Seungmin who loves undoing his noona just past midnight. It's the only time he comes around, the only time he knows he'll have your undivided attention. You're such a busy woman. He admires that. So, while you're on your third glass of wine, he's watching you from the counter—your bare feet, robe knotted across that waist he's aching to get his hands on.
Your lips have a red tint he's dying to taste, your shoulders draw up with a heavy exhale when he asks how your day was and you mutter the same as you always do, “busy”.
It goes the same as always after that—he pushes off of the counter, gaze pinning you to your spot while he takes slow steps across the tile. Voice low when he says, “Let me take care of you, noona”
Your wine is gone, the knot of your robe is loosened and his mouth is on yours, drawing heavy breaths from you while he mumbles about how tense you feel against him. He cups your breasts, squeezing and rolling your hardened nipple between calloused fingers.
It's only a matter of time before he's got you seated at your dining table—robe open, nightgown pushed up and one leg bent over his shoulder while his mouth works hot and wet over you. Lewd slurping mixed with a heady mewl that you mean to muffle but don't.
His fingers spread you open with a V, his tongue probes at your clit once, twice, before sucking. Then they slip down, two fingers slipping in right where you're dribbling slick for him.
His fingers curl, your back arches. “Why didn't you call me? Let me take some weight off sooner.”
Your answer is a shaky whisper. “I didn't have time.”
“Make some,” he says. “For me.”
Then he lapping again, loud and messy with a shake of his head that makes your breath catch. He hums, you melt. He pulls back, spits straight onto your clit just to suck the swollen bud back in-between his lips.
“Seung—” he hushes you with a curl of his fingers, using your own moan against you. He knows you're close.
“Let me have it, noona. Relax for me.” he coaxes your high from you with one final curl and suck. The dining chair scrapes as you writhe. Seungmin helps you ride it out with slow flat licks over your cunt.
“That's it, baby.” His fingers slip out and are immediately between his lips. You watch him suck them clean with that fucked out look he loves more than anything.
He stands, brushing your hair back before going to the fridge. He comes back with a bottle of water and the bottle of wine you started.
“You still seem tense,” he pops the cork, pours, and sips “I'll stay till you aren't.”
something about the way your eyes devoured each other every chance you got had been noticed by everyone but the two in question, and maybe your friends getting you guys drunk was their way of ridding themselves of the tension.
wc 」 3k
genre › friends to lovers, smut, 2 drunk idiots in love.
warnings — basically pwp, mostly dom!yeonjun x sub!reader but yj is down horrendously, dry humping, semi-public, they’ve been drinking, messy make-out, brief choking, marking, yj calls reader princess, fluff if you squint, let me know if i missed any!
notes ahhhh first work on here kind of nervoussss, i hope you guys like it! every time i think of pouty jjunie from suchwita i’m reminded of the vid from the pics above lol
“you’re beautiful.”
dazed eyes make their way to the boy practically on his knees before you, mind lazily making an etch of the image to visit later.
“i’m not just saying that ‘cause i’m drunk, really.” his words are slurred beyond the cute accent on the tip of his tongue that drags along his bottom lip in an attempt to keep his mouth from drying out mid sentence.
you smile softly at him, cheeks flushed and the bit of eye shadow you had put on him earlier is smudged past the corners of his eyes. you remember how close you’d been, how much you felt his need to kiss you, but ultimate restrain at your lack of initiative. maybe you wanted to kiss him a million times before then, and maybe you really wanted to kiss the pout off his lips now.
your eyes traveled down to the glass in your hand while your index made its way to his cheek, softly running over the rosiest parts of his face, “you wanna do something for me?” your own voice sounded beyond gone to your ears, whether it was because of the alcohol or the absolutely helpless look he was giving you right now, you did not know.
yeonjun did not care to look pitiful in front of you, one of the only people he could say that about. despite the loud music blaring through his eardrums and the party lights irregularly flashing over the two of you, he knew he’d do anything you asked him to in this very moment.
“yeah.” his answer slipped past his lips with ease, blinking lazily up at your figure, eyes trained on your face, his cheeks somehow feeling warmer at the trail your delicate finger left in its wake.
your moves felt like they slowed down time for him, he barely noticed the camera flash as your hand brought the glass to his face, and neither did you, lips immediately parting at your silent instruction.
he drank the liquid heartily, with purpose, because you had asked him to. you could barely contain the parting of your own lips at the way his eyes squinted just slightly at the burn of the drink. everything suddenly felt unbearably dry and the only thing that could help would be his lips on yours.
tapping his face once he finished, you knelt down to his level, lips hot against the shell of his ear, “come with me.” you meant for it to sound more calm than it did, desperation dripping through your words as you pulled away just enough to look at his eyes.
your friends, in their own inebriated states, pretended to act shocked at your proximity. it had been well over a year of them watching the two of you pine hopelessly for the other and falling for each and every jealousy trap you set up along the way.
it always ended the same way, with the two of you cuddled up in his room, your favorite hoodie of his snug against your figure, and his fingers lazily playing with your hair while you drifted to sleep; always towing the line between something and nothing at all. tonight, the innocence and complexity from those moments were completely wiped from his memory the second he had seen you standing over him—he nodded immediately, letting your hand guide him through the crowded club to what he could only assume was the back entrance. his suspicions confirmed at the crisp air hitting his face.
at the shut of the door, part of him sobered up enough to take his jacket off and drape it over your figure, arms flexing for warmth at their new exposure to the night.
your eyes landed on him, all confidence from earlier dissolving into a puddle now that the streetlights gave you a clear view of his soft face.
“what’s wrong?” his raspy voice echoed past your doubt.
“i want,” was all you managed to choke out, voice rougher than you had anticipated. he only stared at you patiently, and after a few more beats of silence from you, his eyes softened further, “yeah?”
“i really want to kiss you.” your own eyes shut at your simple admission, the alcohol in your system finally helping you speak your mind. it took him a second before he stepped closer, eyes now frantically searching your face.
“and i really don’t want it to be a one time thing, and i’m sorry if that ruins everything, we can just forget about it and say it was the—” your rambling stops at the suddenly overwhelming feeling of him on you.
mouth already agape from talking, he slips his own tongue past your lips easily, like it was meant to be there. your hands find solace on his shirt collar as he moves your bodies towards the wall, caging himself in.
one of his hands cups your face so delicately it makes your knees buckle, his other hand resting firmly against your waist, folding the fabric if your dress in his grip. he wastes no time in exploring every possible crevice of your mouth, hungrily and selfishly wanting, needing, you closer.
a soft whimper is lost between your mess of teeth and saliva as he moves his knee between your legs, grip on your waist becoming impossibly tighter. your mind is so dazed with the feeling of his mouth, you forget the rest of your body, the only things moving being your hands, only to pull him closer.
he breaks away, panting, and a very yeonjun smile playing on his lips. a large hand comes to grip your face, not strong enough to hurt but harsh enough to remind you of his presence,
“you’re killing me here.”
your eyes could hold a thousand stars, he thinks, with the way you’re looking at him like he holds the answer to everything, and is selfishly keeping it from you.
“c’mon baby, you think i can’t feel you?” he pouts, mockingly, face coming impossibly closer. he glances down at where you connect, only the thin layer of your panties separating you from his ripped pant leg. face growing redder by the second