute couple?" Violet grins at the two, clearly enjoying herself. "They've got that whole 'same major, same classes' thing going on. Would you approve as his childhood friend?"
Your stomach drops. You feel heat crawl up your neck and you pray the dim lighting hides it.
Across the table, Mina laughs, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh stop, we're barely friends." But she glances at Seungcheol when she says it, and there's something in that glance that makes your chest tighten and your skin crawl.
Seungcheol just shrugs, easy and unbothered. "We survive group projects together. That's the extent of it."
He doesn't say no. He doesn't say not interested or not my type or any of the things your brain is desperately scanning for. He just deflects, smooth and casual, and lets the moment pass.
Violet keeps teasing for a minute longer. Someone else joins in. The conversation shifts, buoyant and playful, and you're left holding your glass, smiling along, the cold condensation seeping into your fingers.
You don't look at them again. Not at her hand, not at his arm, not at the easy way they exist in each other's space. You keep your eyes on Violet, on Mingyu, on anyone who isn't them. You keep the smile fixed, a little tight at the edges, but passable.
No one notices. You hope no one does.
You came to the gathering with Seungcheol, and when the time comes that you decide you're done for the night and can't sit through this shitshow any longer, you don't expect him to leave with you. After all, he's been having a great time talking to Mina the entire night. You don't even think he spoke to you once outside the context of someone else starting a conversation, pulling you in like an afterthought. Oh, what do you think? And you'd answer, brief and polite, and he'd nod along before his attention drifted back across the table. Back to her.
It leaves you dumbfounded. Not in a dramatic, world-shattering way. Just in a quiet, hollow one. Like discovering a bruise you don't remember getting.
Yes, you think you have no right to feel jealous. Seungcheol is not yours. You've established this. You've accepted this. Or you thought you had. But is it really that unreasonable? He's been giving you mixed signals for months now. Playing this push and pull, this careful, confusing game. Putting you firmly in the best friend box with one hand while the other hand—the one that reflexively knocked out a guy for being too in your space, the one that plays with your hair when you're standing close, the one that throws an arm over the couch back so it rests right behind your shoulders—does things that don't fit that box at all.
He does things for you that you can obviously do yourself. Holds doors a beat too long. Opens bottles before you can reach for them. Touches your lower back to guide you through crowds. Small things. Nothing you could point to and say see, this means something. But they add up. They sink into your skin and settle there, a quiet accumulation of maybes.
So when you decide to be the first to leave and begin standing up, saying your excuses—it's late (it's really not), you're tired (you are, but not in the way they'll understand)—you unintentionally catch Seungcheol by surprise.
Mingyu grabs your forearm, his puppy eyes wide and his lower lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout. "Nooo, you can't leave yet. The night is young. We haven't even done the thing where we all complain about our majors yet."
You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. "You can complain without me. I've heard it before."
"Not the point. The point is solidarity!" He tugs gently. "One more drink. Please? For me?"
It's in this moment that Seungcheol seems to snap out of whatever daze he's been under this entire evening. His head turns, his gaze sharpening as it lands on you—standing, bag in hand, clearly ready to go.
"I'll walk you," he speaks up suddenly.
The words cut through the ambient noise of the bar, through Mingyu's pleading, through the low murmur of conversation at nearby tables. They land directly in your chest, heavy and wrong.
You feel bile rise in your throat. The growing agitation and anxiety inside you coil tighter, a spring wound too far. Your eyes dart toward his and glue there, unable to look away. Your teeth clench to the point where your jaw aches, your tongue pressing against the back of your throat until you feel vaguely nauseous. Your eyes sting briefly, a prickle of heat you blink away furiously.
"No," you say. The word comes out firmer than you expected. "No, it's fine."
His eyebrows cinch together, a grim line forming between them. You don't need him to say anything to know he doesn't like this particular no he's receiving from you. His mouth opens, ready to protest, ready to insist.
You cut him off before he can start.
"Really, Cheol. You're having a great time. I'd hate to take that away from you." You let your gaze flick briefly off his face, a tiny shift to the left—just a flicker, just long enough—before returning to him. You don't need to look at her to express it. The underline is there, clear as day, written in the spaces between your words. You've barely looked at me all night. You've been entirely hers. Don't pretend otherwise now just because I'm leaving.
You see it land. The slight flinch in his expression, the way his jaw tightens. He reads you painfully well. He always could.
You also hate that you're saying it. Even though you're making yourself sound light and unbothered, a casual dismissal delivered with a small shrug and a tired smile. You know no one else at this table can read into it. To them, you're just being considerate, letting him stay and enjoy his night. But there's just enough space in your tone, just enough of a crack, for one person to squeeze in and see through.
It's just you and Seungcheol now. Reading between the lines. The rest of the table fades to background noise.
And you're being a stupid idiot. You know it. Letting him know in the most pathetic, passive-aggressive way possible that you're jealous. That you hate not being the centre of his attention, even though you have no claim to it. Even though you've spent years telling yourself you don't want it.
It throws you back. A childhood memory, sudden and sharp.
You're five years old. Seungcheol has been gone from the village for a few days—him and his parents visiting his grandparents. His house has felt empty, wrong. At some point, you cried about it. Not loudly, not for long, but enough for your parents to notice. They sat you down and taught you something then: you shouldn't cry because of boys. Even friends. Especially friends. And you definitely shouldn't admit that you did to Seungcheol. So when they came back and he asked, all earnest curiosity, whether you missed him and cried, you lifted your chin and said you didn't. Because you were a proud girl. And proud girls don't cry over boys.
And now here you are. Twenty-something years old, playing cypher mind games, unable to express your hurt because it's still too embarrassing. Too vulnerable. Too much like handing him the upper hand on your emotions, even after all these years. Even though it's him.
Your heart just stops beating entirely when he sighs.
He doesn't look at you when he does it. He looks down at the table, at his hands, at anything but you. Then he shifts, turning slightly toward Mina.
"Excuse me for a sec," he says, his voice low and polite. "Can you let me out?"
Mina blinks, clearly caught off guard, but she nods and shifts, sliding out of the booth to let him pass. She murmurs something—everything okay?—and he offers a tight smile, a quick reassurance you don't catch.
Then he's standing. He briefly brushes at his shirt, straightening it in an unconscious gesture you've seen a thousand times. His big, dark eyes find yours across the small space. There's something in them you can't quite name. Not anger. Not quite disappointment. Something much more tangled.
He nods his chin toward the door. Toward the exit. Toward the night air and the quiet street and the walk home that you were supposed to take alone.
"Let's go."
It's not a question. It's not even an offer. It's a statement, levelled and calm, that brooks no argument.
The stubborn side of you thinks you should argue. You should insist again, let him stay, let him have his night with Mina and her easy laugh and her hand on his arm. You should be the proud girl who doesn't cry over boys and doesn't need anyone to walk her home.
But your feet are already moving. Your bag is already over your shoulder. You're already stepping away from the booth, avoiding everyone's curious eyes, following him toward the door.
The night air hits you like a wall. Cool and clean and mercifully quiet after the noise inside. He's already a few steps ahead, his back to you, his hands shoved in his pockets.
You follow. Because what else can you do?
It's just a minute later that you feel the need to fill the silence. It feels oppressive, heavy as a physical weight pressing down on your chest. Like you're a child who messed up and is now walking toward punishment, the kind where you know you've done something wrong but don't fully understand what. And it's no fun at all.
He's walking a couple of steps ahead of you, hands still shoved deep in his pockets, his entire posture radiating tension. The set of his shoulders, the rigid line of his back—it all screams that something is wrong. You watch him with a frown as you follow, your feet matching his pace automatically despite the distance.
And because you're feeling defensive and prickly, because the silence is eating at you, what ends up tumbling out of your mouth is a repeat of earlier.
"You really should've just stayed back there."
This time, however, your tone isn't so thinly veiled. The careful lightness you'd manufactured at the table is gone. Your irritation is out in the open now, raw and unmistakable, loud enough for any passing ear to catch.
Seungcheol stops dead in his tracks.
You halt too, caught off guard, suddenly cautious as he turns to face you. You haven't walked very far. The bar is still behind you, its neon sign buzzing faintly if you listen closely, visible if you just turn your head. For a moment, you genuinely fear he might take on your offer. That he'll walk past you without a word, back to his friends and the warm booth and Mina's easy laughter, leaving you here with your stupid, confusing outbursts and the cold night air.
Instead, he does something worse.
"Do you actually want me to go?" His voice is quiet. Tired. Like he already knows the answer before you open your mouth, like he's asking just to hear you say it. Like he's giving you an out and daring you to take it at the same time.
You retreat. It's instinctive, a pulling back into yourself. Your eyes drop from his face, travelling down—past his jaw, his chest, the line of his torso—until they land on the tips of his sneakers. The bulky kind you teased him for last week, calling them moon boots, refusing to admit that you actually liked the way he styled them with his outfits. That they looked good on him.
You shake your head. "No."
It comes out quiet. Barely audible.
You'd hate yourself till the end of times if you actually made him leave. Because beneath the pushing away and the pretending to be fine, beneath the performance of independence and the insistence that he stay with his friends, you were begging for one thing: for him to choose you. For once, without you having to ask, without you having to make yourself vulnerable and pathetic and obvious. Just him, deciding that you matter more than the conversation he was having, more than the girl whose hand kept finding his arm, more than the easy flow of the evening.
And now that he has—or it seems like he has, you don't dare let yourself believe it fully, not yet, not when believing things like this has only ever led to disappointment—you don't know what to do with it. You didn't think this far ahead. You never do and that's on you.
"I'm sorry." The words slip out before you can stop them. You feel foolish. Tired. Confused. And beneath all of that, the familiar doubt is creeping in, cold and insidious. What are you even doing? What are you hoping for? What right do you have to hope for anything?
You feel inadequate. Inhibited. Like every emotion you've been trying to contain is pressing against your skin from the inside, looking for a way out.
You only know Seungcheol is moving because your eyes are still fixed on his sneakers. They shift, angle toward you. Step by step, they eat up the distance between you until they're right there, toe to toe with your own much plainer shoes.
It's too scary to look up. Your eyes travel only as high as your eye level, which lands you squarely at his collarbones. The collar of his t-shirt is low enough for that. You can see the faint pulse beating under his skin there, a small, vulnerable movement that feels impossibly intimate to witness.
He's standing so close now. Close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. That you can smell his ridiculously expensive cologne that you teased him about as well, yet again masking the way it made you feel dizzy when he wore it. Close enough that if you leaned forward just slightly, you'd press against his chest. The urge to take a step back, to create space, to regain some semblance of control, is almost overwhelming. His proximity makes you feel unmoored, untethered from your own body, like you're watching yourself from somewhere far away.
You think it shows anyway. In the way your breath hitches, shallow and uneven. In the way your heart hammers against your ribs like a trapped bird. You clench your hands at your sides to stop them from trembling.
"Look at me." His voice is low. Not quite a demand, not quite a plea. Something in between that makes your stomach tighten. You only make it as far as the spot on his cheek where you know a dimple appears when he smiles. It's smooth now, expressionless. You can't force yourself to meet his eyes. You can't. It's too much. "You can't even look me in the eye."
The disappointment in his voice cuts. But it also sparks something hot and defensive in your chest.
"Why should I?" The words come out before you can stop them. Sharper than you intended. Your eyes finally snap up to meet his, and the sight of him—the tension in his jaw, the furrow between his brows—makes your pulse hammer. "You haven't looked at me all night. Why should I?"
He blinks. Something flickers across his face, too fast to name. You think it's because your reasoning sounds childish. Even to your own ears you sounded too much like a child who was refused her favourite toy. You won't admit to it though.
"That's not—"
"It's not what?" You're shaking now. You can feel it, a fine tremor running through your hands. "Not true? You sat there for hours, Seungcheol. Hours. And I don't think you once looked in my direction unless someone else dragged me into the conversation first."
His jaw tightens. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" You laugh, and it sounds nothing like a laugh—hollow, breathless, wrong. "I was right there. I saw you. You were so wrapped up in her you didn't even notice when I stopped talking altogether." You don't mention that he did look at you that one time you returned from the bathroom. It was just once and he was quick to return to his conversation after you gave him a ghost of a smile. In your head it doesn't count for much.
Silence. He just looks at you, and the weight of his gaze is unbearable.
"What did you want me to do?" His voice is quieter now. Rougher. "She was sitting next to me. She was talking to me. Was I supposed to ignore her because you were on the other side of the table?"
"Yes." The word rips out of you before you can catch it. You feel your face heat. "No. I don't—I don't know what I wanted. I just know I hated it. I hated watching her touch your arm and laugh at your jokes and sit in my spot like it was nothing. I hated that you let her. I hated that I had to pretend I didn't care."
You stop. Your breath is coming too fast. The words keep tumbling out, unstoppable now.
"I've been pretending for so long, Cheol. Pretending I don't notice when you look at me a certain way, when you probe my boundaries. Pretending I don't feel it when you touch me. Pretending I'm fine with just being your childhood friend when half the time I want to—"
You cut yourself off, terrified of what slipped past. You hurry to shove the words back down where they came from. Where they should've stayed buried and unheard. But it's too late and Seungcheol is staring at you. His hands are still at his sides, but you see them curl into fists, then relax, then curl again. A war playing out in him.
"When you want to what?" His voice is low and careful. Afraid of spooking you.
You shake your head. Step back. The movement is instinctive, a retreat to safer ground where you can build up a wall once again.
"Forget it. Forget I said anything."
You turn to walk around him, to continue your path. You don't get away even two full steps because his hand wraps around your wrist. Not hard. Just enough to stop you, to feel the heat of his palm against your skin.
"Don't." The way he says it, so pained, makes your heart stutter.
You don't turn around. You can't. If you look at him now, you'll break. You know it with absolute certainty.
"You've been doing this for months," you say to the empty street ahead. And your voice is much steadier than you feel. "Pulling me close. Pushing me away. Doing these stupid little things like I'm yours and then acting like nothing happened. And I let you. I let you because I'd rather have pieces and crumbs of you than none at all. But tonight—" Your throat closes up. You force the words through anyway. "Tonight I watched you give someone else the attention I've been starving for, and I can't. I can't keep doing this."
His grip on your wrist tightens. Just slightly.
"Look at me." His voice cracks on the last word. "Please."
It's the please that does it. The please that sounds as broken as you feel.
You turn.
He's closer than you expected. Close enough that you can see the sheen in his eyes, the way his jaw is working like he's holding something back. His hand is still around your wrist. His thumb presses against your pulse point, and you know he can feel how fast your heart is racing.
"I don't know what I'm doing," the admission comes out raw and stripped of anything that could've covered it before. "I don't know how to be around you anymore. Haven't known for a while. I don't know what I'm allowed to feel or say or want when it comes to you. Every time I think I've figured it out, I look at you and everything shifts."
You think you can barely breathe.
"Tonight." He swallows. Closes his eyes for a second. Opens them. "Tonight I spent the whole night trying not to look at you. Because when I look at you, I can't think about anything else. And I didn't know how to be next to her and pretend I was present when all I could think about was whether you were okay. Whether you were having fun. Whether you were watching me the way I was trying not to watch you."
The air leaves your lungs.
"You—"
"I know." He laughs, but there's no humour in it. Just exhaustion. Just the same soul-deep tiredness you've been carrying. "I know it doesn't make sense. I know I'm sending you mixed signals. I know I'm a coward who can't figure out how to want you without being terrified of losing you."
His hand slides from your wrist to your hand. His fingers thread through yours, tentative, hesitant.
"I don't know what to do with this." He looks down at your joined hands. Then back up at you. "I don't know what to do with you. With us. I don't know how to be your friend anymore."
The last statement makes your heart feel heavy as Seungcheol looks at you for a long, agonizing moment. His free hand comes up, hovers near your face, then drops back to his side like he's not allowed to touch you.
"I want to stop pretending," he finally says. "I want to stop pretending I don't notice the way you smell. I want to stop pretending I don't feel it when you lean into me. I want to stop pretending that when you were leaving the table tonight, I didn't want to dumbly follow you the second you stood up."
Your heart is pounding so hard you're sure he can hear it. Or see it. Certainly. With the way it beats against your ribcage so painfully there's no way it's invisible.
"So why didn't you?" The question comes out small. Vulnerable. "Why did you wait?"
"Because I'm scared." His honesty is a blade. "Because you're everything and I'm terrified of losing you. Because I've already lost you once and I don't think I'd survive it again."
Silence stretches between you, full of everything you've both been too afraid to say.
"I'm scared too," you whisper.
His thumb traces circles on the back of your hand. Small, soothing motions. You think he's doing it unconsciously, to soothe himself more than you. But you also know how tactile he can be, especially his intoxicated self. And while he isn't drunk in this moment there's still alcohol in his blood which means less inhibitions. Your chain of thought is cut off when he gives your hand a small squeeze.
"I know."
Neither of you moves. Neither of you speaks. You just stand there, hands linked, in the middle of the street with the bar glowing behind you and the night stretching ahead. The air between you is electrified, humming with possibility and fear of it in equal measure.
"I should go home." Your voice is quiet. Reluctant.
He nods but doesn't let go of your hand.
"Yeah."
You start walking. Together. Your hand still in his. Neither of you acknowledges it. Neither of you pulls away. The silence that stretches on the walk to your apartment building is different from the one that hung over you when you walked out the bar. It's not oppressive anymore. Instead it feels careful. Precious. Like something fragile that might shatter if either of you speaks. And so neither of you dares.
When you reach your building, you finally let go. The loss of contact is tangible. You feel it in the evident coldness around your palm and the way it registers so uncomfortably.
"Goodnight, Seungcheol."
He lingers. Just for a second. His eyes search your face for something and you stop yourself from wondering what it might be.
"Goodnight."
You enter the building and make it to the elevators. As soon as you step inside and the doors close behind you and lean against the mirrored wall, pressing your palm to your mouth to muffle the sound that escapes—half laugh, half sob, something caught between terror and relief.
Your hand still tingles where his was wrapped around it. You press it to your chest, over your heart, and feel it race.
You don't need to think too hard to understand that the line you've both been walking is egg-shell thin now. One wrong step and everything could change.
One right step, too.
Your morning starts with your phone ringing insistently. You don't remember putting an alarm on today. You never do on your birthdays. Especially not when there are no plans to meet your friends—it's often that they're too busy to gather that very week, so you've learned to schedule a week or two later before you actually see them. This time is no different, and you were planning to use the privilege of staying in bed until late afternoon since you stayed up late. Would've used, if your alarm hadn't gone off.
Your brain is scattered and confused before you realize it's not an alarm at all. It's your ringtone. Someone is calling you.
With a groan and a raspy curse, you reach blindly for your phone on the nightstand. Your fingers fumble against the wood, knock over a hair claw you don't remember leaving there, and finally close around the device. You swipe to answer without even looking at the screen.
"Mm?"
You're immediately awake when you register Seungcheol's voice on the line.
"Happy birthday." He sounds amused. Deeply, irritatingly amused. "That's a hell of a greeting."
You groan again, louder this time, pressing the phone against your ear while simultaneously trying to bury your face in the pillow. "What time is it?"
"Two."
"Two in the—" You pause. Your brain, sluggish and cottony, tries to process this information. "Two in the afternoon?"
"Mhm."
You want to be a grateful friend. You really do. But you're also very tired and absolutely not awake, and it's extremely tempting to hang up right now because you cannot muster a coherent response. Instead, you make a sound that's somewhere between acknowledgement and suffering.
He laughs. Actually laughs. The bastard.
"I'll let you wake up properly," he is still chuckling. "But I'm picking you up at six."
That does it.
You shoot up in bed so fast the world tilts and you have to quickly brace yourself against the mattress before dropping back down. "You're what?"
"Picking you up. At six." He's enjoying this. You can hear it in his voice, the way he draws out each word.
"What do you mean you're picking me up? Picking me up for what? Where are we going? Seungcheol—"
The questions tumble out of you in a rush, your heart suddenly pounding for reasons that have little to do with being startled awake. Your mind races through possibilities, each one more confusing than the last.
"I'm not telling you."
"Excuse me?"
"It's a surprise. That's how birthdays work." He sounds infuriatingly calm and entertained. "You'll find out at six."
"Seungcheol." You grip the phone tighter, imagining your hand closing around his neck instead. "I'm in bed. I haven't showered. I was planning to stay asleep for another three hours. I don't know what I'm supposed to wear. I don't even know where we're going!"
"Then you have four hours to figure it out." There's a smile in his voice. "Plenty of time."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't." He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer. "Wear something warm. And comfortable shoes."
The line goes dead.
You stare at your phone for a long moment, your reflection a dark smudge on the screen. Your heart is still racing. Your brain is still scrambling to catch up.
He's picking you up. At six. For your birthday. A surprise.
After everything. After that time at the bar, after the walk home, after the way he held your hand like it meant something and the way you both said nothing about it for weeks. After the careful, charged silence that's settled between you like a held breath.
He's picking you up at six.
You fall back against the pillows, phone pressed to your chest, and try very hard not to read too much into any of this.
You fail immediately and it makes you produce an irritated groan that morphs into throwing a fit quite literally—kicking the sheets off your body and flailing your limbs in the air like an overturned beetle until your elbow meets the wall with a sharp thud. You hiss, curl away from the impact, and spend a solid thirty seconds nursing your throbbing arm while throwing profanities under your breath.
Overwhelmed and irritated with yourself, you finally drag your body out of bed. There's no going back to sleep now. Not with the knowledge that he's coming in four hours and you have absolutely no idea what he's planned.
The shower takes forever. Not because you're procrastinating—okay, maybe a little—but because once you're under the hot spray, your brain refuses to shut up. You end up doing a full thorough routine from head to toes, the kind you usually reserve for actual important events, and you hate yourself a little for it. For caring. For wanting to look like you didn't just roll out of bed.
When you finally emerge, wrapped in a towel and dripping on the floor, you grab your phone from the bathroom counter. A message from Seungcheol waits for you.
Seungcheol: Pack an overnight bag. Just in case.
You stare at the words. Read them three times. Your heart does something complicated in your chest.
Just in case. In case of what? In case you're going somewhere that requires an overnight stay? In case he's actually taking you out of the city? In case—
You stop yourself. You're spiralling. You throw on a bathrobe and shove the phone into your pocket and focus on drying your hair instead of dissecting every possible meaning behind the written words.
Outside your room, your parents are occupying the living room, their voices a low murmur about something you can't quite catch when you walk out. Your mom spots you first the moment you emerge. Her face lights up.
"There she is! Happy birthday, dear!" She hurries over, arms outstretched, and pulls you into a tight hug that smells like her perfume and the faint hint of whatever she's cooking. You melt into it despite yourself.
"Thanks, Mom."
She pulls back, cups your face, studies you for a second. "You look tired. Did you sleep okay?"
Before you can answer, she's already disappearing through the hallway door, calling over her shoulder, "Don't move! I'll get your present!"
You wander over to the couch and drop down beside your dad. He grunts, shifts, and wraps a heavy arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a proper bear hug. His lips press against the top of your head.
"Happy birthday, kiddo," his voice is gruff with affection. "Can't believe you're another year older. Feels like yesterday you were running around our old apartment."
"Dad, no," you groan, but you're smiling.
"What? I'm allowed to be sentimental. It's your day."
Your mom returns with a wrapped package, slightly lopsided on one corner where it obviously pressed into something while being kept a secret. She hands it over with eager eyes, settling on your other side while you peel back the paper.
Inside is a pyjama set, a spaghetti straps top and wide leg pants. The fabric is soft, sage green with little embroidered flowers all over the top. It is the one you pointed out to her weeks ago during a casual shopping trip, never expecting her to remember.
"Mom," you look up at her.
"I know," she grins. "You kept coming back to it but pretending you weren't that interested. I'm your mother. I notice these things."
You laugh and lean over to hug her again. "I love it. Thank you."
You hold the pyjamas for a moment, soft fabric against your fingers, and an idea forms. You should take these. If you're going somewhere overnight—if—you'll want something comfortable.
That being said…
You lift your eyes from the garment to your parents, who are watching you with matching fond expressions. Your mouth opens before you can overthink it.
"Um. So. I actually have plans today."
Your mom's eyebrows rise. "Oh? With who?"
You hesitate. It's stupid. It's so stupid to hesitate. But it's been so long since you actually mentioned Seungcheol to them yourself that it feels alien. Yes, they know you're talking again. They know you're close friends again—they've seen you leave for gatherings, heard you on the phone, noticed the way you've been less closed off. But you realize, with a small jolt, that you've kept it all to yourself ever since your friendship with him renewed. You never brought him up at home. Never said his name in casual conversation. He became an unspoken subject, and talking about him now feels like talking about some random boy you've been interacting with—which you never bring up to your parents either. Not just because there aren't actually any boys you interact with. It's just an awkward topic. Always has been.
"Seungcheol," you finally say, the name feeling strange on your tongue in this context. "He's picking me up at six. We're going somewhere. I don't really know where. He said it's a surprise."
You brace yourself. For questions. For raised eyebrows. For that particular look parents get when they sense something you're not telling them or when they get overly protective because their daughter mentioned a guy for the first time in her life and now they suddenly feel the need to have the talk.
Instead, your dad just nods. "Tell him we said hi."
Your mom smiles, warm and unconcerned. "That's nice, honey. Have fun. Be safe."
And that's it. No interrogation. No knowing glances. No digging.
You blink at them, caught off guard by the normalcy.
Then it clicks. Of course. Why would they react any other way? He's Seungcheol. He's the boy you grew up with, the one whose birthday you celebrated every summer, the one whose parents they still chat with every chance they get. To them, he's not complicated. He's not confusing or charged or any of the things he's become in your head. He's just Seungcheol. Your childhood friend.
The relief is immediate and oddly disappointing at the same time.
You excuse yourself to go pack, the pyjama set folded neatly in your arms. In your room, you stare at your open bag and realize you have no idea what to bring. Warm clothes, he said. Comfortable shoes. Beyond that, you're flying blind.
You grab a few essentials like your toiletries, a change of underwear, roll the pyjamas into a tight bundle, add an extra sweater just in case. It takes you two freaking hours combined with figuring out what you're going to wear. Your phone buzzes on the bed.
Seungcheol: One hour. You ready?
You type back, your heart doing that complicated thing again.
You: Define ready???
Seungcheol: Shoes on. Pulse present. That's the baseline.
You snort. Shake your head. For the first time in three hours that you've been awake today you feel something other than anxious spiralling.
You: Pulse present. Minus the shoes.
Seungcheol: Wear the sneakers you always wear. The ugly ones.
You: The only ugly sneakers I know are your moon boots.
Seungcheol: They aren't moon boots!
You can literally imagine his pout in this very moment and it makes you laugh at the mental image. You lift your gaze off your phone screen and catch yourself in the mirror with a smile you can't quite suppress.
Sixty minutes. Then you find out what he's planned.
Sixty minutes feels like both no time at all and an eternity. You spend it finishing getting ready, moving through your room in a haze of indecision. The entire time, you're warring with yourself about whether you're being over the top or not.
On one hand, it's your birthday. You can be as dolled up as you want. There's no rule that says you have to look plain just because you don't know where you're going.
On the other hand, you're certainly going somewhere where there won't be anyone to judge the way you look. Besides Seungcheol, maybe. And you suddenly find that a much stronger motivation to be as presentable as possible than the prospect of some stranger's opinion ever could be.
So you compromise. Comfortable warm clothes—dark straight jeans that fit well, a soft sweatshirt in a colour he once said looked good on you. You do your hair in soft waves that look effortless even though they took twenty minutes. Your makeup is pretty but not heavy, just enough to make you feel put together. And you spritz on your favourite perfume, the caramel-coffee type of sweet that always makes you feel a little safer in your skin.
You catch your reflection in the mirror and pause. You look nice. You look like you tried, but not like you tried too hard. It's exactly the line you wanted to walk.
Your reasoning, the one you keep repeating in your head, is that you still don't really know where you're going. For all you know, he could have invited all his friends to surprise you. Because you know him—he probably thinks spending your birthday quietly is a sad prospect. You wouldn't mind it, after all it's all the people you know already, but a part of you, a part you're trying very hard to ignore, hopes that's not what he planned.
You hope it's not a group thing.
You hope it's just him.
The thought makes your stomach flip, so you shove it down and focus on checking your bag one last time to make sure you're not missing anything.
When your phone buzzes, you nearly jump out of your skin.
Seungcheol: Downstairs.
You stare at the word for a second too long. Downstairs. He's here. Right now, waiting for you.
You pull on your shoes—not the sneakers he calls ugly, but only because they don't look right with this outfit, not because you're listening to his opinion on your footwear—and grab your coat. Your bag. Your keys.
Your mom calls out a goodbye from the kitchen. You respond automatically, your focus narrowed to the front door, the elevator, the lobby, the street.
You step outside.
And there he is.
He's waiting for you right outside when you come out, and you startle internally. You can't help but note that he looks good even when he's wearing something more comfortable and simple—but you know that's a deceptive perception. It's Seungcheol. There's nothing simple about him, not really. The way his sweater fits across his shoulders, the easy confidence in the way he leans against his car—it all feels casual even when you know it's not.
His eyes sweep over you when you get closer, a slow assessment that makes your skin warm despite the cool air.
"You dressed up," it's not a question. An observation, with something in his voice you can't pinpoint.
You shrug, aiming for casual. "You didn't give me any clear instructions. Of course I dressed up. Just in case."
"Just in case of what?"
"I don't know. That's the point of 'just in case.'" You gesture vaguely. "If I knew, I'd dress for that specifically. Since I don't, I have to cover all my bases."
He hums, considering this. Then his head tilts slightly, and his voice drops, just a fraction. "You're beautiful."
The words land somewhere in your chest and short-circuit your brain entirely. You're beautiful. Not just you look beautiful. You are. You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again. Nothing comes out.
He just looks at you, a small satisfied smile tugging at his lips, and you want to hit him. You also want to kiss him. The competing urges leave you frozen and flustered, which he definitely notices because that smile widens just a little.
He takes your bag from your unresisting hand and turns toward the car, leaving you to gather yourself on the sidewalk like an idiot. You've been in this car before—a few times, actually, when you played chauffeur after he had too many drinks to get behind the wheel himself. But seeing it now, knowing you're on the other side of it, knowing he's driving you somewhere, feels different.
He opens the passenger door for you with an exaggerated flourish. "M'lady."
"You're such a dork."
"A dork who's holding your bag hostage. Watch your tone."
You laugh despite yourself and slide into the seat. The interior smells like him—clean and warm, with a hint of whatever cologne he uses. He shuts your door gently, circles around the front, and tosses your bag into the back before settling into the driver's seat.
The engine starts. The car pulls away from the curb.
Silence blankets you for a moment. Comfortable, but charged. It's the type of quiet that descends when something is waiting to happen.
You notice him glancing your way. Once. Twice. A third time. He thinks he's being discreet about it, but he's really not. The way his eyes flick toward you at stop signs, at red lights, whenever he thinks you're looking out the window—it's almost funny.
So the next time he steals a glance, you're already looking at him.
Your eyes meet.
Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe, or embarrassment at being caught. And then you watch, with no small amount of satisfaction, as the tips of his ears turn bright red. The colour creeps up, undeniable and utterly endearing.
You huff a laugh.
"Shut up," he mutters, grip tightening on the steering wheel.
"I didn't say anything."
"Your face said something."
"My face said 'aw, how cute.' That's not an insult."
His ears get redder. Oh, you're definitely going to remember this. So, just to mess with him, you point out your observation. "Your ears are literally on fire right now."
He reaches up self-consciously, then drops his hand when he realizes what he's doing. "They're not."
"They're so red. It's adorable."
"I am not adorable," he sounds offended, which only makes you laugh harder.
The tension from earlier, the weird charged silence, has cracked open into something lighter. Easier. You lean back in your seat, watching the buildings thin out as you head toward the edge of the city.
"So," you say, drawing the word out. "Are you going to tell me where we're going yet?"
"Nope."
"Seungcheol."
"That's my name."
"You're an ass."
"I prefer 'charmingly mysterious.'" He glances at you again, and this time he doesn't look away immediately. "You'll find out soon. Just enjoy the ride."
You roll your eyes, but you're smiling. You can't help it. There's something about being here, in his car, on your birthday, with nowhere to be and nothing to do but trust him—it settles something in your chest that's been restless for weeks since that last conversation.
"Fine," you sigh. "But if all of it is a stupid disguise and you're taking me to a club or something, I'm making you drive me home immediately and I'm never talking to you again."
He laughs and the sound of it curls low and warm in your stomach. "Noted."
The city falls away behind you, and the road opens up ahead.
It's a two-hour drive, and by the time you're off the main road and winding through the woods, the last traces of daylight have bled out of the sky. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating narrow stretches of gravel and trees that press in on both sides. You've stopped asking where you're going. At some point, you just started trusting that you'll end up somewhere.
Somewhere turns out to be a cabin.
He pulls up to it slowly, the tires crunching over gravel, and you lean forward in your seat to get a better look through the windshield. It's exactly the kind of place you'd picture when someone says "cabin in the woods"—wooden exterior, a small porch, dark windows that stare back at you like unblinking eyes. He rented a cabin. And by the complete lack of other cars, other lights, other any signs of life, it's just the two of you.
Your heart lurches upwards, getting stuck somewhere in your throat.
"I'm gonna turn on the lights and stuff," Seungcheol says, already reaching for his door handle. "Stay here for a sec. It'll just take a minute."
You manage a nod. It's belated and probably looks as dumb as it feels, but he's already getting out, jogging toward the front door with keys jangling in his hand.
The door closes. You're alone.
You're grateful, actually. Grateful for the minute to sit with yourself, to spiral through stages of sheer panic in private. It goes by at the speed of light in your head—one moment you feel nauseous and want to back out, actually consider asking him to drive you back home, the next you're arguing with yourself that this is exactly what you hoped for. Exactly. So why do you feel like throwing up?
When the house lights up—first the windows, then the small plot of land around it, warm light spilling onto the porch and the trees nearby—you realize your time is basically up. You can't run now. Not without looking incredibly stupid doing it.
So you settle on convincing yourself that it's really nothing. You shouldn't treat this any differently than you would if there were a dozen other people here. It's just a cabin. It's just Seungcheol. It's just your oldest friend taking you somewhere nice for your birthday.
In other words, you force yourself to be casual about it.
And for a long stretch of time, you succeed.
When Seungcheol comes back, you're out of the car and waiting by the trunk, your breath misting in the cold air. He pops it open and hands you your bag before grabbing his own and a hefty bag of groceries.
"I figured I'd grill some meat," he says, nodding at the groceries. "There's a grill out back."
"You're cooking for me on my birthday?" You raise an eyebrow. "That's either really sweet or really concerning."
"Why not both?" He grins to play along, and it's so easy and normal that some of the tightness in your chest loosens.
Inside, the cabin is warm and smells like pine and something faintly smoky. It's rustic but comfortable—a living area with a stone fireplace, a kitchen nook, stairs leading up to what you assume are the bedrooms.
You insist on setting your things up while he deals with the groceries, and he doesn't argue. You grab both bags—yours and his—and head upstairs, planning to scope out the rooms and pick the best one for yourself, playing the birthday girl card.
You're soon to discover that there's only one.
You stop in the doorway, your brain buffering at the sight. One bed. One single, decently sized bed with a worn quilt and too many pillows. Your skin prickles.
For a long moment, you just stand there, recalibrating. Adjusting. Telling yourself it's fine. It's fine. You're adults. You've shared spaces before. Not recently, not like this, but—
You set both bags down by the bed and escape to the bathroom.
When you come back downstairs, you're a projection of nonchalance. Unbothered and casual, like you didn't just have two mental breakdowns in the span of fifteen minutes. You find Seungcheol in the kitchen, shoving things into a mini-fridge.
"Need help?" you offer, leaning against the counter.
He glances up. "Yeah, actually. You can grab some wood from outside and start the fireplace if you want. Keep the place warm."
You nod. "On it."
You're out the door before he can say anything else, grateful for the task. For something to do with your hands, with your body, that doesn't involve thinking about the single bed upstairs or what it means or what you're supposed to do with that information.
The woodpile is around the side of the cabin. You gather an armful, maybe more than you need, and carry it back inside. The fireplace is already set up with kindling—you just have to arrange the logs and light it.
You dedicate yourself to the task. Two logs go facing you, then two facing sideways, then you again, then sideways. You settle a few extra logs aside and reach for matches. Your brain focuses on the scratch of matches, the smell of smoke, the way the flames catch and spread. On anything but Seungcheol.
Behind you, you hear him moving around the kitchen. The clink of bottles. The opening and closing of cabinets.
You don't turn around. And you don't think about the bed. And you certainly don't think about the fact that he booked a cabin with one bed and didn't mention it.
You just watch the fire catch on wood and think about absolutely nothing at all.
That is until Seungcheol calls your name and you're forced to pay attention.
"Hey. Little help?"
You look up from the fire, which is crackling nicely now, and find him in the kitchen doorway, holding a bag of potatoes like it's a peace offering.
"You're making me work on my birthday?" You plant your hands on your hips, aiming for maximum indignation. "That's bold. That's really bold."
"I'm asking for help, not drafting you into labour." He shakes the bag. "Potatoes need peeling. I thought you might want to supervise."
"Supervise." You snort. "That's what we're calling it?"
"That's what I'm calling it if it gets you off that floor and over here."
You help anyway. Obviously. Because it's him, and because the fire is doing its job, and because being near him is becoming a habit you can't break even when you're trying to protect yourself.
You don't notice how the two of you fall into it—the comfortable, familiar rhythm of doing something together. It's like being in the zone, all your worries and anxiousness suddenly dissolving into background noise. All that matters is the task at hand, the next thing, the easy back-and-forth that's always existed between you when you're not busy overthinking everything.
"Wait, wait, wait." You pause, potato peeler in hand. "He actually tried to do that? In front of everyone?"
"In front of everyone," Seungcheol confirms, grinning as he chops something on the cutting board. "The guy on the machine next to him almost dropped his weights. He was crying laughing."
"I can't believe Mingyu thought he could deadlift that much."
"I can't believe he tried and then pretended his back was fine for the rest of the day." Seungcheol shakes his head, but he's smiling. "He walked like a penguin. For hours. Refused to admit anything was wrong."
You laugh, and it feels easy and real. Like the last few weeks of charged silences and complicated feelings never happened.
And so the time passes.
By the time you come back to your senses, you two have basically cooked an entire three-course meal together. Seungcheol is outside now, grilling meat on the porch, and you're inside setting the table. Plates, cutlery, glasses—arranging them with a focus that feels almost meditative.
You've forgotten. That's the thing. You genuinely forgot, for a while, about the single bed upstairs, about the tension, about all of it. You were just... here. With him. Being normal.
As you finish setting things up, you glance out the window.
He's by the grill, bundled up in his padded jacket. The light from the porch casts him in warm glow, and the wind catches his hair, messing it up in a way that looks artful rather than accidental. His cheeks are rosy from the chill, and he's focused on the grill, tongs in hand, completely unaware he's being watched.
Your heart dives somewhere deep in your stomach. A tingle runs through you, low and insistent, and you press your thighs together without thinking.
You look away. Breathe. Try to occupy your brain with literally anything other than how devastatingly beautiful he looks right now.
You manage. For like a minute.
Then your eyes find him again, and the urge rises—unstoppable, physical, something you can't reason away. Before you know it, you're grabbing your own jacket and shoes, slipping outside into the cold.
You walk up to him slowly, stopping just behind. Then you lean forward, pressing your upper body against his back, and peek over his shoulder at the grill.
"Smells good," you murmur.
He startles slightly—just a small jump—then relaxes into you. "Yeah. Almost done."
If it weren't for the layers of warm clothes separating you, he'd feel it. Your heart hammering against your ribs, desperate and loud. You're sure of it.
He doesn't move. Neither do you as you start another idle conversation with him.
You just stand there, pressed against him in the cold night air, watching the meat sizzle like it's the most entertaining thing in the world.
When it's all done and ready, you return to the cabin, setting the meat as the finishing dish that was missing from marking it a complete meal. You step back, surveying the table—the plates, the food, the flicker of candlelight that you lit—and something settles in your chest. It looks like an occasion. It feels like one.
You sit down across from Seungcheol. You're aware that the previous tension is still there, coiled deep within you, but you also notice that the tinge of it has subtly shifted. It's not panicked or fearful anymore but anticipatory instead. You don't know what's going to happen, how the evening will play out, if anything is going to happen at all. But there's a strange longing in you now and you think it bloomed the moment you listened to that urge to step outside and be by his side. It feels warm and persistent, and you're not sure it will dissipate anytime soon.
Yet, the two of you return to this strange play of normalcy. You talk about past events—old stories from childhood, fresh ones from the past few months. It's easy in a way that feels almost dangerous. Like you're both pretending, and the pretending is so comfortable you almost forget you're doing it.
"So when are you celebrating with your actual friends?" Seungcheol asks, reaching for more food. "The real party?"
You arch your eyebrow at his choice of words 'actual friends' but answer nonetheless, giving him a shrug. "Sometime next week, probably. You know how it is—everyone's schedules are chaos."
He nods, chewing thoughtfully. "That sucks. Having your birthday spread out like that."
"It's fine." You pause, then add, "I mean, I'm kind of celebrating with a friend right now. So."
The words hang there and you observe his expression shift—just slightly, just enough—and something warm flickers in his eyes.
"Yeah," he says quietly, gaze trained on you before it flickers down to his plate. "I guess you are."
You're watching him with rapt attention. You don't mean to be, but you can't help it. Every small movement he makes, every expression that crosses his face—you're cataloguing it, storing it away. When you're not looking directly at him, your entire being is still attuned to his presence. You don't think you've been so painfully aware of Seungcheol ever. Not even during that summer camp, when your brain first started spinning out about him.
At one point during the dinner, he stands abruptly and disappears into the kitchen. You hear him rummaging around, and when he returns, he's carrying a small bento cake. One candle flickers on top, casting tiny shadows across his face.
"Happy birthday," he says, setting it in front of you. His voice is soft, intimate, and it makes your heart clench painfully beneath your ribcage.
You stare at the cake for a second, fighting the sensation of something swelling in your chest, something so big you might suffocate on it if you're not careful. Then you lean forward, blow out the candle and make a wish. You don't say it out loud, but it forms clearly in your mind: I wish you stay in my life no matter what. Regardless of how things turn out between us. I just don't want to lose you.
"So?" He's watching you, curious. "What'd you wish for?"
You give him an enigmatic little smile and you feel your cheeks heat up. "Can't tell you. It's a secret."
"That's not how it works. You're supposed to tell me so I can help make it come true."
"If I tell you, it won't come true. That's the rule."
He scoffs, but he's smiling. "That's not a real rule."
"It's absolutely a real rule. You should think back to your last birthdays, maybe you should change up your wish-making steps." You pick up your fork, aiming for faux nonchalant. "Besides, some things are better left unsaid."
He holds your gaze for a moment too long. You wonder if he's trying to read it in your eyes anyway. You wonder what he'd find if he could.
But you still don't tell him. Even if you didn't believe that speaking wishes jinxes them—and you're not sure you do—you wouldn't. This wish, this tender, vulnerable thing sitting in your chest—surrounding it with silence feels safer than putting it out in the open. Even for the object of that wish to hear.
You're both sitting there, the remnants of dinner between you, and the silence has stretched just long enough to feel heavy. The fire crackles behind you. The candles on the table have burned down to half their original size, trails of wax dripping down like tears.
"Can I ask you something?"
His voice is quiet. Careful. You look up from where you've been tracing patterns on the tablecloth.
Seungcheol's watching you with that expression again—the one that makes you feel like he's seeing straight through to the messy, tangled thing inside you.
"Yeah."
"The camp. Back then." He pauses, rubs the back of his neck. "I know you apologized for pulling away. And I know you were scared about what your friends said. But I keep thinking about it. About all the years we lost." His eyes meet yours. "Was it really just that? Or was there something else?"
You should probably put up a mask and deflect, make a joke, change the subject. That's what you do. That's what you've always done.
But you're here. In this cabin. On your birthday. And you're so tired of this stupid dance around the obvious.
"It wasn't just that." Your voice comes out smaller than you intended. You clear your throat. "At the time, I told myself you were just my friend. That's all. I had all these stupid unrequited crushes that summer—on other people, I mean—and this stupid fear of missing out breathing down my neck. Like if I gave something else a chance I'd be losing a chance with someone I had a crush on at the time." You shake your head. "I couldn't let myself think about you that way. About what it might mean if my friends were right."
He's listening. Not moving, not asking more questions. Just listening, giving you space to let it all out.
"I got scared," you continue. "If they were right, and you did feel something, and I kept being as close to you—I thought it would ruin us. That being that close to a boy wasn't normal for just friendship. That something would have to give." You swallow hard. "And I was terrified of catching feelings for you and ending up the one left on the side road. Like with all the silent crushes I had where I had no courage to confess and just waited for a miracle and ended up just observing it all go past me. Except losing you wouldn't just be losing a crush. It would be losing the only thing I'd had my entire life."
The words hang in the air between you. Raw, ugly and painfully true.
"So I pulled back." You finally look at him and smile bitterly. "And I ended up ruining it anyway."
Seungcheol is quiet for a long moment. His jaw works. You watch him process, absorb, file away.
"I didn't know," he says eventually. "I knew you were distant. I knew you were avoiding me. But I didn't know—" He stops and frowns. Starts again. "I thought it was me. That I'd done something wrong. That you were finally bored of me like I always worried you would be."
The confession hits you somewhere soft.
"You were never boring," you whisper.
He huffs something that's almost a laugh. "Could've fooled me."
Silence again. But different now. Charged.
"You asked me once if there was something or you just saw ghosts," he says slowly. "And I told you about the echoes."
Your heart stops.
"I lied." His eyes meet yours. "Not completely. It was complicated. But I didn't tell you everything."
You don't breathe.
"Those moments I mentioned—the ones that would flash through my mind and then disappear—they weren't nothing. They were real. I just didn't know what to do with them." He leans forward, elbows on the table. "You were my best friend. My only real friend. The idea of risking that for a feeling I didn't even understand felt like the stupidest thing I could do. So I buried it. Told myself it was nothing. That you were just you and I was just me and we were fine the way we were."
His voice drops.
"But it wasn't nothing. It was never nothing."
You feel tears prick at your eyes. You blink them back.
"Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because I'm tired of burying things." He reaches across the table. Slowly. Giving you time to pull away. You don't. His fingers brush against yours, then wrap around your hand. "Because you're here. Because I booked a cabin with one bed like a love struck idiot and was ready to pretend it was an accident if you ever asked. Because every time I look at you, I feel fifteen again, confused and terrified and wanting something I can't figure out."
His thumb traces circles on your skin.
"And because I need you to know that I've never been able to let you go. Not really. Even when we weren't talking, you were there. In the back of my head. In every stupid decision I made. In every person I tried to distract myself with."
You're trembling. You can feel it, a fine vibration running through your entire body.
"Seungcheol—"
"I'm not asking for anything." His voice is gentle and his eyes are even more so, trained on yours and shining with all the light reflected in them. "I just needed you to know. For once, I needed you to hear it and know that it's there and it is real."
He lifts your hand. Slowly, deliberately, he presses his lips to your knuckles. The contact is soft. Barely there. But it sends electricity racing up your arm and down your spine, settling somewhere deep and warm.
You don't pull away.
Just sit there, trembling, watching him lower your hand but not release it, his eyes trained on yours. His thumb keeps tracing those slow circles against your skin, and you feel every single one like it brands you—the slight roughness of his skin, the warmth of his touch, the way it sends small electric shocks up your arm and straight into your chest. Your pulse hammers against your ribs, against your throat, against the inside of your wrists where he could probably feel it if he thought to check.
"Seungcheol," his name comes out wrong. Breathy. Broken. Nothing like the casual way you've said it a thousand times at dinner tables and phone calls and crowded rooms throughout your life. This version of his name sounds like a question you're afraid to ask out loud.
He looks at you. Just looks. And something in his eyes shifts, darkens, softens all at once. His gaze traces your face like he's committing it to memory—your eyebrows, your nose, the curve of your lips, the way you're biting the bottom one without realizing. His pupils are blown wide, making his eyes look almost black in the low light.
"Tell me you don't feel what I feel," his voice is low. Rough. Cracked at the edges. "Tell me you don't want this, and I'll drop it. I'll never bring it up again. We can pretend this weekend never happened, this conversation never happened. I will just take you home tomorrow and we'll forget it all."
A 'rational' part of you knows you should tell him that you don't want it. You know you should. Every logical part of your brain is screaming at you to protect yourself, to protect him, to protect the fragile thing you've spent the last couple of years rebuilding. You could walk away from this. You could go back to being friends, to being safe, to staying in the box you've both agreed to fit in for so long.
But then you realise there's nothing rational about it. It's just fear of the unknown. Because it's always scary to leave what you already know, what you're used to. And it's even scarier to bridge the gap to what you really really want. So, you shake your head.
"I don't want us to pretend."
Something breaks loose in his expression. Relief, maybe. Or just the same desperate want you feel crawling under your own skin, coiling low in your stomach, making your hands tremble where they're still held in his.
Seungcheol stands slowly, giving you every chance to retreat, to say something else, to change your mind if you decide to. His chair scrapes against the floor. The sound is impossibly loud in the suddenly quiet cabin. You don't move. You can't. Your body has stopped listening to those self-preservation whispers entirely, all your focus on him as he rounds the table. Each step feels like forever and no time at all. You track his movement—the way his shoulders are tense, the way his hands curl and uncurl at his sides, the way his jaw is set like he's holding something back. The firelight catches the side of his face, illuminating his features, the way his throat moves when he swallows.
Then he's there. Standing over you. Looking down with those big brown eyes that have haunted you for years—in your memories, in your dreams, in the quiet moments when you let yourself wonder what if.
You stand too. You don't remember deciding to. You're just suddenly on your feet, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, close enough to count his eyelashes, close enough to see the tiny moles on his cheek. You can smell him—the faint scent of smoke from the grill, something clean like soap, and underneath it all, just him. The smell you've known since childhood but never let yourself breathe in like this.
His hand comes up. Hesitates. Hovers near your face.
You can see him thinking. Can see the war in his eyes—want versus fear, hope versus the memory of every time he held back. His fingers tremble slightly, barely perceptible, and the sight of that tiny shake undoes you.
"Can I—"
You don't let him finish. You close the distance yourself even as your own heart feels stuck right there in your throat.
The first press of his lips against yours is soft. Tentative. Barely there. Like he's still waiting for you to change your mind even though you just bridged the gap, like he's still not convinced this is real. His lips are warm and slightly chapped and they fit against yours like they were made to. And your heart is beating so hard and fast in your chest you think it might explode.
Your hands fist in his sweater, the wool rough against your palms, pulling him closer. You feel the fabric bunch under your fingers, feel the solid warmth of his chest beneath it, feel the way his breath hitches against your mouth.
Something in him breaks. The last of his resolve, you think.
His arms wrap around you—one hand fisting gently in your hair, the other pressing flat against your lower back, fingers splaying wide like he's afraid you'll disappear or even step away. He pulls you flush against him, and you feel it everywhere—the hard plane of his chest, the beat of his heart against your own, the way his whole body seems to tremble with the effort of holding back.
The kiss deepens. Still gentle, still careful, but hungrier now. His lips move against yours like he's learning you, like he's memorizing the shape and taste and feel of this moment. One of his hands slides from your hair to cup your jaw, thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone, and you lean into the touch without thinking.
You feel everything. The way his breath mingles with yours, warm and uneven. The heat of his palm on your lower back, seeping through the fabric of your sweater. The way your own hands have moved from his sweater to his shoulders to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through the soft hair at the nape of his neck.
You're both shaking. You can feel it—a fine tremor running through his body, mirroring your own. Desperate. Pathetic. Years of wanting and denying and wanting anyway, finally pouring out through this one point of contact.
Seungcheol pulls back just far enough to breathe. Just far enough that his lips still brush yours when he speaks.
"I've wanted to do that for so long." His voice is wrecked. Cracks on every word. "So fucking long."
His forehead rests against yours for a minute and Seungcheol closes his eyes. His breathing is ragged as he noses your cheek between soft kisses that make you feel tender and like you're melting. You can feel the slight dampness on his cheeks and you don't know if it's yours or his and it doesn't matter.
You don't answer with words. You just pull him back in.
This time the kiss is different. Less tentative, more sure. Still gentle—and you think it's always going to be gentle with him—but deeper now, more urgent. His tongue traces your lower lip and you part for him without thought, without hesitation, pulling him closer, needing him closer, needing to feel all of him pressed against all of you.
One of his hands slides under the hem of your sweater, just barely—just enough that you feel the warm shock of his palm against the bare skin of your lower back. You gasp against his mouth and he swallows the sound, pulls you impossibly closer.
The fire crackles behind you. The cabin is warm. His hands are warmer. Everything is warm except the cold knot of fear that's finally, finally starting to thaw in your chest.
You break apart again, both breathing hard. You're pressed together from chest to hip, and you can feel how much he wants this—wants you—and the evidence of it sends a thrill through you that has nothing to do with fear.
"I thought I'd lost you," his voice is barely a whisper. His eyes are wet. "So many times, I thought I'd messed it all up and lost you."
"You didn't." You cup his face in your hands, feeling the warmth of his skin, the way he leans into your touch like a starving man. "I'm here. I'm right here."
He kisses you once more. Softer. Slower. Like he's savouring it and making up for every moment he wanted but didn't.
And you let him, of course. Because you're here, finally, and so is he, and nothing else matters right now except this—the press of his lips, the warmth of his hands, the desperate, beautiful fact that you both made it to this point.
The kiss changes. Shifts from tender and wondering into something hungrier, more insistent. His hands are still cradling your face like you're precious, but his mouth moves against yours with increasing urgency, and you feel it everywhere—the way his breath quickens, the way his chest presses against yours, the way one of his hands slides from your jaw down to your neck, thumb resting against your pulse point as if to remind himself that you're real, physical. Not just a figment of his starved mind.
You match him. Meet every movement, every press, every soft sound he makes against your lips. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and the small groan he lets out vibrates through your entire body.
"Upstairs," he breathes against your mouth. "Can we—"
You don't let him finish. You just nod, pull him with you and let him lead.
His hand is wrapped around yours, fingers intertwined, as he guides you up the stairs. The cabin creaks around you. The fire crackles below. Your heart is so loud you're sure he can hear it.
The bedroom door is already open, the way you left it when you brought in your bags. The bed is right there—the one you panicked over hours ago, the one that suddenly feels like a destination you've been walking toward your whole life, however dramatic it sounds.
Seungcheol doesn't rush. That's the thing. Even now, even with his pupils blown and his breathing uneven, he moves slowly. Carefully. Like he's afraid of startling you, of breaking the spell. He kisses you again at the foot of the bed. Then again. And again. Each one softer than the last, almost questioning, like he's checking in without words.
You answer by pulling him closer, by leaning into him with your entire body.
His hands find the hem of your sweatshirt. He pauses, lips still on yours, fingers just resting against the fabric.
"Can I?"
"Yes."
He lifts it slowly. So slowly you feel every inch of fabric sliding against your skin, every brush of his knuckles against your sides, every pause where he stops and bends to kiss whatever he's just revealed. Your ribcage, the swell of your breast, your collarbone, your shoulder. The spot just below your ear that makes you shiver.
You return the favour. Pull his sweater off, your palms pressing against the warmth of his chest, feeling the muscle and skin and the rapid beat of his heart. He shudders under your touch.
It's like this for a while. Minutes or hours, you can't tell. Just the two of you, standing by the bed, slowly undressing each other between kisses, between pauses, between moments where one of you just stops to look or touch.
Then his hands settle on your hips, and he walks you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed. He follows you down—slowly, carefully—until you're on your back and he's above you, braced on his forearms, looking down with an expression that makes your chest ache.
And something clicks in your brain and the magic breaks.
You tense. Just slightly. Just enough that he feels it, because his eyes immediately search yours.
"What's wrong?" His voice is soft. Concerned. "Did I—"
"No." You shake your head quickly. "No, it's not… I just—"
You don't know how to say it. How to admit that while he's been out there living, dating, probably doing this with people who actually knew what they were doing, you've been... not.
"I haven't—" You stop. Start again. "I've never actually..."
You trail off, simply can't finish the sentence, it's embarrassing and your face is burning with it. But you don't have to. His expression shifts. Not to pity—you'd hate that—but to something attentive, more careful. He lowers himself until he's resting on his elbows, face close to yours.
"Never?"
You shake your head. "I mean, I've done stuff. But not—" You gesture vaguely between your bodies. "This. All of it."
He's quiet for a moment. Processing.
"Okay," he says finally. Just that. Like it's simple. Like it doesn't change anything.
"You've—" You hesitate. "You've been with people. Right?"
He doesn't deny it. Just nods, a small admission. "Some. But that doesn't matter." His thumb traces your cheekbone. "This is you. That's all that matters."
You should feel relieved. Instead, you feel something prickly and uncomfortable—the awareness of your own inexperience, the fear of being clumsy, of not knowing what to do.
"I don't want to wait," you say quickly before he suggests that you take your time, do it whenever you feel ready, aka not today, not right now, not anytime soon. "I don't want to… postpone this. I just… I don't know what I'm doing."
He smiles. Not mocking—warm. Fond. Leans down to place a kiss in the corner of your lips, and surprisingly that does take some of your tension away. "That's okay. We go slow. As slow as you need."
"Slow is fine by me." You swallow, struggling to articulate yourself. "But not… I don't need you to treat me like I'm made of glass. I want to actually... you know. Be with you. Not just have you do things to me."
Something flickers in his eyes. Heat, yes, but also understanding.
"Then we'll go slow together." He kisses your forehead. "And you tell me what you like. What feels good. What doesn't. Deal?"
You nod.
"Deal."
He kisses you again. Slower, yes, but also more deliberate. His lips move against yours with a patience that should be frustrating but somehow isn't. His hand slides from your face down your neck, over your shoulder, tracing the line of your arm until his fingers intertwine with yours and he brings your hand up, beside your head.
Then he starts touching you.
Not anywhere that matters—not yet. Just your arm at first, his palm sliding up and down, feeling the skin, the shape of you. Then your side, over your ribs, his thumb pressing gently into the spaces between. Then your hip, fingers spreading wide, holding you like you're something precious. Every touch is reverent, worshipful, like he's memorizing you by feel. And it makes you feel so much you can barely breathe at times.
"You can touch me too," he murmurs against your lips. "Whatever you want."
So you do.
Your hands map him the way his map you. Shoulders first—broad and warm under your palms. Then down his arms, feeling the muscle shift and roll as he moves. Then his chest, your fingers tracing the lines of him, learning the way his breath hitches when you find a sensitive spot.
"Like that?" you ask.
"Fuck. Yes."
You file that away. Keep doing it.
His lips leave yours to trail down your jaw, your neck, the hollow of your throat. He kisses, then nips gently, then soothes with his tongue. Each small sound you make gets a response—a whispered "good" or "like that" or just a hum of approval against your skin.
"You're so responsive," he breathes against your collarbone. "So pretty when you react."
You squirm under the praise, equal parts embarrassed and hungry for more of it.
"I'm not—"
"You are." He looks up at you, and his eyes are dark. "Every little sound you make, every time you shiver—it's perfect. Don't hide it."
You don't know how to respond to that, how to react. Because you're still so not used to this kind of attention, it feels alien even if you wanted it and dreamed of it for a long time. So you pull him back up and kiss him instead.
The mapping continues. Gradual. Agonizing. His hands and lips continue to explore your body, still impossibly gentle but getting bolder at times when you arch into him or make a sound that lets Seungcheol know that you like what he's doing.
He pulls back just enough to take a breath and look, and you watch his Adam's apple bob as his gaze lands on you. Your baby pink lace. Pale and delicate and entirely intentional in a way you're suddenly embarrassed about.
"You wore this," he says. Voice rough. "Under your clothes. All day."
"Shut up, it's just underwear." If only he knew that you put it on only because you were shamefully hoping this day would end like this. You're not about to reveal this little fact.
"You wore this and didn't tell me." He ignores your protest with a tiny little smile in the corners of his lips. His thumb traces the strap at your shoulder. "Just walked around like nothing."
You feel your face turning red for the nth time tonight. If he continues like this you're going to die of embarrassment and never recover even in the afterlife. "It's just—it's only because it's my birthday," you argue, trying to salvage an ounce of dignity. "I wanted to feel—"
"Pretty?" His eyes meet yours. "You are. So fucking pretty."
You should respond with something sharp. Deflect. But his hands are on you, sliding under the lace, cupping you through the fabric, and your brain short-circuits into a breathless moan until you arch like a cat under his touch.
Seungcheol is still so careful. Still so slow. But you can see it costing him—the way his jaw tightens, the way his breathing gets rougher, the way his hands shake slightly when he reaches for the clasp of your bra.
"You okay?" he checks.
"More than okay. You can stop asking."
He undoes it. Slides the straps down your shoulders. And when you're bare before him, he just... looks.
For a moment, you feel exposed. Self-conscious. Then his expression turns so reverent it makes your breath hitch.
"Look at you," he whispers. Not really to you. Just... to the universe. To the silent space of the room around you.
You pull him down before you can overthink it. Kiss him hard. He laughs against your mouth—a surprised, happy sound—and then he's kissing you back, and his hands are on you, skin to skin, and it's so much better than you imagined.
His jeans go next. Then yours. Then you're both down to just boxers and thongs, and there's a pause—a moment where you both just look again, admire. He's beautiful. You knew that. But seeing him like this—bare, wanting, looking at you like you're the answer to something—it hits different.
Seungcheol makes a sound. Something between a groan and a whimper, low and desperate.
"You're so pretty." His voice is wrecked. "And you wore this," his fingers trace the edge of your panties that are matching the lace of your bra he discarded earlier, "today. On purpose."
You feel all hot. You didn't think he'd say it out loud. Hoped he'd allow you to pretend it was just because you wanted to feel pretty for yourself on your birthday. "I didn't—it's not—"
"You were anticipating this." He's almost smiling now. Teasing. "Weren't you? Hoping."
"I was not—"
"Liar."
You huff, trying to play it off like he's saying something ridiculous. "I don't just assume things are going to—"
He cuts you off mid-protest with his lips sealing over yours. And before you can gather your thoughts, his strong arms wrap around you and he rolls, pulling you with him, until you're on top and he's beneath you and you're both chuckling against each other's mouths.
For a while, it's just you and him making out. Hands sliding along skin, gripping, exploring. Him on his back, you straddling his hips and feeling the press of him against you through the last thin layers of fabric. Seungcheol holds you with so much care it makes you feel like you're something precious, one hand splayed across your lower back, the other tangled in your hair.
You could stay here forever, content with just this, just feeling his warmth against you, skin on skin.
But your body has other ideas.
At some point, you start moving. Just slightly. A shift of your hips that makes you both gasp. Then again. And again. The friction is maddening, not enough and too much all at once, and the sounds he's making—broken little groans against your mouth—are driving you insane and make you whimper in response.
"Fuck." His hands grip your hips tighter and you think it's going to leave marks on your skin. You want these marks to stay there just for your own knowledge of their existence. "You're going to—if you keep doing that—"
You don't let Seungcheol finish his sentence, you do it again. Deliberately. With a tiny shit-eating grin ghosting your lips.
He flips you.
One moment you're on top, the next you're on your back and he's over you, braced on his forearms, eyes dark and wild.
"I need to see you," he says. "All of you. Is that okay?"
You nod, eyes wide. Apparently, your speaking abilities fail you, too bewildered by the sudden change.
He sits back on his knees, hooks his fingers in your underwear and pulls. Slowly. Watching your face the entire time. And when you're bare beneath him, completely bare, he just... looks, eyes trailing all over you with this silent appreciation that makes your skin prickle. You fight the urge to cover yourself. To hide. To make a joke.
"You're so beautiful," his voice is barely a whisper. "So fucking beautiful."
Then he touches you. Not with intention—just his palm flat against your stomach, warm and grounding, and you suppress the urge to writhe. Then higher, over your ribs, your chest, your neck, your face. Mapping. Learning.
"You have no idea," he murmurs, "how long I've wanted this. Wanted you."
His lips follow where his hands go. Kisses pressed to every inch of skin he can reach. Your shoulder. The curve of your breast. The space between your ribs. Over your navel, your hip bone. Each one soft, reverent, accompanied by whispered words that make your eyes sting.
"Pretty girl."
"So good."
"Mine."
You do cry, a little. Just a few tears that escape before you can stop them. Seungcheol notices immediately, pauses, looks up at you with concern.
"Too much?"
"No." You shake your head, voice thick. "It's just—you're—" Your breath hitches and you find it impossible to express what you feel in words. They seem to fail you all night, too insufficient when it comes to what you feel.
But Seungcheol still understands. You see it in his eyes. He crawls back up, kisses the tears from your cheeks, whispers that it's okay and he's got you and that you're safe until you're breathing evenly again.
And when he's absolutely sure that you're okay he keeps going. His mouth trails lower. Down your stomach, over your hips, further still. You tense when you realize where he's heading.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." He looks up at you from between your legs, and the sight of him there—dark hair falling over his forehead, eyes intense even through his pretty lashes, lips already parted—makes your stomach flip. "Let me?"
You nod. Swallow. "Okay… okay, yes."
The first touch of his mouth on you is so gentle it almost doesn't register. Then it does. His lips, soft and warm, pressing against you in an intimate kiss. Then it's his tongue, a tentative stroke that makes your whole body jolt with new sensation. Your brain is melting whenever you think too hard about what's going on, so you try not to be too much in your head, only focus on this moment, on what you feel.
Seungcheol hums against you. Pleased.
"Feelin' good, baby?"
"Y-yes."
"Tell me what you like." His breath fans over sensitive skin. "Guide me."
You try. You really do. But every time you open your mouth to speak, he does something that turns your thoughts to static and you just moan or whimper instead.
"Here?" A stroke of his tongue through your folds.
"N-no, a little—there. Yeah."
"Like this?" And then he's kitten-licking at you at a different angle. Applying more pressure. And you barely manage to gasp a response.
"God. Yes."
He learns you like that. Quickly and thoroughly. Every sound you make, every shift of your hips, every sharp intake of breath—he catalogues it, adjusts, gives you more of what works, less of what doesn't. And he talks to you the whole time. Praises you between strokes, making his voice vibrate right against the very core of you.
"You're doing so well." As he gives more attention to your clit.
"So responsive. So pretty like this." As his fingers breach your entrance and stretch you for him, scissoring and crooking against your gummy walls.
"Look at you. Falling apart for me." And you are falling apart. You can feel it building, a pressure low in your belly, coiling tighter with every movement of his mouth, of his tongue, of his digits. Your hands grip his hair, not pulling, just holding on and it makes him groan deliciously against you.
"Seungcheol—"
"I know." He doesn't stop, panting against you, licking and kissing, filling the room with obscenely wet sounds of your excessive arousal. "Let go, baby. I've got you."
You do. You break apart with a sound you don't recognize, your back arching, your whole world narrowing to the feeling of him drawing it out of you, gentling you through it with soft strokes of his tongue and steady hands on your hips. Your whole body tingles from your centre outward and your toes curl, making you kick gently against the bedsheets.
When you finally come down, he crawls back up to you, peppering every inch of your skin on the way. Then he's hovering over you and kissing you deep and slow, and you taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue. It should be weird. You think with anyone else you might have been disgusted. It's not. With Seungcheol it's intimate in a way you didn't expect.
You pull back just enough to look at him. His pupils are blown so wide his brown eyes look black. His lips are swollen, slick with you. He looks utterly wrecked and completely, fiercely happy about it.
"You're happier about that than I am," you manage to point out, voice raspy. You also can't hold back a smile at this sight of him.
Seungcheol grins and doesn't even try to deny it. And why would he if it's exactly where he dreamed to be for so long. "Maybe."
You laugh and shake your head in slight disbelief. You shouldn't be surprised and yet a part of you is. Because it's difficult to believe something is real when you spent ages thinking it to be impossible. The sound of your laughter quickly turns into something much softer when Seungcheol kisses your forehead. You smile up at him.
"That was—" you start and find yourself just heaving a breath because, yet again, you feel like putting it into words simplifies what you felt and that's just unfair to the experience.
"Yeah." He chuckles, presses a kiss to your jawline and rests his forehead in the crook of your neck, enveloping you in his arms, making you feel warm and loved just from being held. "I know."
The awkwardness you felt earlier, the self-consciousness, the fear—it's gone. Melted away somewhere between his first touch and your last breathless moment. You're bare beneath him, vulnerable in every way, and all you feel is safe, wanted and his.
You pull him for another kiss and feel him respond, press his hips into you and grind. You feel his bulge, the way he's already so hard for you and it makes you whimper with want. The thought that he got so painfully hard just from eating you out does something unspeakable to your brain and you feel your pussy flutter in response. Very suddenly you need to feel him for real or you might lose your mind.
"Need to feel you inside me, Cheol." The words tumble out against his lips, desperate and shameless. "Please?"
He folds. Actually folds, a full body shudder that starts somewhere in the centre of his chest and ripples through every inch of him until he's pressing his forehead against yours, breathing ragged, making a sound you didn't think a guy like him could make—a whimper, high and broken and so utterly pathetic that it should be funny. But it's not. It's the hottest thing you've ever heard, because it's real, because it's for you, because this is what he sounds like when you ask for him.
"Fuck," he's already moving, scrambling off the bed with none of his usual grace, grabbing for his jeans where they landed in a heap on the floor. You watch him fish through the pockets, watch his hands shake slightly as he pulls out a couple of foil packets, watch him toss one on the nightstand like an afterthought. Then he's shoving his boxer briefs down, kicking them away, and finally you see all of him.
Your breath catches. Your pussy clenches around nothing. Your skin prickles and turns into goosebumps—and you don't think that it's because you lost his body heat. You know it's not.
He's beautiful. You knew he would be—and maybe a deep, depraved part of you is also a tiny bit relieved that reality matched your imagination. But knowing and seeing are different things. He's longer than you expected, and thick—really thick—and suddenly your brain supplies a very clear image of that fitting inside you and your thighs press together instinctively.
He catches the movement. His eyes darken. Your eyes train on his hand that smears the bead of precum over his length and strokes a couple of times. You gulp.
"Scared?"
"No." You shake your head, because it's not fear exactly. It's anticipation with an edge of how is that going to work. "Just... trying to process."
He huffs a laugh, soft and fond, even as his hands work to open the condom wrapper. He rolls it on with ease that says he did it before, and you continue to watch every second of it—the way his fingers move, the way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes keep flicking up to your face like he's checking you're still here, still okay, still want it, him.
Then he's settling between your thighs again, and you feel him—the hot weight of him, the slick slide of his cock through your wet folds, catching on your clit in a way that makes you buck and whimper.
"Easy." His hand presses gently on your hip. "Easy."
You see something flicker across his face—concern, maybe—or maybe he just reads you too well, because before you can say anything, he's leaning down, kissing you soft and slow.
"I'm going to go so slow," he murmurs against your mouth. "So slow. You tell me if anything hurts, anything at all, and we stop. Deal?"
You want to protest and say that no way in hell you're allowing him to stop but his eyes are so attentive and serious, like he needs you to promise him, and you end up agreeing. "Deal."
Seungcheol kisses you again, a quick peck on your lips for reassurance. Then he shifts, lines himself up, and pushes.
It's supposedly nothing. Barely a press of pressure, just the tip breaching you. But it's something, and you gasp against his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders.
"Okay?" He's already stopped. Already waiting.
"Yes. Keep going."
He does. An inch, maybe. Then stops. Then another inch. Each movement measured, careful, punctuated by soft checks—still okay? still good?—and you nod each time, breathless, because you can feel yourself stretching around him, feel the slow burn of it, feel the way your body is learning to accommodate something it has never had before.
By the time he's halfway in, you're trembling. Not from pain—there's some, a dull ache that edges toward discomfort—but mostly from the fullness, the strangeness, the sheer overwhelming reality of him inside you. And you can hear yourself chanting breathless profanities into the night, trying to come to terms with the fact that it's really happening.
"You're doing so well." His voice is wrecked. "So good. Taking me so good."
He pushes deeper. Stops. Lets you adjust. You feel your walls flutter around him, clenching and releasing, trying to figure out what to do with this new presence.
"Breathe," he reminds you and places a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Just breathe."
You do. Inhale. Exhale. And on the exhale, he pushes again, and suddenly he's seated—fully, completely, his hips pressed flush against yours.
You both moan.
He's still for a long moment. Just breathing. Just feeling. You can feel his heartbeat through where your chests press together, or maybe that's yours—you can't tell anymore. His forehead is against yours, eyes closed, jaw tight.
"So good," he whispers. "You feel—fuck. So good."
You can't respond. Your brain has stopped working entirely, caught on the singular fact that he's inside you, that you're connected like this, that there's no going back and you don't want to.
But just feeling him isn't enough anymore. Your body is greedy and so are you.
"Move." The word comes out strangled. "Please. Cheol. Move."
He pulls back. Slowly, excruciatingly, until only the tip remains, lodged in your tight entrance. The emptiness is almost worse than the fullness—you whimper, needy and desperate, and he answers by pushing back in. This time it's easier. The stretch is still there, still intense, but your body is learning, opening, welcoming him. He sets a rhythm—slow, deep, each thrust punctuated by a soft sound from one of you—and you cling to him like he's the only solid thing in a world gone liquid.
Your arms wrap around his neck. Your legs hook around his waist. You feel every muscle in his back shift under your palms that begin to wander all over just to have more points of contact because suddenly nothing feels sufficient, feel the sweat beginning to gather at his temples when you hold his face to pull him in for a kiss, feel the way his breath stutters every time you clench around him.
And he talks. The whole time. Praises and promises and sweet, broken nothings pressed into your skin between kisses. Telling you how perfect you are, how well you're taking him, how beautiful you are like this. Then his lips find your ear, and his voice drops even lower, rough and raw and so just-for-you it makes your heart stutter.
"I love you."
You freeze. Just for a second. Just long enough for him to feel it and still too.
"I love you." He says it again, like he needs you to hear it, understand it, because he's been holding it in for years. "I've always loved you. Even when I didn't know what to call it. Even when I was too scared to say it. I love you."
Something cracks open in your chest. Tears prick at your eyes again, but you blink them back, because you need to see him, need to watch his face as you say it back. "I love you too," your voice breaks on the last word. "I love you so much. Have loved you forever."
Seungcheol's lips find yours again. The kiss is deep and desperate and full of everything you've both been too afraid to express to each other. And then he starts moving again, harder, faster, because the words have unlocked the desperate, primal need in both of you.
"More." You gasp against his mouth. "Please, go harder."
He gives you more, gives you harder. His hips snap against yours with stronger force, rhythm deepening, and you feel yourself climbing toward your high, that familiar coil tightening low in your belly. The sensation makes you mewl and whimper. Your nails scratch down his back. Lightly at first, testing. He stutters—actually stutters, his rhythm breaking for half a second—and moans into your mouth.
"You like that?"
"Fuck. Yes."
You do it again. Harder this time. He groans, picks up pace, drives into you with an urgency that wasn't there before. The coil tightens. Tightens. You're close, so close, and he knows it—can feel it in the way you flutter around him and clench, the way your breath catches, the way you dig your nails in and hold on.
"Come for me," his voice is wrecked. "Come on. Let go. I've got you."
And you do. You shatter, crying out his name, your whole body convulsing under him as waves of pleasure crash through you. He follows a second later, with a broken groan and one final, desperate thrust, burying himself deep as he shudders through his own release. And then neither of you moves. Neither of you breathes—or it's the ringing in your ears that is too loud to hear it. You just lie there, tangled together, slick with sweat, still connected, still trembling. Then he lifts his head just enough to look at you. His eyes are soft, dazed, full of tenderness that makes your chest ache.
"Happy birthday," he whispers and nuzzles your cheek.
You laugh, disbelieving and delighted because happy birthday, indeed. The happiest you've ever had. You can feel Seungcheol smiling against your skin and it makes you happier still.
For a long time, you just stay like this. The fire downstairs has likely burned low by now, the logs probably reduced to glowing embers and soft ash, but you can't bring yourself to care. The warmth of him pressed against you is enough—his weight a familiar comfort that settles over your bones like a second skin, his breath slowing against the curve of your neck with each passing minute, his fingers still tracing lazy, absent patterns on your hip like he can't bear to stop touching you even now. You begin to feel sleepy.
And you know it is a trap. The longer you stay the less you want to move, the less will you have to pull yourself out of this bed, and not just lie here in the afterglow like two teenagers who've discovered something forbidden for the first time. But every time you think about shifting, about disturbing this perfect stillness, your body refuses to cooperate, makes your bones too heavy, mind to dizzy. It's like every muscle has decided that this—him, here, now—is exactly where it wants to be, and it's not going anywhere.
So instead, you pull him closer.
He makes a soft sound against your skin, content and sleepy and utterly unguarded, and nuzzles deeper into your hair. "Mm. Comfy."
"You're heavy," you whisper, but your arms tighten around him even as you say it.
"Don't care."
You laugh quietly, the sound vibrating through your chest, through him. Your fingers card through the damp hair at the nape of his neck, feeling the slight curl of it, the way it sticks to his skin. Seungcheol purrs quietly in response and you smile. The ceiling above you is wooden, rustic, catching the faint glow of the outside lights that neither of you turned off. You slowly realise that you don't remember a lot of the past hour, just flashes and feelings, sensations. His face above you, dark eyes gone almost black with want. The sound he made when you first touched him. The way he looked at you like you were sacred, precious, worth waiting for—and your heart tried to escape your chest under his gaze.
"I love you," the words slip out again, quiet and probing, barely more than a breath against his hair. Like you're still testing how it feels to say them out loud. Like you're afraid they might explode if you say them too loudly.
He lifts his head just enough to look at you. His eyes are soft, tired, impossibly fond—the same eyes you've known your entire life, but different now. Open in a way they've never been before. Looking at you in a way they never quite did.
"I know." He kisses the tip of your nose, soft and sweet. You scrunch it and he kisses again with a chuckle. "I love you too. Took us long enough."
You snort. "Yeah. Only, what, twenty-something years?"
"Fifteen, maybe. The early childhood doesn't count." He settles back down, cheek pressed to your chest, right over your heart. You feel his lips curve into a smile against your skin. "We were busy playing mud cakes in that puddle."
You laugh again, and feel it echo in your own chest, feel him smile wider at the vibration of it. The absurdity of it—the sheer, ridiculous, beautiful absurdity of ending up here after everything—washes over you in a warm wave. All those years of confusion, of fear, of dancing around each other and pretending not to feel what you felt. All those summers and winters and phone calls and silences. All of it, leading to this. To him, warm and solid and, most importantly, yours, pressed against you in a cabin in the woods.
Your hand finds his where it rests on your stomach, fingers slotting together like they were made to. His thumb reflexively resumes its lazy circles, now tracing over your knuckles instead of your skin, and the simple intimacy of it makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter in the best way.
"Hey." You poke his shoulder with your free hand. "What time is it?"
He groans, a long suffering sound that's entirely performative, and makes absolutely no move to check. "Don't know. Don't care."
"We should probably—" You gesture vaguely with the hand not trapped in his. "I don't know. Go exist outside of this bed for a few minutes?"
"In a minute," his arm tightens around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. "Five minutes."
"So in a minute or five?"
"Twenty," he says it into your skin, muffled and stubborn, and you feel his smile again.
You roll your eyes, but you're smiling too. Can't help it. Can't stop. It's like your face has forgotten how to do anything else.
The warmth of him seeps into your bones. The slight stickiness of cooling sweat, the soft cotton of sheets beneath you, the faint scent of him—smoke from the grill clinging to his hair and something warm and unmistakably him—all of it wraps around you like a blanket.
"This is nice," you murmur, almost to yourself. "Just... this."
He hums in agreement, a low sound you feel more than hear. Then, after a long, comfortable moment: "We have the whole cabin until tomorrow afternoon."
Your eyebrows rise. "Oh?"
"We could..." He trails off deliberately, and you feel his grin press against your skin. It makes you shiver. "I don't know. Make use of it. In various ways."
"You're insatiable."
"I'm celebrating." He lifts his head, looks at you with those baby cow brown eyes, and the sheer adoration in them makes your breath shallow. "It's your birthday. I'm contractually obligated to make it memorable."
"Pretty sure there is no contract."
"Should be." He kisses your collarbone. Soft. Lingering. Then your shoulder, his lips warm and dry. Then the spot just below your ear that makes you shiver involuntarily. "I'll draft it and send it to you via email."
You're laughing, but it's turning into something breathier as his mouth trails lower, as his hand slides from your stomach to your hip, as his thigh presses between your legs. "Cheollie—"
He pauses immediately, looks up at you through his lashes with an expression that's equal parts mischief and adoration. You could be sensible and responsible and adult about this. Instead, you tug him up by his hair and kiss him.
He makes a sound against your mouth—surprised, pleased, absolutely wrecked—and melts into you like he's been waiting for permission. His tongue traces your lower lip, and you part for him, pull him closer, wrap yourself around him like you never want to let go.
"One more time," you murmur against his lips. "Then we do all the responsible things."
He grins, and you feel it in the kiss, it makes you smile back at him. "Deal."
And when he rolls you onto your back, when his weight settles over you again—familiar now, wanted and yours—when his mouth finds yours in the dark and his hands start learning you all over again, it all feels painfully like coming home to something you've always had.
Just finally, finally letting yourself live in it.
*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* Please like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this! This means a lot and motivates me to continue posting.
All That I Need pt.1 | Choi Seungcheol | angst, fluff, 🔞
Pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader
Summary: You and Seungcheol go way back. Way way back. So far back that there isn't a day in your life you haven't known him. But what happens when one careless outsider observation undermines everything you thought you knew?
Word count: 17.5k (39.8k in total)
Genres/warnings: fluff, angst, smut (in pt2); non-idol au; bff2l, childhood friends to lovers, slow burn-ish?, overthinking, miscommunicatioooon yesss pleaseeee, lots of complicated feelings while growing up, questionable beliefs installed by parents, dealing with doubt (aka questioning everything you knew before) and friendship drifting apart, just a lot of friendship related thots and events; pretty much a coming of age story ig; seungcheol punches someone once, mentions of recreational drinking; there's a one bed trope if you squint hard enough (in pt2); idk what else to put here so if you find smth hit me up
A/N: do you see this monstrosity that i brought over? i'm so mad it didn't fit in one post. it was supposed to be a oneshot ffs. had a whole mental breakdown over it.
would’ve finished it so much sooner but life got in the way and i had to put it down and then it was difficult because i had to return to it and finish somehow (i hate putting my stories down because I struggle with returning to them). anyways, i put my blood sweat and tears into this one. it is brought to you by this anon request. please enjoy your read and i'll be happy to see your feedback in any form you're comfortable with: comments, asks or reblogs. i will see you in my next fic ᙏ̤̫
A/N2: lots of love and gratitude to my precious @pochaccoups and @woncheolisms for beta reading this for me and giving me the courage and confidence to post this story. if it weren't for your reactions i'm not sure this would've seen the light of day!
listen to Bryan Adams - Heaven if you want to set the mood for this read😮💨
If you see any mistakes: I try to proofread but English isn’t my first language, proceed at your own discretion.
Masterlist. | Part 2 [soon]
You and Seungcheol go way back. Way way back. So far back that there isn't a day in your life you haven't known him. The thing is, your parents were neighbours, bought houses in the same village, befriended each other while your mothers were pregnant with you and him.
Your presence in each other's lives is so natural and meant to be that neither of you ever questions it.
Childhood is filled with summers riding bikes, running around until your lungs burn, playing games where the rules change by the minute. Swimming in the lake until your fingers prune and your lips turn purple, eating stolen berries from the gardens, tart juice staining your chins and hands. Building a tent by his house or yours, just to pretend you're somewhere far away, hiking through mountains. Bruised knees and scraped palms are your medals. Celebrating Seungcheol's birthday is like its own separate summer festival, with popsicles and homemade cake his mom lets you lick the bowl from. In winters, it's always Christmas celebrations at his house, both your families and some neighbours packed into the warm, noisy dining room. You sit at the table side by side, listening to adult conversations you only half-understand, eating delicious food until it becomes boring. Then the two of you sneak away to another room to watch TV on the couch or layer up and play games in the snow until your noses run. Even when you move cities for your first school year, your communication actively persists over the landline. You still see each other every summer and every winter. It is the law of your world.
Throughout your entire childhood, you only fight once. It is an accident. The two of you are playing at your house, and you recklessly swing a charger cord like a makeshift weapon, smacking him straight across his forehead. A sharp thwack and then silence.
You feel starkly embarrassed and flustered and startled, too. Your throat closes. He blinks, a red mark already blooming on his skin.
"I didn't mean to," is all you whisper, instead of a proper apology. You don't know to this day why those simple words are so difficult. Perhaps, even to this day you just don't dare to admit that some part of you being cruel at that age, like many children are.
Seungcheol just looks at you, his eyes wide and a little watery, but he doesn't cry. He stands up, quietly, and walks out of your house. After that, you don't talk until the end of summer and then for some more months, dodging your parents' questions with something incoherent about him throwing a tantrum—it has happened before, it's a believable lie. The space that used to be filled with his laughter and gummy smiles is now silent and uncomfortable.
You only reconcile when you muster the courage to call him one late November evening. The phone rings four times. His mother picks up and gingerly you ask her if Seungcheol can come to the phone. He does.
"Hello?" His voice is the same you remember, a little cautious, a little distant with remaining hurt—probably.
You swallow. "It's me. I'm… I just wanted to say that I'm really sorry. For the charger. And for not apologising properly that day."
A pause on the line, just the faint static of the connection. Then, "It's okay. I knew you didn't mean it."
The grudge is forgotten that very moment, melting like winter's first snow. You feel the heaviness in your heart lift and suddenly breathing is manageable once more. And now your parents have to worry about phone bills yet again—because the two of you can be on the phone for hours, talking about everything and nothing, or staying in a comfortable silence, just content to be in each other's company while doing homework or playing video games, even if it's just through a wire.
You think him to be your bestest of friends, the one you cherish the most, considering him family even though Seungcheol has an actual older brother of his own. Sure, he isn't a girl, and as you grow up some topics are apparently not discussable with him, like your crushes and all these complicated, stupid feelings that you keep catching. You try once, telling him about a boy in your class that you had a crush on for a while now, and he goes quiet for so long you can literally imagine his thick eyebrows cinched in a frown. "He sounds stupid," is all he says, and you never bring it up again because you are suddenly embarrassed and defensive. But you still have a thousand other things in common, and you are fine with it. Spending time together during summers is still the best thing you can remember about your childhood and your early teen years. It is your constant. It is the core of who you are.
Things crack later.
One summer, between grade eight and nine of school, your parents decide it is a good idea to send you to summer camp abroad. Together. You are both excited. Especially you. You have experience with summer camps; your parents have sent you to some over the past few years. It is always fun to socialise, to find new friends, to have stories that don't include anyone from home.
On the bus you want to sit by Seungcheol's side at first, but seating is decided prior, and unfortunately, you two have to sit with different people. Not far away—he only sits a row behind you. You aren't sad for long, quickly befriending the girl you sit with, a talkative redhead named Maya from a city you've never visited.
When you arrive, everyone is distributed to houses by gender, six to seven people to one house. You get to live with your new friend and also quickly make friends with two other girls in your house, Lana and Sophie. You are on good terms with the rest. It quickly becomes apparent to you that Seungcheol has some issues socialising with peers. Not because he is awkward or introverted—before this, his social circle consists of you, his brother, and his brother's friends, who are all older than him. He is used to being the baby, the one who is let into conversations, not the one who has to start them. And so he finds himself not very interested in the constant, buzzing chatter of the guys from his house. Their jokes fall flat for him, their interests feel shallow. He tries to stick to you, and you don't mind for the most part.
But a part of you feels a little irritated that he needs mothering. There's this sense of low, simmering impatience high in your chest. After all, what is the point of coming all the way here if he isn't going to make friends, go out of his way, put himself out there? Especially when it is just all fun around—going to the beach with the curators on sunny days, on tours about historical sights in the old cities nearby, doing whatever you want in your free time. You want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Talk to them. Laugh at their stupid jokes. Try.
Everything begins to change on a day when the curators take you to a neighbouring town, to a beach, to watch some local music festival happening there. Everyone is excited, and it is fun. The air smells of salt and fried food. You and your girl friends wander around the beach, take photos of the sea, the sunset, each other. The music is in a foreign language, upbeat and full of brass; it's kinda fun to listen to the local scene. But as the sun sinks lower, painting the sky in oranges and purples, a breeze picks up off the water. It begins to get chilly. You secretly regret not taking something warmer to throw on. You'll tough it out, though. It's not that bad. It's summer, after all, even though you're right by the seaside, and goosebumps are rising on your arms.
You're on the outskirts of the crowd when Seungcheol finds you and your girl friends. He doesn't even assess you, just immediately suggests you take his flannel shirt since you seem cold. He's already unbuttoning it.
"Here," he says, his voice cutting through the music.
But you're stubborn. Overly self-reliant. A strong independent girl even at that age. And for some reason, accepting his small, familiar help feels belittling in a way. Or just embarrassing for a reason you're not so sure exists. Like it's a sign of weakness he's spotted. And you're certainly tougher than some chilly evening air.
"I'm fine," you deflect, crossing your arms over your chest.
"You have goosebumps."
"It's just the wind. It'll pass," you shrug with a dismissive wave of your hand.
He insists, holding the shirt out. "Just take it."
"No, really. I don't need it." You attempt to sound lighter, to sound convincing. Because you're painfully aware of your new friends watching the interaction and you don't like it.
He looks at you for a long second, then gives up with a slight roll of his eyes, shrugging the flannel back on. This is when Lana, one of your new friends, pipes up. "I'm actually freezing. Can I borrow it?"
Seungcheol just nods and gives it to her in his simple, reflexive act of kindness. He stays with you all for a few minutes of stilted chat about the bands, his hands now shoved into the pockets of his jeans, and then goes off into the crowd to find a curator, saying he wants to ask about the departure time.
The moment he leaves and is surely out of earshot, all hell breaks loose.
Your friends are like sharks sensing blood. They swarm you, talking over each other in a conspiratorial rush.
"Oh my god," Sophie whispers, her eyes wide. "He is totally into you."
"Did you see the way he looked at you?" Lana adds, snuggling into his flannel. "It was like… puppy eyes. Big, sad puppy eyes because you rejected his shirt."
"Right! Guys don't just offer their clothes like that," Maya proclaims, as if she's an expert because her own boyfriend back home carries her bag sometimes.
You bristle with a sharp spike of irritation, your whole body goes hot then cold. Because it's nonsense. It's just Seungcheol. Just the way it's always been with the two of you. Sharing your mother's big jacket as children, on chilly summer evenings—his arm in one sleeve and yours in the other. Lending umbrellas to run from one house to the other. They don't know what they're talking about. They've known him for two weeks; you've known him for a lifetime.
"Stop it," you hiss, but it comes out weak. "He's just polite. He just has a proper upbringing, that's it. It doesn't mean anything."
"Polite is holding a door," Maya counters. "This isn't just that."
"You don't know what you're talking about," you snap, frustration bubbling over. "We've shared shirts and jackets and whatever our whole lives. We grew up together. It never meant anything. It's just the right thing to do because it's fucking cold."
The girls exchange looks that say we know better and you do your best not to roll your eyes in irritation and walk away. They drop it, but the air is charged. The seed is planted. And it's a toxic, fast-growing vine.
From that moment on you slowly and invisibly begin to rethink everything. Every interaction from the past weeks, the past year, maybe even your whole life—okay no, that would be a stretch. The way he always saves you a seat. How he remembers your favourite snack. All the times he walked you in the rain—and any other weather—from his house to yours in the village, even though it's no more than a five minute walk. You ask yourself, in a frantic loop, does he actually like you? Or are your friends just stupid and don't know what it's like to be friends with a boy for your entire life? Is everything tainted with this unbidden feeling now? Or are you just spiralling and overthinking?
The doubt is corrosive.
You don't notice at first, but you begin distancing yourself from Seungcheol. It's small, almost involuntary. Finding excuses to walk with your new friends instead of him during tours. Begging off joint plans, saying you're tired. You stop seeking him out for anything at all.
Once, because you shared your phone with him during the trip—his was broken, shattered screen from a clumsy drop on day two—you do something you know is wrong. He'd messaged his brother from your profile and didn't delete the messages. Your thumb hovers over the dialogue. The curiosity is an insistent sharp itch, fed by your new, ugly uncertainty. You tap on it.
You read their conversation. His brother asks how it's going.
Seungcheol: Boring. The guys here are… I don't know. They talk about games I don't play, make jokes I don't get. I can't keep a conversation going. I say something and they just nod and change the topic.
Brother: That's just how it is sometimes. At least you have Y/N there. She's your best friend after all.
This makes you lowkey mad. Being best friends doesn't make it your obligation to keep him company. You don't owe Seungcheol staying by his side only because he's so sad about being unable to socialise.
Seungcheol: She's with others all the time now. I think she's bored of me too.
The words punch you to the throat. They are simple and they sound so lonely. Your irritation vanishes and instead you feel guilty for the way you're thinking. There's no self-pity in that text, just a statement of fact as he sees it. You are suddenly sharply aware of the fact that you're intruding and it makes you feel sick. You close the app, your heart hammering against your ribs. You decide to keep it to yourself, to pretend you never saw these messages. But the knowledge sits inside you, heavy and cold.
Just a few days later, by the end of a trip to the beach, you find yourself searching for your wallet. A real, swooping panic claws at your insides as you rummage through your backpack. You tell your friends, your voice rising in alarm.
"I had it this morning! I paid for the lemonade at the cafe! It can't be gone, it has all my money…"
The girls only shrug and offer no help, just sympathy. So your first instinct, your absolute first instinct despite all the distance you've created, is to find Seungcheol. Your eyes immediately find him in the crowd of people standing by the curator, waiting to depart back to the camp grounds.
"Cheol," you call as you approach him, the childhood nickname slips out in your distress. Your eyes flicker to the curator, you'll have to inform her anyways but first him. "I think I lost my wallet. I don't know where but probably at the beach."
His face shifts immediately into a mode you know well: focused, practical, ready to solve the problem. "Okay. Where did you go? Let's retrace your steps. We should ask at the cafes."
The two of you quickly inform the adults and rush back. You go from cafe to cafe along the beachfront, and he does most of the talking, his manner calm and clear, while you flutter anxiously beside him.
"It's green, leather, with a button," you hear him explain for the third time. He sounds so sure, so capable. You feel like a child.
Finally, in despair, you slump onto a low wall and rummage through your backpack one more time, digging past your damp towel. Your fingers brush against a familiar, smooth shape, tucked into a side pocket you usually never use. And suddenly you remember that it's exactly the reason why you put your wallet there, to keep it safe.
"Oh," the air leaves your lungs in a whoosh. You pull out the wallet. The alarm turns out false. The relief is so tangible it makes you lightheaded. You look up at him, a weak, nervous laugh escaping you. "I'm… I'm so stupid. It was here the whole time."
He doesn't laugh. He just looks at you, his expression unreadable for a moment, then he shakes his head, a small, wry smile touching his lips. "Yeah. You are."
But he says it softly, without any bite. The way that means I'm glad you found it, you scarecrow. For a second, everything is normal. You walk back to the camp group together, the setting sun casting long shadows. You should say something, bridge this gap you made. But the moment slips away, swallowed by your own awkward silence and the curator's immediate questions on whether the search was successful.
For the rest of that summer trip, you continue barely talking to him. The exchanges are polite, necessary, and hollow. You feel shitty and avoidant, a coward, still utterly impacted by what your girl friends pointed out on that chilly beach. You watch him from a distance. He stops trying to stick to you. He starts spending more time alone, or sitting quietly with a book, or attempting to interact with the guys that you know he has no interest interacting with. The easy dimpled smile you've known forever appears less and less.
And just like that the crack stops being a hairline fracture and turns into a chasm instead. And you are standing on one side, actively choosing not to cross it, too confused and scared to even understand what you're looking at on the other side.
The last month of summer that year is spent in the village as usual. You spend it avoiding Seungcheol most of the time. The air between your houses, once so easily traversed, now feels thick with something unsaid. Every time he texts you—Hey, want to go ride bikes? or I found that old board game. Come over?—you scramble for an excuse.
Sorry, I'm in the middle of this new book, you type back, glancing at the novel on your nightstand, its spine still uncracked.
Or: Trying to finally learn some basic art stuff. You know, the online course I told you about. You haven't opened the lessons in weeks.
Most of the time, in reality, you're not doing any of those things you tell him you're doing. You're lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling, or scrolling mindlessly on your phone, too hung up on the growing chasm of awkwardness you helped create. You're waiting, almost passively, for the opportunity for real distance to solidify between you. The summer days, once endless and golden, now feel like a countdown you're both enduring. Or at the very least you are.
It's really too much, and you're glad you don't have time to think about it when the school year starts. The relief is grand as you pack your bag and return to your city with your parents. You're glad you don't live in the same place, that you only text now on social media, that there are no more hour-long calls where silence was comfortable. Now it would be suffocating. You're glad to return to your routine of school friends, to your one-sided school crushes that don't require you to address anything heavy, that allow you to suffer in silence, pining and complaining to your friends without actually taking any action to change the situation. You cling to the safety of it, this feeling of things being stable and normal again.
Meanwhile the distance grows, a quiet, persistent weed, no matter how much you try to pretend that it doesn't. You are too preoccupied with your constructed normalcy—which isn't exactly normal anymore, just a busy distraction that you refuse to admit—to notice how everything shifts. You don't notice the moment Seungcheol stops trying to reach out that much. The texts become fewer. The how was your day? messages appear once a week, then once a fortnight. They are easy to miss in the flood of notifications from your closer, present-circle friends.
You still talk, but it's mundane, scarce. It's comments on each other's social media posts. Looks fun :) he writes under a picture of you at a school event. Happy holiday! you comment on a photo of his family's Christmas tree because it's the first year that you don't celebrate together. The exchanges are polite ghosts of your past conversations.
It also feels strange, there's a deep, background wrongness, because neither of you celebrates your birthdays together anymore. Now, all you do is you send heartfelt messages. You type out paragraphs—Happy birthday! I hope you have the most amazing day! Remember that time we…—trying to conjure the old warmth. The congratulations, when you read them back, sound as if nothing has changed and everything is just as it used to be. But if you let yourself see the truth, it feels more like trying to save something that has already died. You are performing CPR on a corpse—or something soon to become it. His replies are equally long, equally kind, and equally final. Thanks so much! Yeah, I remember that haha. Hope you're doing well.
What once felt natural, something that neither of you ever questioned, a steady, humming chord that connected you two across any distance, now lies severed and damaged. It doesn't snap with a dramatic sound. It hangs by a frayed thread, and neither of you seems to know how, or if, you should reach for it or just cut it off. The weight of all those summers, all those winters, all those shared things and silent phone calls and scraped palms, now just pulls that thread tighter, thinner, towards breaking.
High school years pass somewhat like this. At one point you feel like you managed to overcome your overthinking, to put it behind you. So you make more attempts to reach out, see each other during summers sometimes, but it's nearly not as much as it used to be. The visits to his house are now mostly prompted by your or his parents over family dinners. You sit by him at the table, making safe, surface-level conversation about university plans and mutual acquaintances from the summer camp. You laugh at the same old stories your fathers tell, but the laughter doesn't travel between you two like it used to. It just lands on the tablecloth with the crumbs.
It seems that the relatively short time of barely any contact—in comparison to a lifetime of being by each other's side—has highlighted the differences between you, the growing lack of common ground as the two of you grow apart, both in physical distance and mental.
And then the university time comes. And Seungcheol moves to your city. The news comes via your mother, who heard it from his. A bolt of something—anxiety, hope, sheer surprise—shoots through you. Obviously, you don't go to the same university, you choosing languages and him—business. But by that time, the last teen bits in you stop worrying. High school is over, a messy, self-conscious era sealed shut. The one-sided crushes and that pervasive, teenage fear of missing out are no longer the factors on your horizon. You've had your heart bruised in simple ways that unrequited feelings provide. You let go of the weird, tangled guilt from the summer camp. You free up the mental space it had been squatting in. And in that new quiet you suddenly realise, with a clarity that makes your heart ache, that you miss your friend. His steady presence. His dumb jokes. The person who knew you before you were anyone at all. The one you always competed against to do something before he does and yet were always happy for his achievements.
So you start trying to talk to him more again. You send a message: Hey, mom told me you're moving here! That's huge. Let me know if you need any tips on the city.
He replies a day later. Thanks. Yeah, it's… a lot. Might take you up on that.
He seems… normal. Stressing about the move, about the new place, new beginnings. His texts are clipped, a little distant, but you chalk it up to pre-university nerves. You try to be supportive, reassuring. Texting him that he's going to be all good, it's just an adaptation period, he'll be fine, that you believe he's going to be alright. Everyone feels scared and worried. I do too, you write and it's true.
You're just as overwhelmed in your own university, and for a little while, it becomes a small bonding moment, this common struggle of the academic grind. You talk sometimes, on social media of course. You send each other memes about all-nighters and terrible cafeteria food. It's light and easy, a surface-level safe zone. It almost feels like a fresh start.
And at some point, you realise that he's found himself a girlfriend. You see her first in the background of a photo he's tagged in—a group shot at some small flat party, his arm casually around a girl with a bright smile. You feel a strange little lurch in your stomach, which you immediately dismiss as surprise. You text him: OMG who is that?? She's pretty!
He sends back a blushing emoji. Her name's Ella. We've been hanging out.
You're happy and excited for him. You tell yourself you are. He even sends you a few photos from their small trip to a different city a few months later—the two of them hugging in front of a famous bridge. Looks amazing! you reply. You guys are cute. And you mean it. Or you think you do.
They date for almost a year and a half. Most of your news on them you get through your mother, who is talking to his. It's a weird, second-hand way to track the life of your once-best friend. And you find out through her that they broke up too. Your mom mentions it in a that voice that is filled with gossipy pity but doesn't mean it at all. "His mother says the girl was getting too insistent, you know? Seeing that Seungcheol's family is… well, comfortable. Talking about rings and things, and he's not even twenty yet! Can you imagine?"
"Wow, cringe," you say and you mean it. It's ridiculous to be trying to bag anyone regardless of gender at this age. Let a person live, for god's sake. You dismiss the subtle, quiet wave of relief that follows it. You just file the information away and don't ask him about it. He doesn't offer.
During your third year, things begin to get kind of strained between the two of you. Yes, you're texting. And Seungcheol is always answering kindly, apologising for delays, engaging in some deeper topics sometimes. But you've also been noticing that he'd stopped texting you first for quite some time now. On top of that, you've been trying to get him to hang out with you for quite some time now. Properly hang out, just the two of you, in the same city you now share. You see his Instagram stories—he's making new friends, a bunch of people from his business program and beyond. They look confident, stylish, laughing in sleek bars or at someone's apartment. And while you have friends of your own too, a solid group that you've build from middle to high school to now university, you still want your best friend back. You want to bridge the gap that you created, but now it feels like the landscape on his side of the chasm has changed completely.
You're suddenly unable to recognise this person. And it's not just visually, though that's a part of it. The boy whose clothes you used to borrow is gone. In his place is a young man who is… transforming. He's been working out; the softness of his teenage frame has hardened into something defined. He's discovering his style and he's doing it really well, you must admit. He's hanging out with new friends, going to parties or clubbing even. You watch a seven-second clip of him in a dim, pulsing room, pursing his lips and bobbing his head to the beat, a drink in hand. It's not your scene. You're a homebody, a 'watch a movie and order takeout' or a 'quiet cafe and a walk' type of person. So on some level, you do judge him. You judge the performative ease, the curated cool. Who is he trying to be? you think, a bitter little seed in your mind. So you tease and joke around a little in his DMs, nothing you haven't done before.
But more than that, you're angry and hurt. Because every time you try to suggest meeting for a coffee or a walk, he always comes up with a reason why he cannot, or just rain checks into the vague, never-arriving future.
Sorry, got a group project meeting.
Ah, I promised I'd go to the gym with a friend.
Maybe next week? Homework load is crazy.
You don't want to look desperate, but he's also Seungcheol, your lifetime-long friend. There's nothing desperate about wanting to see your friend at least once every six months, is there? The imbalance infuriates you. You were the one who pulled away, but now you're the one reaching, and he's the one who is slipping through your fingers.
On one of those attempts to drag him out, you snap.
Your last lecture of the day ends early and it's a totally welcome gift on a surprisingly warm afternoon. Because you've been previously texting Seungcheol earlier—a meaningless exchange about most terrible professors in your universities—you know that he also has his last lecture today and that's it. No other plans mentioned. The sun is out. The weather looks friendly and pleasant. It feels like a good chance.
You text him: Hey. My class just ended early. You free? Could grab a coffee by the river. My treat for being a flake for the past many years.
You send it and see his status flick to 'online'. Then, a second later, 'offline'. You wait, phone in hand, assuming he's just glanced at his phone in his lecture. You wait fifteen minutes. Then twenty. The little 'delivered' receipt stares back at you.
Finally, your screen lights up.
Seungcheol: sorry baby, i was in a lecture. also, won't be able to make it, i promised my mom that i'll go shopping with her
You read it once. Then twice. The words refuse to compute at first.
A cold then hot flush sweeps over you. Flustered and weirded out. Because who does he think he's talking to, calling you 'baby'? Is this a text meant for some girl from a party he hooked up with, someone who's acting needy now? The generic, placating excuse—shopping with his mom? His mother lives two hours away by train. It's a Wednesday afternoon. It's the laziest, most blatant brush-off you've ever received. And the 'baby'… it feels like a violation. A careless, casual term of endearment he now tosses around, landing on you like a splash of cold water.
The anger that's been simmering for months boils over. Your thumbs fly across the screen.
You: Wtf? Baby? Seriously? Who exactly do you think you're texting right now?
You: And shopping with your mom? On a Wednesday? Come up with something better, Seungcheol. Or just be honest and say you don't want to see me.
You hit send. The seconds tick by, heavy and loud in your head.
Seungcheol: what? it was a typo. busy. meant to say maybe.
Seungcheol: and i am going to see her. she's in the city for a doctor's appointment.
It's the defensive, clipped tone that does it. The refusal to acknowledge the sheer weirdness of it all.
You: A typo from 'maybe' to 'baby'? That's a stretch. And fine, whatever. But you know what? Forget it. Forget the coffee. Forget everything. You've been blowing me off for two years straight. Every single time I try. I get it. You have a new life, new cool friends, a whole new persona. I don't fit into it. Just have the decency to say that openly instead of treating me like some annoying hook up you have to manage with bad excuses and pet names.
You're shaking with rage and adrenaline. You've said too much. You've shown your hand, all the hurt and the need you've been trying to hide. The three dots appear. They disappear. Appear again. A long, agonising minute passes.
Seungcheol: are you done?
Seungcheol: wanna to know why i 'blow you off'? try to remember the last time you actually wanted to hang out with me. not the idea of me you have in your head from when we were twelve. not because you feel guilty or because you're trying to fix some old crack. me. now.
You stare at his words. They feel like a slap across your face. You can almost feel the sting of it. You want to fire back, but your mind is blank, white with shock.
Seungcheol: you called me cringe when i started going to the gym. then made fun of me when i posted stories from a club with people from my major. every time we talk, it feels like you're waiting for me to revert back to the kid who followed you around. you don't even know me anymore. so why would i want to have coffee with someone who doesn't like who i've become?
His accusations are somewhat true but are also unfair. Regardless, the truth of them lands and it is sharp and undeniable, carving grooves of shame in your chest. Yes, maybe you've had a hard time accepting his new persona. The gym, the clubs, the style—it's all a language you don't speak, a club you aren't invited to. You judge and make jokes because you don't understand it, and because, secretly, it scares you. It is proof he is building a world you aren't a part of.
But he wasn't giving you a proper chance at that either. He'd just… vanished into that new world, posting snippets of it for everyone to see, including you, but never opening the door. Every attempt you made was met with that bland, brick-wall politeness or a flimsy excuse. As he isn't giving it now.
A fresh surge of anger cuts through the hurt. You tell him that.
You: You're right. I have been judging and making jokes. I didn't know how to fit the new version of you into the old space you occupied. That's on me.
You: But you're not being fair either. You changed the rules and then got mad at me for not knowing how to play. You never let me in to try. You just shut the door. Every single time I knocked. That's totally on you!
You send it, your heart a drumming against your ribs. The three dots appear immediately, pulsing, then stop. No reply comes. The silence is heavy, expectant. It stretches for a full minute, then two. He's reading it. He's thinking. You've thrown your truth back, and now you're both standing in the wreckage of it.
You impatiently pace the hallway of your university, staring at the screen.
And then, just because you can and because it was long, long overdue, you do what you feel is right in that moment. The grand, clenching knot of pride and fear and regret in your stomach loosens, just a fraction, telling you this is the only way through. You need to voice the thing that has been rotting between you for years. You start typing again, your thumbs moving almost on their own, the words seeping out like water from a cracked dam.
You: But that's not the main thing. The main thing is something I should have said years ago. Maybe if I had, none of this… distance… would have happened. Or maybe it would have. I don't know.
You: Either way I'm sorry, Cheol.
You take a sharp breath, the air in the quiet hallway feeling thin and charged with your own emotions.
You: I'm sorry for the summer camp. I'm sorry for pulling away from you when you needed a friend there the most. I'm sorry for leaving you behind back then, for being so wrapped up in my own stupid head that I made you feel alone. I'm sorry for not cherishing what we had, for taking it for granted because you'd always been there like a part of me I never had to worry about losing.
The memories flood in, unbidden. His lonely text to his brother. The way he'd looked on the beach when you rejected his shirt. The hollow feeling of that last summer in the village when everything went south.
You: My fifteen-year-old self was acting like a bitch to her only friend. Scared, confused and selfish. And I've felt bad about it for years, but I was too much of a coward to just say it. I thought if I just pretended it never happened, or if I just tried to be friends again like normal, it would just… disappear. But it doesn't. It's been sitting here this whole time.
You don't talk about what started your intensified withdrawal—the shark-like whispers of your friends, the planted seed of doubt about his feelings. That is a separate, tangled vine. It's too vulnerable and close to the heart, and it feels impossible, wrong, to ask over text: Were they right? Did you look at me like that? Was I blind, or were they hallucinating? That question requires a face, eyes, the courage to hold a gaze. It requires him, in front of you. So you leave it unsaid, a silent, trembling asterisk at the end of your apology.
You: I don't expect you to forgive me. I probably wouldn't, if I were you. But I needed you to know that I see it now, clearly. And I'm sorry. Truly.
You hit send.
The finality of it echoes in the empty corridor. You're standing near a window, the afternoon sun casting long rectangles of light on the scuffed floor. You lower your phone, pressing it against your chest. You feel dizzy, stripped bare. There is no immediate relief, only a vast, shaky emptiness. You've just lobbed a piece of your soul over a digital wall and have no idea what ground it will land on.
Minutes pass. Five. Ten. Your phone doesn't vibrate in your hand. You lift it, check the connection, open the chat. 'Read 4:32 PM'. He's seen it all. And he's saying nothing.
You quickly find that silence is worse than any angry reply. An angry reply would still be engagement, a continuation of the fight, a connection, however toxic. This silence, however, is akin to a void. It's a door not just closed, but walled up. You sink down onto a nearby bench tucked into an alcove, your backpack heavy beside you. You don't cry. You just feel terribly, overwhelmingly sad. For the past, for the present, for the future that now seems to definitively not include him. You stare out the window at students crossing the courtyard, their lives moving seamlessly forward while yours feels suspended in this painful, silent limbo.
You must zone out, because the sudden buzz of your phone against your leg jolts you back. The light in the corridor has shifted, grown warmer, later. Your heart leaps into your throat. You fumble for it.
It's not a text. It's a call. Seungcheol's name flashes on your screen.
For a wild second, you consider not answering. The vulnerability of your spoken voice feels like too much here in public. But you swipe to accept, bringing the phone to your ear.
"Hello?" Your voice is raspy from tension.
A beat of silence on the other end, filled with ambient city noise—the distant sound of traffic, the murmur of a crowd. He's outside.
"Hey," he sounds quiet, flat. Not angry. More like tired.
"Hey," you echo, your grip tightening on the phone.
More silence. You can almost hear him choosing his words, weighing them.
"You weren't a bitch," he says finally, the word sounds awkward coming from him in the context of you. "You were fifteen. And I was… a lot. I know I was hard to be around that summer. I was miserable and I took it out on you by just expecting you to fix it."
This isn't what you expected. Not absolution, and certainly not self-recrimination from him.
"You didn't take it out on me," you argue softly, lowering your voice as a pair of students walk past. "I was the one who abandoned you."
"You had every right to make other friends," he counters, and there's a hint of the old, stubborn Seungcheol in his tone. "That was the whole point of the camp. I was the one who couldn't handle it. I was the one who read your normal, healthy behaviour as you being bored of me."
You swallow hard, your throat tight. "It wasn't… healthy. What I did. The ignoring you. That wasn't about making friends. That was about me being scared of something stupid."
The line is quiet again. You've stepped to the very edge of the unspoken thing. You can feel the tension of it humming down the line.
He doesn't ask what do you mean. Just lets the statement hang. And a thought crosses your mind that maybe he knows. Maybe he's always known what your friends whispered.
"Anyway," he clears his throat, moving past the precipice. "The apology. It's… thank you. For saying it."
"It doesn't fix anything," you whisper, stating the obvious.
"No," he agrees, his voice a little rough. "It doesn't. Some cracks don't get fixed. They just become part of the shape of the thing."
The metaphor sinks into you. Is that what you are now? A friendship defined by its fractures?
"I don't want that," you say, the words coming out before you can stop them, pleading and vulnerable. "I don't want us to just be a broken shape."
He sighs, a long, weary sound that travels through the connection. "I don't know what we are, Y/N. Honestly. You're right that I haven't made it easy. This… persona, as you call it. It wasn't about leaving you behind. It was about adapting to a bunch of new things. University, this city, being away from everything I knew. So, the gym, the clothes, the going out… it was a suit of armour. I put it on so I could walk into rooms and not feel like that lonely kid at the camp anymore."
His confession disarms you completely. You see it now—not a rejection of his past, but a desperate construction to protect the soft, unsure parts of him that still existed. And you have to give him the credit, the said armour fits him seamlessly now. You think he grew into it comfortably now. Fake it till you make it, they say?
"I'm sorry," you repeat, the words meaning something new this time. "For judging your attempts to adapt."
A small, humourless huff of air from his end. "It's pretty stupid sometimes. I'm not that much into clubbing, actually. The music just isn't it half of the time and drinks are overpriced."
A surprised, wet laugh escapes you. You quickly stifle it, looking around the empty corridor. "Oh, is that so?"
"Yeah. I usually end up wishing I was home watching a movie or something."
The image is so familiarly and comfortingly him that it cracks something open in your chest. "That's… that's probably the most Seungcheol thing I've heard from you in the past years."
"Yeah, well, I'm not an entirely different person after all." He pauses. The background noise shifts, as if he's moving to a quieter spot. "The 'baby' thing. That was… I was texting someone else right before responding to you. It was a stupid, careless copy-paste from another conversation. I wasn't thinking. It wasn't… it wasn't meant for you like that."
The clarification is a surprise and it strips the weird, intimate charge from the word, leaving only the fact that it was a bad, stupid decision. It's a relief, and also, faintly, a disappointment you refuse to examine in this very moment.
"Okay," you nod even though he can't see it. "Good to know."
Another pause, but this one already feels a lot less charged.
"My mom really does have a doctor's appointment," he offers quietly. "I am meeting her after. But… I could maybe be late. If you still wanted that coffee."
The offer is so tentative, stripped of the defensive bravado from earlier, that it feels more vulnerable than any of the angry texts. He's taking off a piece of the armour, just for you. Just for now.
Your eyes sting. You look out the window at sunlight glinting off the library windows. "I'd like that," you say, voice thick. "You know this new cafe by the river?"
"Yeah," he confirms. "Give me twenty minutes?"
"I'll get us a table outside," you respond, already standing up, swinging your backpack over one shoulder.
You end the call and stand there for a moment, just breathing in the quiet air of the old academic building and fighting off tears of immediate relief. Sure, it's not fixed between you two. Nothing can be truly fixed with a phone conversation. But maybe that's where you should start. Not with fixing, but with acknowledging.
You take a deep breath and head outside, the weight in your chest feels both lighter and not. Maybe it has lifted or maybe it has taken on a new shape and you just don't know what it is yet.
You sit with a cup of latte, hands wrapped around the ceramic for warmth, watching the river glisten and mind its own watery thing. When you spot Seungcheol moving in your direction, a familiar lurch happens in your stomach—part nerves, part a deep, old recognition. Once again, you're painfully reminded how different he is from what you've been clinging to in your head. The way he moves now has a certain easy confidence that is difficult to look away from, his shoulders set in his dark jacket, no longer the loose-limbed, careless gait of a boy. And yet, still the same. At least you think you see the same things in him, not just visually—the gummy smile that appears as he nods at you, the dimples that won't ever change—but internally, in the careful way his eyes meet yours. You think, you hope, that even with some changing and growing up he's still the boy you were so proud to call your best friend back in the sunny days of that camp, before everything went south.
He doesn't order coffee, just greets you with a soft hey and slides into the chair across the small, wrought-iron table. And silence sits between you too, a third, unwelcome guest. It's suddenly charged and complicated. Awkward in a way your childhood silences never were. It's like you've said everything you needed to in your texts, ripped the bandage off from a distance, and now you're left with the raw, exposed skin and nothing else to clean it with. So you start with the mundane—the social equivalent of applying a clean, basic gauze.
"About your mom's appointment," you begin, your voice suddenly sounding too weird to your own ears. "Is everything okay?"
Seungcheol nods, picking at the edge of the paper napkin dispenser. "Yeah, just a follow up. She's fine. She actually asked about you."
"Yeah? Tell her I say hi," you take a sip of your latte. "My mom mentioned your brother got that promotion he wanted. That's huge."
"It is. He's insufferably proud of himself, but… yeah, it's good."
You try not to cringe at yourself. This isn't what you wanted this conversation to be but you can't help it. It's everything safe and familiar to the both of you, the well-trodden path of family updates that kept you tenuously connected for years. And it gives you a chance to drink him in, to actually pay attention to his energy now that he's a physical presence and not just a series of curated images. You watch the way his fingers tap a quiet rhythm on the table, the slight furrow in his brow when he's listening to you talk and thinking of an answer. You listen to yourself in his presence. The nervous chatter, the way you lean forward. You try to dissect what you feel in this moment. Is it just the fond, complex warmth of history? Or is it something else you've warped and stretched over the years out of loneliness or desperation? Sitting here, under the gentle weight of his attention, it feels… you don't think you can put a finger on it yet.
You don't ask about the past right now. The big, heavy questions about that summer, about feelings and perceptions, feel too monumental. You're facing him now, but talking about something like that when he's in a low-grade hurry to leave, to meet his mom—seems unfair, like springing a trap. You tell yourself you'll find a better time for a discussion like that, a time that isn't borrowed. Instead, you focus on the smaller things about the present, about the people you've become in each other's absence.
"So," you start tracing the rim of your cup. "The clubbing. You really hate it?"
He lets out a short, genuine laugh, and the sound loosens a knot in your chest. "I wouldn't say hate necessarily. But it's not as enjoyable as some find it. It's loud, sweaty and people spill drinks on the dance floor. You have to be in the mood for it, I guess. But… it's something to do. The guys from my major are into it. It feels like… participation, you know?"
"I think I do," you say slowly though you're not sure you actually get it, being the homebody you are. It's an alien concept for you to force yourself into something you don't enjoy. "Like you said, it's the armour. Or a mask. You have to put it on to move through certain spaces."
Seungcheol nods. "Exactly."
Encouraged, you dip your toes further. "I think I went the opposite way. I just avoid uncomfortable spaces altogether. The books, the movies and TV-shows, the cafes. It's my cocoon. It's safe and familiar." You offer a small, self-deprecating smile. The irony of literally switching places with him isn't lost on you. "Probably incredibly boring from the outside."
"No, it's not boring," he says, and he sounds like he means it. "I see your posts about the books you read or movies you watch. It's… it's very you."
The compliment, simple as it is, warms you more than the latte. You realize you're being honest about how these choices make you feel, and you're trying to keep an open mind towards these new, unfamiliar facets of him. It's a tentative, mutual exploration.
However, you do think, watching him talk about the pragmatic reasons behind his social choices, that out of the two of you, you changed the least. Your world is still built from the same materials—the comfort of stories, the peace of a quiet afternoon, the line of hobbies and interests you've cultivated and tended to over the years. It's uncomplicated, steadfast. But in comparison to him—to his adaptive, strategic navigation of a loud, demanding world—you feel quietly embarrassed. It's a faint heat at the back of your neck. Seungcheol says that he doesn't necessarily enjoy everything he does and you think his point of view is valid. But seeing all his changes also makes you feel like you're dragging behind somewhere, a relic of a different, simpler age, while he has learned to evolve, to put on and take off masks as needed. You wonder if he looks at your cocoon and sees not comfort, but a hiding place despite what he says.
"I should probably go," he glances at his phone. "Mom's waiting."
"Right, of course." You try to mask your disappointment. It felt like you were just getting started.
Seungcheol stands up, but hesitates. "This was… good. Talking. Without… you know. Overthinking the subtext."
"It was," you agree, standing as well.
"We should do it again," he says, and it's not a polite brush off this time. His eyes are sincere, holding yours. "Maybe without a time limit. And maybe… we could just watch a movie. Like we used to. No clubs or cafes. Just a sofa and some snacks."
His suggestion is so perfectly, achingly targeted to the core of your history—and your confessed preferences—that it feels like a peace offering, and an acceptance of who you are now, cocoon and all.
"I'd really like that," you say with a nod, and you mean it, no matter how scared you're to fully allow yourself to feel it.
He returns it, the gummy smile you've always known, and gives you a brief hug before turning to go. You sink back into your chair, watching him walk away until he blends into the crowd along the riverwalk.
Things don't change overnight. You don't expect it to happen either. A friendship—or whatever this is now—that took years to fray can't be rewoven in a week. But you're happy to have the small shifts that come, the tiny realignments that feel seismic in the quiet of your own heart. It's a strange, careful rearrangement, one that stops your heart just a little when you think about it too closely. It feels a little like childhood, that easy, default closeness. No, you don't stay on landline phones for hours anymore, but whenever one of you wants to talk, you notice you both lean towards calling more than texting. A voice feels necessary.
Texting becomes purely functional: Thursday at 8? or Your place or mine? You don't even send memes or funny reels to each other. At first, you think it's because your circles of interests are too different, that you have nothing silly or topical in common—and partially, that is the reason—but as you observe the days go by, you conclude it's something else. There's something about hearing each other talk, or the way you can stay silent on the line for a beat too long without it immediately feeling wrong, that tugs at the old, familiar sting in your heart in a nice, aching way. It's the sound of his breath, the way he says "Yeah?" or hums when he's listening, the quiet laugh that isn't just an emoji. It feels earned and real.
It is as familiar as it is new.
Somewhere around May, Seungcheol introduces you to his new friends. He phrases it casually over one of your calls. "Some of us are grabbing pizza on Friday. You should come. They've heard about you since, like, forever."
The group consists of a few guys from his business program and two girls, one of whom is actually from your university, though you've never seen her before. It's nice, you tell yourself, to finally put faces to the names and Instagram handles, to know the people he's talking about and spending his time with. But as the evening goes on, a quiet certainty settles in your gut: you are not going to become a part of this group.
They're not unkind. They're just… different. Their humour is a rapid-fire, insider brand of sarcasm that relies on references to professors and parties you weren't at. Their conversations pivot quickly between internship stress, gym routines, and plans for a beach house rental that sounds both expensive and exhausting. Where you can snort and chuckle at Seungcheol's stupid, familiar jokes because you know the history behind them, theirs feel performative, and you often find yourself staying politely silent, offering a generic smile that makes your cheeks ache.
You do your best not to cling to his side. You answer questions when they're asked, you ask a few of your own. Seungcheol doesn't abandon you to fend for yourself; he throws you the occasional lifeline, a "Y/N and I used to do that too," or a raised eyebrow across the table when someone tells a particularly outrageous story. But you still don't feel comfortable. You feel like a subtitled version of yourself. The girls are somewhat nice, asking about your major, but the connection is thin, polite. They are an alien crowd orbiting a version of Seungcheol you are only just beginning to understand.
The next day, during your now-usual call, you tell him. You choose your words with care, aiming for gentle honesty.
"Thanks for inviting me last night," you start, curled on your sofa. "It was cool to finally meet everyone."
"Yeah? They're a lot, but they're good people," he says, and you can hear the faint defensive note you were hoping to avoid.
"They are! I could tell. It's just…" You search for the right phrasing. "I think my social battery is calibrated differently. All that energy is fun to witness, but I think I'd short-circuit if I tried to join the grid, you know?"
There's a pause on the line. You hold your breath.
"So, you're not gonna be our new regular plus-one?" he asks, but his tone is lighter now, teasing.
"I think my role is better as the mysterious childhood friend you sometimes reference," you smile even though he can't see it. "The one they're not quite sure is real. Or just an occasional witness."
He laughs, and the tension dissolves. "Fair enough. They did ask if you were always that quiet."
"What did you tell them?"
"I told them you're just warming up and aren't what you seem."
The immediate relief is a sweet, liberating feeling. He's fine with it. He isn't taking it as an insult to his new life or his new self. He understands the boundaries of your worlds are different now, and that's okay. You don't have to force yourself into the shiny, loud puzzle of his present to still be important in it.
Your own friend group—fortunately or not—does not require any such introduction or integration. It's a few people from your school years or that same fateful summer camp, and he met them all back when you were all still teenagers, all elbows and awkward phases and shared, simpler dramas. When he joins you for a lazy weekend movie night at your apartment, it's less of an introduction and more of a reunion. The girls greet him with a chorus of "Hey, stranger!" and "Whoa, look at you!", the teasing immediate and familiar. The conversation is a comfortable, overlapping mess of shared memories and easy updates. Here, he doesn't have to explain any backstory. They already know it. They know the kid he was, which makes the young man he's become simply an extension, not a separate entity. You watch him sink into your sofa, laughing at a stupid story about Sophie's former biology teacher, and you see the armour fully off, left at the door. In this cocoon of your making, with your relics and your quiet joys, he fits perfectly, not despite the changes, but because beneath them, the core remains, solid and known.
It's July, the gruelling finals of your second year are done, and you're back in the village by the lake. You spend your days soaking in the quiet, the endless singing of birds in your backyard garden, the clear, cool water of the lake. It's all as it was before—the scent of pine, the way the light dapples through the trees in the late afternoon—but there is a different energy to it this time. A humming, anticipatory quiet you haven't really felt in a long while. Not the empty silence of the estranged years. A waiting.
You're waiting.
Seungcheol is due to arrive at his parents' house later today. He wasn't here last week, having been away with his friends at some rented house in the woods. He'd texted you an open invitation: The place has a huge deck. You could actually get some quiet writing or sketching done here. And there's a lake too. You'd politely declined, not wanting to insert yourself into the heart of his other world, not yet. Thanks, I'm good with our own lake this summer, you'd replied. But save me a fun story.
You're swimming in said lake when he comes to find you. You see a figure walking onto the old wooden pier, and you know it's him even from a distance. He moves with a relaxed ease, eyes covered with sunglasses, hands in the pockets of his shorts, shirtless. The sun glints off his skin. You wave at him from afar, treading water, and he lifts a hand in response. As you swim closer, he sits down at the very edge of the pier, his ankles dipping into the water, and pushes the shades up onto the top of his head. You don't get out, just cling to the rusty ladder, your arms resting on a worn rung.
"Hey," you say, the water lapping at your chin. "When did you get back?"
"Couple of hours ago," he responds, looking down at you. His voice is calm, warm like the sun shining overhead. "Unpacked, got nagged by my mom about laundry, and escaped."
You snort at that. "How was the woods? Catch any ghosts or anything?"
He grins, that familiar, gummy smile that immediately softens the stronger lines of his jaw. "No ghosts. Just a lot of mosquitoes and Gyu trying to prove he could still do a backflip off the dock. He cannot."
You laugh, and the sound skips across the water. You catch yourself then, sneaking a glance at the defined line of his shoulders, the way his torso tapers. It's the first time in years—since you were probably sixteen—that you're seeing him like this, so casually bare. And you're painfully aware of two sets of changes. Not just that he's obviously been diligent, his body an example of discipline you don't possess. But your own reaction. There's a heart rate that quickens its rhythm against your ribs. There are thoughts that flicker, unbidden and warm, that go a little bit beyond what you'd think about a friend who's simply gotten a glow-up. Thoughts about how the sun traces the muscle of his arm, about the contrast of his dark shorts against his light tan. It's a purely physical, startling awareness.
You do your best to push it all away, especially when it immediately makes you self-conscious about your own physique—soft where you'd wish it were more toned, not full enough in certain places or too full in others. You've never been to a gym or committed to any work out routine, content with long walks and the occasional swim or a bike ride. That's why you don't get out of the water for a long while, using the lake as your cover. Instead, you push off from the ladder, doing small, easy laps back and forth, the silence between you filled with the sound of your movement through the water and the distant cry of a bird.
"You're going to turn into a prune," he comments after your third lap, his voice laced with amusement.
"I'm part fish, you know this," you call back and hum an H2O intro song between giggles, but you're running out of casual stamina.
It's when he stands, leaves his shades and slippers by your pile of things, and jumps into the water that you finally move. He hits the surface with a clean splash, sending waves that rock you. You seize the moment, hurrying up the ladder before he surfaces. You grab your towel, wrapping it around yourself like a sarong, and perch on the pier to now be the one looking down at him. You swipe his sunglasses, settling them on your nose. The world takes on a smoky, golden tint.
"Thief," he says, shaking the water from his hair as he treads water.
"Security fee," you reply, your voice thankfully steady.
You watch him. He does a strong, smooth lap to the middle of the lake and back, his form efficient, cutting through the water like it's nothing. Then he stands where the lake is shallower, his height allowing his shoulders to emerge, the water sluicing off the defined planes of his chest and back. Droplets catch the sunlight like scattered diamonds on his skin. He walks over slowly, the water parting around him with a soft resistance until he's right below where you're sitting. He rests his forearms on the sun-warmed wood of the pier beside your thigh, his skin cool and damp where it almost brushes yours.
"Show-off," you tsk, and your voice comes out in the old, easy tone, the one you've used for a lifetime. It's a little gruff, a little teasing—the voice you'd use to call him a loser for winning a race. It feels like pulling on a well-worn sweater.
He tilts his head back, squinting up at you against the sun. A slow grin spreads. "Just reminding the local wildlife who's on top of the food chain."
"The fish are trembling," you roll your eyes, even though he can't see it behind the shades, swinging your leg so it disturbs the water surface right near his side. "They're telling legends about the splash monster."
Seungcheol laughs, and you find comfort in the sound of it. "Good. I aim to inspire myth." He pushes his wet hair back from his forehead, his thick eyebrows on full display now as he raises one. "You're just jealous because your laps look like ones of a startled frog."
It's the kind of insult that has flown between you for years. Harmless, stupid. You lean into it, because it's safe. It's the script. You raise an eyebrow back at him. "At least frogs are cute. You look like a… a commercial for expensive water. All serious and… slick." A teasing grimace finds its way onto your face.
"Slick?" He raises an eyebrow, feigning offence and pouting about it. "I'm a model of hydrodynamic efficiency. You're the one clinging to that ladder like it's a life raft."
"It's my strategic base," you counter, nudging his shoulder with your knee. The contact is brief, casual. Or it's meant to be. Your skin tingles where you touched him, a spark that travels straight up your spine. You keep your face carefully neutral behind his stolen sunglasses. "For observing the wildlife. And critiquing its form."
He shakes his head, drops of water flying. "You're a terrible critic. You have no frame of reference. When's the last time you swam more than four meters?"
"I'll have you know I executed several excellent laps today. Very contemplative laps."
"Contemplative," he echoes, his voice dripping with mock reverence. "Right. Looked more like you were hiding."
The words land a little too close to the bone. He says it lightly, but it hangs in the air between you. You force a snort. "From your blinding pectorals when you stepped on the pier? Yeah, maybe. They're a public nuisance, Cheollie. Someone should fine you for flashing."
It's the childhood nickname that does it—that seals the mask in place. It says, See? We're just us. Nothing has changed. I can still call you that.
He goes still for a fraction of a second, his smile softening into something even more familiar and sincere. He looks at you, and for a heart-stopping moment you're afraid he can see right through the heavily tinted lenses, right through the performed ease. But then he just hums, looking back out over the lake. "You love it and you know it."
The statement is vague, could apply to anything—the nuisance, the lake, the summer, him. You don't ask for clarification. You can't. Instead, you scoff and hug your knees to your chest, the towel secure around you, your own personal blanket. The familiar, sibling-like banter sits between you, but it feels different now. It's not unconscious. Not for you at least. It's a choice you're making, a dialect you're speaking fluently to maintain an era you're no longer sure you both live in. You watch the water drip from his hair onto the pier in a steady rhythm, and you think this mask of old familiarity is the most fragile thing you've held.
Later that week, the two of you go for a bike ride along the old, familiar path that winds through the woods outside the village. Your destination is a secluded spot on the lake you discovered together back when you were both eleven, armed with nothing but a sense of adventure and a shared bag of mint candy. The shore is soft and shallow there, the trees giving way to a quiet, sun-dappled opening just big enough for a small bunch of people. You haven't been to the spot for a long time, years maybe. It felt like a place that required two people, and going there alone always seemed like a betrayal of its purpose.
When you arrive, it's like nothing has changed. The air is still, the water lapping gently at the sandy shore. The old, mossy log—a makeshift bench some other explorer must have rolled into place years before you ever found it—is still there. You brush off a few pine needles and sit down. He leans his bike against a tree and joins you, his shoulder a warm, solid line next to yours.
The two of you talk about nothing and everything. The easy flow from the other day returns, but here, in this capsule of your childhood, it feels deeper. You discuss ridiculous stories from the university year—the professor who fell asleep during his own lecture while talking, the time the fire alarm went off in your friend's dorm at 3 AM. You talk about the future, the vague, scary shape of it after graduation. Just thoughts, tossed into the space between you like stones into the still lake.
And then, inevitably, the topic circles back. Not with a jerk, but with a gentle, unavoidable pull, like the current.
"Remember the camp?" you say, your gaze fixed on the opposite shore. "The music festival on the beach?"
He nods beside you. "The cold one. Yeah."
You take a slow breath. The air smells of wet earth and sun-heated pine. This is it. This is finally the better time, the right place, to ask the question. To clear the air, to leave it all behind, to find closure. If he'll give you one.
You start from afar, skirting the edges. "I was such an idiot that summer. So caught up in trying to be… I don't know. Cool? Independent? It feels so stupid now."
"We were all idiots," he offers, his voice low.
"Not like me," you insist, your fingers knotting together in your lap. "I pulled away from you because I got scared. My friends… they said some things. About you. About how you looked at me. And instead of just asking you, or ignoring it, I let it get in my head. I convinced myself that the easiest and safest thing was to just… create distance. I thought I was protecting our friendship by doing it."
You risk a glance at him. He's looking straight ahead, his profile serious, listening.
"My overthinking brain ruined it all because it was terrified of ruining it," you whisper, the confession feeling both shameful and freeing. "And I've always kept wondering…"
The question fills your lungs in place of air, the one question that has worried your mind and heart for years. It feels enormous here, in this small, quiet clearing.
"Did it actually mean anything?" you finally ask, the words barely audible. "The way you were with me. The shirt on the beach. Any of it. Was I just seeing ghosts because my friends put the idea there, or… or was there something else?"
You don't know what answer you're looking for. A yes would rewrite your entire shared history. A no would solidify your long-held guilt. Your heart skips a painful beat as you look at him with bated breath, the whole world reduced to the space between this log and the water's edge.
Seungcheol is silent for a long time. He picks up a flat, grey pebble and turns it over in his fingers. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, measured, as if choosing each word from a deep well.
"Yes," he says, and your stomach drops. "And no."
He finally turns his head to look at you, his eyes holding yours. "You were my lifelong best friend. My only real friend. Of course the way I was with you meant everything. Offering you my shirt wasn't a gesture. More of a reflex, I would say. You were cold. That was the whole story."
He looks back at the pebble. "But… were there moments? Yeah. Sometimes. I was fifteen. And you were too. It would flash through my mind, and then it would be gone, because you were you, and I was me, and what we had was too big to risk on a feeling I didn't even understand."
He flicks the pebble into the lake. It skips once, twice, then sinks. Seungcheol lets out a dissatisfied huff. "So, no. I didn't have some big secret crush. But yes, you weren't entirely seeing ghosts. Just… more like echoes."
The answer neither calms nor cuts. It leaves you in a more complex state of swallowing that pill. So, it was real, and it also was not. There was a possibility that flickered and died, choked by the overpowering reality of your friendship. The closure you sought turns out to be not a ribbon, tied in a pretty bow, but something messier that can't be put in a yes or no box.
You let out a breath you were holding and the silence returns, though different. The air feels clearer, the weight of the unsaid finally dissolved and for the first time in years you're looking at the same picture, seeing the same complicated blend of colours. And yet you think it will take time for you to understand what you feel about this revelation.
When his birthday comes around in August, you're the first to congratulate him. First to text him at midnight on the dot, a simple string of celebratory emojis and a Happy Birthday, old man. You get a sleepy, heart-eyed sticker in return minutes later. And then, in the soft, dewy morning, you find yourself walking the familiar path to his house, a small, carefully wrapped present in your hands. You'd bought it back in June, a silly vintage keychain shaped like cherries, a nod to a thousand childhood summer days spent stealing berries and fruit from gardens, carefree and happy.
You haven't stepped foot into his house for a long time. Not since those stiff, polite family dinners during the strained years. It is becoming a quiet anecdote in your head, a growing list: Haven't done this in a long time, haven't said that in a long time, haven't felt this in a long time—all when it comes to him. But his parents are overjoyed to see you, his mother pulling you into a hug that smells like cinnamon and laundry detergent. "He's still dead to the world upstairs," she says, rolling her eyes with fondness. "You can wait in the living room, sweetheart. I'll make you some tea."
You hover in the familiar hallway, contemplating. The lingering unfamiliarity with this newer, more guarded version of him suggests you should wait politely, or perhaps just leave the present on the table with a note. It's the respectful, distanced thing to do. But the older, bolder side of you—the side that remembers racing up and down these stairs, the side that wants to reclaim a fraction of that unthinking closeness—insists on a loud, chaotic intrusion. That side wins.
Only, when you go upstairs to carry out your mischief, nothing goes to plan.
You push his bedroom door open with infinite care, avoiding the spot that used to creak. The room is dim, the blinds drawn against the morning sun. It smells faintly of his laundry detergent and that warm wood scent of a wooden house. You can just make him out in the bed tucked into the corner, a mountain of pillows and a tangled blanket. One foot is sticking out from under the covers. You stifle a giggle, creeping further inside to leave your small present on his cluttered desk. Your eyes adjust to the gloom, and you turn to finally execute your plan.
And then you freeze.
His cheek is pressed into the pillow he's hugging, his face turned toward you. His lips, slightly parted, are soft and full in sleep. His long, dark lashes form delicate crescents against his skin, trembling faintly with each dream. You hear the soft, rhythmic sound of his snoring, a tiny, vulnerable noise that makes your own breath catch. You stand there, mesmerized. You always knew, even at your most stubbornly platonic, that Seungcheol was a good-looking guy. It was an objective fact, like the sky being blue. You'd acknowledged it the way you'd acknowledge a well-designed poster—with appreciation, then moving on.
But now, watching him in this private, unguarded state, the knowledge doesn't just sit in your mind. It sinks into your chest, a heavy, sweet ache. It's not just objective anymore. It's a feeling, a physical pull deep in your gut, a faint, intensifying heartache that has nothing to do with nostalgia and everything to do with the curve of his jaw against the cotton, the way his hand lies open and trusting on the sheet.
Before you can snap out of your daze and pounce, his phone on the nightstand erupts into a shrill, pulsing ringtone.
It jolts you so violently you don't even process the movement. One second you're standing, the next you've stumbled to your knees on the rug with a soft thump, your hand clutching at the sudden, frantic beat of your own heart. Seungcheol, meanwhile, just grunts, fumbles blindly for the device, and brings it to his ear without even opening his eyes.
"Mm'yeah?" he croaks, his voice thick with sleep.
You can hear the tinny, excited chatter of a male voice on the other end. Seungcheol listens, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Uh-huh… Yeah, I'm up… What time?" A pause. He cracks one eye open, squinting at the clock. "That's in like, four hours. Why are you calling me now, you psycho?" But he says it with a groan that's more fond than annoyed.
Your stomach twists. They're coming here. His friends. Today.
Something bitter as pine resin, rises in the back of your throat. The emotion is immediate and easy to identify: jealousy. Hot, unwelcome, and possessive. This village, this house, this room—they've always existed in a separate world, a world that belonged only to the two of you and your shared history. The idea of his loud, shiny university friends invading this sanctuary, filling this quiet space with their alien energy, feels like a violation. And he didn't even mention it. The disappointment is a cold stone dropping inside you.
You shove the feeling down, mentally chastising yourself. You don't own this place. You don't own him. He has a whole life you're not a part of, and he's allowed to share pieces of it with whoever he wants. It doesn't help that tangled up with the jealousy is a sting of secret envy. You've tried, more than once, to convince one of your own friends to visit you here, to see the lake, to understand this part of you. The answers were always polite refusals, conflicting plans, a lack of interest, promises of someday that never came. The fact that his friends are not just willing, but eager enough to travel here feels like an indirect, cosmic jab. You need to come to terms with the fact that the universe loves pulling jokes like this on you.
The moment shatters when Seungcheol, finally hanging up the phone, rolls onto his back with a sigh—and his sleep-blurred gaze lands on you, kneeling like a startled deer on his bedroom floor.
He blinks. Once. Twice. Frowns. His brain clearly struggling to process the input: Phone call. Friend coming. Girl on the floor.
A slow, bewildered smile dawns on his face. "Are you… praying?" he rasps, his voice still gravelly. "Or did my supreme birthday majesty finally strike you with the appropriate awe?"
The familiar teasing is your lifeline. You scramble to your feet, brushing nonexistent dust from your knees, your face hot. "You wish. I was attempting a dramatic, birthday ambush, but your stupid phone gave me a heart attack. I think I have permanent hearing damage."
He pushes himself up on his elbows, the blanket pooling around his waist. His hair is a glorious, sleep-tousled mess. "An ambush, huh? What was the plan? A bucket of water? An air horn?"
"A severely disappointed glare," you shoot back, falling back into the rhythm as your heartbeat slowly calms. "For still being asleep when the sun is clearly up. Lazy."
"It's my birthday," he says, as if this explains everything. He finally notices the small package on his desk. "What's that?"
"A peace offering for the premature aging I'm about to give you by dragging you out of bed."
He laughs, a warm, sleepy sound that fills the dim room, and for a second, the jealousy and the envy and the complicated ache are shoved aside, forgotten. Here, in this moment, it's just you and him and a shared joke. But the knowledge of the incoming visitors hangs in the air between you, an unspoken, new fact that has already begun to subtly reshape the borders of the day, and of this fragile space you're trying to rebuild.
"Open it," you insist, nodding toward the gift. You don't move from your spot in the middle of his room. The planned ambush is forgotten, replaced by a sudden, desperate need to see his face.
"Now? Can't a guy brush his teeth first?" he grumbles, but he's already swinging his legs out of bed and padding over to the desk. He picks up the small box, turning it over in his hands.
He rolls his eyes but begins carefully peeling back the tape, his sleep-clumsy fingers surprisingly gentle. He lifts the lid, pushes aside the tissue paper, and goes utterly still.
Nestled inside is a simple, polished silver keychain. Two perfect, glossy cherries, their stems linked together.
A slow, quiet breath leaves him. He doesn't look at you, just runs his thumb over the smooth, cool metal fruit. "Cherries," he says, his voice low.
"From Mrs. Green's garden," you remind softly. Countless summer raids, sticky juice on your fingertips, her shrill voice chasing you off her property. The triumphant, shared sweetness. It's his favourite berries too.
A real, tender smile breaks over his face, it reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners, makes his dimples dent his cheeks. He looks at you then, and the weight of the shared memory is right here in the dim room with you. "I love it. Seriously. Thank you," he says, and he means it. He hooks it onto his phone case immediately, the cherries dangling.
Your mission accomplished, the intimacy of the moment suddenly feels too vast. You take a step back, toward the door. "Okay. Good. Now you can go be human. I'll be downstairs stealing your birthday breakfast."
He's still looking at the keychain, a softness on his face you haven't seen in years, if ever. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Give me ten."
You slip out, closing the door softly behind you, leaving him alone with the gift and the ghosts of a thousand stolen summer days. The image of his smile stays with you, warmer than the morning sun now streaming into the hallway as you come back downstairs while your heart pounds in your chest.
You don't stay at his house for long. Just long enough to sing Seungcheol a ridiculously off-key happy birthday song while he blows out the single candle on the small, sweet cake his mother made for him while he was still asleep. You have the privilege of being the first of his friends to share his birthday cake with him, a fact that feels both trivial and deeply significant as you clink your fork against his. His mother, bustling around the kitchen, launches into reminiscing about your childhood—the times you both tried to make a 'cake' out of mud and stones in a puddle that always forms on the road by their house, the way you'd always race each other while going from one house to the other.
"You were such a pair," she sighs, beaming. "Always attached at the hip."
You and Seungcheol share a glance across the table, a soft, complicated smile passing between you. The memory is warm, but the path from then to now feels newly fragile.
After you're done with tea and the last crumbs of cake, you head back to your house. He walks you to the garden wicket gate, the wood weathered and familiar.
"So," he says, leaning against the post. "My friends. They're gonna descend around four."
You nod, plucking a leaf from the overgrown hedge. "I figured from the wake-up call that nearly sent me to meet my ancestors."
He winces with a chuckle. "Sorry about that." A beat of comfortable silence settles, filled with the buzz of midday insects. Then he reaches out, his hand finding yours. He gives it a firm, warm squeeze. "Come tonight. To the guest house. We're just gonna grill some stuff, hang out. Please?"
He's using the big, pleading eyes on you—the ones you've never been able to resist since you were both toddlers. It's profoundly unfair.
"Seungcheol…"
"Come on," he presses, a playful stomp of his foot cementing the full-blown, faux tantrum. His lower lip juts out in an exaggerated pout. "It's my birthday. You have to. It's the law."
Just to make it worse he swings your arm and whines. Oh my god, you think.
You try to hold onto your reluctance, the fear of being the awkward outsider at a party for his other life. But you're a done deal and you both know it. "Fine. You menace. But only for a little while."
There isn't a brighter smile than the one that breaks across his face. He lets out a quiet "Yes!" and before you can react, he pulls you into a brief, hard hug, his arms tight around you for one solid, heart-stopping moment. He smells like sleep and his mom's laundry soap and home. "It'll be okay," he murmurs near your ear, letting go just as quickly. "I promise. I won't let you feel left out."
You leave then, the ghost of his hug lingering on your skin, a brand of both comfort and confusion.
You're at war with yourself the entire afternoon. The conflict must be plain on your face because your mother pauses while watering her plants. "Everything alright, sweetie? You've been pacing between your room and the kitchen for an hour."
"Just… deciding what to wear tonight," you say, which isn't entirely a lie, and it seems to satisfy her.
The question feels monumental. Do you dress to impress—within the casual, village-appropriate framework—or do you not give a fuck and wear your old shorts and a faded t-shirt, making a statement that you refuse to try in a space you consider yours? The urge to armour up is strong. But so is the desire to feel like yourself.
You settle for the middle ground. A flowy, comfortable summer dress in a soft rose pink. It's pretty but not fussy. You don't bother with makeup beyond a swipe of lip balm, or with your hair beyond brushing it out. The decision feels like a declaration: This is me. I am comfortable here. There is no one here I need to perform for. It's a reclaiming of your own realm.
At around six, Seungcheol's text comes through: The barbarians are at the gate. Table-setting chaos imminent. Your calm, organizing presence is formally requested.
You smile, give one last spray of your favourite floral perfume—the one you only really wear here in the village—and head over.
The guest house, a small, charming cottage at the edge of their property, is indeed in a state of happy chaos. You're immediately spotted by the group spilling out onto the stone patio.
"Hey! It's the mystery friend!" calls out Mingyu, one of the guys you recognize, waving a bag of charcoal.
The two girls, Violet and Ginger (you've finally sorted their names), offer warm smiles. "He said you might save us from his questionable decorating skills," Violet laughs.
Seungcheol is nowhere in sight. "Where is the birthday disaster?" you ask, slipping into the familiar role of teasing him.
"Carrying the sacred meat from the house!" Soonyoung announces dramatically, just as Seungcheol's voice comes from behind you.
"Incoming! Heavy stuff, make way—"
You spin and quickly sidestep as he manoeuvres past, his arms laden with platters of marinated chicken and vegetables. You instinctively reach out and take the top couple of platters from him.
"See?" he says, grinning at you over the stack. "I knew you were essential personnel. Everyone else is just standing around looking pretty."
You roll your eyes at him, ready to give him an earful for calling you personnel but you're cut off before you can even open your mouth.
"We're creating ambiance!" Vernon protests, and everyone laughs.
It falls into a somewhat familiar rhythm. This time, his friends don't feel like an impenetrable, alien wall. Maybe it's because you're on your own turf—the dappled evening light through the trees, the scent of the lake on the breeze, this place is yours. Or maybe it's because the silent, cold war you'd been waging against his new life has officially ended with your apology by the lake. You don't feel threatened by their easy laughter, by their inside jokes. You observe them now with curiosity rather than judgment.
You help Violet thread vegetables onto skewers. You listen to Chan and Vernon debate the best way to stack wood. You learn that Soonyoung is terrifyingly competitive about lawn games. And through it all, Seungcheol moves, a warm, steady nucleus to the group, his eyes finding you often, a quick check-in, a shared smile when Mingyu attempts a failed cartwheel. You feel your skin prickle every time your eyes meet.
At one point, as you're both inside fetching drinks from the cooler, he bumps your shoulder with his. "Okay?" he asks, his voice low.
You nod, handing him a soda. "Yeah. I take it back. They're… they're nice. Actually."
He looks relieved, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. "Good. I told you."
The evening melts into a soft, golden blur. The food is delicious, the chatter easy. You don't feel the pressure to be the loudest or the funniest. You chime in when you have something to say, you laugh when something is genuinely funny, and you lapse into comfortable silence, watching the fireflies begin to blink in the deepening twilight. You're not one of them, not really. You don't think you'll be swapping deep secrets with Ginger or planning trips with the guys. But you're not an outsider either. You're a respected ally, a piece of Seungcheol's world that they are politely, kindly making space for.
As the sky turns indigo and the citronella candles are lit, Seungcheol drops into the empty Adirondack chair beside you, letting out a contented sigh. The others are in a heated debate a few feet away about some movie sequel.
"Tired, old man?" you tease softly and receive a playful glare from him.
"Happy," he corrects, and the simple word feels weighted. He glances at you, the candlelight flickering in his eyes. "Thanks for coming. It… means a lot."
"Thanks for making me," you reply, and you mean it.
You both sit there, side by side, listening to the murmur of voices and the chorus of crickets. The divide between his old world and his new one doesn't feel like a canyon here in the dark. It feels more like a seam, and you are sitting right on the stitch, belonging to both sides in a way you're only just beginning to understand. The night is peaceful, and for the first time in a while, the future—his, yours, whatever it may hold—doesn't feel like a threat, but rather a quiet, open possibility.
Things are peaceful for a long while after that. You're content, deeply so, with the state of your friendship with Seungcheol. The two of you have reacquainted yourselves with the people you've become, building a new bridge over the old crack. In a way, it makes you feel stronger when you think about everything you two went through. If you managed to circle back to a close, honest friendship after what felt like an irreparable loss, then there's nothing you won't be able to overcome with just enough effort and care. This knowledge becomes a small but durable pillar in your life.
But as with everything else, this all-encompassing peace doesn't last forever. Or rather, it evolves into something less peaceful, more electrically charged.
When you asked Seungcheol about your summer camp past while sitting on that log by the shoreline, you only asked about that—the past. You had a follow-up question coiled in your chest, about the present, about the now. You planned to ask it depending on his response. But since he didn't give you a definite yes, a clear confession of past feelings, you never came around to voicing the present question. You got scared once again, terrified of ruining what had been rebuilt with such painstaking difficulty. In that moment, yet again, the scales of your hesitation tipped in favour of your old reasoning: having him as your friend was more valuable, more secure, than taking a chance on something that could possibly burn it all down without hope of restoration. You valued his presence in your life much more than any relationship chance.
In the days and weeks that followed, as your comfort level with each other grew into something even easier than before, you began noticing subtle things about his behaviour that left you quietly puzzled. Little things that made it "weird" again, in a wholly different way, that made your mind spin in frantic, hopeful circles. But unlike your teen self that got scared and pulled away, your current self relished and lingered. It craved the confusing, delicious tension of what it was getting. So you allowed Seungcheol his little behaviours—the prolonged glances, the way his attention would focus on you completely in a room filled with other people, the touches that lasted a beat too long. They often felt probing, careful, testing the waters, before he'd snap back into something casually comfortable.
For example, now you watch as he settles onto your couch by your side, setting the greasy takeout boxes on the coffee table for your bi-weekly movie night. Your eyes briefly travel across his body, a habit you've stopped trying to break. He's gotten stupidly big over the past couple of years with his dedicated gym routine. Thick thighs that strain against the fabric of his sweats, big arms that make the simple act of holding a remote look strangely purposeful, a broad back that seems to take up more than its fair share of the world. And a whole ass bakery—a fact you, along with Soonyoung and Mingyu, have mocked him for quite a few times. (Only, in your case the teasing is just a convenient cover for the fact that you stare at his ass every chance you can get). He's built like a bear—no, not that unreasonably huge type like some body builder (ew), there's just something strong yet undeniably soft about him in this shape—and it drives you quietly mad sometimes, when you allow your mind to linger.
And so you observe him from the corner of your eye as you turn the movie on—some big, loud action film he chose instead of his usual romance picks—and take the container of noodles and chopsticks he passes you. Your sofa isn't very big, but it's got enough space for three people to fit comfortably side by side. And yet Seungcheol would always, without fail, choose to sit as close to you as physically possible, ensuring at least a minuscule point of contact. Like right now, your knee is pressed firmly into the solid muscle of his thigh, and it makes you hyper-aware of his immediate presence, of every tiny shift he makes.
"This is the one where the skyscraper collapses, right?" he asks, shovelling a bite of food into his mouth.
"I think so. Or maybe it's the one where they steal something." You try to sound normal, but your voice feels like it's coming from somewhere outside your body, which is currently mapping the exact heat signature of his leg against yours.
He laughs, and you feel it through his thigh pressing more firmly into your knee. You don't pull away. "Same difference. Pass the spring rolls."
You hand him the carton, your fingers brushing. The movie starts with a roar of engines, but the real noise is the staticky buzz in your own veins. He settles back, and in doing so, he doesn't just relax; he seems to expand, his arm coming to rest along the back of the couch when hes' not eating his rolls, his fingers dangling perilously close to the slope of your shoulder. There's no touching. But it's hovering. And you feel like he's probing another boundary between you.
You focus very hard on your noodles, on the explosion happening on screen, on anything but the screaming awareness of his proximity. This is the new, quiet war: your contented friendship against the thrilling, terrifying possibility of a single, deliberate movement—his hand inching closer, your head tilting—that could change the definition of everything.
And yet, neither of you dares to breach that gap.
You're at a club. You're here only because Seungcheol begged you to come with him and his friends, wielding his lethal weapon of baby cow eyes and a practised, devastating pout. Just once, he'd pleaded. It'll be fun, I promise. You can judge us all from a safe distance. The fucker has learned how to play you to get what he wants. You wish you had the same power over him sometimes, but you don't think you do. Your weapons—logic, mild guilt-tripping—are useless against the sheer force of his earnest, playful need. And sometimes that imbalance makes you feel at a disadvantage. It makes you want to build a taller wall, to be more in control of yourself and the situation, because you're never quite sure what the situation is with him anymore.
This is so far outside your scene and your comfort zone, you're really starting to regret agreeing to come. The bass is a physical thing, pounding against your sternum. Strobing lights cut through the smoky air, illuminating flashes of undulating bodies on the dance floor in a way that feels more chaotic than celebratory. You don't like drinking much, you don't get this music, and the sheer volume of people is overwhelming. Your only salvation is that your group managed to claim a secluded booth in a shadowy corner, and you've planted yourself there like a barnacle, a bottle of water in hand, while the others migrate between the bar and the dance floor.
This is the guy who told me he doesn't particularly enjoy clubbing… all men do is lie, you think grimly, watching across the space as Mingyu and Seungcheol line up another round of shots at the crowded bar. You're beginning to suspect his motive. He needed a designated driver. The thought sparks a low, familiar flame of annoyance. You're not his keeper. And yet you're here because he can look at you like the cat from Shrek and make you fold.
You pull out your phone, scrolling through social media with aggressive taps, trying to distract yourself and not fan that spark. You know if you let it grow, you'll be out of here in a flash of righteous indignation, leaving him to deal with the consequences of his own choices.
When a body slides into the booth on your side of the U-shaped seat, you don't even look up, thinking it's maybe Soonyoung returning from his dance marathon.
Only for a second.
"Hey there. You look a little lonely sitting all by yourself."
Your defences slam up, a full-body flinch. You look up from your phone to find a guy leaning into your space, maybe around your age or a little older—it's difficult to tell in the epileptic lighting. He has a slick, confident smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
"I'm with friends," you say flatly, turning your body away, a clear dismissal.
"I don't see any friends," he persists, his voice louder to cut through the music. He gestures to the empty seats. "Looks like they left you hanging. Can I buy you a drink?"
"No, thanks." Your voice is tighter now. "I'm good."
"Come on, don't be like that. Just one drink." He leans closer, and the smell of too-strong cologne and alcohol hits you.
A cold thread of anxiety winds through your gut. "I said no. Please go away."
He chuckles, as if your discomfort is cute. "You're not being very friendly."
Your politeness evaporates. "And you're not taking a hint. Fuck off."
The words are bold, but your voice wavers. You're not as confident in your tactics as you're trying to sound. Your heart is beginning to hammer against your ribs. He doesn't move, his smile turning into something colder, more stubborn. He's blocking your easy exit from the booth.
You're clutching your phone, your knuckles white, readying to awkwardly scramble over the back of the seat or slip out the other end to get away from him, when you see them. Mingyu and Seungcheol are weaving their way back through the crowd toward the booth, bobbing their heads to the beat, laughing about something. Mingyu is gesturing wildly.
Your eyes lock onto Seungcheol. The look you give him is a frantic mix of alarmed hope and sheer relief. See me. Look over, please.
You don't even get to stand and meet them halfway. Seungcheol's eyes, bright and slightly glassy from the shots, flicker from Mingyu's face to the booth, to you, to the stranger invading your space. It's like you can visibly see the process happen in a split second: the recognition, the assessment, the click. All the loose-limbed, drunken relaxation drains from his posture instantly. His smile vanishes. His shoulders square. He sobers up in the space of a breath, no matter how much alcohol is in his system.
"Hey!" Mingyu calls out, his tone changing as he reads the room a second after Seungcheol does.
A few seconds later, they're at the booth. Seungcheol doesn't even look at the guy first. His eyes find yours, a silent you okay? You give a tiny, tense nod.
Then he turns. "You got a problem?" His voice is low, but it cuts through the thrumming bass, all rough edges and clear threat.
The guy at your side finally leans back, holding up his hands in a mock-surrender. "Whoa, man. Just talking. No need to get territorial."
Mingyu doesn't bother with words. He just reaches in, his grip firm on the guy's shoulder. "Out. Now."
What happens next unfolds in a horrifying, slow-motion clarity. As Mingyu tries to physically extract him and almost succeeds, the guy shoves back, angry, spitting insults and dropping back onto the seat. "Get your hands off me! She wanted company!"
It's a bad move. A terrible one in fact.
Seungcheol moves. Not with a wild swing. With a frighteningly precise one. He steps past Mingyu, his body coiled, and his fist connects with the guy's jaw with a sickening, wet crack that you feel in your own teeth. The guy's head snaps to the side, and he goes down like a sack of stones, collapsing against the seat.
*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* Please like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this! This means a lot and motivates me to continue posting.
your stepdad is tired of holding back his desire, and so are you.
❥ PAIRING: choi seungcheol x female reader
❥ GENRE: stepdad au, smut
❥ WORD COUNT: 8.4k
❥ CW/TW: stepcest, infidelity, age gap, daddy kink, drugging, nudes, exhibitionism, voyeurism, oral sex (f & m), begging, spanking, unprotected sex, breeding kink, face riding, car sex, kitchen sex, riding, cum eating, having sex while someone else is in the same room, squirting, creampies
NOTE: PLF MASTERLIST. don’t like, don’t read.
There’s no such thing as the perfect marriage, only happy and unhappy ones. Your mom never saw herself being stuck in the latter. Seungcheol is everything she could ever want in a partner, and she’s always felt lucky to have him. Especially when she saw how welcoming and friendly he was to you.
That all seems like a distant memory now as Seungcheol walks out the door in the morning without saying one word to her. Before, he was cordial at least, but he doesn’t bother anymore if you’re not around. Your mom knows you feel uncomfortable, and she can’t blame you. It’s obvious that her divorce is imminent, and yet, she can’t allow herself to give up so easily. Even if that means resorting to desperate and immature measures.
Your mom knows no matter how badly Seungcheol wants nothing more to do with her, he won’t be so blatant if you’re around. That’s why you’re the perfect person to be her eyes and ears when she’s not around. While she’s eager to save her failing marriage, she isn’t willing to put aside her career to do that. As much as she loves Seungcheol, she’s unwilling to give up everything she’s worked so hard for.
“Mom, are you okay?”
Your mom blinks rapidly as she’s startled out of her deep thoughts. She didn’t realize you had come downstairs. An unconvincing smile spreads on her face. “Yes. I was just thinking about the event my boss is hosting next week.”
You hum, clearly disinterested. Right then, she sees how well rested and vibrant you look. She’s noticed that there’s been a special glow about you lately. It makes her feel relieved. She knows how desperately you want to have your own place to escape the hostile tension between her and her husband. Selfishly, she insisted you to stay and act as both a buffer and a spy. It’s borderline crazy, but your mom has always lived for her own happiness, and this time is no different.
“Has there been anything out of the ordinary?”
Immediately, you know she’s referring to Seungcheol and his daily activities. You shake your head as you flop down on the couch. “No. If he gets back before you do, he goes into his study or his room.”
“What about when he’s at work?” She demands.
“Sometimes they won’t let me see him because he’s in meetings,” you lie, knowing damn well Seungcheol gave strict orders to let you into his office no matter the time or circumstances. “But when I do he’s just working—alone. I guess everyone there is afraid of him or something.”
Your mom frowns. While Seungcheol has always been intimidating and stringent, she knows he’s never had an issue with being desirable. There has to be something you’re missing.
“Are you sure there’s nothing else?”
You try not to roll your eyes at your mom. Even though it was her idea that you spend more time with your stepdad, you can tell she’s upset that it’s not working out the way she wants. If she wasn’t so desperate to find out what her husband is up to, you know she would’ve called her plan off a long time ago.
“Yeah,” you sigh, letting her hear how bored you are of the conversation. “He doesn’t really do anything except work and come home.”
Your mom stays silent, and you ignore her in favor of looking at your phone. You hide your smirk when you see Seungcheol sent you a dick pick. He’s still in his work clothes, and is biting his plump lip as his cock stands tall and proud. You lick your lips and squeeze your thighs together, wanting nothing more than to have your mouth on his leaking cock.
“Do you think he’s seeing someone at work?” She asks desperately.
You lock your phone and shrug. “I don’t think so. It seems like everyone there keeps professional boundaries with him.”
“But there’s women around right?” She sounds desperate and crazy. It’s as funny as it is sad. “Young, pretty ones?”
None more than you, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Yeah, mom. There’s hot girls everywhere.”
She visibly deflates, but you don’t care. Instead you get up and go to your (spare) room to take a picture of your pussy so you can send it to your stepdad.
Your mom doesn’t usually invite you along to any of her work events. Aside from the fact that you tagging along really did nothing for either one of you, your mom has a specific appearance she’s always wanted to maintain when networking. You’ve never exactly fit into that image, and even now that you’re an adult, that hasn’t really changed. But since she’s desperate to save her failing marriage, she begged you to come along so Seungcheol would be forced to play nice.
“I can’t believe the dry cleaners ruined my dress,” your mom frowns as she steps out of the car in an elegant pantsuit. “Now I look like the odd one out.”
It’s hard to hide her distaste as she looks at you and her husband. Although it’s hard to admit, you two currently look more fit to be together than her and Seungcheol. It’s more than the matching outfits and the aesthetic picture you two paint by standing beside one another. There’s something more that she can’t clearly name. Your mom quickly shakes off her irrational thoughts. After all, just because she’s not matching with you two doesn’t make her any less part of the family.
You hold back a smirk when you see how flustered and upset your mom is. Calling in your favor to the manager of the dry cleaning place was the right thing to do, and you don’t regret it one bit. There’s no way you were going to let her match with Seungcheol. He’s yours, and now anyone who looks at you two will be able to tell.
“That color suits you more,” your stepdad points out.
Anyone else listening would think Seungcheol is comforting her, but your mom knows better. It’s a backhanded compliment and his subtle way of telling her the matching outfits were a stupid idea to begin with. Luckily, you don’t seem to catch on as you look toward the country club with curiosity.
“Let’s head inside,” your mom mumbles in a deflated tone.
It hurts that neither you or her husband seem to notice it.
When you walk inside, you can see that your mom’s boss pulled out all the stops for his company’s anniversary celebration. The event is extravagant and something you would expect from a notorious business tycoon. From what you know, Yoon Jeonghan is just as rich and powerful as Seungcheol. It’s not surprising since people of the same caliber usually stick together.
“Look, there’s Mr. Yoon and his stepdaughter,” your mom says as you enter the ballroom.
Two of the prettiest people you’ve ever seen are standing next to each other, gracefully greeting guests. A girl who looks to be about your age is holding onto Mr. Yoon’s arm as they walk around the room and mingle with people. There’s an odd air of intimacy between them, and you immediately wonder if their relationship is something like the one you have with your stepdad.
“Lovely couple, aren’t they?” Seungcheol hums in your ear. “Almost as lovely as us.”
You try to hide your grin as Mr. Yoon and his stepdaughter come over to greet you. They’re so attractive that you can hardly look away from them. Even the way they politely engage in small talk is elegant and graceful. You feel like a side character in a movie as they thank you for coming and tell you to have a wonderful evening.
“I wonder where his wife is,” your mom whispers once Mr. Yoon and his stepdaughter are out of earshot.
“She hasn’t been feeling well these days,” Seungcheol says passively. “Don’t bring it up. Jeonghan isn’t ready to talk about it.”
Your mom becomes visibly flustered and nods quickly. In a swift change of topic, she insists on going over to talk to her main supervisor. You roll your eyes and follow along. As usual, your mom starts kissing her supervisor’s ass the second she can. You don’t say much, already wondering how you can make the night more interesting.
“I’m going to get a drink,” you tell Seungcheol after your mom’s conversation starts to drag on.
Your stepdad pouts slightly, and it takes everything in you not to kiss it off his face. You laugh quietly and wave as you back away from your mom’s boring conversation. Behave, you mouth at him before heading straight for the bar.
After a few drinks and meaningless conversations, you wander out of the ballroom and go outside to get some fresh air. You sigh blissfully, feeling the expensive champagne going to your head. Before you can think of going to sit on one of the many club chairs, two familiar arms wrap around your waist.
“Cheolie,” you gasp as plush lips press sweet kisses on your neck.
“Missed you, baby,” Seungcheol hums. “You know I hate it when you leave me alone.”
You melt into his touch, not caring that someone might walk out and see you at any moment. A filthy idea crosses your mind. You bite your lip as you look around.
“Let me make it up to you.”
Seungcheol practically has heart eyes as you grab his hand and pull him along to one of the club chairs. You gently push him to sit before kneeling between his open legs. Seungcheol gives you a filthy smirk as he undoes his belts and unzips his pants. Your mouth waters when he pulls out his thick cock from his underwear. Your thighs clench together in anticipation. Arousal burns hot in your body when you see a bead of precum drip from the fat tip.
Seungcheol encourages you to get closer, and as soon as you do, he pinches your nipples through your pretty dress. He smirks when you mewl and arch into his rough treatment. “Filthy little brat. You gonna let me fuck you out here?”
“Yes,” you moan as your panties start to stick to your cunt. “Need to taste your cock, daddy.”
Your stepdad smirks and yanks the top of your dress down so your tits are completely exposed. He circles and pinches your hard nipples until you’re squirming and whining loudly. Seungcheol groans when he sees that your pretty eyes keep dropping to his leaking cock. Your mouth waters at the thought of that fat weight on your tongue.
As if reading your mind, he gently pulls your head forward until your mouth is hovering over his dick. Seungcheol uses his other hand to grab the base to slap it against your lips. You open your mouth readily, moaning when he slaps the leaking tip on your tongue. Seungcheol smirks and shoves his cock into your mouth. The tip of his thick cock brushes against the back of your throat, and the familiar taste of his skin and precum makes your pussy throb.
Leaning forward, Seungcheol tugs you away from his dick and spits on the head before yanking you back down, making you swallow his spit along with his cock. A low moan slips past your lips as he does it again. Your tongue greedily laps up the spit dripping down his length. The taste has your cunt clenching around nothing as he smirks down at you.
Seungcheol thrusts roughly until his tip kisses the back of your throat, making you gag around it. When you pull back, thick strings of spit bridge between your panting mouth and his throbbing dick.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, making you whine. “Got the prettiest fucking mouth.”
His praises always sound like honey to you, and this one has you guiding his cock back into your mouth. Seungcheol goes to grip your hair, using it to hold your head as you eagerly suck him off. You keep your lidded gaze on his face, watching as he smirks down at you while his thick cock fills your mouth. He keeps you sloppily sucking him off for what feels like forever. Not that you care. You love having your mouth on his pretty dick.
“Come here, baby. Sit on my cock.”
Seungcheol caresses your cheek lovingly as he pulls out of your mouth. He goes to grab your waist and pulls you up until you’re sitting on his lap. When Seungcheol presses a sweet kiss on your neck, you see someone standing by the doors leading to the main lounge. You smirk and lick your lips.
“Someone’s watching, daddy,” you whisper. “Let’s give them a show.”
Seungcheol smirks as his wet cock slides against your pretty panties that are completely soaked through. He flips up the hem of your dress and pushes your thin, see-through panties to the side. His cock is pulsing and throbbing from excitement.
“Daddy,” you whine loud enough for your peeping guest to hear you. “Hurry up and fuck me.”
Seungcheol gives you a filthy kiss and thrusts his cock up into your soaking cunt. You moan into his mouth from the sudden stretch. Immediately, your eyes roll to the back of your head when your stepdad’s hips start to move. He starts to pound his cock into your pussy without any buildup, making your tight hole spasm and clench around his fat dick.
“Dirty little brat,” Seungcheol groans, not bothering to be quiet. “So desperate for daddy’s cock. I bet you would’ve let me fuck you in front of all those people.”
Your pussy clenches hard around his throbbing cock as you moan loudly. “Yes, daddy. I’ll always let you do what you want to me.”
Seungcheol hums, pleased. “Such a good girl. Always so good for me.”
With a deep groan, your stepdad fucks up into your wet hole even harder. His heavy balls slap against your ass and make your pussy drip with more juices. Using his free hand, he reaches around to grab a handful of your ass, helping you bounce on his dick at the pace he wants.
“That’s it, baby. Work my fucking cock,” he grunts as he squeezes your ass harder.
Moaning, you arch your back and swivel your hips down. You continue to bounce eagerly, riding his cock faster and exactly how he likes it. His thick length kicks and pulses inside you when you keep up your delicious pace. You whine, loving how his leaking tip is reaching the deepest part inside you. “Fuck. Do you like how I bounce on it, daddy?”
“You know I do, princess,” Seungcheol groans, spanking your bouncing ass. “Love how you’re so eager to milk me dry every time. That’s why after I fill you up, I’m taking you home and doing it all over again.”
Excitement buzzes through your body as his cock twitches and throbs inside your pussy. Mewling, you bounce on his dick harder, eager for his cum fill you up. Seungcheol moans and squeezes your ass harshly. His cock grinds against your g-spot deliciously, making your pussy clench around him tighter with every needy thrust.
“Shit, princess. Cream on daddy’s cock so I can breed this pretty pussy,” Seungcheol groans.
Your stepdad slams you down as he spears his thick cock up into your spasming hole. The tip slams into your cervix as he grinds his cock as deep as he can into your cunt. He reaches up and tugs your nipples which makes your hot cunt clam down on him. The painful pleasure of his cock knocking into the entrance of your womb makes you cry out like a pornstar.
With another rough grinding roll of your hips, you cum hard. Your body falls forward, nails scratching across his clothed chest as your pussy walls flutter and clench around his stiff cock. You don’t bother to stifle your wail of ecstasy.
“Good girl,” he coos at you proudly. “Daddy’s gonna give you his cum as a reward.”
You shudder, body still climaxing as he humps your spasming pussy until he’s spurting rope after rope of hot cum into your soaked cunt.
“Take it all,” Seungcheol hisses as he kneads your ass. “Greedy little pussy’s always so hungry for your stepdad’s cum.”
You whine in agreement, hips trembling as your pussy milks his cock for every drop of his cum. Seungcheol looks over your shoulder, smirking when the startled silhouette abruptly leaves.
As always, you sit on his cock for a while, nuzzling into him. A few minutes later, Seungcheol finally pulls out, groaning when his cum slowly starts dripping from your used pussy. With a satisfied smirk, he snaps your panties back in place. You still feel so much filth leaking out of you that you’re sure your panties won’t hold your mixed releases very long.
“Let’s go home, baby. I need to have you properly.”
You grin and let him fix your dress before he leads you through the country club and out to the car. Neither of you care to leave your mom behind.
When he helps you into the passenger seat and starts to buckle your seatbelt, his pupils dilate when he sees the mess starting to show on your thighs. He licks his lips and the next thing you know, you’re being moved to the backseat.
“Can’t let this sweet treat go to waste,” Seungcheol groans as he rips your panties off so he can eat the cum out of your pussy.
“You’re so dirty, daddy. What if someone sees?” You moan with a filthy grin.
“I don’t care,” he grunts, licking up the creamy slick coating your pussy lips.
His tongue licks a hot trail up to your swollen clit, suckling the sensitive bud until you’re rocking up into his mouth. Moving his mouth down, he thrusts his tongue into your pussy, shoving his face against your cunt until his nose is grinding against your clit. He slurps and fucks his tongue into your spent hole, making sure to leave no place untouched.
You cry out loudly, grinding your messy pussy on his mouth. The thought of someone walking out and seeing your stepdad eating his load out of your pussy pushes you over the edge you’re already so close to. It’s not long before you’re creaming on his face. The sigh of slick and cum coating his lower jaw completely turns you on so much. He pulls away with a wet schlick and spanks your puffy clit.
“Got the best little pussy, baby,” he grins at you, eyes dark and affectionate. “Fuck. I can’t wait. Need you on my dick now.”
Shakily, you raise up and Seungcheol kisses you messily. His hot tongue licks into your mouth, making you moan to taste the mixture of his cum and your juices together. He pulls away and spanks your cunt again.
“Sit on daddy’s cock, sweetheart.”
You maneuver yourself and excitedly get on your stepdad’s lap. Seungcheol grips the base of his cock in one hand and holds your ass with the other. He slaps his leaking cock head against your clit, smearing precum across the swollen bud. With a needy groan, he notches the tip against your hole and slowly presses inside.
You moan, hands reaching up to grab his shoulders to stabilize yourself. “Fuck, daddy. It feels so good.”
With a satisfied grin, Seungcheol pulls you into a sloppy kiss. He thrusts up from below, bottoming out with one fluid movement. His leaking tip kisses your cervix and makes you squeal. Your stepdad grunts, pulling halfway out before sliding back into your clenching cunt. You both pick up the rhythm, both grinding into each other desperately.
The way his cock stretches you out makes you lose track of time. All you can hear in the tight space is squelching and moaning. It’s easy to forget about everything else until your stepdad reminds you.
“Dirty little brat. What if your mom comes out and sees you like this, hmm?” His overly sweet voice seeps into your ears like honey. “You gonna keep riding me? Show her how you bounce this cute pussy on her husband’s cock?”
Arousal blazes hot in your veins, cunt clenching down on his fat dick. “Fuck yeah,” you whine, nails digging into his shoulders, pinching his skin through the material of his shirt. “I’ll show her how good I fuck you, daddy.”
“Filthy slut,” he coos fondly, fucking up into your pussy with slow, deep strokes. “I know you will. You wouldn’t stop even if she was staring right at you.”
Whimpering, your thighs tremble as you grind down on his cock, trying to get him deeper inside your fluttering cunt. Pleasure clouds your brain and makes you moan wantonly like you’re not fucking right outside a huge party. He pounds your dripping pussy even harder, making your tits bounce in his face with every rock of his hips. Seungcheol’s cock drags against your g-spot, sending sparks of pleasure buzzing through your body.
”You’re getting so tight, baby,” he laughs in delight. “Soon you’ll be creaming all over my cock, hm?”
“Uh-huh,” you hum. “I’m so close, daddy.”
”Cum for me then,” he says sweetly as his fingers find your clit and rub fast circles on the slippery bundle of nerves. “I want to feel you make a mess on my cock.”
“Daddy!” You cry out as your orgasm builds higher and higher until the tight band of arousal snaps.
Fireworks explode throughout your body. Your toes curl against the seat, and your back arches as you ride out your climax. Filthy sounds escape your mouth, meshing together with your fucked out babbling. Seungcheol grunts, hands grabbing your ass and pressing you down as he fucks your cunt hard and quick.
”That’s it, fuck. So fucking good. Love this little pussy. It was fucking made for my cock,” He cuts himself off with a loud growl.
Your stepdad buries his huge cock balls deep into your fluttering cunt, grinding himself against your pussy. Soon after, he shoots his sticky cum into your drippy hole. You moan and whine as your cunt pulses around his cock. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel each hot spurt of cum paint your walls. Fuck, do you love it when he shoots his thick load into you.
“Sexy little brat,” Seungcheol groans, his head slumping against the back seat as he relaxes. “Love it when you milk me.”
You laugh cutely and shift in his lap. Seungcheol smiles fondly after hearing you mewl when his cock flexes in your pussy.
“Let’s go home, baby. I don’t feel like waiting for your mom.”
It’s mean and inconsiderate, but you love the idea.
When Seungcheol gets home, he’s immediately greeted by his wife. Once again, she’s trying to play the part of a doting housewife and is failing miserably. Aside from the fact that she’s not the person he wants to see when he comes home, his wife is terrible at putting up this facade. It almost makes him regret telling her that they should think about separating officially. Now she’s overcompensating at every turn and making him resent her more.
“How was work?” She asks with a forced smile.
Again, it has irritation bubbling in his chest because that’s not the smile he wants to see.
“Fine,” he says coldly. “Where’s Y/N?”
His wife’s smile falters. She knows he’s only asking because he won’t have to play nice if you’re not around. It’s not right, but she’s glad that you decided to stay home so Seungcheol will pay some attention to her.
“She’s in the kitchen,” she says as she follows her husband into the living room. “Actually, honey, Y/N wanted to watch a movie with us.”
“Y/N does?” Seungcheol repeats doubtfully.
“Yeah. She already picked it,” she motions to the brightly lit screen with the opening credits.
Seungcheol grits his teeth. “Fine. I’ll be back down in a minute.”
The happiness in his wife’s face makes him feel disgusted. Seungcheol quickly goes into the kitchen to get away from her. All the tension he feels dissipates when he sees you at the kitchen counter. Immediately, he goes over to you with a huge smile on his face.
“Cheolie,” you smile when strong hands snake around your waist.
“Hey, baby,” he hums in delight, pressing a sweet kiss in your hair. “I missed you.”
You turn your head and give him a tempting smile. “I missed you too.”
Seungcheol’s cock jumps when you lean forward on the counter and wiggle your ass against him. “I need you, daddy,” you whine, not caring that your mom is in the living room and can catch you at any moment. “Need you to fuck me.”
As always, Suengcheol is left with no choice but to oblige his needy brat. He can’t feel guilty or concerned with getting caught. Not when you’re bent over the kitchen counter with your skirt flipped up, exposing your ruined underwear. You eagerly yank on his hand to press it to your clothed cunt. Seungcheol tugs on your panties until they slip between your dripping folds. The white is nearly transparent because of your arousal. Fuck. He wants to devour you. Your juices have soaked through the cotton completely as you try to grind against his hand.
Soft whines slip from your lips when your stepdad kneels down and pulls your panties to the side. The way his hot breath fans against your aching cunt has you clenching around nothing. He lets out a low groan at the filthy sight.
“Fuck, baby. You have the prettiest little pussy. Those pictures you always send me don’t do it justice,” Seungcheol murmurs before he kisses the globes of your ass, slowly inching closer to your wet cunt.
You would’ve told him that you feel the same way when he sends you dick pics in the middle of the day, but the chance is taken from you when Seungcheol keeps talking in that sultry voice that drives you insane. “Have you been this wet all day, baby? Needy little brat couldn’t wait until daddy came home, hm?”
The little wiggle you give him is subconscious because his words are true. Seungcheol’s eyes darken at your enticing movements. You press your thighs together in attempt for some relief, and it makes him lick his lips in anticipation. A sharp smack echoes through the kitchen, and you cover your mouth as Seungcheol’s mouth envelopes your needy core.
Your stepdad doesn’t waste any time giving you what you want. His mouth latches onto your clit and sucks harshly, flicking his tongue against the bundle of nerves. His groans are muffled by your folds, but only slightly. The filthy, wet noises coming from your cunt are still audible.
Already, the thought of your mom waiting in the living room is shoved to the back of your mind as Seungcheol nudges your ankles further apart, opening you up so you’re all spread out for him. He spits on your cunt, smearing your juices and his saliva all over your throbbing lips. The cute whimper you let out when he slowly eases two fingers into your needy hole makes his cock twitch.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Open up for me. You gonna let daddy slide in your pretty pussy and use it how he wants?”
You let out a filthy gasp when his fingers reach deep inside you, easily massaging your most sensitive spot. “Mhm, yes daddy. Fuck my little pussy and stuff me full of your cum.”
Seungcheol practically growls at your words, cock already leaking in his pants. “Dirty little slut. You’re gonna let me fuck you right here where your mom can walk in and see you getting stuffed full of cock?"
A choked whimper tumbles past your lips when he smashes his face into your wet pussy again. His tongue traces along your sensitive walls as his digits stretch you open. You bite your lip as your stepdad preps you to take his thick cock. The soft moan at the edge of your throat is cut off when your mom walks into the kitchen.
“Y/N, did you make some popcorn yet?” She wonders with an expectant look on her face.
Goosebumps cover your skin as you do your best not to whimper or moan how you want. It doesn’t help that Seungcheol keeps fucking you with his tongue. He’s more ravenous now, the wet muscle piercing into your drooling cunt while his skilled fingers rub your clit. He continues to skillfully strum the bundle of nerves until your thighs begin to tremble.
“You didn’t?” She asks impatiently when you don’t immediately respond.
Seungcheol lightly squeezes your ass, silently urging you to answer his wife and get rid of her.
“N-No!” You raise your voice a bit as if that will cover the squelching coming from your cunt. “I think we’re out, but I-I cut up some fruit earlier. It’s in the fridge.”
She walks over to the fridge and swings it open. “Perfect.”
Just when you think she’ll leave the kitchen, she turns back to you. “Where did Seungcheol go?”
“He went upstairs t-to change, I think,” your voice cracks a little.
You can feel your juices dripping down your inner thighs and onto her husband’s face as he eats you out from behind. It sounds so loud in your ears, but your mom doesn’t seem to notice as she hums in response. It’s a relief when she leaves. Seungcheol slowly gets up but not before placing a kiss to your aching cunt.
Needy whimpers are forced out of your lips when you feel the head of Seungcheol’s cock tease your puffy clit. He rubs it up and down your wet entrance, smirking when you start to grind back on his cock. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream when Seungcheol finally pushes his dick inside you. Your eyes roll back when his fat tip breaches your tightness.
Seungcheol growls as he watches his cock split you open. He keeps your ass spread to expose your pretty, sopping pussy. His thick dick is stretching out your cute little cunt, the amount of juices you’re releasing making it easier to slide inside.
“Fuck, princess. That’s it. Take all of daddy’s cock,” your stepdad coos against your ear, massaging the soft flesh of your ass. “Feels so good, doesn’t it?”
“So fucking good, daddy,” you whine, toes curing as you meet his soft thrusts, working yourself back against him. “We have to hurry. Fuh-Fuck. What if my mom walks in again?”
“Naughty little slut,” Seungcheol says with a grin as he makes you hold your panties to the side so he can fuck you how he wants. “Don’t act like the thought of getting caught doesn’t turn you on. I can feel you getting wetter just knowing that we might get caught.”
Seungcheol doesn’t let you respond because he starts to ram his cock into you. His skin slaps against yours, every powerful thrust almost lifting your feet off the ground. The filthy noises of your stepdad fucking you mix in with the television in the living room, and you know your mom is none the wiser.
Anything like guilt or remorse is replaced by arousal and thoughts of Seungcheol’s cock he cups your tits over your shirt. You whine when he pinches your nipples through the thin material. Fuck. You couldn’t be happier that you didn’t wear a bra.
Seungcheol’s thrusts are unrelenting as he sucks and bites on your neck. Multiple spanks land on your ass.
He admires your cotton panties digging into your hips, cock throbbing at the filthy sight. Your eyes roll back as his balls slap against your tingling clit, his cock hitting so deep that you know you can’t be quiet if you tried. Even so, your stepdad’s punishing rhythm doesn’t falter.
Your stepdad hisses when you clench around his throbbing dick. He hooks an arm around your body to pull you closer. His veins pulsate along your soaked walls, your cream coating the base of his cock like a ring. The thick head of his cock slams into your g-spot, eager to get you to make a mess all over the counter.
Seungcheol’s cock pulses as juices leak from around his thick girth, staining his pants and your panties. “God, sweetheart. Your creamy little fuckhole was made for me, hm?”
Seungcheol puts your knee on the counter, spreading you wide as he keeps rams into you. His cock presses into your hole to the hilt, his fingers reaching down and tracing your stretched cunt. You spasm around him, shaking with pleasure. Your eyes roll back as your pussy sucks him in hungrily. Seungcheol falls forward, hips stuttering as he rubs your clit, his guttural growls are hushed against your neck.
“This sweet cunt is exactly what I needed, baby. Fuck. Cream daddy’s cock so I can fill you up,”
Your loud squeal is muffled by his hand. He’s ramming into your sweet spot so deliciously that you know you can’t stay quiet anymore. Seungcheol starts to rub your puffy clit as he mercilessly pounds into your pussy. All the stimulation makes you scream against his palm. Your body trembles as your squirt splashes onto the counter and floor, also soaking the front of his pants.
“That’s it, baby.” Seungcheol groans as he removes his hand from your mouth.
He watches your face twist in pleasure as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. Your stepdad licks his lips and glances down to see your cream coating his entire cock. It makes him fuck you harder.
Swungcheol groans when your tiny pussy convulses around his cock and makes your release spurt out around his thickness. He goes still, cock pulsing inside you as ropes and ropes of cum fill your needy cunt. You mewl in satisfaction, pussy eagerly sucking up his seed.
You lay against your stepdad, breathing heavily as you try to calm yourself down. Seungcheol slowly pulls out of your messy pussy with a soft grunt. His cock sits half-hard against his thigh, still twitching and throbbing in need. Cum oozes from your puffy cunt and he kneels down to lick up the mess from your used hole.
“Daddy,” you mewl as you move your hips to grind against his face.
Once he’s satisfied, he pulls back and slaps your wet cunt. “Go keep your mom company. I’m gonna change and get her a drink.”
His unspoken words make your spent hole flutter with excitement. You let Seungcheol snap your panties back into place and spin you around. He straightens up and presses a sweet kiss on your soft lips.
“Hurry back, Cheolie.”
Seungcheol smiles affectionately before he releases you to go upstairs. After he’s gone, you fix your clothes and make yourself more presentable. With a glowing smile you grab some water and head back into the living room. Your mom is already sitting on the loveseat, staring at the TV unseeingly.
You sit on the sofa and pretend to focus on the movie, but all you can think about is your stepdad’s cock. Filthy images of him rawing you on the couch pass through your mind, and you squeeze your thighs together to relieve the growing ache between your legs. Your soiled panties cling to your needy pussy, and you hope Seungcheol doesn’t take much longer.
Apparently, your mom feels the same way because she keeps glancing at the doorway. You hold back a laugh because you know her pathetic scheme isn’t going to end how she hopes.
Eventually, Seungcheol comes into the living room. His sweats are low on his hips, and you can’t keep your eyes off of him when he gives your mom a glass of wine. The combination is dangerous, but you don’t really care. You’re sick of her and her immature ploys to cling to Seungcheol.
“Here,” your stepdad says passively, but not cold enough to make your mom shrink in disappointment.
It’s almost sad the way she lights up as she takes the drink. She’s completely unsuspecting as she thanks Seungcheol. He doesn’t respond and goes to sit on the opposite end of the sofa. You covertly grin at him and he doesn’t try to hide the affectionate smile that spreads on his face.
Your glances over and mistakenly thinks the grin is meant for her. She feels giddy and starts downing her wine. Your mom quickly downs the wine, feeling better than she has in weeks.
When you see your mom finish the wine, you share another inconspicuous look with Seungcheol. It’s hard to hold back your smirk because now it won’t be long until you get to have your stepdad all to yourself.
By the time the ending credits for the movie come on the screen, your mom is slumped in the loveseat, completely knocked out.
“Finally we can have some fun,” Seungcheol says with his pretty smile. “Get over here so daddy can eat that pretty pussy.”
You barely have time to slide over to him before he’s pulling you off his lap and helping you get your tiny shirt off. Seungcheol helps you slide your skirt and panties off before giving you a messy kiss. You whine and rub your bare cunt on his huge bulge, soaking his sweatpants with your wetness.
Eventually, you get up so Seungcheol can get as naked as you are. You lick your lips when he takes off his sweats and his dirty cock slaps against his abdomen. Remnants of your mixes cum shines in the dim lighting, and you can’t wait to bounce on his did again and get it messier.
Seungcheol lies down and helps you climb on him until your bare pussy is sitting on his stomach. He squeezes your hips, licking his lips when you whine and press your wet cunt harder against his skin. Still, you don’t eagerly sit on his face like usual. His dark eyes look past you to where your mom is passed out. A filthy smirk spreads on his face.
“Don’t act shy, baby. I can feel how much this turns you on. Now come sit on my face so I can taste your sweet pussy,” he says before he slaps your ass.
“Daddy,” you mewl and do as you’re told.
A deep groan reverberates through your core when you finally smother him with your cunt like he wants. Your thighs twitch when Seungcheol eagerly licks into your pussy. His large hands slide up your thighs, one squeezing the fat of your ass and the other brushing against your cunt. He uses his thumb to pull the hood of your clit so he can gently lick your swollen bud.
You squeal and rock down onto his mouth, coating his entire mouth with your wetness. The fact that your mom is only a few feet away while you ride her husband’s face only makes you move with more enthusiasm. You moan and pull on Seungcheol’s hair, eager to cum all over his tongue.
“That’s it, princess. Ride my fucking face,” Seungcheol groans proudly.
Right after his praise, he dives back into your pussy like a starved man. A loud moan tears from your throat as his mouth and tongue suckles and flicks your clit with tender skill. Seungcheol licks every inch of your pussy lips before he starts to lap at your dripping hole. Your stepdad flattens his tongue to swipe up and down your slit until you’re crying out like a pornstar.
“What a dirty slut—letting your stepdad eat your pussy while your mom is passed out over there,” Seungcheol laughs when your thighs start to tremble.
You smirk through a filthy moan. “And you’re a sick perv for begging your stepdaughter to ride your face—fuck!”
Seungcheol nips at your clit until you’re creaming all over his tongue. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you cry out his name like it’s the only one you can remember. He slurps up all the juices gushing into his mouth, eager to leave you a shaking mess. Once he’s satisfied, he sweetly kisses your pulsing cunt.
Your stepdad then helps you slide down his body until you’re sitting on his abdomen again. You bite your lip when he easily holds you in place as he sits up.
“Be a good stepdaughter and bounce on my cock now.”
Immediately, you lift your hips so he can notch the drippy tip of his cock at your pussy. He grunts as you slowly slide down on his throbbing cock. You gasp in pleasure when you feel the stretch. It had been less than an hour since his cock was inside you, but you can never fully adjust to that toe-curling feeling. You whimper and scratch at his pecs.
“That’s it, baby,” he sighs in pleasure, squeezing your tits until you moan for him again. “Sit that pretty pussy on my cock.”
You shiver and rock down until he’s buried as deep as he can go. The feeling of his heavy balls pressing against your ass makes you want to bounce. You glance over at your mom, and your pussy flutters and grips his dick like it can’t get enough when you see her still knocked out. Good. Now you can fuck her husband to your heart’s content.
“Dirty girl,” Seungcheol says as you start to roll your hips into his. “You love it when your stepdad uses this little hole, hm? You don’t even care that your mom can wake up and see you bouncing on her husband’s cock.”
Before you can answer, Seungcheol shifts and thrusts up into your pussy hard. He immediately starts hammering away at your cunt, balls slapping against your ass so loud it’s obscene. Wet schlicks and squelching noises fill in the gaps between all your moaning and panting. You bounce on his lap, pussy eagerly swallowing up his cock. Seungcheol moans when he feels your hot cunt grip him tighter and tighter as he starts to rub your clit.
His dark eyes watch your pretty tits bounce up and down with every thrust. As always, Seungcheol is unable to resist tasting your hard nipples. You cry out loudly when he captures one of your stiff buds in his mouth. He bites and tugs on it as he ruts his cock in and out of your wet pussy. His thrusts are so wild that his pulsing cock slips out of you, making his leaking tip rub your slippery clit. You whine, and he quickly presses his cock back into your needy hole, sinking in balls deep immediately.
“Make me cum, daddy,” you demand through a whimper. “Want to cum all over your big cock.”
Seungcheol moans as he starts to rub rough circles on your swollen clit. You writhe against him, grinding down on his cock faster and harder.
“Nasty girl. Fucking ride this dick and make yourself cum. Want to feel this tight little pussy milk me dry,” Seungcheol groans as he pinches your pudgy bundle of nerves until you’re squealing.
“Fuck, daddy!”
Seungcheol kisses the corner of your mouth, turning your head to press your lips together. With a grunt, he licks into your mouth, forcing his tongue into your mouth messily to taste you. You whine, tasting a mix of yourself and his usual taste. Moaning, you let him suck on your tongue. Just feeling his soft lips turns you on even more.
“Gonna cum on you, Cheolie,” you whine against his pouty lips. “Fu-Fuck! Gonna make a mess all over your cock.”
His eyes are greedy and ravenous as he takes in your fucked out expression. “Yeah? Gonna cream all over me, brat?”
You nod through a loud whine, fucking your pussy down harder on his aching cock. Seungcheol moans as his fingers rub your slippery clit. “Do it, baby. Cum for your stepdaddy.”
Your voice cracks when you cry out, thighs twitching violently as your orgasm hits. Seungcheol’s sweet murmurs drive your arousal higher. He pets your ribs, cock still buried inside your cunt as you pulse and flutter around his thick dick.
Seungcheol doesn’t stop fucking up into you, eager for you to make a mess all over the nice couch your mom loves. He grabs your ass and helps you keep bouncing on his cock, making sure you come back down every time he fucks up into you.
“Daddy,” you mewl into his neck, completely fucked out. “Stuff me full of your cum—want you to fuck a baby into me.”
You smirk when Seungcheol lets out a guttural groan. He wraps a strong arm on your back and slams you on your back. You moan lewdly when he presses your knees to your chest without pulling out. Somehow, he lodges his cock deeper into you, sinking in balls deep.
Your hands scratch and claw at his broad shoulders, head tossed back with how intense it feels to be fucked again so soon. Seungcheol pulls out and slowly sinks back in, never changing tempo as he buries himself in your pussy over and over. It feels so fucking good that all you can do is moan.
“Please,” you whimper, legs twitching against Seungcheol’s hands. “Fuck me.”
Your stepdad starts drilling his cock so deep inside you that you’re gasping for air. His fat tip is ramming against your sweet spot, making you gush and cream all over his throbbing cock.
“Like that?” He smirks down at you.
“Fuck yes,” you whine, completely lost in pleasure. “Just like that, daddy!”
Seungcheol slowly pulls out and then plunges back into your cunt so deep that your eyes roll to the back of your head. He keeps repeating the motion, getting quicker with his thrusts until he’s railing you into the couch.
You’re crying out loudly now, not caring that you might wake your mom. Just knowing she’ll wake up and see how good Seungcheol is fucking you makes you gush with more arousal. Your stepdad starts to rub and pinch your clit as he fucks his cock deep into your pussy. He has you squealing every time the fat head presses against your cervix.
“Right there?”
You only choke on a whine, eyes rolling back in your head again.
Your stepdad groans in delight. “I’m gonna breed you deep this time, sweetheart.”
You moan, your mind completely whited out by pleasure. “Breed me, daddy. Please,” you’re babbling, not thinking at all of what you’re saying. “Want you to cum in me.”
One of his hands moves from your leg, to pinch and pull on one of your hard nipples. He grunts when you clench around him and stain his cock with more of your sweet cream. Skin slapping and lewd squelching fill the air along with your moans, but there’s something Seungcheol wants to hear more than that.
“Say it again,” he urges as he squeezes your tit.
“Breed me,” you repeat without hesitation. “I want my stepdaddy to breed my slutty pussy.”
“Yeah? Want me to knock you up? Cum all in this sweet little pussy?”
Your cunt spasms as your back arches. “I want it so bad, daddy! Need you to cum in me!”
In the next moment, one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had hits you like a freight train. Your legs shake as you cry out for Seungcheol. He groans along with you as your velvety walls clench rhythmically around his cock, urging him to spill his hot load inside you.
Your stepdad’s thrusts stutter into your pliant body as rope after rope of hot cum fills your squelching cunt. Your walls clench repeatedly around the thick cock splitting you open, eagerly taking his seed. His dick throbs and kicks inside you as your hole keeps milking him for every last drop of cum. He lets out a low moan as he continues to finish inside you.
Your throat feels raw as you try to catch your breath. Seungcheol drops his forehead onto your clavicle, panting into your skin. A sharp sting followed by wet suction makes you shiver as he leaves a bite mark on your smooth skin. He lifts his head up to look at you.
“So good for me, baby,” Seungcheol kisses you, nipping your bottom lip. “Let’s go upstairs before your mom wakes up.”
You feel floaty, thoughts of cum and cock clouding your mind. You smile at him and bring him down for another kiss. “Okay, daddy.”
When your mom wakes up, she’s alone in the dark living room. Disappointment crashes into her when she realizes she must’ve fallen asleep halfway through the movie. Obviously, her husband didn’t care to wake her or even take her to her new room.
Eventually, she finds her phone and sees a text from you. Apparently, you left shortly after the movie ended to hang out with your new friend who you’re also going to spend the night with. She sighs, feeling a little irritated that you didn’t think to stay and keep an eye on your stepfather.
Blindly, she finds her phone and turns on the flashlight. Just as she’s about to head back to her room, something catches her eye. She points her phone to the right and is horrified when she sees a pair of ruined panties discarded by her nice couch. She’s dumbfounded and doesn’t know what to do until she hears a voice in the kitchen.
Quietly, she moves toward the doorway and sees her husband leaning against the kitchen counter with his back to her. His phone is pressed against his ear as he speaks like he’s forgotten that she might still be in the living room.
“Just forget about those panties, baby. I’ll buy you new ones.”
A soft, adoring laugh fills the kitchen a second later. “You know I don’t care if she finds them. I’m sick of her.”
Your mom backs into the shadows when Seungcheol walks towards the stairs and disappears from her sight. A bile rises up her throat when she realizes the disgusting, cruel reality that she’s feared all along is true.
summary: in which your boyfriend’s always in control but you need to see him break
warning: sub yunho, dom reader, handcuffs, edging, oral, face riding, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, choking, overstimulation, creampie
genre: smut
pairing: idol yunho x afab reader
word count: 9.6k
masterlist
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Yunho’s apartment smelled like him. Even though him and Yeosang weren’t home, his scent still lingered, clean laundry, cedarwood body wash, the faint trace of cologne clinging to the throw blanket you had wrapped around you. The TV buzzed softly in the background, playing a show you weren’t really watching as you curled up on the couch, phone in hand, waiting.
Him and Yeosang had been holed up at KQ all week, prepping for ATEEZ’s comeback. Practice, meetings, rehearsals, concept shoots. You hadn’t seen much of him, not with how late he was getting home these days, and even when he did, he was exhausted. Still sweet, still soft with you, but you missed his attention, the kind that came with heat in his eyes and his voice dropping low, all possessive and dangerous.
You sighed, mindlessly thumbing through your Instagram feed, lips twitching as you passed fan edits and memes of the members. But then you paused. Blinked. It was a fan account. Caption, “someone call the police bc THIS should be illegal 😭🔥”
You clicked the first photo. And promptly forgot how to breathe. Yunho. Tousled black hair. From at least a couple months ago when he was still growing it out. Big, dark eyes. Sweater soft enough to make your fingertips itch. His lips were parted just a little. He was holding some kind of blue ball, but the way he was looking into the camera? Like he was waiting for someone to take control of him.
You swiped to the next photo. Then the next. Your mouth went dry. Soft and flushed, like he’d just been kissed breathless. Hands delicate. Eyes wide. His entire body language screamed submissive. Needy. You actually sat up. What the hell.
He never looked like this. Not with you. Yunho was always the one pulling you close, always the one taking control. Pinning your wrists. Whispering filthy things while making you beg for more. But this? This was a version of him that had never shown up in your bed. And now it was all you could think about.
Your thighs pressed together under the blanket as you stared down at the third photo, him looking at that blue ball like it was your hand wrapped around his throat. You could feel something dark and hungry uncurling in your gut as you bit your lip and smiled.
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The lock clicked sometime past midnight. You didn’t even flinch, just tucked your legs under you on the couch, gaze flicking toward the door as it cracked open and Yunho stepped in, followed closely by Yeosang. Both were dressed in oversized hoodies and sweatpants, hair damp like they’d showered at the company before heading home, backpacks slung low on tired shoulders.
Yunho saw you instantly. A tired smile lit up his face, soft and real in the dim light of the apartment. “You’re still up?”
“I wanted to see you,” you said simply, voice low as you tucked your phone facedown into the couch cushions. “Long day?”
Yeosang dropped his bag with a groan and headed straight for the fridge. “That choreography is gonna be the death of me,” he mumbled, grabbing a bottle of water. “San nearly body slammed Wooyoung during formations. Again.”
Yunho just laughed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked so drained, but even tired, he was still stunning, and now you couldn’t stop seeing the version of him from those pictures. Soft. Open. Touchable. Wreckable.
You shifted slightly on the couch, pressing your knees together under the blanket as Yunho came over and leaned down to kiss the top of your head, one hand brushing your cheek before he stood back up, eyes warm. “I’m gonna shower again. We got kinda sweaty again before we left.”
You didn’t say anything. Not yet. Not when he was this worn out, this relaxed. No, you’d wait. Let him rest. But you knew the next two days were completely free. No schedules, no shoots, no practices. Just rest days the company had finally granted them after weeks of nonstop work.
You picked up your phone again as the bathroom light flicked on and the sound of the shower filled the apartment. Your thumb hovered over the same photo, the one where he was gazing at the ball like he needed someone to tell him what to do.
Yes. Let him rest first. Let him sleep in tomorrow. Besides, you needed to go get something from Wooyoung first.
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By the time you slipped into Yunho’s bedroom, the shower had stopped and the light was off. The room was dim, lit only by the low glow of the city through the curtains, and quiet, save for the soft rustle of blankets as Yunho climbed into bed in nothing but a loose tee and boxers.
He looked over at you as you padded across the room in one of his old shirts, the hem barely grazing your thighs. His eyes were already heavy lidded, voice low and raspy from the day as he murmured, “You coming to bed or just here to admire me from the doorway?”
You just gave him a lazy smile. “Both.”
He laughed, reaching out, and you let him pull you into bed, the warmth of his body immediately enveloping you. His arms wrapped around your waist like instinct, drawing you in until your cheek was pressed to his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your ear. One hand rested on your hip, thumb gently stroking the fabric of your shirt, and even in his exhaustion, he still pressed a soft kiss to your hair. “I missed you,” he mumbled, words already melting into sleep.
You closed your eyes, inhaling the scent of his skin, the damp ends of his hair brushing against your forehead. “I missed you too.” But you were wide awake. Because all you could think about, all, was the image of him from earlier.
Those soft eyes. Those parted lips. That sweater clinging to him like he needed someone to take it off for him. The way his fingers curled around that blue ball like he was already being guided. Vulnerable. Obedient. Yours.
You squirmed just slightly under the blanket, the ache between your legs growing impossible to ignore. He shifted too, tightening his grip around you like he could sense something, even in sleep. Always so intuitive.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, knuckles brushing the bare skin beneath as you tilted your head to look up at him, his face relaxed, lips parted, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other draped over your waist protectively.
He had no idea. No idea you were going to flip his whole dominant side upside down. But not tonight. No, tonight, you let him sleep. Let him be the strong, tired boyfriend who held you close and kept you warm.
You’d find out just how pretty he looked like as a sub tomorrow.
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Yunho woke to the sound of quiet. Not silence, just the subtle kind of quiet that meant the city was still asleep, early sun bleeding in through the curtains, and the apartment was peaceful in a way it rarely ever was. No Yeosang crashing around the kitchen, no vibrating phone, no ticking clock of a packed schedule with you waking him up. Just… calm.
His body ached in that good way, muscles used and stretched from practice, but relaxed now that the rush was over. He stretched a little under the covers, blinking slowly at the ceiling. The bed felt warm, the sheets tangled loosely around his legs, and he could still smell your shampoo on the pillow beside him. But you weren’t there.
He frowned softly, rolling onto his side. The spot where you’d slept was empty but still warm. His fingers dragged across the sheets like they might summon you back, then pushed into his hair with a groggy sigh. “Baby?” he called, voice hoarse from sleep. No answer, but he could hear faint movement somewhere in the apartment, maybe the kitchen.
He smiled. You were probably making coffee. Maybe wearing his shirt still. Maybe not wearing much at all. He sat up, stretching his arms over his head, muscles flexing as the hem of his oversized tee rode up. His hair was a mess, sticking up in random directions from sleep and shower dampness the night before, and he didn’t care. Not today. Today he had no obligations. No rehearsal, no shoot, no fittings.
Just you.
He stood slowly, scratching the back of his neck as he wandered toward the bedroom door, still half asleep but already thinking about pressing a kiss to your cheek and pulling you back to bed.
He padded into the kitchen barefoot, blinking against the soft morning light. The smell of coffee hit him first, warm, rich, and a little sweet, just how you liked it. Then he saw you. Fully dressed. You were standing near the counter, your hair already done, your favorite jacket slung over the back of a chair, one hand holding your phone to your ear while the other lazily stirred something in your mug. You looked… put together. Awake. Busy.
And it threw him off.
“Yeah,” you were saying, your voice light. “No, I didn’t forget. I’ll be there in about an hour… yeah. Mhm. Okay. Sounds good.”
Yunho walked up behind you without a word, instinct more than anything. His arms slid around your waist, chin resting lightly on your shoulder as he pressed his chest to your back. You were so warm. He let out a soft hum of contentment, lips brushing the side of your neck.
You didn’t pull away. Just kept talking, shifting slightly to lean into him while your fingers curled loosely around his wrist. “I’ll text you when I leave,” you said into the phone, tone easy. “Yeah. You too. Bye.” You hung up and finally turned your head toward him, your smile easy, soft. “Morning.”
He blinked at you, still waking up. “You’re dressed.”
You nodded. “I have plans.”
“Since when?”
You leaned back a little more, enough to glance at him. “Since yesterday. It’s just for a few hours.”
Yunho let out a quiet, confused breath, his arms still wrapped snug around your waist. “You didn’t say anything last night.”
“I know,” you said lightly, tapping his wrist. “I called Woo while you were in the shower and he mentioned he wanted to hang out.”
He hummed again, but there was a flicker of something underneath it now. Not irritation, not really. Just… the tiniest bit of uncertainty. You were almost always still in bed when he woke up. Or half asleep and clingy like him. This? You, fully awake, dressed, already coordinating things with Wooyoung before he’d even opened his eyes?
Different.
He didn’t hate it.
But it was different.
“What are you two going to do?” he asked, lips still ghosting along your skin, voice low as you turned in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck now, your smile dangerously sweet. “You’ll see.”
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It had been three hours. Not that Yunho was counting.
Okay, he was absolutely counting. He sat at his desk in his room, headset on, one hand loosely gripping his mouse as his character respawned for the third time in a row. The screen glowed blue against the dim room, game sounds filling the silence, but his focus was trash. Completely gone.
He leaned back in his chair with a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair.
Get it together.
He’d planned to game while you were out. Kill time. Relax. But his body had other ideas, and they were loud about it. Too much practice. Too many late nights. Too many moments coming home exhausted, collapsing next to you, falling asleep before things could go anywhere. It had been a full week since the two of you had actually had sex, and now that his schedule had finally eased up, his body was very much reminding him of that fact.
His thigh bounced under the desk as he adjusted slightly in his chair, then immediately regretted it. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. It wasn’t just physical. It was you. The way you’d been this morning. Dressed. Busy. Calm. The way you’d said, you’ll see, like you were holding a secret and didn’t feel the need to explain it to him.
That wasn’t like you. And it shouldn’t have bothered him. He trusted you. He wasn’t jealous. But something about it had lodged itself under his skin, making him restless in a way he couldn’t quite name.
He pulled his headset off and dropped it onto the desk, leaning back again and staring up at the ceiling. His phone sat face down beside the keyboard. He thought about texting you but didn’t.
Instead, he dragged a hand down his face and laughed quietly to himself. “You’re losing it,” he murmured. A week without sex and suddenly he was pacing like a caged animal in his own room.
His body shifted again, heat pooling low in his stomach, and he exhaled slowly through his nose. He needed you home. Not just for sex. Not just to get off.
He needed the way you touched him like you knew exactly what he needed. The way you let him take control, ground himself in you after weeks of being pulled in a thousand directions.
He glanced at his phone again. Still nothing. Yunho groaned and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers lacing together as he stared at the floor.
Just come home already.
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The front door clicked open just after five. Yunho was already halfway down the hall, pretending he hadn’t been pacing like a man with an itch he couldn’t scratch for the past twenty minutes. He stopped in his tracks as you stepped inside, juggling a couple of takeout bags and a large iced coffee tucked under your arm.
“Hey,” you smiled, lifting the food like a peace offering. “I brought dinner.”
He opened his mouth, maybe to say, finally, maybe to say, I missed you, maybe to say, please let me bend you over the counter right now, but before he could choose a version, Yeosang popped out of his room.
“Bless you,” Yeosang said dramatically, swooping in and grabbing a container from the bag before Yunho could even get close. “I was seconds from passing out.”
You laughed, brushing past both of them as you set everything on the counter, like you hadn’t just made Yunho wait half the day on the edge of a meltdown. He followed slower, jaw tight, running a hand through his hair again as if that might cool him off.
He was starving.
And not just for food.
The scent of takeout hit him hard, spicy, comforting, warm, but it was nothing compared to the scent of you. Up close now, his gaze dragged over your frame, from the sway of your hips to the way your fingers brushed hair out of your face. You still hadn’t changed, still looked just as composed as you had that morning.
But then you picked up a second bag he hadn’t noticed before. Plain. No restaurant logo. You didn’t even glance at him as you turned and carried it straight to his bedroom like it belonged there.
Yunho’s eyes narrowed. What the hell was that?
He barely made it through dinner. Shoveling food into his mouth between glances at the hallway, chewing around growing thoughts of what you were hiding. You weren’t acting shady, but that only made it worse. You were just… normal.
Too normal. He wanted to ask. He wanted to follow you. He wanted to be inside you before the sun set. Instead, he sat across from Yeosang, who was completely oblivious, complaining about practice and thanking you again for the food before you went to get a shower while Yunho nodded like he was listening.
He scraped the last bite of food out of the container like it personally offended him. Fork down. Meal devoured in record time. He didn’t even register what he’d just eaten, something spicy, maybe, his brain too preoccupied with thoughts of pinning you to the bed, finally taking what he’d been craving for a week.
The second he threw his trash away, he was moving. His body already buzzing, that low hum of anticipation tightening in his gut. His mouth? Dry. His hands? Itching. His dick? Definitely already half hard and he hadn’t even touched you yet.
He turned down the hallway, headed for his bedroom like a man on a mission.Time to remind her who she belongs to.
Except….. As soon as he stepped into the doorway, all that energy slammed to a halt. You weren’t there. The room was empty. He blinked. Looked around. No you. No teasing smirk. Just the sound of water.
His jaw clenched. You were still in the shower. He stared at the closed bathroom door for a beat, jaw ticking. The water was running. He could hear it clearly through the thin wall, could imagine the steam curling up your bare legs, the drops sliding down your skin.
And suddenly he wasn’t just half hard anymore. He dragged a hand down his face. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He took a step forward. Paused. Thought about it. Should he wait? Should he knock? Should he just go in there, press you up against the tile and let a week’s worth of frustration take over?
The problem was… he wanted to. God, he wanted to. But something stopped him. It wasn’t just the need anymore. It was the memory of your face this morning, how calm you’d looked. The way you had plans. The bag you’d stashed in his room. The silence about what was in it. You weren’t avoiding him. But you were doing something.
And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t in control. Yunho stood there in the hallway, painfully hard and confused, listening to the sound of you just existing behind the door and having no idea what was about to happen next.
He groaned and walked across the hall to his room. Yunho flopped onto the bed like the world had wronged him. Which, honestly? It kind of had. You were home. You’d fed him. You were here, just a room away, naked and wet and behind a thin layer of steam and tile. And instead of riding him into next week, you were in the damn shower.
He let out a dramatic groan and threw his arm over his eyes. He could feel his heartbeat in his teeth. He was hard enough that even shifting made it worse, his sweatpants doing nothing to help the situation. He exhaled sharply, ready to yell into the pillow like some tortured teenage boy….
And then he saw it. That bag. Sitting innocently by the nightstand. Right next to your phone and your purse, like it had been there all along, glowing like it had a neon sign over it. He sat up slowly, eyebrows furrowing.
It didn’t have a logo. Didn’t look like clothes. Didn’t look like anything in particular. Which only made it worse. You hadn’t said a damn word about it.
He glanced toward the bathroom. Still running. Still safe. He reached for the bag. Hesitated. Then he unzipped it slowly, like he was defusing a bomb.
The first thing he saw made him go still. Black. Fluffy. Metal.
“What the fuck?” he said out loud, pulling the pair of fuzzy black handcuffs out by the chain. He stared at them in his hand for a solid five seconds. Blinked once. Twice. And then he recognized them.
“No fucking way.”
These weren’t just any handcuffs. He was pretty sure, no, definitely sure, these were the same ones Wooyoung had once cuffed to Jongho as a joke during a game night, lost the key, and they’d spent hours trying to break Jongho out of them before they found the keys again.
Yeosang had tried Googling hacks. Mingi had fetched a bobby pin. Seonghwa had left the apartment. Hongjoong had threatened to burn the couch if they didn’t get him out soon.
Yunho groaned, dragging a hand down his face, the cuffs dangling from his fingers. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” The metal clinked as he turned them over in his hand then he jumped. Like a kid caught with stolen candy.
The second he heard the bathroom door click open, Yunho panicked, heart lurching, hands scrambling to hide the cuffs behind his back. He barely had time to fling the bag shut and twist around on the bed like he’d been casually sitting there the whole time.
Totally normal.
Totally innocent.
Except he was gripping fuzzy black handcuffs behind his back like they were contraband and his girlfriend wasn’t literally walking in half naked.
The door creaked as you stepped into the room in nothing but a towel. And he forgot how to breathe. Hair damp, skin flushed from the heat, water still clinging to your collarbones. The towel hugged your curves like it had been tailored to you, riding just high enough on your thighs to drive him insane. He swallowed hard as you padded barefoot across the carpet, completely at ease, like you didn’t just have a pair of illicit cuffs smuggled into his bedroom.
“Hey,” you said, eyeing him as you reached for your lotion on the dresser. “You good?”
“Yeah,” he said too fast, voice a little too high.
Your brow arched. “You sure?”
He nodded, a tight little jerk of his head, trying not to visibly die. “Mhm.”
You looked so calm. So unbothered as you turned to face him, towel still clinging for dear life, arms folding casually under your chest. “You looked through the bag, didn’t you.”
He tensed. “What? No.”
You tilted your head. “Uh huh. So you’re not holding something behind your back?”
His mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again. “I was… I’m just….”
You stared.
He cracked.
“Maybe I peeked.”
Your lips twitched. “And?”
He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly, still holding the handcuffs like they might combust. “Are these… are these the same ones Wooyoung put on Jongho that one time?”
You smiled like the devil. “Yup.”
Yunho stared at you. Then at the cuffs. Then back at you and blinked slowly. “You went out with Wooyoung and came back with these?”
“Mhm.” You shrugged, towel still perfectly in place. “We did a little shopping. He said I should use them on you.”
Yunho stared at you like you’d just threatened to flip gravity. Use them on him? On him?!
He barely had time to think before you were climbing into his lap. Yunho froze as your towel clad thighs settled on either side of him, your body still damp and warm from the shower. The smell of your skin, clean, sweet, you, filled his senses, and his hands stayed locked behind his back like he was under arrest.
He stared up at you, wide eyed, lips parted, like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss you or beg for his life. Then you reached up and ran your fingers through his hair. Gentle. Casual. Almost sweet. Except your voice? Wasn’t sweet. It was dangerous.
“You know,” you murmured, brushing a damp strand off his forehead. “Me and Woo got to talking…”
He blinked slowly. “Talking?”
“Mhm.” Your fingers trailed down to the back of his neck, nails dragging lightly, making him shiver. “I told him how you’re always so… dominant all the time.”
Yunho swallowed thickly, watching your mouth now, hyper aware of how close you were. Of the towel. Of his dick pressing against his sweatpants and how still he was holding those cuffs behind him.
“Then,” you went on, voice like silk laced with poison, “he brought up that psychic guy you all saw a couple years ago. Remember?”
His brain short circuited for a second.
“That little special you did for the fans,” you continued, ignoring the way his jaw tightened, “and the psychic said something about how you… secretly like to be dominated.”
Yunho’s eyes snapped up to yours and you smiled. And that’s when he knew he was screwed. “That wasn’t real,” he muttered, voice low and defensive. “It was just for fun.”
“Sure,” you said sweetly, still combing your fingers through his hair. “Except you didn’t deny it.”
He felt heat crawl up the back of his neck, ears going red, body stiff as you leaned in just a little closer. “And now,” you added, “here you are… with fuzzy cuffs behind your back… hard as a rock… and letting me straddle you like this.” Your voice dropped, slow and sultry. “Starting to think maybe that psychic was right.”
Yunho’s breathing faltered. He wasn’t touching you. Wasn’t even moving. But he couldn’t look away. Not when you were looking at him like that, like he was prey. Like you were going to make him say please.
He didn’t know where to look. Not your eyes, too intense. Not your mouth, too dangerous. Definitely not your towel because it was already killing him, and not your hips because the way you were rocking ever so slightly in his lap was making it impossible to breathe.
But you didn’t even seem fazed as your fingers stayed in his hair, tugging slightly now just to feel him react. And god, he did, his eyes fluttered shut for half a second, his jaw clenched, and his grip on the fuzzy cuffs behind his back tightened.
Then you dropped the next bomb. “I saw some of your new Season’s Greetings pictures.”
Yunho froze. His eyes snapped open as you smiled like a cat with cream. “The ones where you’re all flushed and pouty looking. Holding that little blue ball like someone told you not to move.”
He blinked. Once. Twice. Not saying anything as you tilted your head, your smile widening. “I kind of love it,” you said softly, dragging your nails along the back of his neck. “When you look pathetic and needy.”
Yunho’s brain shut down. There was no defense. No comeback. Just a full body system failure as those words echoed in his head like a car crash in slow motion. Pathetic. Needy. You said it like it was your new favorite thing. And worse? His dick twitched. Hard. Obvious. Mortifying.
His eyes widened as if he could will his body to chill, but it was too late. You felt it. He knew you felt it. Your hips were right there, pressed to his, and there was no hiding the way he just reacted to being called pathetic.
You didn’t say anything. You just grinned. Like that confirmed every suspicion you’d had. Like the real fun was just beginning as Yunho looked up at you, helpless, hard, and silent. No comeback. No smug quip. Just the slow burning realization that he was about to be completely owned by his girlfriend.
He couldn’t take it anymore. The pressure. The heat. The way you were looking at him like he was already undone and just didn’t know it yet. His body was betraying him with every twitch, every pulse, every little gasp that slipped through his throat no matter how hard he clenched his jaw.
So he stood up. You slid off his lap with that maddening grace, towel adjusting slightly, giving him a glimpse of bare thigh that made him clench his fists around the cuffs still behind his back. His voice was strained, just a little cracked. “Are you… are you trying to be in control right now?”
You blinked up at him like it was the dumbest question you’d ever heard. “Maybe,” you purred. And then you trailed your hand up his stomach. Right over the thin fabric of his shirt, slow and teasing, fingertips dragging up the soft ridges of his abs. His breath caught. Your touch was electric. He was too focused on the burn of your skin through the shirt to realize what you were really doing.
Until you slid it off him in one smooth motion. He barely blinked before you were taking the cuffs from his hands, he let you, too distracted, too horny, too confused to stop you.
“Baby,” you murmured, voice dipping into something syrupy as you helped pull his shirt off and over his head. “You’re always in control…” Your fingers traced along his hip, up his side, gentle and deliberate. “You can let me be. Just once.”
Yunho looked down at you, jaw tense. His pulse was pounding in his neck, and the expression on his face was a cocktail of disbelief, curiosity, and lust. He’d never let anyone take control. Not once. Not with anyone. Not even you. So the words came out before he could stop them, a little cocky, a little defensive, but a whole lot more shaky than he wanted to admit. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”
You didn’t even flinch. You just smirked like you’d been waiting for that. “I thought you might say something like that.” And before it even registered, click. The cuffs locked around his wrists. Behind his back. His eyes widened instantly, and he turned to look behind him, as if expecting some kind of magic undo button.
“What the…”
You stepped back, licking your bottom lip slowly. “Oops.”
“Wait!”
“Nope.”
“Baby…”
“You did say we’ll see,” you teased, brushing your fingers across his chest. “I’m just speeding things up.”
Yunho stood there.
Shirtless.
Hard.
Handcuffed.
And entirely at your mercy.
And the worst part? He’d never been so turned on in his entire life as he watched you let your towel fall. And it was over. The soft fabric dropped to the floor like a final curtain, and his world stopped.
His breath caught hard in his throat. Eyes wide. Jaw slack. Every muscle in his body tensed at once as you stood there in front of him, completely bare, completely unbothered, like you weren’t doing this on purpose. Like you didn’t know what you were doing to him.
He jerked at the cuffs behind him instinctively, like maybe he could break them, maybe he could snap free and get his hands on you. He couldn’t. That only made it worse. “Shit,” he breathed, eyes dragging down your body so slowly it felt like punishment. “You’re…”
You tilted your head, walking toward him with a sway in your hips that had him biting down hard on a groan.
“I’m what?” you asked sweetly.
Yunho’s lips parted, but no words came out.
You were everything. Stunning. Dripping confidence. Dangerous. But more than that, you were in control. And it was driving him insane.
He shifted on his feet, hands flexing behind him, the cuffs biting into his wrists as his body screamed for friction, for release, for you. But all he could do was watch as you stepped closer, your fingers skimming along his chest, teasing and featherlight.
His cock twitched again, straining painfully against his sweats and you glanced down at it and smiled. He flinched the second your palm pressed against him. Just one slow drag of your hand over the thick bulge in his sweats, and his entire body jerked like you’d shocked him. His hips twitched forward instinctively, chasing the friction, even though he was trying so hard to keep it together.
“Ohhh,” you murmured, voice low and velvet smooth, “you’re so hard.”
Yunho’s head dropped forward with a groan, his wrists pulling against the cuffs again, like if he could just get his hands free, he’d fix this. He’d grab you. Flip you. Do something. Anything. But he couldn’t. All he could do was stand there while you palmed him through his sweats, slow, deliberate pressure, and talked to him like he was already halfway gone.
“Have you been like this all day?” you teased, your thumb brushing the swollen head through the fabric. “Just walking around the apartment all worked up? Gaming with a hard on?”
“Fuck,” he hissed, jaw clenched. “Yes.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the sharp crack in his voice.
“I’ve been horny all day,” he growled, the restraint in his voice snapping like a dry twig. “Ever since you left. Ever since this morning. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t game, couldn’t think straight. I kept looking at the clock, waiting for you to get home so I could finally…” He cut himself off with a harsh breath, chest heaving now.
You paused mid stroke, eyes lifting to meet his. Your lips curled into a slow, victorious grin. “Finally what?”
Yunho stared at you, wrecked, flushed, pupils blown. And completely yours. “Touch you,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “I needed to touch you.”
You leaned in, kissed just beneath his jaw, your hand still cupping him through the soft cotton of his sweats. “You don’t get to touch me tonight,” you whispered. “You’re gonna take what I give you.”
Yunho’s knees almost buckled.
You didn’t stop stroking him. Your hand moved slow and deliberate over the bulge in his sweats, fingertips teasing the outline of his dick, your touch maddeningly light. You watched him squirm, breathing heavy, hands twitching behind his back, helpless and getting harder by the second.
And then, you smiled. “You’re gonna beg for it,” you said softly, like it was a promise, not a suggestion.
Yunho’s eyes snapped to yours, narrowed instantly. He doesn’t beg. You’re the one who always begs.
“What?” you asked, still playing innocent, thumb brushing that sweet spot again, making him grit his teeth. “Is that a fucking challenge?”
You smirked. “Maybe.”
His jaw flexed. You could practically see the moment his pride kicked in, his body straightening, eyes darkening, like he’d just locked into a competition he had no intention of losing.
Yunho didn’t beg.
He made you beg. That’s how it had always been.
Except now?
He was shirtless, hard, handcuffed, and being slowly palmed through his sweats like he was some trembling mess you were toying with for your own amusement.
And god help him…. he loved it.
But that didn’t mean he was going down without a fight.
His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “You think you can break me?” You leaned in, brushing your lips along the shell of his ear, your voice sweet as sin. “I think you’re already breaking, baby.”
His breath hitched as you kissed just under his jaw, lips dragging along his neck. “Let’s see how long you last before you’re the one whining for it.” Yunho swallowed hard, shifting again, painfully hard and twitching in your hand. He was still glaring. But that glare? Was already shaky.
He didn’t move when you dropped to your knees. Couldn’t. His breath caught so sharply in his chest it felt like his lungs forgot how to work, because now you were looking up at him, bare and beautiful and glowing with smug satisfaction.
Your hands were on his hips, warm and steady, thumbs hooked under the waistband of his sweatpants. And he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. “Still think you’re not gonna beg?” you asked softly, lips curling.
He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. The way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers flexed against the cuffs behind him, the way his eyes dropped to your mouth like it held the answers to the universe, it all said enough.
You leaned in, brushing a kiss against his lower abdomen, right above the waistband and Yunho’s hips jerked as you looked up at him, so calm it was infuriating. “Poor baby.”
You tugged just enough to pull the waistband down over his hips, slow and excruciating, revealing the line of muscle that dipped low beneath his boxers. The fabric dragged over his skin, caught for a second on the hard line of his dick before sliding past it. And there he was. Fully hard, flushed, and twitching in front of your face.
Yunho let out a low, wrecked sound from the back of his throat, half frustration, half disbelief, all arousal. You didn’t touch him. Not yet. You just let his sweats fall around his ankles, pooling on the floor. You let your fingers trail up the inside of his thighs, light enough to make his muscles twitch. “Still feeling cocky?” you asked.
Yunho stared down at you, teeth grit, breath ragged. And for the first time ever… He had no answer as your fingers wrapped around him and his entire body locked.
A sharp breath hissed through his teeth, his head tipping back slightly as if even looking at you would undo him faster. Your grip was perfect, just tight enough, warm and soft as you started to stroke him slowly, dragging your hand from the base to the tip with maddening precision.
His knees almost buckled. But he stayed still. Barely. Because he knew, he knew if he made a sound, if he so much as breathed too loud, you’d use it against him. You’d smirk. You’d tease. You’d whisper something devastating, and he’d come undone way too fast. So he clenched his jaw hard, muscles flexing, wrists straining behind his back as he held it in.
But god.
The way your hand moved…
Up. Down. Thumb teasing the underside just enough to make his thighs twitch.
He could feel the moan crawling up his throat, desperate to escape. Worse, there was a whimper behind it, high and soft and humiliating, the kind of sound he’d never let anyone hear.
Except now? He wasn’t sure he could stop it.
He looked down at you, eyes dark, lips slightly parted, so calm, so confident, and fuck, it was too much. You looked up, still stroking him, smile spreading like you felt his restraint slipping through his fingers. “You’re shaking,” you murmured.
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. If he opened his mouth, it was over. Your pace didn’t change. You just leaned in, breath ghosting over the flushed head of his dick. “Go ahead, baby,” you whispered. “Make a sound. I wanna hear how pretty you are when you’re trying not to come.”
Yunho whimpered.
Just once.
Quiet.
But you heard it.
That single, broken whimper left his lips before he could stop it. And the second it did, everything changed. You didn’t say a word. Didn’t call it out. Didn’t tease. You just looked up at him, eyes dark with something dangerous, and then lowered your mouth to him.
Yunho’s breath caught hard in his throat as your hand slipped away like a curtain being drawn back, replaced by the heat of your tongue, slowly, deliberately tracing along the underside of his dick, base to tip, savoring him like you had all the time in the world.
He nearly shuddered. His fingers flexed uselessly behind his back, breath coming in short, shaky bursts. His thighs were tense, trying to keep him steady, trying not to thrust into your mouth like some desperate mess. But fuck, he was close already, and you knew it.
You let your tongue swirl around the flushed head, lips brushing lightly, just enough to tease. Then you flattened your tongue and dragged it down again, the slow pressure making him groan low in his chest, muzzled only by how hard he was clenching his jaw.
He looked down at you, bare on your knees, mouth glistening, eyes locked on his face, and he didn’t know if he wanted to cry, come, or beg for more. And you still hadn’t really taken him in yet. That terrified him. That thrilled him.
His voice cracked out in a whisper, like it got lost somewhere in the tension, “Please…” But you didn’t stop. Didn’t speak. Didn’t rush. You just kept tracing him with your tongue, slow, reverent, like he was yours to worship only when you allowed it. And Yunho was starting to realize something terrifying. He might beg after all.
You watched him unravel in real time. His thighs shaking. His lips parted. That slight glint of panic in his eyes like he knew what was coming, and still couldn’t prepare for it. Your tongue gave one last slow sweep before your lips parted, and then… you started to take him in.
Yunho let out a low, desperate breath the second you wrapped your mouth around him. “Fuck,” he whispered, broken and barely audible as your lips slid over the flushed head, inch by agonizing inch.
Usually by now, he’d be in control. His hands would be tangled in your hair, gently guiding or gripping hard, depending on how much he needed it. He’d be whispering praise, low and steady, telling you how good you looked with his dick in your mouth, how perfect you were, how much he loved this.
But right now?
His hands were cuffed behind his back.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t guide you. Couldn’t stop you.
He could only stand there and take what you gave him.
And what you gave him? Was everything.
You sank down farther, your mouth stretching around him, warm and wet and so fucking slow, a deliberate, inch by inch descent until you felt him twitch against your tongue and gagged slightly around him.
Yunho choked on his own moan as his knees buckled. His head dropped forward, watching with wide, dazed eyes as you held there, deep in your throat, nose brushing the base, throat clenched just right and then pulled back just enough to drag your tongue up the underside again.
“Holy shit,” he whispered, voice cracking. His fingers were fisted behind his back now, nails digging into his own palms just to keep himself grounded. Every part of him was trembling. Hot. Flushed. Out of control. And god, the way you looked right now? Eyes glistening, mouth stretched wide, spit glistening on your lips, you were wrecking him. Slowly. Thoroughly. And all he could do was stand there and moan for it.
Your pace picked up. No warning. No mercy. No hesitation. One second, you were slowly savoring him, drawing out every inch with your tongue like a promise, and the next, you were taking him deep into your throat, bobbing your head with intent, spit clinging to your lips, a soft, wet rhythm echoing through the room as you started to fuck your mouth on him.
Yunho lost it. His breath came in hard gasps, jaw slack, muscles twitching with every pass of your lips down his length. His wrists pulled helplessly against the cuffs, again and again, like if he could just get free he’d grab your hair, hold you down, do something to take control back.
But he couldn’t. All he had were his words. And oh, he used them. “Shit, baby… fuck, you’re so good at that… so fucking good. God, your mouth… your fucking mouth feels….. I’d have you choking on me every night if you’d let me… fuck….. don’t stop.”
You didn’t stop. You kept going, pace building, throat flexing around him as you took him deep enough to make your eyes water. And Yunho was losing it, unraveling fast, hips starting to twitch despite himself, head tipped back, moaning now with no shame.
He could feel it. His orgasm building low, burning, that sharp ache coiling tighter with every stroke of your mouth, every pass of your tongue, every desperate sound leaving his throat. “Baby… shit, I’m close, I’m so fucking close…..”
And then you pulled off. All the way. Just like that. Lips popping off his dick with a slick, obscene sound.
Yunho froze, mid gasp, wide-eyed, chest heaving. His dick twitched violently in the air, slick and flushed and aching. “What the fuck?”
You just looked up at him, smug, glowing, and not the least bit sorry.
He was panting. Edged. Furious. Wrecked.
He didn’t even have time to recover before you were moving. You stood up in front of him, body glistening, lips slick and flushed from where your mouth had just destroyed him, and then you leaned in.
Your mouth captured his in a kiss that stole what little breath he had left. Hot. Wet. Deep. It was possessive and unapologetic, your fingers threading into his hair, tongue pushing past his lips while he groaned helplessly into your mouth, frustrated and so fucking turned on he thought he might combust right there.
And just when he leaned into it, wanted more of it, you pulled back, and shoved him. Yunho grunted as the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he collapsed onto the bed, wrists still cuffed behind him, body boneless from the edge you’d just left him on.
He stared up at you, panting, flushed, dazed, until you crawled up after him, swinging one leg over his body, crawling up his chest with a slow, predatory smile as you leaned in over his face, your thighs framing him perfectly, lips brushing his cheek. “You remember that time,” you whispered against his ear, “you made me ride your face…”
Yunho’s breath hitched. “Baby…”
“And then you stopped,” you purred, hips lowering slightly, your heat just brushing his chin now, “and pulled me off right before I came?”
His whole body tensed and you grinned, wicked and sweet. “I do.”
“Fuck…”
“Payback’s a bitch, baby.”
You didn’t rush. You lowered yourself onto his face with practiced, sensual control, like you’d been dreaming about this moment, plotting it, waiting for the exact second to flip the script.
Yunho barely had time to exhale before your heat pressed to his mouth, and his body reacted like it was muscle memory. His tongue slipped into you instantly. A soft moan spilled from your lips at the first wet slide of it, your hips rocking slow and deep, like you were guiding him, training him in your rhythm, not his.
Above him, you moved with slow intent, riding his face as your fingers tangled in his hair, grounding yourself while he devoured you. His tongue pushed deeper, circling, flicking, pressing where he knew you needed it, because even cuffed, even edged, even silenced beneath your thighs, Yunho was still determined to make you come. That drive never faded.
But then you moaned and his hips jerked like it physically shook him. The sound of your pleasure, the way it vibrated through the room, through him, he growled into you, a deep, guttural sound of frustration and desire and surrender all rolled into one.
You gasped, your thighs trembling slightly as his tongue pushed deeper, his lips sealing against you, his mouth moving in sync with the building rhythm of your hips.
You started to pick up the pace. And Yunho? He lost himself. His hands useless behind his back, chest rising and falling with your movements, groaning into you like you were oxygen and he’d gone too long without. You were in control. But he was worshipping you. And you were moaning for it.
Your hips started grinding harder against his mouth, chasing the pleasure building deep and sharp inside you. His tongue was buried in you, relentless, fucking up into you with wet, filthy precision while his lips sealed over your clit whenever you rolled just right.
Yunho was starving for you. Groaning into your pussy like it was killing him and he didn’t care. Every moan vibrated through your core. Every flick of his tongue sent heat surging up your spine. His hips were rutting into the air, dick flushed and leaking, twitching helplessly as he bucked up into nothing. His body begging for friction, for touch, for you and getting none of it.
But he didn’t stop. He just kept eating you like it was his only job, tongue driving into you, nose brushing your clit, jaw working to keep up with the pace you set, your pace, your rhythm, your need. You were gasping now. Moaning. Hands in his hair. Thighs clenching around his head.
You were close, and he knew it. His groans turned rougher, deeper, as he licked you like a man possessed, like your orgasm was the only thing tethering him to this plane of existence. And then it hit. Your thighs trembled. Your back arched. You cried out his name like it was a confession and punishment all at once as your orgasm slammed through you, wave after wave crashing over your skin as you came on his face, grinding down onto his mouth, letting him feel every twitch, every pulse, every moan as you broke apart above him.
Yunho groaned beneath you like he was the one coming. And when you finally lifted your hips, trembling, breathless, his face was wrecked. Mouth open. Chin soaked. Eyes blown with awe and frustration and desperate, feral need. Still cuffed. Still hard. Still yours.
You didn’t say a word. You just slid down his body. Slow. Dripping with satisfaction. Your lips brushed his chest, your tongue tracing over the line of his abs as you made your way down, dragging every second out like punishment and reward, like a queen savoring her prize.
Yunho was gasping. Still breathless from the way you’d used his mouth, his face slick with your release, cheeks flushed, muscles twitching under your touch. His dick, angry red, leaking, twitching, rested heavy against his stomach as you hovered just above it.
And then he snapped. His voice cracked open, raw, hoarse, completely ruined. “Please…”
You paused, looking up at him. He looked wrecked. Hair wild, chest rising and falling like he’d just run miles. “Fuck,” he rasped again, the word practically punched out of him. And then finally, completely broken, pride nowhere to be found, “Baby, please fuck me.”
Your smile was lethal. Because he’d never said that before. Not to you. Not to anyone. The dominant one. The one who always took. The one who made you beg and whimper and scream.
Now? He was cuffed. Desperate. Begging. And the way he looked at you, wild, needy, lost, like you were the only thing that could save him? It was almost enough to make you come again. Almost.
You leaned in, letting your lips ghost along his but didn’t touch him yet. “Say it again,” you whispered.
Yunho groaned, eyes fluttering shut as he bucked up into the air with a growl of frustration. “Please. Baby. Fuck me.”
You didn’t make him wait anymore. Not after that. Not after he begged for you with his voice wrecked, his body trembling, his pride completely shattered, and he still looked at you like you were the only thing that could put him back together.
You climbed back up his body, slow, controlled, dragging your slick thighs over his bare skin, your heat hovering just above his leaking dick. And when you finally sank down onto him, inch by devastating inch… Yunho made a sound, a low, broken moan that punched out of his chest like he couldn’t even hold it in anymore. His head fell back, muscles tense, lips parted.
But when you grabbed his chin and forced him to look at you? That’s when it happened. That look. The same one from the photo that started everything. Wide eyes, soft and overwhelmed, his lashes fluttering like he was trying not to lose it. That same expression, raw, unguarded, needy, staring up at you like he was trying to memorize the way you felt around him. The way you owned him.
Your fingers curled tighter under his jaw, holding him there, making him keep watching as you sank down all the way, taking him to the hilt, your walls fluttering around him and he whimpered. “Yeah,” you whispered. “That look. That’s the one.”
Yunho couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. He was cuffed, buried inside you as you started slow. Too slow. Your hips rolled with devastating control, taking every inch of him, letting his dick drag perfectly along your walls, so tight, so wet, so fucking deep, and Yunho was gone.
His head tipped back, lips parted, sweat clinging to his skin, jaw slack as his breath stuttered in his chest. His hands were still cuffed behind him, muscles shaking from the strain of holding back everything. But he couldn’t hold back anymore. Not after all the teasing. Not after being edged until his vision blurred. Not after you made him beg.
You moaned above him, hips starting to build momentum now, your body bouncing harder, faster, your voice breathy, teasing, dripping with smug satisfaction. “You gonna come already, baby?”
Yunho moaned, loud, broken, helpless. He couldn’t even form words, just a string of desperate sounds torn from his throat as you kept riding him. His thighs trembled under you, body jerking with every drag of your hips.
“Fuck… baby…. fuck, I can’t…”
And then your hand wrapped around his throat. Not hard. Just enough. Just enough to own him like he usually does you. Your eyes met his, locked in, and your voice dropped like a command straight to his soul. “Go on, baby,” you whispered, breath warm against his lips. “Come for me.”
Yunho exploded. A loud, raw moan tore from him, deep from his chest, as his hips bucked wildly up into you, thick spurts of cum filling you, pulsing through him like a fucking lightning strike. You didn’t stop. You kept riding him. Slow at first, rocking through his orgasm, milking every twitch, every helpless jolt of overstimulated pleasure out of him as his moans turned to whimpers again beneath you.
He barely registered the shift until you slowed, looked down, and watched his cum dripping out of you, down his dick, pooling between your thighs and you smiled. And then you started pounding yourself on him. Hard. Relentless.
Yunho cried out, body lurching, wrists pulling tight against the cuffs as he choked on a sob, completely overwhelmed, dick twitching inside you, every thrust shooting pleasure straight up his spine like pain. “F… fuck….. baby… baby wait….. I…”
You didn’t wait. You were fucking yourself on him now. Using him. Taking him. Every slam of your hips into his making his mouth fall open wider, eyes glassy, ruined. He’d already come. But you were going to break him.
You were close. So fucking close. Riding him harder now, your thighs burning, your breath ragged, clit grinding perfectly against him with every slam of your hips. His dick still twitching, still painfully overstimulated, was buried deep, and your walls were fluttering around him like your body was about to detonate. But you weren’t done with him yet. Not without hearing it.
Your hand slid from his throat to his chin, holding him steady beneath you, thumb dragging across his swollen bottom lip as you gasped, “Whose is it?”
Yunho blinked up at you, dazed, sweat soaked, still trembling and stammered, “Wh… what?”
Your body kept moving.
Fucking him.
Owning him.
Your breath hitched as another sharp wave of pleasure shot up your spine. You leaned in close, voice rough, desperate now as your thumb pressed against his lip again. “Whose dick is it?”
That broke him. Like a switch flipped. Yunho let out a deep, guttural sound, somewhere between a growl and a moan, and before you could blink, he moved. Still cuffed. Still wrecked. Still yours. But he snapped, rutted up hard, and then flipped you, your back hitting the mattress in a rush of breathless motion, your legs spreading instinctively as he thrust back into you in one desperate, frenzied slam.
His hips pounded into you, rough and uneven, hands still cuffed behind his back and his voice cracked. “Yours.” Another thrust. “Fuck, it’s yours.” Another. “Baby… yours…. baby, I’m yours!”
You screamed his name as you came, body arching, thighs clenching, orgasm slamming into you so hard you shook beneath him. Yunho followed seconds later with a loud, raw moan, his dick pulsing deep inside you as he came again, emptying himself into you with desperate, jerky thrusts.
And then he collapsed. Chest to chest. Breath to breath. His weight heavy and warm on top of you. Still cuffed. Still panting. Completely ruined.
You both just laid there. Sweaty. Trembling. Destroyed. And Yunho, now smiling into your neck, voice barely a whisper, “you’re never doing that again.”
Liar.
He was such a fucking liar.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The studio was already warm by the time Yunho and Yeosang walked in, sunlight bleeding through the tall windows, the soft thump of bass vibrating from the speakers as the others warmed up. It was the first official comeback practice day after their short break, and Yunho felt… fine.
Mostly.
His thighs were a little sore. His neck had a faint red mark after round three. His ego? Still trying to pretend the last 48 hours hadn’t changed him on a molecular level.
He adjusted the strap of his bag as he and Yeosang made their way inside, Wooyoung sliding up next to Yunho like a damn fox in eyeliner and trouble, all grin and zero shame. He didn’t even say hi.
“Hey,” he drawled, bumping Yunho with his shoulder. “Did she use the cuffs?”
Yeosang choked on his water as Yunho blinked slowly, not dignifying the question with an expression. “Wooyoung…”
“You can keep them, you know,” Wooyoung went on with a smug grin, all too pleased with himself. “I have like three pairs, two are fuzzy, one is glow in the dark.“
Yunho rolled his eyes and reached into his bag. And dragged out the cuffs. He shoved them hard against Wooyoung’s chest. “You can have them back,” he muttered. “I bought her pink ones.”
Wooyoung froze. Then burst out laughing as Yunho just walked toward the mirror, pulling his hoodie off like the conversation never happened. Calm. Cool. Collected.
a/n: saw this tweet about changbin being a terrible vampire and remembered that i already have a thing about that lol. i haven’t written something smallish in a while and i thought that ask would be fun to expand on🧛🩸 i feel like this is a little bit rusty since i haven’t written in a while, so i would really appreciate some feedback!
there is only so much you can do with the bathroom door shut and locked in your face. you stare at it in shock, frozen half in confusion and half in misplaced anger at being shut out without understanding why—the only thing left to do is turn around to head back to the living room to clean up the mess changbin made before it becomes an un-fixable one.
scarlet stains the carpet where he dropped his blood bag. it was so unlike him, you think. you’re more confused than anything. there’s a hot pink bendy straw sticking through the valve at the top. you pick the bag up by the corner with the tips of two fingers and bring it to the kitchen, setting it in the sink to drain the rest of the way. when you make your way back into the living room, the bathroom door is still shut. you grimace and pick up your phone.
chan answers on the second ring.
“hello?”
“hey! how do you get blood out of the carpet?”
“uh?” you can hear his chair creak over the speaker. he’s sitting up probably. “hey! um-? hey, peroxide. peroxide, yeah, um. are you…? you good?”
“yeah! yeah, you know. your friend made a mess on our rug, it’s fine! okay. okay- peroxide. gotta go, love you, bye.”
chan is in the middle of immediately returning his own love you, bye when you click the little red button on your phone. you knew chan would know the right answer. chan always knows. he’s no supernatural being, no vampire or faerie or wizard, just a bit of a clean freak.
you saunter toward the storage closet for peroxide and a sponge. thank god chan was right. you’ll never tell him that though; blood red turns pink before your eyes, and the pink bubbles and fades to white. a quick scrub with the sponge wipes away a corner of the mess entirely.
your hair is sticking to the back of your neck by the time you’re done scrubbing changbin’s midday snack from the living room floor. you dab at your forehead with your wrist and sigh. poor, forlorn cinderella. he still hasn’t come out of the bathroom yet, and you frown. you walk to the kitchen first, washing your hands with hot water and soaking the sponge as well, making sure to chuck the emptied blood bag in the trash when you’re done. you stop by the storage closet to put the peroxide back on your way to the bathroom.
“changbin?” you call. he says nothing. he always has something to say, so his silence makes you frown harder. “binnie, can i come in?”
you put your ear to the door then. you can’t hear much, maybe the hiss of running water like the toilet’s been flushed and a quiet sniffle. and not a sneezy kind of sniffle either.
your spine stiffens. “bin, what is it?”
the lock clicks then, there’s an uneven shuffle of shocked feet. you take a hurried step back from the door just as changbin opens it wide. his face crumples pitifully when he sees you; his shoulders slump inwards. you gasp at just how miserable he looks. he’s… dead. this you already know, have known. but he looks particularly more miserable than usual.
changbin’s eyes are watery and red. his nose is pink and nearly raw at the round tip. his tan skin takes on the barest hint of gray on even his best days, but standing before you now, changbin looks tinted green.
“oh, honey,” you coo. you reach for him without a second thought. changbin falls into your arms with a soft noise, pressing his nose to your neck and sniveling wetly. he holds his own weight as best as he can, but you can feel how weak he is in your arms. he shivers—his teeth chatter.
in the doorway of the bathroom like this, you can’t see his reflection in the mirror before you. just a black shirt shirt, just a pair of black sweatpants. the sink is wet and tinted pink from the blood he likely rinsed from his mouth.
when changbin reluctantly pulls his face away from your neck, there’s drool seeping down his chin because his fangs have elongated in his mouth. all that does is make his face crumple again, tears continuing to fall harder.
“i don’t want it!” he cries. your frown deepens, your eyebrows furrow. you know he doesn’t want it. he didn’t choose this life; he’d never choose it for himself. changbin’s face is wet with spit and tears, so you lift your hand to wipe at his chin and your thumb comes away tingling from his numbing venom. “the bl- the bloo-”
he can’t even finish saying it. he slaps a hand over his mouth and steps away from you.
you throw your hands out like you’re trying not to spook a wild animal, and changbin doubles over above the toilet. changbin was sensitive in life and is just as sensitive in death, if not even more so. despite his broad body, that strapping stature you love so much, even his accidental acquisition of vampirism wasn’t strong enough to erase even the smallest of changbin’s prudish predispositions. it takes several moments for him to collect himself, but thankfully he doesn’t get sick again.
“is it- is it really that bad?”
all that does is set him off again.
“no!” he wails. he dabs at the corners of his dripping eyes. “no, it’s not that bad, i just-! with the stuff from the church, i can taste the ba-huuh-” he gags then, waving his hand in front of his face and coughing wetly.
“you cannot taste the bag, drama queen,” you argue. there’s a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.
“i can so! i can so taste the bag, and it tastes sterile!”
changbin seems to forget how sick he feels as he argues back, so you’ll take that as a win.
“okay, then don’t drink from the bag. why don’t you try something else, then? a rabbit? deer, maybe? it should taste better if it’s from something like, live, won’t it?”
changbin blanches for a moment. his eyes widen, he blinks rapidly, and you watch him burst into miserable tears again, but this time because of something you said. he sits down right in the middle of the bathroom floor, and you feel like the worst person in the world.
his eyes are wide, pupils dark and trembling as they look up at you. tears drip steadily down his face. “i- i can’t do that! i can’t- they’re so… small, and i’m big, and-”
you drop to your knees and hold his head to your chest. changbin wraps his arms around your shoulders. how awful, how shameful you are. you still feel relieved when he reaches for your touch to calm him even though you were the one who caused him such distress in the first place.
“i know. i know, baby. i- i know. i don’t know why i said that. i’m so sorry, bin. my sweet boy, my changbin would never hurt a fly, would he?” he shakes his head hard. your heart hurts so bad; it aches in your chest like it’s eating a hole through itself.
your heart- your beating heart, circulating such decadent blood so tirelessly throughout your body. he must hear it thumping in your chest where he leans against it, knocking into the cage of your ribs.
your heart beats for changbin, your body a home for him.
of course your blood would flow for him too.
you squeeze him closer and press your lips to his curly hair. his stuffy nose whistles as he breathes deep. he’s so weak that he trembles in your embrace, his arms nearly limp where they loop around your body, exhausted from so many things at once. his empty stomach, how much he’s cried. you lift his head up with a gentle touch to the scar on his chin—changbin’s fangs are still popped, your eyes can’t help but catch on the pointed tips of them, and his eyes follow your gaze.
“you’re so hungry, sweetheart,” you whisper. “i can help. i can help you, changbinnie, won’t you let me?”
changbin gasps. he startles, makes to move away like you’re the sunlight that could burn him alive, but you hold onto him tightly. you’d do anything in the world to help him, if he’ll only just allow you.
“i would never,” he hisses. “i would never hurt you. i would rather die. over, and over, and over again.”
you’ve never seen him more serious, and you’ve been together for years. changbin’s small mouth is set firmly, his brows furrowed. there are still tear tracks drying on his handsome face, but it’s almost like the severity of his words have stopped the tears where they roll. changbin’s eyes are locked on your face, but he reaches forward to cup the nape of your neck. his grip doesn’t waver.
you reach for him then, rubbing his arms and shoulders and clutching at whatever piece of him you can. “i know that! i know, i’m not asking you to hurt me. but seeing you like this makes me sad. if you don’t like to drink out of the bag, then don’t, if animals are out of the question, then that’s fine too, but you can’t just starve yourself, okay! you- you have to- changbin!” you crawl closer to him then. clutching his shoulders isn’t good enough anymore, you have to feel his face. “will it be better if it’s from me? can it please, please be from me?”
changbin looks torn, but his pupils are so wide that his irises are almost completely black.
“you would really do something like this for me?”
you flash your left hand at him then, wiggling your fourth finger at him, gold band glinting at him under the light.
“i knew what i signed up for, you know? i could have said no. i didn’t. i don’t want to. i want you changbin, and i want to help make you strong again.”
“you’ve always made me strong.”
he says it so earnestly that it nearly closes up your throat. your eyes burn with it, your lashes flutter, and your honest reaction is the first thing that brings a small smile to changbin’s sweet face since you walked into the bathroom.
“you’re going to make me cry!” you whine.
“you can’t cry! if you cry then i’ll start crying again!”
your cheeks are hot. you love changbin so much. you want him to stick his fangs into your neck and drink from you until he’s strong again, until he’s vibrant and happy and himself again. “come suck on my neck or whatever.”
“i- okay.”
“oh? okay.”
“okay,” changbin laughs.
you pull him up with your own giddy laugh, but it turns into a yelp when he wobbles in place. he’s still weak, though he won’t be for much longer. you grab a handful of towels before stumbling to the first floor bedroom with him in tow. changbin watches you lay the towels on the bed and raises his brows when you double them.
“what? just in case,” you clarify. you turn to him then and gesture a finger up and down. “okay, get naked.”
“wh-! really? i’m at my most vulnerable right now and you want me naked?”
changbin grabs the hem of his t-shirt anyway and lifts it over his head. he clicks his tongue but still kicks off his pants, dips his thumbs under the elastic band of his boxers and eases them down his toned thighs. he shakily climbs onto the bed and toward the pillows when you gesture to it.
it’s your turn once he’s done. keen eyes watch you then—his pupils blown and his throat dry. despite your own lack of hunger, your fingers shake when you reach for your shirt, they fumble over the button of your jeans. changbin’s chest heaves; you’re a dead man’s source of oxygen. your panties rest in the dip of your jeans where they’re bunched on the floor, you think you accidentally kick your bra underneath the bed. you’re too busy looking at changbin to be sure though.
“you’re so beautiful, beautiful,” he breathes.
you hum. he smiles, reaches out for you. “you trying to get in my pants?”
“yeah.” changbin nods. his grin is so sweet, and his hand is the perfect mix between soft and rough when you finally reach it. “i think i did a pretty good job considering you’re already naked~”
you climb into his lap. the kiss he gives you tastes like minty toothpaste and a hint of iron, but most of all it tastes like changbin. like sunlight. he’s beautiful and pliant underneath you, greedy to touch you and be touched. his body is cold, but his skin warms the longer you linger in place.
pressed to his strong chest like this, your nipples pebble at the chill of his skin. changbin purrs against your lips and nips gently at your bottom one, lapping softly with his slick tongue. your own catches the pointed tip of a readied fang; it tingles, a viscous pearl of numbing venom drips onto your curious tongue and causes you to whimper lightly.
you pull away from his addicting little lips with a wet smack and a huff, guiding his face to your warm neck. changbin stiffens, his hands tighten on your waist.
“don’t you want it?” you slur. a kiss to his plump cheek, his hairline. “you can, baby. love you, i love you.”
you hold the back of his head and card your fingers through his curly hair. changbin pushes and pulls against it, his head lolling like he can barely keep it up. he’s dazed at the proximity to your neck alone, twin fangs protruding from his mouth. drool leaks from the corners of his lips again, and this time, different from when the two of you were in the bathroom, the small rings of his irises are a deep, blood red.
he’s still fighting it though. that hasn’t changed.
changbin’s pupils are wide, and his eyes water once more when he looks up at you.
“i’m so scared,” he whimpers. “what if- what if i can’t hold back? what if i can’t stop, and i lose control, and i-”
you cover his mouth with your hand to stop him. changbin knocks his forehead against yours and breathes shakily. you kiss the hand covering his mouth, and then kiss his mouth when you finally pull your hand away.
“changbin.” firm, but kind. that’s what he needs. you grab his cheeks and squeeze them, making sure that he’s looking you in the eyes when you speak again. “changbin. changbinnie, you will not hurt me, do you hear me? i know that. i am not afraid of you. honey, the fact that you’re so worried about this in the first place tells me that you’re so much more in control than you think you are, okay? you love me too much to hurt me. i know that.”
“i love you sho mush,” he warbles, muffled and slurred because you’ve still got his cheeks and your firm grip.
you let him go and tilt your head then, baring your neck to him. changbin lurches forward—you can feel him trembling, his stomach shaking and his hands clenching wherever they can reach. instead of a bite like you’re expecting though, you feel lips at your pulse point, your jaw, your shoulder, and arm, and breast. his lips are soft and wet, pillowy as they always are; there’s never a moment where you don’t love changbin’s lips on your skin, but they aren’t what you were anticipating. the wet suction to your neck makes you groan regardless; your hips begin to undulate in his lap without a second thought, your fingers curling over his shoulders.
“are you just going to kiss it?” you breathe.
changbin hums, barely pausing his kisses to give you an answer. “i’d rather. you always like it when i do that, don’t you?”
“you’re gonna make me horny! just- just get on with it, will you? you’re- stop! you’re still hungry!”
“oh no, it would be so terrible if i made you horny…” changbin drags his lips across your jaw and over to your ear. he eases the lobe into his mouth and sucks, and you arch your back. it presses your breasts into his chest again like this, digs your bare cunt into his soft cock. it makes you whine. under any other circumstance he’d already be hard and ready to slip inside where he belongs. but he’s hungry, he’s weak. changbin doesn’t have enough in him for that right now.
you grind against him anyway and he grunts. he wants it too.
“i want this in me,” you huff. “bite me!”
changbin’s throat makes a funny noise. he laps at your pulse point, kisses it with sloppy lips and palms at your ass.
“it’ll hurt!” he whines and pulls away to look at you. he shakes his head. he doesn’t want to hurt you. changbin doesn’t ever want to hurt you.
“my tongue is still numb from kissing you earlier, you know. your venom will help, right? you won’t hurt me, changbinnie. i trust you. i trust you, baby, trust me too, okay?”
changbin nods shakily. he nods again and lets you guide him back toward your neck. it’s already tingling with numbness from his spit. his arms wrap loosely around your back, and he kisses your pulse point one more time before his lips drop open. his eyes water again.
“are you sure?” changbin begs.
he can hear the fond smile in your voice when you confirm.
“i am. are you?”
“n-not really.”
but he does trust you, so his fangs pierce the tender skin of your neck anyway.
there’s no blood-curdling scream. you don’t writhe in his lap in agonizing pain, you don’t push him away or hit him, but you do lace your fingers through his hair and hold him close.
changbin knows heaven isn’t real because he’s dead and still walking the earth, so this must be the closest he’ll come to it. this is the closest thing he’ll ever come to ecstasy in its truest form, to a piece of heaven. this surely must be what contentment is, what bliss and solace and nirvana are all rolled into one, to drink from his love’s body in this way.
changbin’s eyes squeeze shut and he shivers when he gulps down his first meager mouthful of warm blood.
it’s different from the blood bags he gets from the church, because it doesn’t taste sterile and plasticky. it’s different from the one time he couldn’t hold back his bloodlust and let himself feed from a squirrel on the edge of his property, different because it’s not making his skin crawl or itch and he’s not wanting to stand under the moonlight and wait until dusk turns to dawn so the sun can set his skin ablaze in penance, because no matter how small, that life wasn’t his to take.
it’s different because it’s you. because you love him and you want him to drink from you. because for some reason, you still love him even though he is undoubtedly a monster, even though the making wasn’t of his own will.
your blood is rich and warm; changbin swallows it down with a strangled moan, but it catches oddly in his throat and he can’t hold down a gag.
you huff. “you did not just gag, seo changbin.” though your sudden prissiness is quickly thwarted by an overbearing amount of insecurity. you frown. “is it- is it bad?”
changbin pulls off like he’s been burned. his eyes are wide and wild. his irises are blood red, and there are squiggly purple veins sprouting from underneath his eyes as well. his lips are dripping red with your blood and he runs his tongue along the seam of them. he’s beautiful; he’s blushing pink along the apples of his cheeks.
he leans back into your neck again, latching himself to the skin. it’s almost like he’s drunk on it, all messy lips and tongue before he ever puts his fangs back on you. his mouth is so wet; your skin is soaked. you can’t tell if it’s wet because of his venomous spit or your blood or if it’s a mix of both. changbin’s fangs latch back into the pinprick holes in your neck and his words are slurred and muffled around them, but he tries to reassure you sweetly anyway. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry i like it.”
you coo then. you understand now, of course you understand what he means. you don’t taste bad at all. he doesn’t want to like it, but he does. your sweetheart just can’t help it.
“you don’t have to apologize for liking me, silly.”
changbin whimpers. your index finger twirls through the curls at the nape of his neck, and changbin opens his mouth wider to suck deeper. you moan at that—it feels good, almost like a hickey but just a bit deeper, more concentrated. your head is swimming and the tips of your fingers are tingling. your fucking clit is throbbing so hard it feels like a second heartbeat.
“i like you so much,” changbin rushes, chomped into the dewy skin of your tender neck. “ i love you. i love everything about you.”
you feel it then. the moment you feel something prod your sensitive clit, you grind down onto it like it’s second nature.
“fu-uck!” your head lolls. you grin. “mm, fuck. is that your wooden stake or are you just happy to see me?”
“steak?!” blood bubbles from changbin’s mouth with a gurgle as he pulls away from your neck. “i want a steak!”
he whines loudly and clutches your hips roughly, using his grip to grind you down on his now beautifully hard cock.
“fuck me really well and i’ll make you a rare one.” you nod, and changbin nods too. you press your weight onto one knee and lift onto the ball of one foot, reaching down to take hold of his dick and guide it to your clenching hole. “fuuuuck, you were so hungry. did any even go to your belly? huh? or did all of it go to this pretty cock, baby? it’s so hard.”
you at least think a little bit of your blood went to his belly. his cheeks too. he’s blushing such a pretty pink, and his skin is warm to the touch. but god, his cock is so hard and purpling up at the tip. it seems he’s gained some of his strength back too. he’s shaking for a different reason now. he’s more worked up than anything, thighs trembling underneath the weight of yours because he wants to fuck you, not because he can’t hold the two of you up.
“please,” he begs. changbin’s eyelids are drooping, but they’re locked on your blood smeared neck.
“please what, baby?” you tilt your head to show your neck off even more. a tease, a promise.
“sit on it. please, please sit on my cock, gorgeous, please.”
he asks so sweetly, so of course you sink down on him then, basking in the stretch of his thickness and the heady buzz of blood loss, what it feels to feed your lover in such an intimate and new way.
changbin cries something pitiful into the air just as you claw at his chest. blood raises to the skin where your nails raked their brands down his pecs. his hips twitch.
your head is still swimming. it lolls on your neck, back and forth almost like a pendulum. the loss of blood from your neck allows you to be filled up in this new way, a wonderful way, stuffed full in your cunt and held tightly to a warm, strong body. the first real roll of your hips brings a cry to your lips, and changbin echoes it with his own. your rocking immediately turns sloppy and slow, holding metaphorical shaky hands with changbin’s weakness from earlier so that he can be strong instead.
“you feel s’good,” you slur, and changbin throws his head back as pleasure overtakes him entirely. your blood is drying on his chin, a streak of wet spit shining through it from the corner of his mouth.
“‘m gonna cum so quick, i- fuck.”
you’re flipped over on the mattress before you realize it at all, cushioned on the pillow and dizzy after being spun around so quickly. the warm towels fold awkwardly underneath your back, but you hardly even notice when changbin thrusts into you so wildly, so desperately in his need to give and seek pleasure. he rocks the bed with his movement, shunts your body with him too, and you hold onto him with pliant limbs as he uses your body to feed himself with you in this way too.
“you g’nna use me to cum?” you smile. your tits are bouncing on your chest, nearly bouncing to your chin.
changbin sits up on his haunches then, braces on his palms to see your blissed out face and watch the way your body moves as he fucks it. your neck is smeared with your own blood and pricked with two small holes. he hates it. he loves it—he hates that he loves it. his cock strokes somewhere special inside and your eyes roll. changbin groans then, bites his bottom lip and pierces it accidentally with a fang. you lean up on your elbows and stick your tongue out to lap up that scarlet little pearl, a tease even when you’re shaking apart and trembling.
his cheeks puff. his eyes squeeze shut as your lips tint red with his blood that you gifted him, and changbin whimpers something sweet.
“i know that face, baby,” you whine breathlessly. “i know those noises. cum for me. cum, changbinnie. won’t you do it for me?”
he’s helpless to it. changbin nods into your chest, dropping from his braced palms to his elbows and rutting into you hard. he fucks into you so deeply that you can’t help but cum with him, your throbbing clit just as eager to be touched and rubbed that his pubic mound does the trick before your own fingers can.
changbin is a welcome weight atop of your chest, warm and bright and comforting. your fingers card through his hair. his cheeks are still pink. his thumb traces the shape of a heart onto the skin of your arm.
“you’re so warm,” you whisper, and changbin smiles.
AN: this is a stand alone series I'm going to do for all 8 of them, which has nothing to do with the fics I have posted so far. This is purely smut for the sake of smut.
*everything is fictional, just for some distracting fun*
Reposts are super appreciated 🤍
---------
People have no idea just how filthy Yunho likes it. The thing about him is, he loves to see how far he can take things and still get away with them.
That’s why, when you come into the room wearing nothing but a white lace bra and underwear, he doesn’t flinch.
When you crawl under his gaming desk and start untying his pants, he lets you.
And when you take him out of his boxers, he simply shifts into his chair to give you the best angle.
As always, he continues to play as though you weren’t there. And as always, you take it as a personal challenge to break him.
You’re determined this time.
You look up at him as you lick the underside of his burning cock, and you see his eyes shift to you for just a second, torn between continuing the game and watching you work your magic.
Your frustration turns into resolve as you vow to win tonight. One hand starts sliding up and down, pumping him torturingly slowly, the other sneaking under his shirt, grazing his abdomen with your nails. You feel his muscles tense as he bites his lip, but still, not a sound.
You cock an eyebrow, daring him. He doesn’t look at you, but you know he saw, as you see the corner of his mouth lift up. He knows what he’s asking for.
And who are you to deprive him of it?
Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and after a beat to brace yourself, you take him in, as deep as your mouth can go. When you take him out, a string of spit forms, connecting you to him, and you see his teeth digging into his bottom lip. Satisfied, you do it again. And again. And again. You make sure to sound as sloppy as possible, saliva pooling around him. You don’t care. You can feel how taut his muscles are from the restraint, and you know you can break him.
You use your nail to slowly dig a line down his torso, hard enough to leave a mark, as you keep bobbing your head up and down. His breathing is faster and more uneven the lower you get, and when you finally reach the base of his cock, you take him deeper than before - so far back your body protests and your eyes water, but you don’t move. You take it. You take it, because you’ve just heard the unmistakable sound of victory - a moan.
When you come up for air and look at him, his gaze has abandoned the screen, locked onto you, half glazed over in awe.
“You’re doing quick work of me tonight Beautiful.” He turns off his mic and camera, pulls his chair back and lifts you up on his lap, headset still on. He smiles when he feels your wetness soak through his joggers. “Does my dick really turn you on that much?”
You bite your lip and nod, rolling your hips on his thigh.
“Is this still on?” You ask, pointing at the mic.
“No, why?”
Instead of replying, you slowly lift it off his head, put it on yours, and click on the unmute button, not breaking eye contact once.
The tips of his ears turn red but his face doesn’t show embarrassment. All you see is pure, unfiltered lust.
You lean back against his desk, propping your elbows down, and smirk. “Now you go.”
You want him to try and break you like you broke him. You love the challenge of doing it whilst his friends are listening, already suspicious of what’s going on.
And in that moment, Yunho couldn’t care less. All he can see is your drenched pussy inches from his dripping cock, nipples peaking through your lace bra, throat exposed, perfect for his hand to fit around. You look like an Angel with the glow of his screen behind you, and right now, he doesn’t think you’re real.
“You shouldn’t have given me this opportunity Beautiful.” He whispers. “You’re not gonna last two fucking seconds.”
He wastes no time in showing you exactly why. Before you can process anything, he’s wrapped your legs on his shoulders and lifted your hips right onto his cock.
The shock pulls a scream out of you and you cover your mouth with your hand to muffle the sound.
“Yunho?”
“What the fuck man?”
“What are you doing?”
You hear the other men through the headset and your eyes roll to the back of your head at the effort it’s taking you to stay silent, whilst Yunho’s thick length ravages you.
With your legs around his head, he can hit the deepest part of you without breaking a sweat. Your back arches every time he thrusts, feeling like his tip is in the back of your throat.
You search for something, anything to claw your nails into, and the only thing you can find is his arm as his hand is working your tits. The sensation of your nails digging into his skin makes his head jerk back, and only makes him more determined.
He knows you don’t have that much restraint left in you, and he knows exactly what will break you as he uses one thumb to rub your clit, his other hand sliding up to your throat.
You love his hands, and he knows that. That’s why he doesn’t just hold you, he pushes his finger into your mouth and forces you to suck on it.
There’s no way the others can’t hear that through the mic, nor can they ignore the sloppy sounds of your ass on his thighs.
So you give in.
Your moans come out before you know it, overwhelmed by all the sensations. You can hear a faint “Oh my god” and “Fuck this is hot” through the headset, but all your mind is registering is the string of curses leaving Yunho’s mouth, as he takes in the display in front of him.
“Cum for me.” He begs. “Show them how good my cock feels in your tight little pussy.”
You’re so close, you know it won’t take much. You wrap your hand around his to make him tighten his grip on your throat, cutting off the oxygen little by little, and only when you start seeing stars do you scream - your body exploding and convulsing.
“Good girl.” You can vaguely hear him say through gritted teeth. “That’s my good fucking girl.” His movements are erratic and sloppy now, his breathing ragged as he chases his own orgasm through your twitching cunt, and at last, he bursts, unloading everything.
He doesn’t waste one second, still jerking into you as he grabs the headset off your head and mumbles a breathless “Gotta go” before tossing it in a corner.
All you can do is laugh.
“Round two?”
---------
Like what you read and want your own story? Check out my pinned post for a link to my commissions form!
AN: this is a stand alone series I'm going to do for all 8 of them, which has nothing to do with the fics I have posted so far. This is purely smut for the sake of smut.
*everything is fictional, just for some distracting fun*
Reposts are super appreciated 🤍
---------
People have no idea just how filthy Yunho likes it. The thing about him is, he loves to see how far he can take things and still get away with them.
That’s why, when you come into the room wearing nothing but a white lace bra and underwear, he doesn’t flinch.
When you crawl under his gaming desk and start untying his pants, he lets you.
And when you take him out of his boxers, he simply shifts into his chair to give you the best angle.
As always, he continues to play as though you weren’t there. And as always, you take it as a personal challenge to break him.
You’re determined this time.
You look up at him as you lick the underside of his burning cock, and you see his eyes shift to you for just a second, torn between continuing the game and watching you work your magic.
Your frustration turns into resolve as you vow to win tonight. One hand starts sliding up and down, pumping him torturingly slowly, the other sneaking under his shirt, grazing his abdomen with your nails. You feel his muscles tense as he bites his lip, but still, not a sound.
You cock an eyebrow, daring him. He doesn’t look at you, but you know he saw, as you see the corner of his mouth lift up. He knows what he’s asking for.
And who are you to deprive him of it?
Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and after a beat to brace yourself, you take him in, as deep as your mouth can go. When you take him out, a string of spit forms, connecting you to him, and you see his teeth digging into his bottom lip. Satisfied, you do it again. And again. And again. You make sure to sound as sloppy as possible, saliva pooling around him. You don’t care. You can feel how taut his muscles are from the restraint, and you know you can break him.
You use your nail to slowly dig a line down his torso, hard enough to leave a mark, as you keep bobbing your head up and down. His breathing is faster and more uneven the lower you get, and when you finally reach the base of his cock, you take him deeper than before - so far back your body protests and your eyes water, but you don’t move. You take it. You take it, because you’ve just heard the unmistakable sound of victory - a moan.
When you come up for air and look at him, his gaze has abandoned the screen, locked onto you, half glazed over in awe.
“You’re doing quick work of me tonight Beautiful.” He turns off his mic and camera, pulls his chair back and lifts you up on his lap, headset still on. He smiles when he feels your wetness soak through his joggers. “Does my dick really turn you on that much?”
You bite your lip and nod, rolling your hips on his thigh.
“Is this still on?” You ask, pointing at the mic.
“No, why?”
Instead of replying, you slowly lift it off his head, put it on yours, and click on the unmute button, not breaking eye contact once.
The tips of his ears turn red but his face doesn’t show embarrassment. All you see is pure, unfiltered lust.
You lean back against his desk, propping your elbows down, and smirk. “Now you go.”
You want him to try and break you like you broke him. You love the challenge of doing it whilst his friends are listening, already suspicious of what’s going on.
And in that moment, Yunho couldn’t care less. All he can see is your drenched pussy inches from his dripping cock, nipples peaking through your lace bra, throat exposed, perfect for his hand to fit around. You look like an Angel with the glow of his screen behind you, and right now, he doesn’t think you’re real.
“You shouldn’t have given me this opportunity Beautiful.” He whispers. “You’re not gonna last two fucking seconds.”
He wastes no time in showing you exactly why. Before you can process anything, he’s wrapped your legs on his shoulders and lifted your hips right onto his cock.
The shock pulls a scream out of you and you cover your mouth with your hand to muffle the sound.
“Yunho?”
“What the fuck man?”
“What are you doing?”
You hear the other men through the headset and your eyes roll to the back of your head at the effort it’s taking you to stay silent, whilst Yunho’s thick length ravages you.
With your legs around his head, he can hit the deepest part of you without breaking a sweat. Your back arches every time he thrusts, feeling like his tip is in the back of your throat.
You search for something, anything to claw your nails into, and the only thing you can find is his arm as his hand is working your tits. The sensation of your nails digging into his skin makes his head jerk back, and only makes him more determined.
He knows you don’t have that much restraint left in you, and he knows exactly what will break you as he uses one thumb to rub your clit, his other hand sliding up to your throat.
You love his hands, and he knows that. That’s why he doesn’t just hold you, he pushes his finger into your mouth and forces you to suck on it.
There’s no way the others can’t hear that through the mic, nor can they ignore the sloppy sounds of your ass on his thighs.
So you give in.
Your moans come out before you know it, overwhelmed by all the sensations. You can hear a faint “Oh my god” and “Fuck this is hot” through the headset, but all your mind is registering is the string of curses leaving Yunho’s mouth, as he takes in the display in front of him.
“Cum for me.” He begs. “Show them how good my cock feels in your tight little pussy.”
You’re so close, you know it won’t take much. You wrap your hand around his to make him tighten his grip on your throat, cutting off the oxygen little by little, and only when you start seeing stars do you scream - your body exploding and convulsing.
“Good girl.” You can vaguely hear him say through gritted teeth. “That’s my good fucking girl.” His movements are erratic and sloppy now, his breathing ragged as he chases his own orgasm through your twitching cunt, and at last, he bursts, unloading everything.
He doesn’t waste one second, still jerking into you as he grabs the headset off your head and mumbles a breathless “Gotta go” before tossing it in a corner.
All you can do is laugh.
“Round two?”
---------
Like what you read and want your own story? Check out my pinned post for a link to my commissions form!
ღ warnings: dom! wonwoo, rough sex, raw sex, creampie, spanking, pet names ( baby, good girl and “my girl”), light choking (wonwoo is just holding your throat), light voyeurism (wonu leaves his mic on), there’s probably a few more that i’m missing.
ღ summary: Mingyu teases reader for never bothering her gamer boyfriend during his ranked matches. It piques her interest enough to find out what happens when one interrupts Wonwoo.
basically porn with loose plot
ღ networks: @k-vanity
Your phone buzzed against your thigh just as you stepped out of the shower.
Mingyu: tell me that's not wonwoo yelling again
Mingyu: who pissed him off in that lobby???
You rolled your eyes and typed back.
You: he's fine. just competitive lol
Another buzz.
Mingyu: Imao he hates being touched when he's gaming remember when soonyoung poked his shoulder and he almost flung him off the chair
You snorted.
You did remember.
Mingyu: actually wait
Mingyu: has he ever gotten mad at you for bothering him?
You paused.
You:...i've never really tried
Mingyu: wait WHAT
Mingyu: you live with a gamer boyfriend and you never tested the rage?? coward behavior
You rolled your eyes again, but your stomach fluttered.
You'd never poked him, never leaned over him mid-match, never pushed that button.
You could picture him now: glasses low on his nose, brows furrowed, lips pressed together in concentration, quiet little curses under his breath.
And suddenly your brain whispered:
What would happen if I did bother him?
Your thumbs flew.
You: hold on
Mingyu: oh shit
OH SHIT
do it
record it
no don't record it
actually
record it
You tossed your phone onto the bed.
Time to find out.
You padded down the hallway, still warm from the shower, wearing one of his old shirts that barely covered anything. His door was cracked open.
Inside, the soft blue glow of his monitor washed over him, his headset around his neck, one knee bouncing in agitation.
He muttered at the screen.
"Push left, you idiots-left—no, left, what are you..." He was already annoyed.
Perfect.
You leaned against the door frame. "Rough night?"
He jumped slightly, turning his head. He relaxed when he saw it was you, but the tension didn't fully leave his shoulders.
"Kind of," he murmured. "They're not listening. Again."
You walked in slow, every step deliberate.
He didn't notice at first, too focused on the flashing screen.
Then your arms slid around his shoulders from behind.
He stiffened instantly.
"H-Hey—" he stammered. "Aren't you supposed to be-uh-relaxing or something?" He swallowed, reminding you of your words from when you came home.
"I am," you purred, letting your fingers trace the line of his collarbone. "You're warm."
He inhaled sharply.
The kind of inhale that was not innocent.
"Baby." His voice dipped lower, steadier, but tight.
"Not right now."
You smiled. "Why not?"
"Because-" his character took a hit, and he winced— "I can't focus when you do that."
You slipped your fingers under the hem of his shirt.
He froze completely.
Then, a quiet, warning-laced breath followed as he breathed. “...Don't."
You tilted your head. "Don't what?"
His jaw flexed.
And then he said it — the warning, voice low, shaky, but unmistakably dangerous.
"Don't start something you can't finish."
Your stomach flipped.
"Who says I can't finish it?" you whispered, letting your lips brush his ear.
His grip tightened on the mouse.
Then, softer like he wished he didn't mean it.
"I'm serious. If you keep touching me right now..." He swallowed hard. "I won't be gentle."
There it was.
Exactly what you wanted.
You slid one hand down his chest. "Maybe that's the point."
His breath punched out of him. "Fuck," he whispered.
When you skimmed your thumb over his nipple through the fabric, his entire body jerked like you'd shocked him.
"Baby," he said again, but this time it wasn't a warning. It was a plea. Soft spoken as he fought back a bigger reaction. "You can't. I'm in the middle of a match."
You brushed your lips against his neck.
"So? Kill them faster."
He choked on a laugh - stunned, turned-on, and helpless all at once. "Why are you-" His voice cracked. "Why are you teasing me like this?"
"Because you get cute when you're focused."
He turned to stare at you fully, eyes dark behind the glasses. "Cute?" he echoed. "Sweetheart, that's not what you're doing." His voice was still soft.
You smirked. "No?"
He licked his lips, breath unsteady. "No," he said, voice dropping into something deeper, hungrier, a glimpse of the man who'd take over if you pushed him just a little more.
"You're asking for it."
And then — perfectly timed - Mingyu texted again. Your phone lit up behind you with a banner notification:
Mingyu: WELL??? did he snap yet???
Wonwoo's eyes flicked to your phone. Then slowly, back to you. "Are you..." He blinked. "…instigating me?"
Your smile gave you away.
He exhaled, something dark sliding over his expression. A slow, inevitable shift into the version of him that rarely surfaced. "Okay," he murmured, pushing his chair back just an inch.
"But if you're going to bother me while I'm gaming
His voice deepened. "—you'd better be ready for what happens next."
That was the moment he stood.
He stood from the chair slowly, the way a predator stands. Not rushed. Not startled. Just... inevitable.
Before you could say a word, his hands gripped your waist and pulled you into his lap, dropping into his chair with you straddling him.
A shocked gasp slipped from your mouth.
His voice brushed your ear calm, controlled and lethal.
"Be quiet," he murmured. "My mic is still on."
Your heartbeat punched upward. Your thighs squeezed around him instinctively. He clicked something on the keyboard with one hand, the other firm on your hip.
His teammates' voices crackled faintly through his headset. "Wonwoo? You back?"
He didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
He slid one hand under your shirt, over your ribs, fingers spreading across your bare skin.
His breath hit your neck, hot and warning.
"You ignored me," he whispered, low enough that only you could hear. "I told you not to start something you couldn't finish."
You swallowed hard. "I-I can finish—"
He cut you off with a quiet, dangerous laugh.
"You think you can." His fingers sank into your hips, dragging you down against the thick, hard bulge in his sweats. "But you don't even know what you asked for."
The involuntary moan that spilled out of you was not quiet. And his mic picked it up.
A startled voice crackled through the headset. "Uh... bro? You good?"
Wonwoo smiled against your neck. "Looks like you made my team curious," he murmured.
His lips brushed your ear. "Keep making those noises and they'll hear everything."
Your whole body tightened around him.
He lifted you just enough to shove his sweats down, freeing his cock. It was thick, hot, heavy against your inner thigh.
He didn't fumble as he calmly opened his drawer and slid the condom on.
Didn't hesitate as he guided you over him, finger curling around your panties as he pulled them to the side. His head sliding against your entrance.
Your breath broke. "Wonwoo-please-"
His grip tightened. "No," he said softly, command wrapped in velvet. "You don't get to beg now." Then he pulled you down onto him.
You choked out a cry, loud, startled, needy.
His whole body shuddered under you, a deep groan muffled against your throat as he buried himself to the hilt.
The headset mic caught your gasp.
A teammate stammered, "Uh-W-Wonwoo? Dude-"
He rotated the mic away from his mouth, voice dropping to that low rumble made just for you.
"You hear that?" he whispered, thrusting up into you once, hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs.
"That's you."
Another sharp thrust.
"You're the one they're hearing."
Your hands clawed at his shoulders. "W-Wonwoo-god-please-"
He rocked his hips up again, slow and devastating. "You wanted to bother me," he murmured against your jaw. "You wanted to see what happened." His fingers dug into your ass, bouncing you on him. “This is what happens."
Your moans came raw, unrestrained. High, breathy, soaked with shock and pleasure.
His pace quickened, every upward thrust punching a sound out of you that the mic absolutely caught.
A teammate swore on the other end.
"Dude-put yourself on mute-what the fuck—"
Wonwoo smirked. He didn't mute anything.
"You hear that?" he whispered against your lips, voice thick with dominance.
"They know."
His thrusts got harder, faster, the chair creaking.
"They know exactly what I'm doing to you."
Your voice broke. "D-Don't stop— please don't—“
"Louder," he growled, thrusting up so sharply your breath stuttered. "Let them hear how good I fuck you."
"Wonwoo-fuck-"
He gripped the underside of your thighs and started fucking up into you mercilessly, using you on him, dragging you down to meet every thrust.
Your moans spilled out without control. "I can't—I can't-oh god—Wonwoo-"
He hissed a breath, jaw clenched, muscles tight under your hands.
"That's it," he whispered, pace unrelenting. "That's the voice I warned you about." His fingers slid up your spine, possessive. "Too late to back out now."
You shook your head, desperate, riding every movement he forced your body through. "Please-please-more-"
You couldn't hold back the cries as the tight feeling in your stomach was creeping up.
His eyes locked onto yours, pupils blown wide.
"Put your hands behind me," he ordered.
You obeyed immediately, fingers linking behind his neck.
He tightened his grip on your hips and drove up into you harder, lifting you off the chair with the force of every thrust.
You screamed his name. A ragged, helpless sound.
The mic caught it.
His teammates fell silent.
Wonwoo's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
"Good girl," he murmured, fucking you harder.
"Let them hear who you belong to."
Your climax hit like a shockwave. Sudden, sharp, blinding.
Wonwoo groaned into your throat, his thrusts rougher, deeper, desperate as he chased his own release.
Your voice broke. "Wonwoo-please-cum-please-" Your walls fluttered around his cock.
He snapped.
With a raw, guttural moan, he slammed up into you and held you down hard, filling you in long, shuddering pulses, your bodies shaking together.
You collapsed against him, panting.
His teammates were still silent.
Wonwoo finally clicked his mute button.
Then, breathless, he whispered against your ear. “Now you're going to sit on my cock until they win the round."
You were still shaking on his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, when the victory sound pinged through his headset.
His teammates cheered.
Wonwoo didn't.
He clicked "ready" for the next match with one hand and grabbed your face with the other. His fingers pressed into your cheeks, making you look at him.
"You thought we were done?" His voice was low. Dark. A full, dangerous switch flipped.
"You think one little orgasm means you're off the hook for teasing me?"
Your breath hitched. "Wonwoo-I"
He didn't let you finish. He lifted you off his lap in one smooth, strong motion, your legs wobbling.
"Hands on the desk."
Your thighs trembled as you obeyed, palms bracing against the surface still warm from his earlier play session. His desk was wide and cold under your stomach as he pushed you down until your back arched perfectly for him. You heard the sound of the previous condom being dropped in the bin.
He stood behind you, silent at first but the kind of silence that pulsed with danger.
"Spread."
Your breath stuttered. "Wonwoo-"
"Now."
You parted your legs, weak, trembling.
He grabbed your hips and yanked you back, dragging your body until your ass was flush with his hips.
Your heart slammed against your ribs.
He wasn't reaching for the drawer.
He wasn't reaching for a condom.
He pushed the head of his still-hard cock between your folds, sliding through the slickness he left inside you in the first round.
"Please," you whispered, dizzy. "Wonwoo-take me—“
His hand cracked across your ass. Not painful, but sharp enough to make you gasp.
"You don't tell me what to do," he murmured.
"You had your chance to be good." His fingers dug into your hips. "Now you take what I give you."
Then he pushed in.
Bare. Deep. Immediate.
You choked on a cry, grabbing the desk edge so hard your fingers hurt.
His groan came low, punched out of him. "Fuck-"
A pause.
His breath shaking. "You're so warm without anything on me. Why the hell didn't we do this earlier?"
He bottomed out, hips flush against your ass.
You whimpered-loud, needy, sudden. Wonwoo leaned over you, chest pressing to your back, voice hot against your ear.
"Shh," he murmured. "You're going to scream for me later. Not yet."
He pulled out just an inch.
Then slammed back in, hard enough to rock the desk. Your moan broke into a sound you didn't even recognize.
Wonwoo's fingers stroked down your spine, slow and possessive, contrasting the brutal pace he started hammering into you with.
"You hear that?" he murmured. "That's the sound of you taking me raw."
Your knees buckled. He caught you before you fell, dragging your hips up.
"I didn't say you could drop," he warned. "You stay right here until I'm done."
He thrust into you again, deeper, harder-sharp, punishing strokes that made your vision go white at the edges.
You sobbed out a moan. "Wonwoo-god-please-please don't stop-"
"You don't even know what you're asking for," he growled, hips snapping forward. "You're already shaking."
You were.
Your whole body trembled uncontrollably.
And he loved it.
His hand slid to your throat not squeezing, just holding, keeping you bent and vulnerable while his hips pounded into you.
"Next time you think about teasing me while I'm gaming..." He thrust harder, a grunt escaping his lips. ”...you remember this.”
You whimpered, desperate and raw. "Say it,” he demanded. "Say you'll remember."
"I—l'll remember—fuck—Wonwoo—"
His thumb brushed your jaw, a rare touch of softness cutting through the ferocity of his thrusts.
"Good," he breathed. "That's my girl."
He pulled your hips up, angled you differently-and drove into you so deep you cried out.
Your orgasm slammed into you without warning. Violent, overwhelming, ripping your breath away.
You screamed his name.
Wonwoo cursed, voice breaking.
"Fuck—fuck-right there-don't-don't move—"
He held you pinned against him, thrusting wildly, the rhythm becoming sloppy, frantic, desperate.
And then he groaned.
Low. Deep.
A sound from the bottom of his chest.
He came inside you hard, pulsing deep, emptying himself in long, trembling spurts that made his whole body shake behind you.
The moment he finished your legs gave out.
He caught you, arms suddenly gentle, lowering you carefully against the desk so you wouldn't fall.
And just as fast as he snapped into dominance he snapped out.
He blinked, breath hitching as he looked at your shaking legs, the mess dripping down your thighs, your flushed face.
"Oh-oh my god-" His hands fluttered awkwardly at your waist."Did I—did I hurt you? Are you okay? Did I go too far?" His voice was small. Soft.
Back to shy gamer mode in one breath.
He pushed his glasses up his nose with a shaking hand. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- I mean, I meant to, but not-like-too much-"
You laughed weakly, pulling him down to kiss him. "You were perfect."
Wonwoo froze.
Blushed.
And then whispered, voice cracking “...okay. Good. Um. Can I-uh-get you water? And maybe a blanket? And also should I clean—like-right now or—?"
Wonwoo kissed your shoulder once-hesitant, apologetic-and whispered "I'Il.. uh... I'll get you some water. Please don't move. Or-actually-you can move if you want. Just... don't fall. Okay?"
His ears were bright red as he stumbled into the hallway, sweatpants barely clinging to his hips.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Your legs still trembled, your breath uneven as you sank slowly onto his gaming chair. The seat was still warm from when he'd pulled you onto his lap earlier.
Your phone buzzed on the bed where you had dropped it earlier. You reached for it—wincing a little at the soreness between your thighs-and grabbed it.
Mingyu: helloooo??
you dead or what?
Another buzz.
Mingyu: did wonwoo yell at you?? did he actually kick you out mid-game??
Another.
Mingyu: if he broke up with you for distracting him I swear I'll fight him. I mean I won't win. he's sneaky strong. but still.
You snorted so hard it hurt your core.
Your fingers shook as you typed back.
You: alive lol
Mingyu replied instantly.
Mingyu: LIAR. you only text that slow when you're busy. what were you even doing??
You bit your lip.
The ache in your hips, the warm drip down your thigh, the faint sting of his handprint on your ass-Yeah. Busy was one word for it.
You typed carefully.
You: wonwoo didn't yell at me
Three dots.
You: he... reacted
Typing bubbles popped up right away.
Mingyu: what does THAT mean?? reacted HOW?? hello???
Mingyu: bro. did he uninstall the game or something??? what possessed him??
You typed slowly, teasing.
You: me.
Mingyu: HOLY—
You barely had time to see Mingyu's reaction before the door opened again.
Wonwoo stepped in, hair damp from washing his face, glasses slightly fogged from the steam. He carried a bottle of water in one hand and a towel in the other.
His voice was soft. Sweet. Worlds away from the voice that had just wrecked you against his desk.
"'I .. uh... brought water," he murmured, approaching cautiously as if he was unsure if you'd bite him or kiss him. "And the towel is warm. I thought that might... feel nice."
Your heart flipped.
He knelt in front of you and held out the water.
Then his brows pulled together in concern.
"Are you texting? Did someone-are you okay?"
You smirked. "Just Mingyu."
Wonwoo's expression shifted from concern... to horror. "Did—did he hear anything?"
You stifled a grin. "No, he just wanted to know if you yelled at me."
Wonwoo's face flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. "I—I would never— I mean—not like that— I mean- I did shout but not at you- but you liked- I mean-oh god," he whispered, putting his face in his hands.
You cupped his cheek gently. "Wonwoo," you said softly. "Relax."
He peeked at you through his fingers. “...did you tell him?"
You shrugged innocently. "Just that I can't walk right now."
His ears went crimson. His hand flew to the back of his neck, rubbing hard. His "I want to disappear" habit. "You-why would you-oh my god—Mingyu's never going to let this go. He's going to make fun of me forever-"
You leaned down and kissed him, slow and warm.
He froze... then melted into it.
When you pulled back, you whispered. "He should. Because you earned it."
You nodded. “And I wouldn’t mind if you earned those bragging rights again later.” You teased softly.
His breath stuttered. His grip on your thigh tightened. But instead of snapping into dominance again he went bright red and whispered. “Let me get your legs to stop shaking first."
🔮 preview. “Lay back,” he instructs next. “I’m going to take your panties off.” Your heart races in your chest as you realize what he’s about to do, and you fall onto your elbows on the hood of his car, breathing heavily as Wonwoo leans down and begins to press kisses up your bare legs. His fingers hook in your panties, and he drags them down, exposing your hot core to the cool evening air. You can’t help the gasp that leaves you, and as Wonwoo positions your thighs over his broad shoulders, you think you might actually faint from the tension.
tw/cw. protected sex, pussy eating, blow job, deep throating, swallowing, oral (f/m receiving), exhibitionism (sex at a lover's lookout on the hood of his car), multiple sex scenes, Wonwoo's broad shoulders #confirmed, teasing through panties, hair pulling, breast worship, mutual orgasm, night terrors, mentions of a bad past, cuddling, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel.
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 15.5k I collab. 70's collab
🍭 aus. 70's au, strangers to lovers, slow burn, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. I've been missing Wonwoo, and when his spot in the collab was open, I figured why not?
It’s an hour into the date and you already wish you’d stayed at home. A walk through the town followed by bowling had sounded like a great way to get to know the location you’ve just moved to- however, the guy showing you around is something of a wet towel.
He looks cute enough, but then again, your housemate had promised he would. His name is Carter, and he’s just over six feet tall, with blonde hair, a worn jean jacket, and a nice smile. You’ve tried to give him the benefit of doubt, you really have, but there are some guys you simply can’t force a spark with, and unfortunately, he’s one of them.
When you reach the bowling alley, Carter holds the door open for you, and you flash him a small smile, entering the space.
“Are you excited?” your roommate, Mary, asks. She links her arm with yours, stepping away from her own date to give the boys a moment to talk by the front door while she drags you further into the establishment.
“For bowling?” You look around. “Sure.”
“Carter’s nice, isn’t he?” she presses.
You sigh. “Sure.”
Movement catches your attention, and your gaze shifts to a man working behind the shoe counter. He’s in a dark green sweater, and his black hair shines in the light of the bowling alley. Now he is someone who interests you, and you find yourself tugging on Mary.
“Let's grab shoes,” you tell her.
“Welcome to the bowling alley,” the worker greets you with a smile, and you find that his face is even more handsome while lit up with a friendly expression. “Have you two been here before?”
“I have,” Mary answers for you. “But she’s new to town, so this is her first time.” Your housemate nudges your shoulder and you swallow thickly, nodding.
“It can’t be much different from the bowling alleys in my last city,” you offer.
“You’re right about that,” the pretty man nods. “What size shoe can I grab you?”
You and Mary give him your sizes and he leans down, retrieving the shoes from under the counter. When he passes them over to you, your fingers briefly touch, and your gaze darts up to meet his own.
There’s a very brief pause, a frozen moment that feels like forever, and then he’s tugging his fingers away.
“How much do we owe you?” Mary asks. “For a game?”
“You two are on a double date, aren’t you?” the man asks.
“How could you tell?” you laugh, feeling a little dejected that being out with Carter might dissuade this pretty man in front of you from seeing you as a girl who’s on the market, which you most definitely are.
“I can always tell these sorts of things,” the worker grins. “I’ll let your dates pay when they stop talking by the door and come for shoes.”
“You’re new in town too, right?” Mary asks suddenly, eying the man behind the counter up and down.
“How could you tell?”
“I feel like I’d remember you,” Mary insists. “Besides, most of the guys in this town would have let us pay. You strike me as a good one, someone not from here.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” the worker nods.
“What’s your name?” you ask suddenly, feeling the urge to know it, if even to know him better.
“Wonwoo,” he says, and suddenly coming out tonight feels like the best possible thing you could have done with your time.
You tell him your own name, and he smiles softly at you.
“Enjoy your date,” Wonwoo muses, nodding to the two men who have now come to grab their own shoes.
It sucks to be reminded that you are, in fact, on a date with Carter even while partially drooling over Wonwoo. With a small sigh, you follow Mary to one of the free alleys. There are new mechanized automatic scorer machines, and Mary types in the nickname ‘Baby’ for herself, before nudging you to write in your own.
“Choose something cute,” she tells you, watching over your shoulder.
You punch in the nickname ‘Angel’ and she nods, satisfied.
“Now for Carter, put in Big Guy, and my date should be named Handsome,” Mary insists.
“Are you sure they won’t want to choose their own nicknames?” you ask.
“Who cares what they want?” she shrugs. “I think they’ll like these names.”
With a sigh, you do as you’re told. Your dates approach, and you all slip on your shoes, slotting your discarded runners under the bench you’re sitting on while Mary stands up to bowl first.
It’s a nice establishment, and there’s a Beatles record playing that gives the space a nice ambiance. However, no matter how hard you try, your attention keeps slipping back to Wonwoo.
He’s seated in his little work table station, and you catch him staring back at you a few times when you try to casually look over your shoulder at him.
When Carter moves closer, resting his arm around you, your gaze is quick to dart to Wonwoo, who laughs, looking down at the makeshift paper airplane he’s playing with in his hands.
You get the sense that he’s amused by your interactions with Carter, who lays on the affection more and more as the date continues. In fact, Carter even stands up to show you how to bowl properly, and despite your attempts to squash his so-called ‘help’ he still ends up flattening against your back and guiding you on how to hold your arm when you toss the ball down the lane.
You’re starting to have enough of Carter, and the temptation to go talk to the person you’re really interested in gets the better of you. “Do you guys want drinks?” you ask, addressing your foursome.
“A coke!” Mary chips.
“Make that two,” says her date.
“How about four?” Carter asks, pulling out his wallet to hand you a bill. “Unless you want me to come with you to grab them?”
“No, it’s your turn to bowl. I’ll manage,” you assure him.
He gives you a look that tells you he doesn’t quite believe you, but you’re already running away with his money in your hand. Your eyes are fixed on Wonwoo, who straightens up as you approach.
“Did I hear something about four cokes?” he asks.
“You have good ears,” you muse, nodding. “And yeah, four cokes sounds good.”
“Coming right up,” he smiles, heading from the shoe area to the location they keep beverages. There’s another worker in that section, but he’s so busy playing crossword he doesn’t even look up when Wonwoo begins messing around and grabbing glasses.
“So…” you watch the gorgeous man work, enjoying the way he pushes up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms. “Looks like we’re both new in town.”
“Looks that way,” he agrees.
“How are you liking it?”
“You know, the Pacific Northwest is never somewhere I thought I’d end up,” he admits, looking at you while filling the cups with coke.
“Really?” You assess him up and down. “Are you not a big fan of trees, mist, and small mountain towns?”
“Not a fan of mosquitos,” Wonwoo grins.
“Okay, now that I can understand,” you laugh.
“How’d you end up here?”
“I’m not sure,” you say honestly. “I’d driven through this place a few times, and when I decided I needed to get away from my parents, it felt like a good intermediary location.”
“So you’re not planning on staying here forever?” Wonwoo cocks his head.
“Definitely not.”
“Does that big guy you’re on a date with realize this isn’t a forever thing?”
You let out a small laugh, turning to look at Carter, who is glaring daggers at Wonwoo. “My date’s not even a this week thing,” you admit.
“No?” At this point, you think Wonwoo is purposefully taking his time filling the cups, and you enjoy getting to chat with him. “Why’s that?”
“He’s not my type.”
“He’s tall, blonde, buys you things, holds doors open, offers to show you how to bowl…” Wonwoo counts up Carter’s virtues. “Sounds like the kind of guy any girl in this town would die for.”
“And you’re an expert on what women want?” You cock a brow at the worker.
“I guess not,” Wonwoo admits. “You tell me then, what’s your type?”
You think on it for a moment, then grin. “Cute guys, with dark hair, who wear soft looking sweaters, and work in bowling alleys.”
There’s a beat of silence, and Wonwoo simply stares at you. Then he swallows thickly, and you watch his adam’s apple bob with effort. “Can I take you out sometime?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“I’ll just need to grab your landline number-” Wonwoo begins to explain, but you’re already reaching for a napkin.
“Pen?”
“One sec,” Wonwoo turns and plucks the pencil out of his coworker’s hand, and the man looks up from his crossword in shock. “I’ll give this right back,” Wonwoo promises before handing it to you.
You scribble down your landline number. “I live in a house with two other girls, so you’ll have to ask for me by name,” you explain, signing the napkin just in case he forgets.
“You got it,” Wonwoo grins, accepting your number when you’re finished with it.
“I work evenings,” you explain, “so call in the afternoon, okay?”
“Definitely.” He grabs two of the drinks. “Now let me help you carry these back to your friends.”
“You’re quite the gentleman, aren’t you?” you smile, picking up the other two cups and beginning to walk back to your bowling lane while Wonwoo follows.
“Sometimes,” he muses. “I try.”
It’s been less than twenty four hours since Wonwoo met you and he’s already feeling eager to call. His shift is going slow, and as noon rolls around, he finds himself inching closer to the telephone.
The napkin with your digits is practically burning a hole into his pocket and he pulls it out gingerly, careful not to damage it in any way.
“I’m gonna take a five minute break,” Wonwoo calls to his workmate, who simply nods while completing his crossword. Wonwoo doubts anyone will come in while he does this, but at the same time, he’s not looking to get fired from this shitty job anytime soon.
He begins to dial your number into the phone that hangs on the wall behind the till, and when he’s done, he presses the handset to his ear. His fingers begin to play with the wirey chord, and he looks down at his shoes while it rings.
“Hello?” a feminine voice answers, and Wonwoo is quick to realize it’s not you on the other end of the line.
“Uh, hi,” Wonwoo clears his throat. “I’m calling for y/n?”
“One second,” the girl on the line yells your name loudly and Wonwoo nearly drops the phone from the shrill noise of it all. “Oh, and who’s calling?”
“Tell her it’s the bowling alley guy,” Wonwoo says dumbly. He’s not sure if you’ll remember his name, and he wants to make things easy for you.
“Bowling alley guy?!” The woman sounds excited. “I met you last night! I knew y/n was flirting with you- I knew it!”
“Uh… yeah?” Wonwoo’s really not sure what to say to women most days, let alone during a conversation like this one.
“Poor Carter,” the woman sighs. “He’s going to be devastated.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Wonwoo lies. He thinks it feels like the right thing to say, so he says it.
“Mary, give me the phone.” Now that is your voice, and Wonwoo perks up, holding his breath while he hears a murmured exchange. “Wonwoo?”
“Hey,” he smiles. “Uh, yeah, it’s me.”
“You work fast, don’t you.” He can hear the grin in your own voice and it makes his widen.
“I’m not the kind of guy who plays games or anything,” Wonwoo tells you honestly. “I was really happy to get your number, so I thought I’d call.”
“I’m glad you did.”
There’s a pause while Wonwoo builds up his courage.
He’s done many things in his life, things that people would say were much harder than asking a girl out, and yet, he finds himself becoming tongue tied just talking to you. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and counting to three, like they’d taught him how to do in the military before doing anything that might be considered drastic.
“Are you still interested in going out sometime?” he asks.
“I’d love to.”
His heart skips a beat.
“What were you thinking of doing together?” you question.
He had definitely not thought that far ahead, but he can’t back down now. He scrambles for date ideas, and the first one in his head is, “How about I take you to a roller rink.”
“A roller rink, huh?” You let out a small laugh and he worries he’s suggested the wrong thing.
“We can do something else if you want,” he immediately back pedals.
“No, a roller rink is good,” you assure him. “But I can’t promise I’ll be any good at it.”
“Well… you can hold onto me if you’re afraid you’re going to fall.”
“You know what? I just might,” you giggle again and the sound makes his entire body buzz with happy energy.
He’d never thought when he moved to this stupid small town in the Pacific Northwest that he’d meet a girl like you, and he hardly even knows you yet.
Wonwoo truly can’t explain his attraction to you- it’s simply a feeling he has. Sure, you’re gorgeous, but there’s something deeper, something he can’t put his finger on. He wants to figure you out, and he can’t wait to discover what makes you tick.
“When are you free?” Wonwoo asks.
“Well, it’s Monday now, let me just check my schedule again,” you’re silent for a moment except the sound of a paper flipping. “I generally work Friday through Tuesday, so how about we say Wednesday or Thursday?”
“Wednesday works,” Wonwoo says, pulling out a pen to write it into his own schedule book he keeps in his back pocket.
“Are you that eager to see me?”
He can hear your smile again, and he can visualize it in his minds eye. God, you’re beautiful.
“Maybe,” he admits. “For a town that mostly gets rain, it’s nice to see a little sunshine every now and again.”
The line is quiet, and he worries again if he’s said the wrong thing. Then you let out a shaky laugh. “You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?”
“Not usually,” Wonwoo says seriously.
“No?” you tease. “So you don’t use your job as a place to hit on girls?”
“Never.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“What time should we meet? Or do you want me to pick you up?” Wonwoo is simply eager to get the details solidified in his notebook, to get things written in stone so to speak.
“I live close to the roller rink, so how about we meet there? Does seven sound okay?”
“Works for me,” he nods, eyes shifting to the front door of the bowling alley where a customer has just walked in. “Look, I gotta go-”
“Me too, have a good shift Wonwoo. I’ll see you Wednesday.”
He can’t fucking wait.
You’d chosen one of your cutest outfits. Mary had even whistled when you left your room in the denim pantsuit number, her eyes skimming down to the flared pant legs. “So this is what you wear when you really like a guy,” she’d mused.
You’d done a small twirl, showing off how great the pants make your bum look, and she’d warned you that if Wonwoo got handsy, he’d have her to deal with.
“He’ll be fine,” you’d assured her. “He’s a nice guy.”
“You don’t even know him,” she’s pointed out, and you suppose there’s truth to that. However, at the same time, you just feel like Wonwoo’s not someone who’s a threat, not to you anyways.
He seems like a nice guy, a genuinely nice guy, and excitement surges through you as you make your way to the roller rink.
Wonwoo meets you outside, and you note the way his eyes widen as he looks you up and down. He has the decency to make the motion quick, and you think it must be an automatic reaction, one he’s even ashamed of, because his cheeks flare a pretty pink colour.
He’s absolutely adorable.
Like Carter had, Wonwoo pulls out all the stops. He holds the door open to the rink for you, and pays the small fee to enter. The two of you trade your shoes over and he even bends down to help you tie up the laces on your roller blades, checking to make sure they’re not too tight.
“Have you don’t this before?” he asks as you rise on shaky legs.
“Once,” you admit, noting the steadiness he has in his form. “Have you?”
“Never, but I’ve got good balance,” Wonwoo smiles softly at you.
“I’ll say,” you laugh, shocked at how well he’s holding himself up while you’re wobbling already.
“Here,” he holds out his hand, and you take it, grateful at the extra stability you gain by having him next to you. The two of you make your way to the side of the roller rink and you watch couples going around in circles.
“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” you sigh, feeling overwhelmed by the speed and ease at which the other people are moving.
“You can do it,” Wonwoo assures you. “I won’t let you fall.”
“Promise?” You squeeze his hand.
“Promise.” He squeezes yours back, and then he takes a step onto the rink, looking back at you.
You take a deep breath before following him, grabbing at his arm with your free hand. The rink is much more slippery than the carpeted floors had been, and you marvel again at Wonwoo’s balance.
“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” you ask in shock.
“Positive,” Wonwoo grins.
“I don’t believe you,” you laugh, letting him pull you along as you get the hang of being on roller skates.
“You don’t have to believe me,” Wonwoo muses, turning so he can hold both your hands. He’s moving backward now, and you think he must be lying to you. “You just have to focus on your feet.”
“While you focus on what? You’re skating backwards!”
“I’m focusing on you,” Wonwoo says softly, flashing you a small smile.
“You and your charming words again,” you shake your head, enjoying the way he makes you feel.
“Only for you,” Wonwoo muses, guiding you around the roller rink. “Look, now that you’re not thinking about it so hard, you’re doing better.”
“I’m doing better because I’m holding both of your hands and you’re steadying me,” you counter.
“Take your small win,” Wonwoo advises you.
“No,” you say stubbornly.
He only laughs at your antics. “Do you think you can do it with one hand again?”
You consider letting go of his fingers, and part of you doesn’t want to, but you know he should probably be skating next to you again, watching where he’s going, so you concede. “Fine.”
“How often do people usually skate for?” Wonwoo asks suddenly.
“Are you bored already?” you laugh. “We just got here!”
“Not bored,” he smiles. “Just thinking that it would be nice to go grab milkshakes after this.”
“That would be nice,” you admit. “How about this, I’ll tell you when my legs start to hurt and we can go then? Or if I fall, I think we should call it quits.”
“Deal,” Wonwoo laughs. “Although, I hope you know, I’d never let you fall.”
He squeezes your hand gently, and your heart thumps loudly in your chest.
Wonwoo is such a charmer, but you don’t mind one bit.
You find yourself in a diner not an hour later, and your thighs are burning from the roller skating exercise you’d not been used to. “Are you more into chocolate, or vanilla?” Wonwoo asks suddenly, his gaze fixed on the menu in front of him.
“I like them both, what do you think we should get?”
He looks up. “You mean… we’re going to share one?”
“Were you thinking of ordering two?”
“I mean…” his skin flushes that pretty shade of pink and he lets out a small cough. “I uh…”
“We can order our own,” you tell him, wanting to smooth the miscommunication over.
“No, we should share one,” he insists, looking determined. “Whatever flavour you want.”
“Are you sure?” you cock a brow at him, and he gives you a curt nod, jaw set.
The waitress shows up and you order your favourite milkshake. Wonwoo fiddles with the menu that’s been left on the table and you take the opportunity to assess him.
He’s a bit of an enigma.
He’d seemed so confident when you’d first met him at the bowling alley, but now that you’re on a date with him, he has these shy moments. He’s endearing, and you can feel yourself falling for him, which is kind of scary to admit to yourself.
The milkshake is set between you, two straws sticking out of the whipped cream topping.
“Thank you,” Wonwoo says politely to the waitress, who simply nods and scurries away, giving you some privacy for your date.
You and Wonwoo move toward the straws at the same time, and your hands brush as you both reach for the cold glass.
“Oh,” Wonwoo immediately retracts his hand. “Sorry, you go first.”
“You’re cute,” you tell him. “Don’t you want to sip together?”
“Can we do that?”
“Of course, silly,” you laugh. “Come on, lean in.”
He eyes you as if you’re tricking him, but after a breath, he follows through. You both lean over the table, and you reach for your straw, bringing it to your lips while Wonwoo does the same.
He’s so close to you, and he’s even prettier at this short distance. His eyelashes are particularly enthralling, and his dark brown eyes look rich and warm in the diner’s light.
Wonwoo’s gaze dips down, and you watch him try to hide a smile while you both take your first sips of the milkshake.
Then, you’re pulling away again, and Wonwoo’s reaching a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I have to admit,” he sighs, “I don’t do this often.”
“What, date?” you cock your head to the side, assessing him.
“Uh… yeah,” he nods.
You’re a little shocked at how a guy as cute as he is can get through life without being asked on numerous dates a week. “Are you not looking for a relationship, or…?”
“It’s not that,” Wonwoo assures you, swallowing thickly. “It’s just, my last job made it sort of impossible.”
“Yeah? And what job was that?” you ask, taking another sip of your milkshake.
Wonwoo lets out another chuckle, but this one isn’t very humorous. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
“Wow, a mystery boy- it wouldn’t have to do with an underground cartel working out of a bowling alley would it?” you tease.
“Definitely not,” he smiles.
“Are you really not going to tell me?”
“Not tonight,” he shakes his head, and you realize there’s no use pressing him on this.
“But maybe another night?”
“Maybe,” he nods.
“Then let's talk about something other than work,” you suggest. “Have you gone fishing around here? I know this town has some really good rivers and lakes in the forest around here.”
“I’m not a fisherman,” he tells you.
“Do you not have the patience for it?”
“Not the patience so much as the willingness to hurt the fish.”
“I’ve heard it doesn't hurt them.”
“Sure you have,” Wonwoo smiles to himself. “Also, I don’t eat fish, so it would be a waste.”
You like getting to know him. He’s a peculiar man, and every detail you find out only makes you more interested.
After your milkshake, Wonwoo had insisted on walking you home. “You never know what creeps are out at night,” he’d told you, wrapping his jacket around your shoulders to protect you from the September air.
You’d talked about books, schooling, hobbies and such, and Wonwoo had been the one asking you the majority of the questions as you’d slowly made your way home. He’s even more secretive than you’d initially realized, and you wonder what details you’re even going to give your friends when you debrief them on the date later.
“So this is mine,” you say when you come to a stop in front of your rental house.
“Can I walk you to your door?”
You look up at your home then back at the pretty man. “I don’t see why not.”
You notice his ears are flushed, and you get a sense that he might try to kiss you. Each step towards your door feels like an eternity, and your heart is racing in your chest.
Coming to a stop on your doormat, you turn to look at Wonwoo. “I should give you your coat back.”
“Keep it for next time.”
“There’s going to be a next time?” You cock a brow.
“There better be,” he laughs. “Unless.. Unless you don’t want to go out again?”
“I’d love to see you again,” you assure him. Your gaze shifts down to his mouth and you find yourself licking your lip, biting it between your teeth as you wait for him to make a move.
You notice that his eyes are also shifting down, and you hold your breath.
He leans forward-
The door to your home is thrown open and Mary is standing there.
Wonwoo practically jumps away from you, and Mary grins wickedly. “Look what the cat dragged in,” she smirks.
You sigh. “Mary this is Wonwoo, Wonwoo you’ve met Mary.”
“Right, yeah, of course,” he nods. “How’s your night been?”
“Not as good as yours it looks like,” Mary says sassily. “We’ve been waiting on our third to watch a girls movie, unless she was about to invite you in.”
“Mary,” you whisper a warning.
“Looks like you’ve had no such luck, pal,” Mark laughs. “Thanks for walking her home.” She grabs your hand and tugs you into the house.
“I’ll call you,” Wonwoo promises.
You push Mary into the hallway before leaning out the door, getting close to Wonwoo again. “You better,” you smile, a sudden rush of courage surging through you as you lean forward to press your lips to his cheek. “Goodnight.”
He’s smiling as you pull away, and you’re struck by how beautiful he is. “Goodnight,” he echos.
“Get home safe,” you warn.
“I always do.”
You watch him walk away, and he stops on the sidewalk, turning to give you one last wave before you close your door.
“He’s cuter than Mary said,” your third roommate, Jessica, notes from the living room as she watches him head down the street.
“He’s very cute,” you agree, tugging his jacket tighter around your form.
“Are you two having another date?”
“Yup-” you suddenly realize you’d never gotten his number. Which means Wonwoo truly has complete control of contacting you again.
The jacket still wrapped around you is something like insurance that he will call, but you’re a touch saddened that you’ll have to wait for him to find the time to reach out.
He’s a good one, and you really don’t want to let him off the hook just yet.
“So tell us about your date!” Mary grins, jumping onto the couch. “Is Carter really out of the running?”
“Carter has nothing on Wonwoo,” you laugh.
“I really don’t see how that’s possible-”
“Mary, if you like Carter so much, you should date him yourself,” you point out. “I don’t know, Wonwoo is just- he’s a good guy. I really enjoyed being out with him. He held me up at the roller rink and we shared a milkshake-”
“That’s original,” Mary scoffs.
“It was cute!” you insist. “I need a bit of cute in my life,” even if he does joke about having to kill you if he tells you about his last job.
When your phone had rung at noon on Thursday, you’d jumped at the idea it might be Wonwoo, but it had only been the diner you work at, asking if you could cover a shift.
You suppose you need the money, but as you manage the small dinner rush, you find it hard to take your mind off of Wonwoo. You keep replaying the small moments in your head, how he’d held both your hands to help you rollerblade, moving effortlessly backward, or how you’d both leaned in for the milkshake, noses almost touching.
The kiss that could have been feels fresh in your mind, and you’d given Mary a royal talking to about opening the door at the moment she had.
What would he have tasted like if you had kissed him? Would his lips have been as soft as they look? Would he have grabbed your hips and tugged you close to his chest?
You’re so busy thinking about Wonwoo that you almost don’t realize he’s walking past your diner until he comes to a stop, staring at you through the window while you take a couple’s order.
You nearly drop your notepad, only to snap yourself out of it and finish scribbling two burgers with extra cheese. “Can I grab you anything else?” you ask, forcing your gaze to shift to the customers.
“That’s it for now,” the man smiles, and you scurry off to give the cook the order.
Your back is to the front door of the diner, but when you hear the bell ring, you know what you’ll find when you turn around.
Wonwoo looks a little windswept, and he’s wearing glasses today.
He looks so handsome you could die.
“Hi,” you smile, approaching him and fidgeting with your apron.
“Hi,” he grins. “I didn’t know you worked here.”
“Do you come here often?”
“Sometimes, usually on Thursdays, which, now that I think of it, didn’t you say you weren’t working tonight?”
“You have a good memory,” you breathe. “I uh, picked up a shift.”
“I’m glad I walked by, I was almost going to skip coming in and get a burger from the joint down the road.”
“Andy’s Burgers?” you ask in shock. “No, no, no, you have to have one of ours. They’re much better.”
“I wasn’t planning on sitting in to eat, but what the hell, can I grab a booth?”
“Of course,” you wave at the open seating. “Anywhere you’d like.”
“Thanks,” Wonwoo smiles at you, turning to slip into one of the blue and white coloured booths.
You’re quick to go grab him a menu, and you scurry over, heart racing in your chest. “So how’s your night going?”
“Better now,” he grins. “I actually uh, called you an hour ago, and no one answered-”
“We’re all working tonight,” you muse.
“I’m glad I caught you.” There’s a sincerity in his words and it makes your skin heat. “I probably shouldn’t be asking you about this while you’re at work-”
“Ask anyways.”
“How do you feel about going for a drive on our next date? I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything.”
There have been a string of unsolved murders lately, and you’d be lying if you said they weren’t concerning you, but at the same time, the missing women are half a country away, in New York.
You cock your head, assessing Wonwoo. “Are you sure about that, mister ‘if I told you about my last job I’d have to kill you’?”
“You know what, fair, out of context, that sounds very ominous-”
“I trust you,” you insist. “A drive would be great.”
“How do you feel about Sunday?”
“Sunday works, I get off at eight.”
“Perfect.” Wonwoo plays with the menu in front of him. “Should I pick you up here or at your place?”
“Let’s say eight thirty at my place, I want to get dressed up for you.”
Wonwoo grins, gaze shifting down at the table. He pushes his glasses up his nose, then he eyes you again. “I think you always look pretty.”
“Really? Is this a nice apron?” You tug at the material wrapped around your waist and Wonwoo’s grin widens.
“The nicest apron I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ll send my manager your regards,” you tease. “What can I get you for dinner?”
“A bacon cheeseburger, please.”
God, you love a man with manners.
“Any drink?”
“Just water, thanks.”
“The burger comes with fries, is ketchup okay?”
“It’s perfect.”
“I’ll be back with your order shortly,” you smile, finishing up on your notepad.
“Take your time,” Wonwoo assures you.
As you move away to the kitchen to put the order in the window, you get the suspicion that Wonwoo’s watching your ass. Hell, you hope he’s checking you out.
With so few people in the restaurant, and burgers being a fairly fast food menu item, you find yourself serving the couple their dinner in no time. It’s almost torture to not look over at Wonwoo, to know he’s watching you work.
You bring him his water and you take the opportunity to chat with him again. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”
“I usually wear contacts,” he tells you.
“Right, I heard about that new brand that came out. Are they any good?”
“I could see you pretty well last night with them in,” Wonwoo smiles.
“Good. That outfit was meant to be seen.”
“It sure was.”
Flattery will get him everywhere- but before you can say anything else, the kitchen bell dings, signifying an order is up. When you turn your head, you see Wonwoo’s burger sitting in the window. “I’ll be right back with your food,” you assure him, scurrying off.
As you’re bringing Wonwoo his plate, a family enters the diner. Your attention is effectively transferred to them, no matter how much you wish you could just watch Wonwoo devour his burger and thirst for him.
The two adults and their three kids are very rowdy, and you bring over some colouring sheets with crayons, as well as a tray of water in plastic cups. Your focus shifts between Wonwoo and the family while they look over the menus, and when they put them down, you head over again, notepad in hand.
By the time you’re done taking their very complicated and long order, Wonwoo’s finishing up his meal, licking his fingers clean in a way that makes you salivate as you run to the kitchen to quickly give the chef the new list of food.
“Can I leave the money on the table?” Wonwoo calls, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.
“I’ll be right there-”
“I’ve got somewhere to be,” he says, casually tossing a few bills onto the counter. “Thanks, y/n.”
“Bye, Wonwoo.” You hate watching him leave, but as you approach his table, you find he’s left you a very generous tip.
When you head back to the kitchen window, the chef leans through. “You know that guy?” he asks.
“Yeah. I hear he’s a bit of a regular here?”
“Started coming in two months ago,” the chef nods. “He’s a little weird.”
“Weird?” you cock your head to the side, watching the chef flip burgers. “How so?”
“He only ever comes in alone, usually just orders a black coffee, and watches other customers. I don’t know how you talked him into getting a burger today, but… yeah, a little off.”
You assess the chef. While he seems like a good guy, you wonder if there are any other biased reasons he might be rubbed the wrong way by Wonwoo.
“I think Wonwoo’s just…” you search for the word to defend him, “unique. He’s really nice, when you start to get to know him.”
“I hope you’re right about that,” the chef sighs. “If things don’t work out and you need someone to tell him, or any man, to back off, just let me know.”
“Thanks, chef,” you smile. “I’ll let you know if I need your help.”
You think maybe the chef is simply worried about you as a young woman entering the town’s dating pool with very little experience.
However, when it comes to Wonwoo, you’re pretty sure you have nothing to worry about.
You’ve decided to wear an orange floral boho style dress for your second date with Wonwoo. It reaches your mid thigh, and when you do a twirl for your roommates, Mary starts to scream about how beautiful you are.
“You’re going to give that boy a heart attack,” Jessica grins.
“Or a boner,” Mary agrees.
“Lets try for both,” you tease, gaze shifting out the front window just in time to see a car pull up. “I think that’s him!”
Your roomates jump up to get a look outside, and Jessica frowns. “I don’t know why, but I didn’t picture him as a 1966 Chrystler Imperial kind of guy.”
“Yeah, for some reason I thought he’d have a nicer muscle car.”
“Don’t be rude,” you remind Jessica. “And to be fair, he did just move here, muscle cars have limited room- I bet he has a car like this for the space.”
“Because you know him so well after only one date,” Mary rolls her eyes.
“You know what?” You grab your keys and head to the door, throwing Wonwoo’s jacket around your shoulders. “I do!”
Without another word to your roommates, you head outside, practically jumping down the steps. Wonwoo’s exited his car by now, and he’s come around to lean against the passenger’s side door, which he opens for you upon approach.
“Hi,” he grins.
“Hi!” you echo, throwing your arms around his shoulders to pull him into a hug.
His hands are hesitant, but they settle on your hips, holding you tighter. You take a deep breath, enjoying the embrace, and his woodsy scent washes over you.
“So where are we driving to?” you ask when you pull away.
“One of my coworkers said there’s this nice spot, I thought I’d take you there,” Wonwoo suggests. It’s so very vague, and so very Wonwoo.
“Works for me,” you grin, allowing him to take your hand and help you into the car.
As you close your door, you notice Wonwoo waving at your roommates who are staring from the living room window. Jessica immediately ducks down and you laugh to yourself.
“The girls you live with seem nice,” Wonwoo notes as he enters the driver’s seat.
“They’re alright,” you smile. “Do you have any roommates?”
“No, I live alone.”
“That must be nice.”
“It’s quiet.”
“Are you the kind of guy that likes the quiet?”
Wonwoo considers your question for a moment. “I used to be. But some days, it can be lonely.”
It’s the first time he’s really gotten deep with you. He’s being vulnerable, and your breath catches in your throat.
You reach out and rest your hand on top of his on the gear shift, giving him a gentle squeeze. “If you ever need company, you know where to find me.”
“I might take you up on that,” Wonwoo flashes a small smile, but you can tell it’s an aversion tactic. You don’t mind dropping the topic, and you take your hand away, looking at the road.
Wonwoo’s pulled off the main street and is heading up one of the dirt roads that leads into the forest. It’s a path you know well, and your heart thumps when you realize where Wonwoo must be taking you.
“Are we going to Hellyhill Lookout?” you ask softly.
“Uh huh, have you been?” Wonwoo sneaks a glance at you.
“Not personally, no, but I’ve heard it’s nice.”
“Okay,” he nods. “Good.”
“Do you…” you lick your lip. “Did your coworker tell you what kind of lookout it is?”
“What do you mean?”
You can’t help but let out a small laugh, and you enjoy the switchbacks of the road, the way the tall trees fly past. “It’s a lover’s lookout.”
“A lover’s lookout,” Wonwoo repeats.
“You know, a place that teens drive to so they can make out in their cars?”
Wonwoo practically chokes on air, and his grip tightens on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t know-”
“Don’t be sorry,” you try to assure him, but he’s already beginning to blush.
“We can go somewhere else-”
“Really,” you reach for his hand again, “Wonwoo, it’s fine.”
“I can’t believe my coworker would suggest this-”
You can tell that your words aren’t helping his anxiety, so you lean over the bench seat, pressing your lips to his cheek. He freezes under the motion. “Wonwoo,” you whisper again, “I want to go to a lover’s lookout with you. Stop panicking, please.”
He takes a shuddery breath. “Okay.”
You look out at the road again. “Pull over at the next stop,” you instruct. “The lookout is just through the trees.”
Wonwoo does as you say, and pretty soon you’re entering a small, empty parkinglot. You suppose it’s a school night, and you’ve heard this spot is busiest on Fridays and Saturdays.
The privacy is welcome, and Wonwoo slowly pulls to a stop. The view is breathtaking as the sun sets behind a mountain. Even from inside his car you can see the whole small town down below, twinkling and nestled amongst the Pacific Northwest geography.
“Wow, Wonwoo-” you turn to say something, but suddenly he’s cupping your face and pressing his lips to yours.
The shy man you’ve been getting to know is gone, and you melt into the kiss, closing your eyes while your thoughts disappear. His touch is gentle on your cheek, but his fingers slip around to cup the back of your head, and when his tongue glides across your lower lip, you open your mouth for him, granting him access.
You stifle a groan, reaching out to grab the front of his shirt, pulling him closer while also sliding across the bench seat, your knees pressing against his thigh.
Already, you want to be closer. You wish he’d grab your hips and pull you on top of him, but he doesn’t, he simply kisses you. You can feel your panties beginning to stick to your core, and when his lips move to your throat, you stifle a moan, fingers flexing against his shirt.
“Wonwoo, I need more-”
“I didn’t bring condoms,” he says against your neck.
“I don’t care-”
“I’m not about to get you pregnant on our second date.”
“How… responsible of you,” you laugh, feeling a little disappointed. “You could always just… I don’t know, pull out?”
Now it’s Wonwoo’s turn to chuckle, and he shakes his head. “Here, I have an idea.” He pulls away from you, and you’re left frowning. “Come outside with me.”
“But-”
He cups your face. “Do you trust me?”
You sigh. “Fine.” Maybe the cold air will calm you down, maybe you can convince him to bring condoms next time.
You exit the car, coming around the front to join Wonwoo. “Here,” he says, reaching for your hand and gently tugging you so you’re standing with your back to his chest while he leans against the hood of the vehicle.
He wraps you tightly in his arms, and you release a sigh when he begins to kiss your neck again.
“Are you trying to torture me?” you ask.
“Angel, if I was trying to torture you, you’d know it.”
“Yeah?” you can feel his cock through his jeans, and you begin to grind back against him. “And how would I know it?”
“Well for starters,” his hand snakes down the front of your dress, and he grabs at the fabric by your thighs, dragging it up, “I wouldn’t be doing this.” His lips return to your throat. “Can I touch you properly?”
“I’d be angry if you didn’t,” you confess, resting your head back against his shoulder.
Wonwoo’s hand slips under your dress, and he cups your pussy, two fingers begining to rub you through your panties. A whimper slips past your lips, and you wiggle your hips, wanting more pressure, which Wonwoo gives you.
“Feels good?” he asks, breath hot against your throat.
“So good,” you nod. “For a guy who doesn’t do this sort of thing often, you definitely know how to handle women.”
Wonwoo simply laughs, but doesn’t respond more than that, continuing to tease you through your panties until you’re wriggling against his hand and cock. Then his free arm moves around to stop your hips, keeping you pinned to his chest. “Stop moving,” he says lowly, breath hot against your neck.
“I can’t help it,” you whimper, your pussy throbbing with need.
“Are you close, Angel?” He smiles against your throat and a shiver runs up your spine.
You nod, not able to find the words to admit to him that a little teasing through your panties has already taken you to the edge.
Wonwoo pulls away from your neck, and you feel him look around. You’re still the only two people in the dark parkinglot.
“I’m gonna put you on the hood of my car now,” Wonwoo tells you.
You don’t really know what he’s thinking of doing to you, but there’s no way you’re going to question him now. You’re as compliant as ever, letting him adjust you and lift you onto his vehicle.
“Lay back,” he instructs next. “I’m going to take your panties off.”
Your heart races in your chest as you realize what he’s about to do, and you fall onto your elbows on the hood of his car, breathing heavily as Wonwoo leans down and begins to press kisses up your bare legs.
His fingers hook in your panties, and he drags them down, exposing your hot core to the cool evening air. You can’t help the gasp that leaves you, and as Wonwoo positions your thighs over his broad shoulders, you think you might actually faint from the tension.
His breath is warm against your entrance and your thighs quiver with anticipation. There’s nothing for you to grab onto while on the hood of his car, so you bundle your hands in your dress, pulling the fabric higher so Wonwoo has easier access to your core.
His own palms flatten along your thighs, fingers digging against your skin while he kisses closer and closer to where you need him most, his lips light like feathers.
“God,” you groan. “Please!”
The bastard smiles, and you realize how much he’s enjoying teasing you. How did your shy bowling alley boy turn into a demon like this?
He presses a soft kiss to your clit and the sensation has you gasping loudly. Most men who’ve eaten you out have started rough and ended rough, but it’s clear to you already that Wonwoo is not like other men. It’s absolutely insane how good the feather light touches can feel, and when he kitten licks your folds your stomach clenches.
“Please, I need more-” you beg, pushing your pussy closer to his face.
“Why won’t you let me enjoy you slowly?”
“Because-” your breath catches, “I need to cum!”
“Already?”
“Wonwoo, I swear to God-” You don’t even get to finish your sentence because he gives in, pressing his mouth against your core and pushing his tongue into your tight hole. Your hips push up involuntarily, and your clit brushes by Wonwoo’s nose, which sends shivers of pleasure down your legs.
He must notice the way you react from clit stimulation because he wraps his lips around the sensitive bud, flicking at it with his tongue.
Your whole body tenses. You’re so close to your orgasm you could die-
Wonwoo groans against your pussy and that’s all you need to topple over the edge, pussy throbbing as you come undone for him.
Your eyes are clenched shut and your back arches off the hood of his car. Pleasure surges through your entire body, radiating out from between your legs. Wonwoo doesn’t let up on you though, he keeps licking your pussy, working you through your orgasm until you’re a complete quivering mess, shaking and moaning like you’ve never shaken and moaned before.
You’re breathless, body tingling with afterwaves of your orgasm when Wonwoo finally pulls away from your pussy. You watch under hooded lids as he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, licking his lips.
With the limited light, it’s hard to see details, but you can tell his pupils are blown.
Honestly, condoms be damned, you need this man to fuck you, and you need it now.
“Wonwoo-”
There’s a flash of light and his gaze shifts past you. You hear the familiar crunch of tires on graveled dirt, and you realize another car is pulling down the path to the lookout.
“Shit,” Wonwoo cusses, standing up and fixing your dress over your thighs. He reaches out for your hand. “Come on.”
“What about you?” you ask, knowing he’s probably aching in his jeans.
“I’m not about to make you blow me in my car.”
“What if I want to, though?” you question.
Wonwoo takes a deep breath, pulling you to your feet and holding you close. “Another time,” he assures you.
You tug on the front of his shirt, letting your lips ghost past his own. “Are you sure?”
He nods. “I wanted tonight to be about you.”
“Blowing you can still be about me.”
Wonwoo laughs. “Next time.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise,” he confirms.
“You know… I like a man with self control.”
He simply shakes his head at you, letting you go so you can both get back in his car. “Let’s go for a drive,” he suggests, “because if we don’t, my self control might just snap.”
Your whole week is spent with you on edge, but your third date with Wonwoo finally arrives on your next Wednesday off. He’s suggested a movie date, and you’re not exactly sure how you’re going to get touchy with him in a car surrounded by other couples- but as the date approaches, you realize that you probably won’t be the only duo getting a little frisky while watching the new James Bond movie, Live or Let Die.
You’re waiting outside when Wonwoo picks you up, and you enter his vehicle, leaning over the bench seat to press your lips to the corner of his mouth. “Hi,” you grin. “I missed you.”
“I uh…” he swallows thickly, “I missed you too.”
“What time is the movie again?” you ask.
“Uh,” Wonwoo checks his watch. “Fifteen minutes?”
“Then we should get going.” You settle in your seat while he takes you to the drive in movie. He pays for your tickets, and rolls into the parking lot, finding a spot. Your windows are already down, and there’s a speaker set up outside your doors so you can both hear the sound.
“Do you want popcorn or anything?” Wonwoo asks.
“Not right now, maybe later,” you grin, sliding closer to him.
Wonwoo adjusts, resting his arm behind you and allowing you to tuck against his shoulder. “I’m happy to be here with you.”
“I’m happy you came,” Wonwoo admits. “I’ve been wanting to see this movie.”
“Yeah? You like spies?”
“I think the way Hollywood portrays them is… interesting.”
“Right, because you’re an expert on spies, huh?”
Wonwoo grins. “Something like that.”
He begins to play with your hair, stroking it gently, and you rest one of your hands on his thigh, enjoying the muscles and denim. God, it’s so hard to be near Wonwoo and not get horny, almost impossible you would say.
The film begins, and you do your best to focus on it, to no avail.
Wonwoo’s still stroking you, and each drag of his fingers by your hair makes your panties wetter. You’re determined to repay the favour he’d done for you last time, and finally you’ve had enough.
“Wonwoo.”
“Hmm?” He sneaks a glance from the movie to look at you.
“I need something to suck on.”
“I can go grab you something from the concession-”
“No,” you shake your head. “I need you to suck on.”
“You need…” he coughs. “You need me.” It’s almost as if he doesn’t believe it.
“Uh huh,” you nod. “Will you let me make you feel good?”
“I-” his words cut off into a groan when you cup him through his jeans, and you realize he’s already half hard.
“Looks like you need me too,” you smile, leaning forward to press your lips to the side of his throat. He jolts a little at the contact, angling his head back to give you more space to begin to suck on his skin.
“Fuck,” he groans, and the sound goes straight to your core.
Why’s he so sexy. Like. How is this legal.
You’ve decided Wonwoo is illegal. No one should be this hot. It’s a panty dropping hazard, as you’re beginning to see for yourself.
“Will you let me suck you off?” you ask. “Please?”
He swallows thickly. “Yeah.”
“Good,” you grin, pressing one last kiss to his cheek before you begin to undo his jeans. You’ve never undressed someone so fast in your life, and a few moments later he’s lifting his hips to allow you to tug his pants down, his cock springing free.
You lick your lips, already salivating at the sight of him.
He’s somehow perfect everywhere. From his handsome face and gorgeous hands all the way down to his pretty cock, which is probably around seven or eight inches. It’s a good thickness, with a vein running along the underside that you want to trace with your tongue.
“Just, make sure no one sees,” you whisper, as you dip your head down, hoping the car doors will hide your body from view of other movie goers.
“Angel,” Wonwoo lets out a shaky breath, “I’m pretty sure the guy in the car next to us is doing the same thing with his girlfriend.”
That makes you feel a little better, as you wrap your hand around the base of his cock and bring its head to your lips, kitten licking and earning a groan from Wonwoo. His hand finds your hair again, stroking you as you take more of him into your mouth.
You haven’t blown a guy in a while, and it feels empowering to be pleasuring someone again. Wonwoo’s small moans are already making this more than worth it, and his constant touch through your hair is extra encouragement.
You sink yourself onto his cock, taking as much of him as you can. You’re trying to be gentle, but you get more daring as you go, sucking harder, which makes Wonwoo’s hips jolt below you. The head of his cock hits the back of your throat and you gag slightly. His grip tightens in your hair, and he curses, breathing heavily.
You want to make this man cum like you’ve never wanted to make any man cum in your entire life, so you go harder on him, pushing through the discomfort in the back of your throat. You focus on your tongue movements, the pressure of your sucking motions and the way you’re bobbing your head.
“Shit,” Wonwoo groans. “Slow down-”
You refuse. This is personal. You want to see how fast you can make him come undone. You want Wonwoo to be mouth whipped for you, if he’s not already obsessed after having a taste of your pussy last time.
It might be a little insecure of you, but you’re not one hundred percent sure Wonwoo wants you the way you want him. You need to be sure. You need to know he’s not going to leave you, like most people in your life have.
“Angel,” Wonwoo’s voice lacks conviction, and you think he can tell you’re not intent on letting up anytime soon. When you release a moan around his cock, Wonwoo matches the sound. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
You suck him even harder and Wonwoo pants above you, fingers flexing in your hair. He lets out a strangled sound as he reaches his high, and he shoots his load down your throat. You do your best to swallow like a good girl, continuing to bob yourself on his cock, wanting to milk him for all he’s worth-
“Shit, angel,” Wonwoo’s voice is breathless, almost whimpery, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. The last rope of cum goes down your throat and you finally let up, swallowing and pulling off his cock You take a deep breath, wiping your hand against the back of your mouth.
Wonwoo looks beautiful. His skin is flushed, his lips parted, and he’s looking at you in a way that no man has ever looked at you before. You want to kiss him so badly, but you’re very aware of his salty taste still in your mouth.
“I’m going to go get a drink,” you tell him.
“What?” He blinks. “Right now?”
“Yeah,” you nod, already reaching for the door handle. If you stay in this car with him any longer, you will jump his bones. You need the cool air and a breather, a way to slow your racing heart, and more importantly, you need your damned pussy to stop throbbing because you’re not getting laid tonight.
As you weave through the cars, you notice a group of men standing at the concession. They watch as you approach, and you do your best to downcast your eyes, feeling your skin heat. There’s no lineup for ordering and you’re quick to ask for two cokes, hoping that you’ll be able to head back to Wonwoo faster than people waiting for popcorn.
“Hey pretty girl,” one of the men calls, and it only takes you a moment to realize he’s talking to you.
You don’t respond.
“I said,” he steps closer, “hey pretty girl.”
“Hi,” you say quietly.
“What’s a gorgeous girl like you doing here alone?” the man questions.
“I’m not alone.”
“I don’t see a boyfriend.”
“He’s in the car,” you insist.
“He must not care about you that much if he sent you out for drinks all by yourself.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Wonwoo’s voice makes you turn, and you let out a shaky breath at his sudden appearance.
“And who are you?” The man hitting on you puffs up his chest.
“The boyfriend who you don’t think cares,” Wonwoo says steadily. “I do care,” he turns to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and lowering his voice to address you. “You ran away pretty quick, are you okay?”
“Uh huh,” you nod. “Just thirsty.”
“Two cokes!” the concession girl announces right on schedule, and you reach up to retrieve them, taking a sip of one and letting out a soft sigh while Wonwoo tosses a bill onto the counter.
“Come on, is this guy really your boyfriend?” It looks like the man harassing you doesn’t want to quit.
“I am,” Wonwoo confirms, for the second time, and it makes your heart race in your chest.
The man takes a step forward. “I want to hear the girl say it. I don’t believe you.”
“I think you better back off.” Wonwoo’s voice has lowered an octave, and you’ve never seen him behave this way.
“Or what?” The catcaller has about two inches on Wonwoo, and he’s built like a bull, puffing his chest out again as he looks down at the man you met in a bowling alley of all places.
“Maybe you should try me and find out?” Wonwoo suggests.
The big guy laughs, and then in one motion, he takes a swing at Wonwoo.
Wonwoo dodges the man’s fist easily, grabbing his forearm and adding to the forward momentum. Before you know what’s really happening, Wonwoo’s manuevered the man onto the ground, twisting his arm behind his back and pressing a knee just below that.
“I think you should say sorry for harassing my girlfriend,” Wonwoo says coldly.
“What?!” The man wiggles on the ground, but to no avail. Wonwoo’s thigh muscle bulges in his blue jeans and you think your mouth is watering again.
“Say you’re sorry.” Wonwoo twists the man’s arm behind his back and the man lets out a grunt of pain.
“I’m sorry,” he groans.
“For?” Wonwoo presses.
The man meets your gaze. “For harassing you, I’m sorry!”
Wonwoo lets up, standing and joining you again. “Lets go,” he says, grabbing one of the drinks from you before lacing your fingers. You allow him to guide you away from the man laying on the ground with a look of shock on his face.
You’re still quite stunned yourself, and you let Wonwoo pull you back through the cars toward his own. He opens your door for you and you get inside, taking a deep breath while you watch him go around the front to enter his own seat.
“Wonwoo?”
“Yeah?”
“Where the fuck did a guy who works in a bowling alley learn to pull a move like that on someone so much bigger than him?”
“Well-”
“Let me guess,” you hold up your hand, “If you told me you’d have to kill me.”
“Something like that,” he laughs.
You simply blink at him. “Who are you? Like really? Are you James Bond?”
“Definitely not,” Wonwoo grins. “Speaking of… should we continue watching the movie?”
All you can do is nod, but your mind is reeling, and you can’t focus the rest of the film. There’s so much about Wonwoo you still don’t know, and it’s making you insane.
When the movie finishes, Wonwoo pulls out of the drive in theater. “I can tell you’re still shaken up about what happened,” he muses, “and I want to make it up to you.”
“Really? How are you thinking of doing that?”
“I was wondering if you’d let me cook you dinner sometime soon.”
“At your house?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” you nod… maybe his house will provide a few clues to help you figure him out.
“Does tomorrow work for you?”
“Works great.”
Wonwoo looks over at you, and he reaches out a hand, lacing your fingers and giving you a gentle squeeze. It’s meant as reassurance, but he doesn’t say anything else as he drives you home.
“Can I walk you to your door?” Wonwoo asks softly when you arrive.
“Of course,” you nod, exiting the car and waiting for Wonwoo to come join you so you can head up the walkway together.
“I had a really good time tonight,” he muses, “and not just because you sucked me off.”
The statement makes you laugh, shaking your head at him. “No? Bet you also enjoyed throwing that guy on the ground.”
“I enjoyed watching a movie with you,” Wonwoo insists.
“Sure you did,” you grin, turning to face him on your doorstep.
You know it’s probably just a matter of time before one of your roommates ruins the moment, and you think Wonwoo knows it too, because there’s no hesitation in his actions tonight. He grabs your hips, tugging you close so he can lean down and press his mouth to your own.
He’s confident, lips parting so his tongue can glide against your own. One of his hands releases your hips to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek while he kisses you.
Your stomach is in knots just from this, and you’re acutely aware that you haven’t actually fucked him yet, aware that tomorrow, you’ll be in his home, alone.
Your front door opens and Wonwoo breaks away from you. “Hi Mary,” he addresses your roommate.
“Hi love birds,” Mary grins.
You shake your head at the way she’s ruined the moment. Your panties are sticking uncomfortably to your core and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.
“I’ll uh… see you tomorrow?” you say softly, looking into Wonwoo’s pretty, dark eyes.
He nods. “I’ll come pick you up at seven.”
Wonwoo is a shockingly good cook. He’d made a baked chicken and pasta dish that he’d simply taken out of the oven after picking you up, plating the food while you looked around his little home.
Your first bite of food had made you almost groan, looking at him while he laughed. “Bet you thought I couldn’t cook,” he’d mused.
You’d admitted your expectations had been low, and the two of you had eaten dinner together, chatting about everything from his house being rented furnished, to a few towns he’d been in before coming here.
Wonwoo had given nomadic vibes, but as you listen to him speak, you realize how deep that constant need for movement runs. It strikes something like fear inside of you… when is he going to decide to leave this town? To leave you? Is there even a future for you both?
Wonwoo doesn’t seem to notice your distress, as you’re good at hiding it, and after you’re done eating, he suggests moving to the couch to watch a sitcom.
He sits down first, and after a moment of deliberation, you tuck close to his side. His arm wraps around you immediately and you lean against his shoulder, letting out a deep sigh while he turns on the tv. “Do you want to watch anything in specific?” he asks.
You shake your head. “I’m okay with whatever.”
A generic sitcom begins to play and you relax even more, enjoying the feeling of his arm around you. You could get used to nights like this… if Wonwoo wasn’t such a nomadic, unpredictable man.
Wonwoo’s hand begins to stroke up and down your arm, and you find it hard to even concentrate on the show while he’s doing this. You simply enjoy existing with him, and you haven’t experienced this type of peace with a man possibly ever.
An hour passes in this easy way, and Wonwoo begins to yawn, stretching his arms over his head. You wonder how he manages to remain so pretty even while yawning- sometimes you hate how attractive this man is. If he wasn’t so god damned sexy, maybe he wouldn’t have you wrapped around his finger the way he does.
“I’m getting tired,” he notes. “Maybe… maybe I should drive you home.”
“You could do that… or, you could let me cuddle you, and you could have a nap,” you suggest.
Wonwoo considers it, and he bites at his lip, looking deep in thought. “I’ve never uh… never napped with someone before.”
“Really?” Your brows raise in shock. “Well… don’t you want to give it a try?”
“Sometimes I have bad dreams,” he tells you quietly.
“Wouldn’t it be nicer for you to wake up with someone there to comfort you?” you ask.
Wonwoo blinks. “Would you really do that?”
“Of course!” you assure him, reaching out to gently squeeze his thigh. “Come on, if you get nightmares, I’ll even let you be the little spoon.”
“You’ll let me be the little spoon,” he repeats, not looking convinced.
“Trust me, it will help,” you assure him.
He still looks like he doesn’t quite believe you, but he allows you to maneuver him down onto the couch, with you removing the back pillows so the two of you can lay comfortably. You curl around his back, tucking a hand around him, placing your palm over his heart. A moment later, he threads his fingers through your own, locking you into a position that feels secure and warm and very loving.
He’s tense, but when you let out a deep breath, he mirrors you, and you feel him relaxing in your embrace.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he tells you.
“You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t trust myself.”
“Well, I can trust you for the both of us,” you say softly, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his neck. “Have a nap. I’ll be here for you, no matter what happens.”
Wonwoo sighs, but he cuddles a little closer to you, and you can’t help but smile at the motion. You listen to him breathe while the sitcom chatters away in the background, and you’re pretty sure it only takes a minute or two for him to fall asleep.
The poor man, he must have been really tired for him to knock out so fast.
You enjoy holding him, and you get comfortable wrapped around his back. His broad shoulders obscure part of the tv screen from your view but you don’t mind, it’s not like you’re really watching anyways.
Focusing on your breaths, you allow yourself to fall in a state of deep relaxation. You’re not particularly sleepy, it just feels nice to be close to Wonwoo like this… even when he begins to twitch. You can tell he’s dreaming now, and you note the way the muscles in his arms feather- you wonder what dream Wonwoo is up to.
He settles down a little, and you’re glad that maybe he’s not going to wake up, maybe having someone cuddling him does help.
Your hope that your presence makes a difference is dashed not five minutes later when Wonwoo begins twitching again, but this time, there’s more force in it.
“No-” he mumbles in his sleep. “No-” he says again, but now he’s louder.
At this point, you’re not sure this counts as a nightmare, it’s pretty clear to you that Wonwoo’s having a night terror, and when he begins to shake, you can’t help but wrap your arms around him, clinging to his back. “Shh,” you whisper softly, reaching up a hand to stroke his hair. “It’s okay, it’s just a dream-”
Wonwoo jolts in your embrace, and then he’s sitting up abruptly, eyes snapping open, lips parting in gasps-
“It was just a dream,” you tell him again, louder now that he’s awake. You sit up and attach to his back again, running your hands up and down his arms. “You’re safe. You’re safe with me now.”
He’s still breathing heavily, shoulders moving with each sharp inhale of breath.
You hold him through it, knowing now is not the best time to ask any questions. You just want to support him, so that’s what you do.
After a while, Wonwoo starts to take more even breaths, and he rests a hand over yours, leaning back against you. He’s quiet, and he lets you simply hold him. You’re sure now that you’re providing comfort, and when you lean in to press a soft kiss to his neck, he lets out a deep sigh.
“I need to tell you something.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself,” you assure him.
“I do,” he insists. “Especially after what happened at the drive in.”
He must be referring to his ability to take down a man and pin him to the sidewalk, and to be fair, you have been wondering about that. You give Wonwoo the space to elaborate.
“I’m not even sure how to explain this,” Wonwoo sighs after a moment.
“Take your time.”
“This is going to sound crazy,” he says softly, and you can tell he’s working up the courage to get out what’s on his mind. “There’s no other way to describe it, so I might as well just say it. You’ve probably been wondering about the job I had before I started at the bowling alley.”
He pauses to allow you to confirm, and you give a small nod, leaning against his shoulder. He’s not looking at you, and you assess his side profile. It’s clear that this is going to be a turning point in your relationship with him, and you give him your complete attention for it.
“The government…” Wonwoo licks his lips, “well, they’d call me a rogue military asset.”
You take in his words, not quite sure how to react-
“I can’t go into details with you, I won’t, but… I can tell you that I never agreed with what the government wanted to use me for.”
The night terrors make sense now.
“They put a lot of time training me to be who I am, so… let's just say they wouldn’t let me leave without a fight. Technically, I’m court marshalled, but it’s worse than that- I’m on the run, moving from town to town- I can’t stay anywhere too long- it’s never been a problem for me, but then-” he swallows thickly. “Then I met you. It’s funny,” Wonwoo lets out a sad chuckle, “I’m trained to assess probability, but nowhere in my future sight did I anticipate meeting a girl I actually liked, someone I could confide in, someone who I could rest next to, who wouldn’t judge me for my dreams.”
“Wonwoo-” you whisper his name, and he turns in your arms, facing you.
“I don’t want to ruin your life,” he states. “Being with a guy like me, it doesn’t give you a future.”
“You wouldn’t be ruining it,” you insist, “and your wrong. It would give me a future, a future with you.”
“It’s not enough.”
“Let me be the judge of that, please.” You cup his face, and Wonwoo leans into your touch, his eyes meeting yours. You can’t help but lean forward, pressing your lips to his own. It’s a soft kiss at first, and you hope he can feel the emotion you’re pouring into it.
You wrap your arms around his shoulders, adjusting so you can climb into his lap, straddling him on the couch while his tongue slides over your own.
His hands find your hips, and he applies a bit of pressure, helping you grind down on him. You can feel his cock in the denim of his jeans, and you’re a little surprised that he’s turned on so soon after a night terror, but at the same time, you’re not complaining.
“Wonwoo,” you whisper, breaking the kiss while his lips move to your throat. “I think… I think I should stay over tonight, in case you have any more night terrors.”
You feel him smile against your skin. “Is that the only reason?” he asks.
You grind your clothed core along his cock, shaking your head. “No.”
“Let me take you to bed,” Wonwoo says, grabbing at your ass and lifting you up easily. “I’m not about to have you on the couch.”
“You’re about to have me?” you grin.
“Unless you don’t want it.”
“I want it,” you confirm, lips moving to his neck while he carries you through his small house. “I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
“Me too,” he says softly, fingers digging into your ass.
When you get to his bedroom, he lays you onto his bed softly before standing over you, looking down at your form. “You’re so pretty,” Wonwoo whispers, reaching down to trail a finger over your denim covered knee.
“Prettier with my pants off,” you smirk.
“Yeah?” He lets out a small laugh.
“You should see for yourself.” You reach down to undo your jeans and as you pull down the zipper, Wonwoo grabs at the leg, tugging. Soon, your legs are bare, and you feel the cool air of the room against your hot, panty covered core. “Now's the time I tell you I’m also cuter with no underwear.”
“I remember,” Wonwoo nods.
His words make a hot lick of pleasure tease up your pussy, and you grab at the bottom of your shirt, tugging that off next so all you’re left in is a bra and panties.
Wonwoo begins to get onto his knees but you shake your head. “We’ve had enough foreplay. Enough teasing. I want you inside of me.”
“Are you sure?” Wonwoo kisses your inner thigh, and the feeling makes you close your eyes, leaning your head back to let out a sigh.
“I’m sure,” you confirm. No matter how good his tongue might feel, you’re aching to get to his cock.
“Why won’t you let me take care of you?” he asks, breath hot as it fans up your legs.
“Because I’m impatient,” you can’t help but laugh, writhing in his sheets. “Because I need to know what you feel like.”
Wonwoo lets out something of a hum, and he presses a kiss to your thigh before moving up your body. His lips drag over your stomach and up to the swell of your breasts while he climbs on top of you, hands pressing against the mattress on either side of your head. His nose nuzzles by your throat as he kisses there too, and when you tug on his soft hair, he finally makes it to your mouth.
You groan against his lips immediately, wrapping your legs around his hips while tugging at his shirt. He allows you to tear it off of him, breaking the kiss for only a moment before you’re dragging him back to you.
His tongue glides across your lip and you open your mouth for him, allowing him to trace your teeth. You like the feeling of him, like what he does with his tongue.
His hand slips under your back and you arch yourself for him, making it easier to take off your bra. He pushes at your straps next, and you lose your patience, pulling the fabric from your chest and exposing your boobs to the man who makes you hornier than you’ve ever been in your entire life.
Wonwoo dips his head down, pressing kisses over your breasts until he reaches your nipple. His free hand begins to gently massage your other boob while his tongue begins to trace your pebbled bud. It feels like magic, and you thread your fingers in his hair, releasing a groan.
He sucks gently on your nipple, taking his time.
You’d said no foreplay, but you’re okay with this. You can feel yourself beginning to soak through your panties, and when Wonwoo switches from one breast to the other, you practically throb at how well he’s taking care of you.
Sounds of pleasure are slipping past your lips now, and you get lost in the feeling of his mouth on your chest, his hands groping what his tongue isn’t playing with.
You wonder how long it’s been since he had his face in a nice set of boobs, and you allow him to enjoy it. He’s clearly having the time of his life, and you can feel him beginning to grind down against the mattress between your legs.
“Wonwoo,” you whisper tugging at his hair.
He murmurs against your breasts, but doesn’t let up.
“Need you inside, please,” you beg. “You can keep sucking on my boobs, but, I need you inside of me right now.”
“Let me grab a condom,” Wonwoo says, pulling off your chest to reach into his bedside table where he takes out a square foil.
He sits back onto his knees between your legs, tearing open the package while you work on his jeans, getting his belt undone and his zipper down.
You can tell by his movements that he’s starting to get impatient too, and when he looks down at your panty covered core and smirks, you have a feeling you know whats coming next.
“How much do you like these?” he asks, hooking a finger in the fabric.
“Just ruin them,” you laugh, not wanting to wait another moment.
“You got it, angel,” Wonwoo grabs your panties with both hands. He tears one side, freeing a thigh, before repeating the motion on the other side, then he tugs the ruined clothing item off your body and tosses it onto the floor.
“Don’t even bother with your pants,” you say, pushing them down his thighs, “just fuck me with them at your knees.”
“You weren’t kidding when you said you needed me.”
“I’d never kid about that,” you giggle, watching him roll the condom onto his thick cock. The moment he’s done, you’re grabbing at his shoulders, pulling him down on top of you so you can crash your lips to his own.
He ruts his hips, cock grazing through your pussy folds, teasing your clit.
“Please,” you groan, feeling absolutely insatiable. He’s so close, he just needs to put it in-
Wonwoo reaches a hand between your bodies, adjusting his cock to your wet hole. “Are you sure?” he asks.
Instead of answering, you wrap your legs around his hips, applying pressure to force him inside of you. He lets out a groan as his length sinks into your wet heat, his mouth moving hot against yours again while you get his body flush to your own.
You both moan loudly when he’s inside of you fully, your greedy pussy taking him all after the build ups you’ve had in numerous dates.
“Do you like is fast or slow?” Wonwoo asks, lips moving to your throat.
“Slow, then fast,” you respond, tracing his broad shoulders while you relax into the feeling of him.
“You got it, angel,” Wonwoo says, starting to move his hips. He rocks slowly, the tip of his cock dragging by your sweet spot as he begins to make love to you.
It feels like heaven, and you get lost in him, moans slipping out of you with each thrust.
True to his word, Wonwoo’s pace gradually quickens, his fingers digging into your hips to pin you to the bed. He’s so big and sexy and- everything you’ve ever wanted in a man.
You hold him like you never want to let him go, and the way he kisses you makes you think he feels the same.
There’s no dirty talk, and you don’t mind it. You’re just two souls quietly enjoying each other. The only sounds are primal noises of pleasure and the soft slapping of skin on skin.
As his pace builds, so does the feeling growing in the pit of your stomach. Wonwoo’s moans don’t help your situation, and each groan has your pussy practically throbbing with need.
His shoulders are your anchor, your broad, lovely, wonderful, sexy anchor, and you hold onto them tightly, eyes shut while you enjoy him.
When Wonwoo’s thrusts become almost piston like in nature, you cry out, and Wonwoo breaks your kiss to bury his face against your throat. “You close?”
“Yes, fuck, Wonwoo-” you whimper, so close to your high you can almost taste it.
“Want me to cum with you, angel?”
“Yes, God, please-” you nod quickly, digging your nails into his shoulders.
Wonwoo groans deeply. “I’m almost there-”
“I can’t hold it,” you’re nearly crying now, overwhelmed by how good this feels.
“Then cum,” Wonwoo states, voice husky as he reaches a hand between your bodies, fingers rubbing your clit. “Cum with me, angel.”
This is the last straw, and your pussy clenches tightly around his cock, orgasm slamming into you while you hold onto Wonwoo as your life line. You gasp loudly in his ear, waves of pleasure washing over you. In fact, you see stars, vision clouding behind your lids as you’re overtaken by Wonwoo and everything he does for you.
He’s still groaning in your ear, and his thrusts are harder now. You can tell he’s cumming too, and the thought only makes your orgasm last longer, pussy milking him for all he’s worth.
You’re not sure when exactly he begins to slow down, but soon he’s coming to a stop on top of you, gasping loudly. His heart is thundering in his chest, and you can feel it through your breast where you’re pressed together.
You reach up to stroke a hand through his hair, also working on your ragged breathing.
He holds you for a while, but finally he’s forced to pull away. “Let me get rid of the condom, then we can sleep,” he says softly, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before heading to the bathroom just down the hall.
You stare at his ceiling, still overwhelmed with everything that’s happened.
Wonwoo might not know what his future holds, but you’re certain that as long as you find a way to be part of it, you might be happy forever.
Waking up next to Wonwoo had been wonderful. There hadn’t been any more night terrors, and Wonwoo even mentions it as you make breakfast together. “I haven’t slept that well in years,” he muses, holding you close and kissing your neck.
“Then you might have to keep me as a safety blanket,” you tease, although… you do mean it.
The comment is enough to make him groan and he turns off the stove, neglecting breakfast in favour of throwing you on the table and eating you as his first course.
He buries his tongue inside your core, making you cum three times before the day has even really started. Then he sits you down and plates your meal, sitting across from you and watching you with dark eyes exaggerated by circular spectacles that set off the handsome features of his face.
“When can I see you again?” he asks when you clean up from breakfast.
“Working tonight,” you sigh.
“I could pop by, if you wanted me to.”
“As long as you don’t drink coffee at my eight pm shift,” you giggle, remembering what your chef had said about Wonwoo’s obscure proclivities.
“I promise,” Wonwoo smiles. “I’ll get a burger again.”
“Then you can come see me at work,” you grin, stepping closer to Wonwoo while he wraps his arms around your form, tugging you to his chest.
You’re getting way too used to him, but you can’t stop yourself, all you can do is watch while you fall deeper and deeper into the world of Wonwoo.
You’re downright giddy when Wonwoo shows up in the middle of your shift. He’s always cute, but today, with his circular glasses, he takes your breath away.
He waves as he enters the diner, and you call for him to take any table. He takes the same booth as last time and you’re quick to get him some water, scurrying over with a smile.
“Hi,” you greet him.
“Hi,” he repeats. “How’s your shift going?”
“Better now that you’re here,” you say honestly. “You still want that burger?”
“Can you give me a couple minutes?” he asks. “I think I want to watch you run around for a bit. The sooner I order, the sooner I have to get out of here.”
“Are you going to stare at my ass, Wonwoo?”
“If you’ll let me.”
“Stare away.” You wink, turning on your heel and heading to check in on a different table.
It’s interesting to have his eyes on you like this, to know he’s happy just watching you while you work. He’s such a softie, and you adore him.
You’re grabbing food from the kitchen for a couple when the diner bell rings, and you look up to see four cops coming in. It’s not that often that police come to the diner for an aftershift meal, but tonight seems to be one of those nights.
They’re regulars, all things considered, and with a short wave to you, they take their favourite table, two down from Wonwoo.
Your gaze shifts to the man who’s just told you he’s on the run from the government. He’s playing with his cup of water, but that’s the only indication that he’s nervous. His body language is otherwise relaxed, and you think maybe he’s simply a good actor.
You grab four menus for the cops, and a tray of water, casually walking over them to pick up a conversation about how their night is going.
As you serve them, you notice one of the cops peering over at Wonwoo, and you can feel anxiety building in your stomach. “Can I grab you anything?” you ask, trying to take the man’s attention off of Wonwoo. “Tea, beer-”
“A beer would be nice,” he nods.
You give him a list of what you have in bottles, and he chooses, but as soon as you’re done with him, his eyes move to Wonwoo again.
You head to the main counter, where you put through the drink orders.
The bell to the diner rings, and when you turn to greet the new guests, you don’t see anyone standing at the door. You do, however, find Wonwoo’s booth empty, and your heart drops in your chest.
You’re walking home from your shift when a car pulls up next to you. For a moment, you feel your heart begin to race, but then Wonwoo’s rolling down his window and calling out to you, “Hey, angel.”
“Oh my gosh, Wonwoo-” you stop in your tracks to look at him.
“Can I give you a ride home?”
“Of course,” you respond immediately, heading around his car to get in.
“I’m sorry I left so abruptly,” he apologizes when you enter, closing the door behind yourself.
“I understand why you did it,” you sigh. “You were probably worried one of those cops would recougnize you.”
“Exactly,” he nods. “This is why…” he swallows thickly. “This is why I never stay in one place for too long.”
His words hurt.
They really hurt.
“Look…” you choose what you say next very carefully, “if you do decide to leave town, please don’t do it without coming to talk to me first.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Wonwoo says softly.
The rest of the short ride is quiet, and when he stops in front of your house, he leans over and cups your face, pressing his lips to your own.
When he pulls away, you stay staring at him. “Call me anytime, okay?”
He nods. “You got it, angel.”
It’s been two days since you last heard from Wonwoo, and you’re hanging out at home before a shift when the phone rings. Something inside of you makes you jump from the couch, running to answer the call before either of your roommates can.
“Hello?”
“Hi, angel.”
“Wonwoo-” you let out a deep breath. “How are you?”
The line is quiet for a moment, and you hear him sigh. “I’ve been better.”
“Did something happen?”
“Not yet, but… I expect it might soon.”
You try to figure out what he’s saying. “Does that mean…”
“I’m leaving,” he says, as assertive as you’ve ever heard him. “I have to go.”
Your skin heats and you feel hot pricks in your eyes. You hold back tears, taking a deep breath and squeezing the phone in your hand. “Let me come with you.”
“I told you, this isn’t a life for you-”
“And I told you I don’t care!” You can’t contain yourself anymore, and you feel bad the moment the loud words are out of your mouth. Jessica looks at you from the other room and you turn your back to her, lowering your voice. “It’s not a life for you either, Wonwoo. You can’t live alone forever. You can’t.”
“Some days I think I was built to be alone.”
You can’t help the tears now, and you choke a little on the sob that works its way up your throat. “Wonwoo, please-”
“I don’t want to do this to you, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re hurting me now!” you insist. “Wonwoo you can’t leave, not right when-” you cut yourself off, closing your eyes and leaning your shoulder against the wall. “Not right when I’m falling in love with you.”
The line is dead silent, and each second is like an hour. You’re shaking now, anxiety flooding your system. “Wonwoo? Are you still there?”
“I have to leave soon,” he says finally. “We wouldn’t have room for furniture, or-”
“I don’t care about furniture,” you insist. “All I need is a bag and you.”
“This is crazy,” Wonwoo sighs.
“People do crazier things for love…” you bite at your lip. “You do love me too, right, Wonwoo? That’s why you’re open to this?”
This time, there’s no moment of contemplation, he simply answers, “Of course I love you, angel. How could I not?”
This time, when you let out a small cry, it’s not sadness. It’s a release of pent up emotion, emotion you’ve been holding in for who knows how long. You’re not sure how Wonwoo came into your life and flipped it upside down, but you are sure about him. More sure than you’ve been about anything in your life.
“Your roommates aren’t going to be mad about you abruptly leaving?” Wonwoo asks.
You turn to look at Jessica. “My roommates will get over it,” you state. “When are you picking me up?”
“Can you be ready in an hour?”
“I’ll be waiting outside with my bag.”
“See you then… and angel?”
“Yes, Wonwoo?”
“I do love you.”
“I love you too.”
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🔮 preview. “We could always practice making babies,” you suggest. Wonwoo lets out a loud laugh, the kind of laugh that lights up his face in the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. “Practice, huh?” He releases a deep breath, hands moving to your hips to pull you closer to his bare chest. “I hid your condoms,” you say. It sounds like you’re teasing him, but you are, in fact, being completely serious. “Come on…” you plead, leaning forward to ghost your lips over his throat, “have some fun with me.”
cw/ tw. Unprotected/raw sex, sex, fairly vanilla sex, Wonwoo is a park ranger so he’s built, hand grabbing, heavy panting/breathing, Wonwoo is pleasure vocal, talk about making babies, oral (f receiving), Wonwoo loves eating pussy, fingering, multiple orgasms, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 200
🌙 staring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader
bonus
The first few months being nomadic with Wonwoo had been bitter sweet. Every time you were getting used to a town, something would happen that would cause you to run. Eventually, however, you found a fit.
Wonwoo had stumbled upon a job opening as a park ranger, and it came with a log cabin a half an hour drive from the closest town, the small house nestled discreetly between the trees Wonwoo would be hired to take care of.
It had helped that one drive through the area had proven to Wonwoo that the cops were lazy, more interested in their donut runs than doing their jobs.
You’ve been living with your park ranger boyfriend for over a year now, and the cabin feels like home.
Wonwoo wakes up with the sun, and sets off to do a run through of the trails. You take your time waking and cook breakfast, or you head in to town in your second hand beat up truck for supplies. There’s a library that hired you and the scheduling is relaxed-
You have everything you could ever want… well, almost everything.
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omg you're so right about stranger things vibes, I didn't even think about that!!!! HAHA everyone has mixed reactions on cock block Mary 😂 she said SEXUAL TENSION!!!! thank you for your tags!
CW: Reader’s first time, fingering (F receiving), protected sex, praise.
Word Count: 3826
Summary: You were envious of your best friend’s colourful sex life since yours was non existent. The frustration of being a virgin was getting to be too much, so who better to help you out than the one person you trust the most.
Part of StayTeez Trope’pril
Prompt List Series Masterlist MasterList Buy me a Coffee
Nothing sucks more than feeling like the unattractive one of the friendship group, and what makes it worse is the fact you know for sure that with the boys especially, they’re not even the slightest bit innocent. How could they be when they’re literally the most attractive men you’ve ever laid eyes on?
Especially Yeosang.
Who’s been such a close friend for years, you know everything that’s happened with him even if it didn’t come out of his mouth. It made you so jealous, and insecure. It’s saddening in your eyes that you’ve only ever gone as far as to kiss someone, not ever having the trust there with anyone to let it get any further. Not having trust in them and yourself, not knowing if you’d be impressive anyway.
⤷ warnings: smut [minors dni], oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, squirting, praise kink, use of pet names, exhibitionism, overstimulation, teasing.
˚₊ ♡ seungcheol:
Absolutely down to eat you out any time, any where. He doesn’t mind taking risks; if you’re at a not so crowded restaurant and he’d rather eat you, he’ll go underneath the table and pull your skirt up, ensuring to cover his head as you shake in your seat from the pleasure of his wet lips and tongue on your clit. He also doesn’t mind eating you out with the door unlocked and your legs spread wide open for anyone who decides to walk in if you’re at the practice room or dorms. His excuse? That he wants every single person in the world to know you’re his because he’s possessive like that. He’ll encourage you to moan louder so that others can hear; not caring if you’re shy or inexperienced, his only goal is to get pornographic moans out of you. Will make you cum on his mouth and fingers at least three times before fucking you. “Get back down here, baby. We’re not done yet.”
˚₊ ♡ jeonghan:
I wholeheartedly can’t start this without emphasising the fact that Jeonghan is a tease. A big fucking tease at that. He’ll make you beg and cry for the slightest touch of his lips and his fingers and purposely avoid your sensitive areas, because he’s a menace like that. He also would chuckle if you start whimpering while he leaves faint kisses on your inner thighs and your clit, applying a bit more pressure from time to time, but not enough, because he knows it’ll drive you crazy. Doesn’t mind if you decide to dominate him and ride his face. “Come on angel, you have to work for it,” he tells you, looking up at you before he laps in and around your hole as you moan pathetically, tears forming in your eyes.
˚₊ ♡ joshua:
He’s either the sweetest lover or a menace - there’s no in between, but two things are for sure: he lives for eating you out and he finds great pleasure in it. You fully know it’s practically his favourite thing to do, (after filling you up with his cum of course as this man’s breeding kink is completely out of control; but it’s not like you’d complain.) He gets lost in pleasuring you while simultaneously only focusing on one thing and one thing only: getting you to come. “Aw sweetheart, do you want to come?” he says in a mocking tone as he begins licking and sucking your clit faster; just to hear you whine and beg for a release. Sucking on your clit into his mouth, he moans against your core, letting the vibrations travel through you while his fingertips massages your sweet spot. “Say it, baby. Tell me what you want and maybe I’ll give it to you.”
˚₊ ♡ jun:
“You’re so wet,” Junhui smirks, his long fingers ghosting over your clit softly, teasingly. “What are we gonna do about this, hm?” he asks, leaning in to leave open mouthed kisses on your neck as he thrusts his fingers faster inside of you, sinking down to the knuckle.
“Eat me out,” you whine, needy and desperate. And almost instantly, he’ll get on his knees, throw your leg over his shoulder and press his tongue against your clit. The second you feel his tongue penetrating you, you know it’s over for you. He’s so serious about eating you out - he’ll have you squirming, whimpering, twitching, and clutching at the wall and his hair in no time. “I never imagined you to be so sensitive, but I love it.”
˚₊ ♡ hoshi:
Gets messy with it, like so messy that you feel like you’re going to be devoured whole. He loves spitting on your cunt before inserting his fingers and flicking your clit with his tongue, making your whole body shake. “Keep your eyes open, look at me, baby,” he breathes, diving back in to suck and slurp hungrily at your cunt, savoring every drop of you. At the same time his tongue works with his lips to fuel your orgasm. Soonyoung doesn’t mind getting sloppy and dirty as he loves it when you grind all over his face till he’s covered with your juices. He’s always so eager to please you that he ends up overstimulating you. “Did you cum again already?”
˚₊ ♡ wonwoo:
Every flick of Wonwoo’s tongue would make you squirm and moan endlessly. He has no problem picking you up and putting your legs on his shoulders or shoving you against the nearest wall as he sinks to his knees and buries his face in your cunt. He always makes sure your back is against the wall, gripping your thighs so you don’t fall down when you get lost in the pleasure. Looking up at you he growls, “That’s it, darling,” he stares up at your pleasure filled face as he teases your hole with his tongue. “Fuck my face. Make yourself come.”
˚₊ ♡ woozi:
Like he is with his music, he’s very SERIOUS about your pleasure. He’ll take his time when he gives you oral, kissing his way down your body first; starting with your lips down to the wetness between your thighs. He knows what you like, what you like but used to be shy to ask him for. He’ll suck and lick your clit until you cry, working his tongue faster to keep pace with the sounds you’re making. “My good girl,” he hums against your cunt, the vibrations shaking through you. “So fucking good and pretty for me, look at how much you came.”
˚₊ ♡ minghao:
Minghao wouldn’t want to tease you much as his only goal is to provide you maximum pleasure and satisfaction. He’s so skilled it drives you crazy and he’s also very good with his fingers. Seeing how enthusiastic he is about eating you out gives you a deeper satisfaction and pleasure; it feels so much more euphoric than you had ever imagined. He’ll mutter sweet praises against your clit before curling his tongue against your gspot while his fingers rubs your clit. And when you finally cum for him, he’ll kiss his way back up to your mouth, so you can taste yourself on his tongue as he moans into your mouth. “You’re so pretty, angel,” he breathes, “Your body deserves to be worshipped.”
˚₊ ♡ dk:
Having Seokmin eat you out feels so intense, he doesn’t tease you at all, and he loves making you come several times with just his tongue before fucking you. He enjoys giving you oral just as much as you enjoy receiving it. “Fuck,” you curse when his wet lips brush across your clit before wrapping around and sucking harshly, causing you further pleasure. “Shit- Y…you’re so good at this- oh my god. Please don’t stop, Kyeom.”
He hums as he works his tongue on you, slowly getting you closer and closer to the edge. “God, you love it like this, don’t you?”
You nod vigorously, whimpering in a way that is humiliating, and you know it only eggs him on. He grips your thighs and begins going faster, sucking and licking your clit with a moderate amount of pressure as he desperately grinds against the mattress to get some relief himself. But he focuses on your satisfaction because your pleasure comes first. And when he finally lets go of your clit with a pop, having made you orgasm, he would be breathless and have his face dripping and covered in your juices. “You’re easy to please,” he smirks before placing a kiss on your thigh.
˚₊ ♡ mingyu:
“I wanna eat you out, fuck— I need to taste you,” he groans, his lips immediately finding your tits, pulling down the cups of your bra to get better access to your nipples. He latches on to your nipple, sucking firmly while kneading the other in circular motions. “C’mere baby, sit on my face.”
Mingyu is obsessed with giving you oral. In fact, eating you out is his favorite thing to do and he doesn’t mind letting you know as he gets deeply into it. His jaw? Never gets tired; if it was up to him he’d have his head buried between your legs all day, making you scream and drinking up your pleasure. He wastes no time in finding your swollen clit with his tongue, wrapping his arms around your thighs and burying his face deeper into your wet pussy as your moans get louder. You quickly begin to feel your orgasm approaching as his teeth lightly graze your clit before he begins sucking harshly, inserting his index and middle finger into your dripping hole. You begin to ride his fingers and face, grabbing his free hand and guiding it to your breast. He’ll slurp on your cunt until you squirt, and do it again. And again. “I can never get enough of you, baby.”
˚₊ ♡ seungkwan:
The first time Seungkwan gave you oral, he wasn’t experienced as he hadn’t done it before and he found it hard to make you cum from his tongue alone. However, his skills improved very quickly and you were surprised at how fast of a learner he is. You moan, squirming as the strength of his arms pin you down before he flattens his tongue and licks your cunt.
“Like that?” he quipped, his lips wet with your juices.
“Fuck- yes Kwan, just like that,” you whimpered, taking a glance at his angelic face in between your legs as he smiled and reattached his mouth to your clit, continuing to suck and lick at it. He makes sure to move his tongue up and down your folds, the feeling sending pulses of pure bliss and ecstasy up your core and you can’t help but scream his name. “Quiet, baby, the others will hear.”
˚₊ ♡ vernon:
Vernon rocks your world every single time he eats you out, he’s just so good at it. It’s like your very own heaven. He’s always so eager to please you, and he loves making you feel good, taking every chance he can get to explore your body and its reactions to pleasure. As he sucked on your clit, he looks up at you; his eyes focusing on you and your facial expressions. He loves the small gasps and moans you let out, but he wants you to scream for him.
“Are you holding back?” He asks, his tongue swirling around your clit faster, his moans causing vibrations that had you whimpering his name. “Don’t. These walls are soundproof, you can moan as loud as you want.” He adds, urging you to scream for him. You feel yourself getting closer to your release as he speeds up his ministrations, and when you finally come with a scream of his name and a yank of his hair, he laps up your spill of juices dutifully, cleaning up every last drop as you come down from your high. “Oh? You thought I was done?” he posed, “No no, baby, you can take one more for me, right?”
˚₊ ♡ dino:
There’s nothing Chan loves more than eating your cunt from behind. You always turn into a pillow princess, moaning prettily as he devours you; knowing you’re frustrating him when you moan like that. He loves it when you’re lying on your stomach, legs spread wide open and ass arched. “I’m the only one who gets to see you like this,” he growls as he sucks harshly on your clit with his skilled tongue. “Your pretty little pussy belongs to me.” He spanks your ass before diving head first into your pussy, his wet tongue flicking your clit faster than you’ve ever experienced while his fingers thrusts roughly in your hole. Moaning into your cunt, he wraps his hand around his erection and begins pumping while he sucks your clit.
You moan loudly, your chest heaving as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, expertly curling them so that he hits your gspot every time. “You moan so prettily, baby, keep doing that… fuck- come one more time for me, I know you’ve got it in you.”
a/n : i am but a human, i was tempted to write this and i couldn't help myself. this was not planned for fff but i just asgnsognspso i can't not, yknow ? i am a whorish whore, i am an A B O M I N A T I O N. and i kinda went overboard with this, i didn't even realize i was rambling away. anyways enjoy :D
Mingi's sweater felt comfortable on you, it was warm and it smelled like him. Not just his perfume, but his own scent. You've always loved the fact that he appreciated fashion down to the fabric and he ALWAYS has a keen eye. What you loved most about it was how Mingi was always willing to share his clothing items with you. And thank God he did because it made the conversation you were having with Mingi WAY easier.
"So... you want to have sex with me..." Mingi started off, looking at you, who were sitting on his bed with your legs pulled to your chest, confusedly. "As friends," you intercepted, making Mingi smack his forehead sardonically, "Right, of course, as friends, because you... Want more experience?" He asked, making sure he didn't heard you wrong. You huffed, cheeks red in embarrassment, "And because I want to get used to guys who are... You know..." You trailed off as you waved your hands at his general direction, avoiding eye contact with him, "On the bigger side."
Truly, you wanted the ground to split in half and swallow you whole because that was hard to hear, say, and experience.
It all started when you went out with your girlfriends a couple of nights ago. Their open discussion about the partners they have been with came up and soon everyone was describing the penises they've taken. While you didn't exactly have a weekly quota to fill, the number of your sexual partner was still on the normal side but one thing that your friends caught on was that the size you took were usually those in the medium to the small side. Then the jokes rolled in and you hated that. Obviously, you could've lied, you could've made the claim that you had actually taken a man whose dick is monster sized but the words died in your mouth. But at the same time, an idea popped into your head. Your best friend. Or his roommate.
Mingi chuckled, making you groan because you thought he was going to make fun of you. "Why did you think of me?" he asked, voice void of malice or tease, simply curiosity. But his question didn't make you feel better because you were forced to tell him how you thought of him in the first place. You'd have to be honest that you checked him out more times than you could admit in whatever clothing he wore. It was a known fact that Mingi looked like a damn model and that fucked you up quite a bit. You would have to confess that whenever you and he go swimming, your eyes would automatically zero in on his crotch, watching how the fabric of his swim trunks clung onto his crotch, perfectly accentuating his OBVIOUSLY BIG-looking dick. Mingi waited for your answer, but all he could see was how your face had gone a deeper shade of red, announcing your embarrassment to him wordlessly. As his eyes trailed down, he took notice of the way your legs clenched together, the expanse of your knees appearing down from his sweater that was too long for your body and your bare knees touching. Your state let him know what you were thinking, and what your answer was to his question. Or at least an idea.
You were surprised when you felt the bed dip right by your foot and even more so when he took your legs and pulled them to either side of his body. When you looked up at him, Mingi was sporting a mischievous grin, staring at you with a knowing look that made you visibly swallow the lump that was forming in your throat. "Been checking out my goods, haven't you?" he teased, adding a chuckle at the end to further let you know that he was being a tease. You pouted and were about to kick him with your right leg but failed as he managed to pull the leg and slung it over his left shoulder as he simultaneously pulled you closer to him so that your hips were on his lap and your upper body lay flat on your back. "Do you think I'm hot?" he asked, tilting his head slightly to the side to faux innocence while his left hand tickle the skin on your upper knee where his hand rested. You rolled your eyes and mindlessly mumbled to him, "Of course, I think you're hot, I fucking have eyes," not realizing that Mingi could hear you perfectly. Pleased with your answer, Mingi chuckled and leaned forward to trap you under him with his hands on either side of your head, "Is that why you wanna fuck me? You want to tell your friends that you had sex with your hot, big-cocked best friend?" he teased, face coming closer to yours that you could feel his breath fanning on your face. "Look at me," he demanded, forcing you to look up at him, staring into his eyes to see a glint of both playfulness and want.
When Mingi dove down to take your lips in his, you were caught very off guard. You didn't expect your talk with Mingi, your request, to be taken so seriously by the man to the point that he was now on his way to let you know how it feels to be taking a cock with a size that you've never tried before. The intrusion of Mingi's tongue in your mouth made you gasp. Mingi took that chance to fully explore the cavern of your mouth, moaning into it as he pressed his body close to yours as best as he could. Your right leg which was on Mingi's shoulder was folded in half while your left fell around his waist at the pressure of his body against you. You could feel his dick pressing against your core and your head was swimming with the thought of finally being able to feel its shape after the long time you spent only oggling at it when given the chance. It didn't occur to you how perverted you sound but you quickly shove the thought away to enjoy the feeling of Mingi on you.
You took a deep breath, gasping for air even when Mingi pulled his mouth off of you. "You're wilder than I expect you to be, (y/n). I never thought you'd be so ambitious that you wanted to be used to taking a big cock," he chuckled on your skin, his warm breath tickling your skin and the vibration of his voice travelled to cover the area where his lips made contact. "Or maybe you just wanna see and feel my cock inside you, huh? Using that lame fucking excuse just to appear innocent," his head lifted from your neck, smirking down at you as you felt his hands moving inside his sweater that you were wearing, eyes widening when he realized what he felt, "You're not wearing a shirt under this?" he asked, pleasantly surprised. You pursed your lips and shook your head, not knowing why he was so surprised, "I never wear anything underneath when I borrow your clothes," you stated simply.
The new information entered Mingi's ears and run around his head continuously until he was able to understand what it was you were saying. The guttural groan that left Mingi's throat made your heart clench, stomach drop, and pussy weep. "There goes my fantasy coming true," he said before quickly pulling the sweater you wore off, exposing the flimsy sleep shorts you were wearing along with your bare breast. "You thought of me?" you asked, having your turn teasing him with a mischievous grin on your face, expecting him to deny you or even to poke back at you in retaliation. But instead, you saw him nod as he gently kneaded your breasts, his hands rough and firm but his movements were so soft and careful as if he didn't want to harm you, "Of course, a girl like you, how can I not? The day you first wore my shirt, I jerked off at the thought of you masturbating in it, the day we went swimming, I had to excuse myself so I can imagine cumming on your tits. You don't know how much I wanted to see you naked like this," he confessed, tweaking your nipples to make you moan out loud. "Well," Mingi chuckled as he eyed your sleep shorts, "More naked than this I supposed."
Mingi spared you a glance, seemingly asking for permission from you even though he could just easily strip you naked and has his way. Even in this position, he was still your gentle giant of a best friend, ever so considerate and kind. Though the reality was that you were about to find out just how rough he could be.
With your permission through the nod you gave, Mingi carefully let your left leg off of his shoulder so when he take your bottom off, there would not be any intrusion. The hands that were on your breasts slid down your body, his fingers catching on the hem of your shorts as he purposefully let his thumb rest on your mound, directly on your nub. The pressure he put made you whimper out, surprised at the suddenness of it. Mingi leaned his body down to press his lips on your stomach so he could drag it down as his hands work efficiently, pulling both your shorts and your panties off to finally expose you in your naked glory to his eyes. When you felt your bottom was free of clothing and the pieces were tossed somewhere on Mingi's floor, joining his sweater, you felt his lips rest on your lower belly. He peppered kisses around the area and only in that area, not going lower which made you frustrated as your cunt could feel his presence so close to it yet it wasn't getting the attention it deserved.
"Is this what you two do when I'm not around?"
You snapped out of your pleasure haze and looked to the side to see Yunho standing in the doorway of Mingi's room. His face was neutral safe for the high tilted arch of his left eyebrow as he took in the position you and Mingi were in. You moved to cover yourself but Mingi remained unbudging, even displeasedly grunting at you. "Am I interrupting?" Yunho joked, chuckling at how you were scattering to try to cover yourself while Mingi looked like he couldn't be bothered.
Finally, with a final push, you were able to get Mingi off of you. In return, he pulled you close to him, shielding your exposed front side from Yunho as he kept a possessive arm around your waste. Perhaps you were seeing things, but for a second you swore you saw something like disappointment flashing on Yunho's face. "You're back from the gym?" Mingi asked, too casually for your liking considering the state you were in. Yunho nodded at Mingi's question dropping his gym back in the hallway, near Mingi's doorway, "Yeah, San wanted to do legs today and I took a shower there before coming home," he shrugged before nodding towards the both of you, "Now, care to tell me what this is?" he asked whilst simultaneously taking his slow steps into the room, closer to where your bare body was, making you subconsciously lean closer into Mingi. The way your body curled to avoid his gaze made the corner of Yunho's mouth twitch, almost breaking out into a grin.
Casually, Mingi shrugged at his roommate, "(y/n) here wants to try taking a big cock so she asked me," he said oh too simply which earned him a slap on his chest. The impact caused him to jolt slightly and turn his gaze from his roommate to you, "What? That's what you told me!" he whined, bottom lip jutting out in a pout while you glared at him, "Well you didn't have to tell him that!" you hissed, embarrassed and annoyed that he so cavalierly shared that intimate information with his equally hot friend. "Whoah," Yunho interrupted just as Mingi was about to answer you, "If you wanna try taking a big cock, why not ask me?" he asked directly at you. Your eyes widened, surprised at the question Yunho asked you. Never in a million years would you have expected to hear such a question from Yunho. He was casually offering himself for you to use.
To be honest, it wasn't like you hadn't thought of him. Between Yunho and Mingi, you were more used to Mingi and you were just so used to being open to Mingi that it was a no-brainer that Mingi was the first person you go to. Just like how you know Mingi was big, you know that Yunho was big too. You can't exactly compare the two because you haven't seen their bare cocks (yet), but you could make an estimation in your brain. But now Yunho's offering his cock for you to use as well if you need it. You were pretty sure your brain was making up shit in your head.
Snapping you out of your shocked trance, you noticed that Mingi was laughing heartily, "Oh dude, she liked you saying that, her pussy was clenching!" He announced. Your eyes widened out of surprise as red covered your face from embarrassment while Yunho broke out chuckling with a grin on his face. "Mingi! How could you say that!?" you scolded, slapping him on his chest again before trying to get out of his grasp in favour of hiding under his duvet but his grip was too tight on you. It was comfortably tight but very restricting, you tried wiggling around to get out but all you found was that you were still trapped and your pussy was rubbed just right on his thighs.
A pair of hands suddenly placed themselves on your shoulders, instinctively making you look up. Yunho was staring down at you with a smile so gentle but in contrast, his eyes has a teasing glint to them. "Don't worry baby, I find it VERY endearing that you want me too," he said in hopes that his words would comfort you even slightly.
At his words, your eyebrows furrowed, noticing something that he said. "I'm sorry, 'too'?" you asked, not sure whether or not you heard correctly. Yunho nodded nonchalantly as if the information he just revealed was common knowledge and/or no big deal at all. But the look on your face said otherwise, it showed him that you really didn't know that you were wanted by him all this time. And Yunho found great pleasure in it, he felt a wave of arousal coursing through him once again. The first time was when he hear Mingi said that you wanted to take his big cock and fit it in your cunt (he was paraphrasing, of course), and now this. You never considered the possibility of Yunho wanting you. He revelled in the knowledge that you were just so precious, especially to him.
The hands that were carefully placed on your shoulders soon made their move, pulling you back so that your body fell onto his toned, strong torso, releasing you from Mingi's grip. Yunho then swooped in to kiss you in his upside-down position. It was quite awkward but it felt nice because somehow Yunho made the position work. Whilst your mouth was occupied by Yunho, Mingi took you off of his lap so he could slide back slightly to reposition and take off his clothing. "Yunho, look," Mingi called, taking Yunho's attention away from you momentarily to point at his grey sweatpants, specifically on the spot you sat on his thigh, "(y/n)'s cunt is definitely dripping. Look at the pool she made," he pointed out, grinning proudly. While Yunho smirked at that, you looked at it in utter horror. "Dude, don't tease her like that, that's actually so hot," Yunho said as he licked his lips, hungry for your taste, before diving down to attach his lips with yours again, not giving you a chance to react his words.
You reacted, however, when Mingi bend your legs on your knees and spread them wide enough to fit himself in between them comfortably. Yunho was preoccupying you so well that you didn't realize what Mingi was up to until you felt his fingers probing your pussy. The feeling was so sudden that you gasped and detached yourself from Yunho but your hand clung to him for support. "You're so wet (y/n), did you start leaking when we started talking about your need to fuck a huge cock?" Mingi asked, smirking cockily as he began to enter you. At the feeling of your opening clenching down on him, Mingi shuddered and exhaled sharply, your tightness was thrilling to him. "Did your previous partners not fuck you right or something? How can you be this tight?" Mingi groaned the more he move around in your pussy, even pulling you slightly forward to him, slightly detaching you from Yunho slightly.
With you preoccupied with Mingi, Yunho took this as a chance to pull away so he could take his shirt and pants off as he kept a close eye on you and Mingi. Mingi had you repositioned by now, laying down on the bed as he busied his mouth with teasing your opening. Yunho felt his dick hardened at the sight of you moaning, back arching with your pebbled nipples pointing to the sky, arms going wild, moving around aimlessly due to the pleasure Mingi was giving you. You froze however when Yunho slotted himself behind you, allowing your body to rise slightly as he rested your head on his chest, moving you around as if you weighed nothing. "I want to touch you too," Yunho whispered in your ear, making your body shudder from the words he used and the way his breath blew on your earlobe. In a flash, Yunho had your left leg in his grip as his right arm reached down your body to dip into your sopping cunt. Your eyes rolled back at the sensation of Mingi's tongue in your hole and Yunho's middle and ring fingers gently pushing your lips apart. "Oh, you're enjoying this so much, aren't you, dirty bitch?" Mingi smirked at your pussy, his lips moving against the flesh that caused you to wince slightly at the unfamiliar feeling. Yunho chuckled at the way Mingi called you a bitch, knowing that despite him sounding like he was degrading you, he really wanted you just as much if not more. "I bet if we try to fuck her, we'll slip right in," Yunho pointed out, making you clench at the thought of taking Mingi and Yunho. "Oh, she likes that, she WANTS that," Mingi chuckled, unlatching his mouth from your cunt while leaving his fingers in your hole, coaxing more of your juices out, "Do you think you're ready to take us, baby?" he asked, wanting you to give him the signal to proceed. Frantically, you nodded, and your hands flew to both Mingi's and Yunho's that were stimulating your cunt, stopping their movements momentarily, "Please, I really need your cocks," you pleaded, glazed eyes staring up at Yunho before going to Mingi.
In a flash, both men took off the rest of their clothing and positioned you so that you were sandwiched between them. Yunho held your body steady with his hands on your waist in front of you as you placed your hands on his broad shoulders. Mingi on the other hand was situated behind you, your legs opened and your ass above his lap with his dick poking at your hole and his hands situated just above Yunho's, his fingers directly on your underboob, softly caressing the skin in a comforting manner. "Are you ready?" Yunho asked when he saw the worried look on your face, "Mingi's going to let you get used to him first and we're going to have the gravity do most of the work," he explained, smiling at you. "You seem to know the mechanism, have you done this before?" you nervously joked, staring down at his obviously large cock. While Yunho laugh at your jab, Mingi spoke up from behind, "Kinda surprised that you let me go first, but thanks man," he grinned. Yunho nodded and shrugged slightly at Mingi, "Yeah, you're smaller than me so between the two of us, she might be comfortable taking you first." Mingi furrowed his eyebrows and let his left hand off of your body for a bit to punch Yunho on his chest, "The fuck are you saying, we're basically the same size!" he protested, not liking that Yunho called him small. Technically small-er but still, Mingi didn't like that. With a roll of his eyes, Yunho nodded in Mingi's general direction, "I'm just saying, yours looked slightly slimmer than mine," he reasoned. Mingi was about to say something when you groaned and turn to glare at Mingi and Yunho, "Okay, can you both stop logging at each other's dicks and help me with my problem?"
The tip of Mingi's dick intruded your hole with a shift of his hips, effectively shutting you up as the annoyance on your face changed into one of shock; your eyes rolled back and your jaw went slack. Yunho's eyes darkened at your expression, delighted that he was able to get a front-row seat to look at what a big dick did to you. "I'm sorry baby, how is it now?" Mingi mocked, hands going back on you but this time it covered your tits. "S-so- so big," you gasped out as you inhaled sharply. The tip was bigger than you expected and maybe Mingi's tease was right earlier, maybe your previous partners have not been fucking you correctly because the feeling in your cunt was nothing like you felt before. Your previous experience was nowhere near what Mingi was giving you right now. "That's it, take your very first big cock," Yunho said, eyes trailing down to look at the way your thighs trembled slightly from Mingi's intrusion, "Do you think you can take more?" he asked. You bit your bottom lip as you mulled it over, thinking how even the tip affected you that much, were you able to take more? But hell if you weren't determined. So you quickly nodded to Yunho, your left hand reaching back to Mingi's knees to let him know that he could try to slide in more.
It was a good thing that Mingi made sure you were wet first because when he pushed in, you could feel a slight burn. His dick was stretching you out and it was uncomfortable, to say the least. With a whimper, your body dropped forward, the hands that were braced on Yunho's shoulders now enveloped it completely as you held on for support. Mingi was about halfway in your cunt when he stopped, wanting to make sure you were used to more of him before he could slip in more. Practising self-restraint was so hard for Mingi as your walls were clutching on him so tight it was like a vice. Yunho saw how Mingi's head hung low and his biceps trembled slightly and he could only imagine how amazing you felt. The more he thought about it, the more aroused he got, he could feel his cock twitching and from your position, you could feel it too. But with being so overwhelmed you couldn't even make a comment about it.
"You're doing so good, baby," Yunho cooed to comfort you, his hands gently caressing your thighs in assurance as Mingi dipped his head down to pepper kisses all over your back. "I wanna do better," you groaned out, surprising both men when you voluntarily sunk down with a cry as your head was thrown back. Your senses were overwhelmed as you could hear your heart pounding in your ears and your eyes watering, your skin felt slick with sweat and your thighs felt like they were burning. "Shit," you cursed when you felt yourself not being able to take more. You swore it felt like Mingi's dick had no end as you take every inch of him but still felt more. Both men knew it was the most you could take at that moment and they were amazed at how you were doing so far. To distract you, Mingi played with your breasts, flicking both nipples and massaging the soft flesh as Yunho reached down to stimulate your clit. You were glad they did so because although there was still pain from your hole being stretched, you could feel that pleasure was doing such a great job distracting you.
"You felt so amazing (y/n), how could you keep your cunt away from me this long? I should've fucked you from the moment we met and have you fucking yourself on me this whole time," Mingi moaned when he sneakily tried to move slightly and was delighted when he heard you hum lowly in pleasure instead of wincing. Hearing Mingi use such language and talk to you in such a way was thrilling, you loved hearing how much he wanted you and now hearing that he was lusting after you made your head feel fuzzy and your stomach churning in the best way. You couldn't even help but clench down at Mingi's dick which elicit a groan of pleasure from Mingi.
Yunho raised an eyebrow at his friend's statement and scoffed, "What makes you think she would've even wanted you? Maybe she wanted to fuck herself on me instead," he questioned. Mingi raised an eyebrow as he slowly pulled away and pushed back in again, making you bite your bottom lip to suppress a moan. "She came to me first to ask for help, if that's not proof, you're crazy," he scoffed. "Please," you started, head dropping even lower to rest on Mingi's shoulder, "I asked you because we're just closer and- ah," you whimpered when Mingi bucked up slightly, "You were here." Yunho couldn't help but laugh and peck you on the lips, "See, Mingi?" he teased, lifting his arousal-covered fingers to your mouth so you could taste yourself and clean them for him, "You were just available so technically speaking, you have the same opportunity as a dildo," he poked. In disbelief, Mingi propped you up better in his strong grip and pressed his cheek to yours, "Oh, so you wanna get used to me so when you seduce Yunho, you can take him like a champ? Can you believe that Yunho? (y/n) here wants your cock as she's fucking herself on my cock," he chuckled darkly as he eyed his friend.
In a flash, Mingi began moving in and out of you, teasing you by going as far as slipping completely out of you and bucking back in. The impact would've sent you tumbling forward but Mingi was holding you in a jealous vice. It was probably a bad idea that you poked fun at him like that but you honestly couldn't complain when Mingi was taking you so well.
The pleasure seemed to dull your attachment to reality because just as Mingi pulled out, you felt something thicker entering you. Your eyes widened as you tried to shake your head to regain your senses. It was blurry, but from the way Yunho was staring deep into your eyes with his teeth gritting, you realized that he had pushed his cock inside you. If it weren't for both men's grip on you, you were willing to bet that you would've slumped down because you couldn't feel your legs. You were sure they were shaking, but you couldn't really feel them.
"Fuck, how did you not immediately fuck her, Mingi? She's so tight and warm," Yunho groaned through gritted teeth, trying his best to not immediately snap his hips up. With his length (which you were sure not all of them) inside you, you could definitely tell that Yunho was right, he was bigger than Mingi in terms of girth but their lengths were maybe the same. "Shit," you moaned out, hands clutching onto Yunho so tightly that your nails were digging into his skin, "More, I need more," you stated, surprising both men. "Are you sure?" Mingi asked, pushing your hair away with one of his hands to look at your face better, "Don't you think you need to adjust first?" he worriedly added, genuinely not wanting to hurt you. But you were determined, nodding firmly and even pushing yourself off of him to situate yourself in a straight sitting position, "I will get adjusted by having you both fuck me," you stated, pouting at Yunho that made him just positively melt, "Please?" you begged.
Both men shared a look and nodded, wanting to give you what you were asking of them. They repositioned their hands so they could have a better grip on you before Yunho began moving slowly to accommodate your adjustment. Thankfully, having taken Mingi beforehand and with the slick you produced, Yunho found it easy to move and you did not feel as much pain as the first time. After a couple of thrusts, Yunho finally moved to slip himself out and Mingi slipped back inside you. The difference in girth was a blessing for you as you felt like you were given the chance to take a breath momentarily. The pain was almost completely gone at this point, all you could feel were pleasure but you knew that you still couldn't take them both harshly. You were glad that both men were putting you first and moving slowly, proving to you that they indeed kept up with their words that they wanted to help you.
They fell into a rhythm soon enough, slipping in when the others slipped out, stealing moans after moans from your mouth from pleasure. You felt like you were in cloud nine, finally understanding why your friends made such a big deal about taking a large sized cock. Although, you'd have to admit that it wasn't just because of their size that you were having such a pleasurable time. Had it not been for the fact that it was your friends helping you, you might not be having this much fun. You loved their possessive yet caring grip on you as they made a mess of your cunt. You were sure that there was a pool right underneath you, a mixture of your cum and their precum dropping onto the sheet bellow.
You didn't even realize when you finally came. Mingi had just re-entered you after Yunho bucked up into you harshly when your body froze and your muscles tensed up, your thighs closed slightly and your head was thrown forward onto Yunho's shoulder as you climaxed dramatically with your body shaking. Mingi's eyes rolled back as he felt your pussy clenching and gushing, the warmth of it was enough to make him cum inside you, not having enough time to pull out.
When you and Mingi slumped back, you rested on top of him as he supported his body weight with his arms, you noticed Yunho towering over you with a smirk on his face. "My turn," he said as he started to pump his dick in his hands. You watched him trying to get himself to cum using the image of you being so spent on top of Mingi and you can't help but think that it was hot. Your pussy clenched down onto Mingi's dick that was still inside you, forcing a mixture of both of your cums to leak down to your ass. Mingi moved to spread your legs widely for Yunho, letting them rest over his own legs as if he was telling Yunho where to cum. Yunho's eyes zeroed in on your puffy lips, hole stretched with Mingi's still hard dick in it and glistening with arousal. It didn't take much for him to reach his climax and painted your pussy and stomach white with his cum. Even when he dropped back, you could still see his tip spurting out the white liquid and his cock twitching.
Finally, when things wind down, you closed your eyes and let your head rest on Mingi's shoulder. The room was filled with the scent of sweat and sex, no one talked so it was quiet save for the sound of the three of you panting, trying to catch your breaths. Despite the tiredness, both men were proud of what they did, happy even that they were able to help you. Sure, you didn't take them completely, but they took their win as they didn't hear you complaining.
What surprised them was what you said when you opened your eyes again, lifting your head to look at both of them before announcing your plan.
you're having the worst month of your life: you got dumped by your ex, lost your job and now your car has broken down. luckily, the mechanic knows a way for you to repay him.
⛓️ PAIRING :: seo changbin x f!reader
⛓️ GENRE :: smut, dubcon, car mechanic!au
⛓️ WORD COUNT :: 1.3k
⛓️ WARNINGS :: dubcon !!! (sex as payment), mc is a virgin, corruption, degradation, mention of anal, pussy spanking, unprotected sex, oral (m), possessive behavior
⛓️ NOTE :: 18+ minors dni. this work contains dubcon. proceed with caution if the above warnings may be triggering to you. i do not condone any of these actions. the characters don't represent real people. this is fiction for entertainment purposes only. don't edit, copy, repost or otherwise steal my content.
📍 skz masterlist
Your hands are shaking under the mechanic's stern gaze. Sweat coats your brow when your card declines for the third time.
“Are you sure the card works?” The man frowns. You’re standing in his small office at the back of the shop. It was the only one in town open on a Sunday and he towed your broken car all the way there.
You bounce on the balls of your feet. His dark eyes make you nervous. You know there’s not enough money in your account; the repair was more expensive than you expected.
“I can call someone. Let me grab my phone from my purse. It’s in the car.”
The truth is you have no idea who to ask for help. Your cheater of a boyfriend broke up with you last month. You don’t talk to your parents. And the handful of friends you’ve got all have their own troubles.
“So you can drive off without paying? Don’t think so.” The mechanic (Changbin, Seo according to the tag on his shirt) crosses his arms in front of his broad chest and watches you closely. “What kind of work do you do?”
“I-I,” you stutter, taken aback by the question. His probing eyes burn right through you so you don’t dare to tell him anything but the truth. If you’re lucky he might even take pity on you. “I got fired last month.”
“Sorry to hear that.” His smirk doesn’t match his words. “So I’m guessing you don’t have the money?”
“I promise I can pay you back later—”
He shakes his head and wipes his hands clean on a towel. “Heard that one too many times before. You’re not leaving without payment.”
Tears burn behind your eyes as everything around you comes crashing down. The breakup, losing your job, the car… It's too much. You blink the tears away and take a shaky breath. You’re not going to cry in the mechanic’s office.
The man steps closer and tilts your chin up with his hand. He smells like a mixture of motor oil and sandalwood. Something twists deep in your gut.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He smiles. “I have a solution."
When the mechanic had told you how to repay your debt you’d expected he would want you to give him a quick handjob or suck him off. Even though you felt shame at such a transaction you had agreed. You didn’t see another way out. You’d just have to get him to cum quickly so you could leave and never think about this day again.
But it would be a lie to say your eyes weren’t drawn to his strong arms and muscular chest.
What you didn’t expect was for Changbin to put you over his lap with your skirt flipped up, the cold air hitting your exposed cunt.
He has been playing with your pussy for what feels like hours. His rough fingers circle your hole and trace your lips, ignoring your throbbing clit. It drives you crazy.
He laughs at your helpless wriggling and spreads your folds to spit in your hole. You can feel it trickle down together with the last of your dignity.
His wet thumb presses up higher, against your asshole and you gulp in surprise at the strange sensation.
“Have you been fucked here before?”
"N-no," you hiccup.
“Maybe I should be the first. Fuck your tight ass while your needy cunt stays empty until you’re begging me to cum.”
You can feel his heavy cock prodding at your stomach and you wince. He'll never fit. Fear mixes with arousal and he laughs again.
“Does that thought make you wet, sweetheart? Look at you. You’re fucking dripping.”
Changbin applies more pressure now, thumb almost breaching your rim. You realize he could do anything he wants to you.
And you would let him.
Shame washes over you and you hide your burning face in your hands.
"What's wrong, princess?" he mocks.
When you stay quiet Changbin slaps your pussy with the flat of his hand and you tremble at the sting. It’s the first attention your clit receives and the pain bleeds into a dull pleasure that settles in your core.
"Answer me."
You shake your legs anxiously. You and your ex never got the chance to take it any further than third base. He had already left you for another girl by then. One he could fuck any time he wanted. One that didn’t want to wait.
“I’ve never… I’m…” you start. “I’ve never had sex before.”
Changbin groans. You’re a virgin? His cock twitches at the thought of being the first man to fuck your pretty little cunt.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he echoes his earlier words. “I’ll ruin you for every man that comes after. Make sure you want nothing but my cock.”
You whine at his words. You feel so deprived you could cry.
"P-please," you whisper. The neediness in your own voice disgusts you.
"Please what? Please stop?"
You shake your head meekly. "Please, sir, want your cock."
Changbin laughs. "Such a spoiled little whore. Can't even pay me and now she wants my cock? What makes you think you deserve it?"
He slaps your clit again, harder this time. You sob.
“I-I’ll be good for you, sir.”
“You better be. I spent a whole day fixing your car.”
His strong arms hoist you up and he bends you over his desk, your hips hitting the hardwood tabletop. You hear him fumble with his zipper and then, without warning, you’re breached by his heavy cock.
You cry out at the burning sting, the stretch bringing tears to your eyes. “H-hurts, ah, sir—”
Changbin grunts and grasps your waist, setting a relentless pace. “You made a promise, sweetheart. Now pay me.”
You whimper and sob as his thick girth stretches you open. It’s a foreign sensation, pain mingling with pleasure until the sting fades away and all you can feel is the tightening knot in your tummy.
“You’re lucky no one else is here today to watch you getting fucked like a whore.” Changbin’s hands tighten their grasp. His hips snap into yours roughly, hard enough to bruise. “You fucking love this, don’t you?”
You mewl in response. It’s impossible to think straight when he’s pounding into you like this.
He laughs. “Who would’ve thought you’d be such a slut? Fuck, you’re so fucking tight. Gets me so hard, princess. Gonna make you cream around this cock until you can’t take it anymore.”
You’re crying and drooling all over his paperwork now. Your entire body burns in humiliation at getting fucked like this: bend over a desk in a repair shop, letting a stranger use your body for payment.
But the worst part is that you’re enjoying every minute of it.
“Make me cum, sir, please,” you’re begging him between sobs. You feel so high-strung you think you can snap at any moment.
Changbin slaps your ass harshly and you cum with a cry, your cunt squeezing around him like a vice. He fucks you through it until you’re clawing at his desk.
You gasp for air and try to squirm away from him. “Too much—sir, hhng, ahh—”
He pulls out and grabs your limp body to turn you around and force you down on your knees. You look up at him with wide eyes, red-rimmed and makeup smudged from crying.
“Look at what you do to me, sweetheart.” Changbin strokes your cheek and your shaky hands come up to guide his cock to your mouth. He’s fucked you so dumb you’d do anything to get more.
He rests the tip on your lips before pushing past them and drool spills from the sides of your mouth as you choke around his cock. “I think I’ll keep you here for a while longer, princess. Until I say your debt is paid.”
warnings: swearing, ig counts as bondage, working out, oral (f receiving), cocky!bin (he’s a leo yk), praising,
inspo: this request that blew my brain: you're working out with changbin and he eats you out on the hip abductor machine so you can't close ur legs
notes: i’m not well. hip abductors are my favourite thing and they just got better.
{ wc: 2253 }
You couldn’t class yourself as a gym rat by any strandards, let alone when you worked out with someone like him. His workouts were twice as long as yours and twice as hard. So you never tried to match him when you worked out together—but it was still fun working out with him.
After a few months together, and hearing you complain about the atmosphere in your local gym, Changbin finally said something.
“You know there’s a perfectly good gym in my house, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s yours. Plus, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
All you got in response was an eyeroll, and Changbin’s stubbornness, until eventually you caved and started working out in the gym room he set up in his house.
It had everything you needed, everything anyone would need, so it was perfect. Best of all, it had Changbin hyping you up and challenging you and motivating you to work harder.
So today, like most times, you were working on your cardio as Changbin worked weights.
He was in a mood today, that was evident when he looked at you out of nowhere and asked, “remind me how much you weigh?”
“Bin, you should never ask a lady that question,” you teased.
“Just,” he sighed, “is this right?”
You walked over to the weights and checked the discs he added onto the bar. With some quick math, you assured him it was indeed your total body weight.
He smirked at you before placing himself underneath the bar, pushing it up by his hips.
You had to swallow, realising you were practically salivating.
“Can I help you?” He asked as he finished his set—and that’s when you realised you were still glued to your spot, fully staring at him as he moved.
“Uh, um, just not sure what I should focus on next, coach.”
He laughed at you. You probably weren’t hiding your interest as well as you thought you were.
“Done your cardio?” You nodded. “Thirty minutes?”
“Yep,” you said, smoothing your hands over your gym shorts. “Maybe some leg presses?”
“Yeah,” he smiled at you, almost proudly. He didn’t move his eyes away from yours as he pushed his hips up again to start his second set.
You moved over to the machine, focusing on your breathing and your form just like he taught you.
When you finished your first set Changbin appeared behind you.
“That looks too easy, come on,” he urged, moving the weight pin down one level. “Try it now.”
You pushed against the platform, getting used to the new weight on your thighs. It wasn’t too difficult.
“I can do that,” you nodded.
“Still easy?”
You hummed, giving it another try before affirming his question.
He moved the pin down one more slot before he left you to your sets and got back to his own workout.
You moved on to the next machine, Changbin making sure to move the pin down from where you originally placed it again.
“Why?” You groaned, already feeling the strain in your muscles.
“Come on, you can’t call me coach for me to just let you get away with rookie level weights.”
You rolled your eyes at his determination, but it covered you in warmth nonetheless.
He always tried to help you get better, and maybe that was part of the reason you liked working out with him—as opposed to some of the other boys you knew.
From your spot on this particular machine you could clearly see his back as he pulled down the bar again and again and again. After every ten pulls he added more weight, and you thanked whatever god you needed to that he decided to wear a tank top on this particular day.
You rarely saw him in revealing clothes when he was working out with other people, but the privacy of his own gym let him feel more comfortable. And perhaps that’s also why you decided to wear shorts to work out today as well.
You lost count of your reps.
You even stopped moving your legs entirely, too focused on the way his muscles strained and contracted in front of your eyes.
“Yah!” He yelled as he finished his last set. “Is it just me or did you stop moving?”
He looked at you accusingly, but that cocky glint in his eyes let you know you weren’t in too much trouble. Still, you smiled sheepishly as you nodded.
“Lost focus, coach,” you admitted slowly.
“So now I need to make sure you’re doing your sets?”
You nodded, far too eager. The best part of working out with Changbin was when he helped you through your reps. The way his eyes followed every movement of your body, the way he sent praise after praise your way.
So you didn’t even try to hide how much you enjoyed it and how much you wanted him to always have all his attention on you when you were in his private gym.
“Right then,” he crouched beside you, “fifteen reps.”
He counted you down, insisting you complete the full movement each time, and when you were done he made sure to tell you, “you did such a good job! Again.”
This went on for three more sets (one more than you’d decide to do, but Changbin insisted) before he gave you your bottle and instructed you to breathe in deeply.
“Binnie, I’m tired,” you complained, attempting your biggest puppy eyes at him. They almost worked, you could tell by the way he cocked his head to the side before looking away from you with a massive smile on his face.
“Don’t try that on me!” He yelled.
It wasn’t unusual for Changbin to raise his voice for no reason at all, so you didn’t even flinch at the volume or the way his voice echoed off the walls—given the strong acoustics in the room.
Changbin’s favourite rap playlist was playing in the background, lowly, but his voice was always so much louder than that.
“One more machine,” he said finally, “your pick.”
You groaned but let your eyes scan all the different choices—until you set your heart on the hip abductor. It wasn’t too much of a struggle and it allegedly helped tone your butt and thighs. So it was a win win.
You jumped off the glute machine and skipped your way over to the hip abductor.
“This one!” You said happily, before moving the pedals around to your thighs and positioning yourself comfortably.
“Okay,” he smiled back. You found the right weight for you, placing the pin where you could find resistance but not too much.
Changbin crouched next to you again, looking at your form and correcting it when needed. He counted your reps like he did before—but you couldn’t help but notice his voice was quieter, lower than normal. Deep.
His eyes moved from your thighs to settle right between your legs, soft sighs leaving him every time you forced the machine open.
“Good,” he sighed out, “good job.”
“Another set?” You asked, slowly, aware of the heat rushing up and down your body and settling in your core.
Changbin nodded, his eyes meeting yours momentarily. There was a fire in them you were very used to seeing in the privacy of your bedroom—but it brought a wave of excitement into your stomach to see that same look from him now.
You followed his hands, those beautiful hands, as he grabbed the pin and moved it all the way down to the heaviest weight class.
“Bin,” you chuckled, tilting your head in a silent question. You tried to show him with your thighs that you couldn’t possibly move that amount—you were stuck in place. The machine was set to move inwards and so without being able to move the weight your thighs were forced open.
“What?” He asked, fake innocence coating his Cheshire smile.
“It’s too heavy,” you whined, trying again to close your legs. You couldn’t even move them in the slightest.
“It looks like it’s doing the right job,” he said lowly, licking over his lips.
You were sure you let out a small squeak. That thought was confirmed when Changbin chuckled darkly.
“Get up a sec,” he asked softly. You did as you were told, and once you freed yourself from the machine and stood up on your legs, Changbin grabbed your shorts and pulled them down in one shift motion. “Sit back down.”
He hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor, the sight of him looking up at you with his eyes dark and mouth wide made you almost combust on the spot. You don’t even remember sitting back down. It was the cool air in the room hitting your wet core that brought you back to the moment you were in.
“Is this okay?” He asked, delicately.
“Uh huh,” you huffed out.
“Your body looks so good when you push yourself, you know that?” He began, eyes fixed on your bare lower half and the way he could see you clenching at his words.
You were so open, so exposed, Changbin wouldn’t even dare to look away.
He did for a moment though, if only to look at your face—to see if there were any signs of discomfort or uncertainty.
“Gonna eat you out like this,” he announced his plans, which were already pretty clear to everyone involved. But Changbin knew you didn’t like surprises, so he made sure to say it.
“I’m all sweaty from the workout though,” you protested, smelling your deodorant on you. You could feel the pressure building inside your body already, the want in your pussy to be touched, to be devoured like Changbin so clearly wanted to do.
“I really don’t give a fuck,” he chuckled.
He ran his hands up your warm knees, up your thighs, all the way to where the machine had brought the skin of your hips to bunch together. Changbin grabbed at the muscle harshly, causing your lips to part slightly.
“Bin,” you whined softly, instinctively pushing your thighs together. But they wouldn’t move.
“What is it?” He smirked. He knew exactly what it was. “Baby’s too weak to move?”
“I’m not weak,” you protested, “you moved it to the highest weight!”
“Yeah, so I could do this,” and then, with no further warning, Changbin wrapped his lips around your clit and started sucking. Hard.
Your moans quickly filled the room, getting higher and higher with each movement of your boyfriend’s tongue against your sensitive clit.
He parted your lips with his tongue, gathering the wetness that pooled at your entrance. He was usually hungry after a workout, but you didn’t quite expect him to be so hungry for you.
He grabbed at your upper thigh harshly, squeezing the skin between his hands as he flicked his tongue against your clit in quick motions.
“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” you whined, bucking your hips up as much as physically possible. Every time you tried moving your legs you were stopped by the weight of it, and every time you moaned in response.
Changbin did too, sending a wave of vibrations through your pussy at the sensation.
Soon your fingers found their way into his hair, pushing him closer to you, his tongue dipping in deeper.
“I’m close,” you mumbled, humping up and down against Changbin’s face. He placed both his hands on top of your thighs, putting more weight against you until you couldn’t move anywhere at all.
He wrapped his lips around your clit again, humming loudly, sending you all the way over the edge.
You felt your toes curl as your orgasm hit you in full force, your stomach shaking as Changbin didn’t move away in the slightest. He kept going, causing you to squirm in your spot at the overstimulation.
“Baby, baby, baby,” you begged him, trying to push him away with your hands.
Changbin quickly understood, moving away with an unstoppable grin on his face.
He wiped his chin with the back of his hand, staring at you with a glint in his eye.
“How are you?”
“My thighs hurt,” you chuckled, breathing heavily.
Changbin stood up, quickly offering you his hand as he helped you slowly step out of the machine. Once you started feeling your legs again he soothed his hands up and down your sides where he knew you’d feel the stretch most.
“Relax your body,” he instructed, “you worked hard, Y/N.”
“So did you,” you laughed, wiping the shiny patch of wetness on the corner of his lips.
“Couldn’t resist you,” he excused, leaning in to kiss you softly. You kissed him back, your hands wrapping around those back muscles you loved so much.
“Not complaining, coach,” you mumbled against his lips, the adrenaline from your orgasm settling sweetly in your body.
“Now come on. Time to stretch.”
You followed Changbin’s instructions as he helped you stretch your overworked muscles and you drank when he told you, and then ate the healthy meal he ordered for you too.
“Did that convince you to finally cancel your gym membership?” He asked once you stepped back into the main part of the house, hands linked together.
“Oh, was that a perk this gym offers?”
“Only if you have girlfriend privileges,” he smirked at you.
“Maybe show me one more time and then I’ll decide,” you smirked back.
You couldn’t even react before your body was pressed into the sofa and Changbin pushed his hips into yours, kissing you hungrily.
You’d never be tired of just how much energy he has.
Hiseu; This is my confession @hiseu - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
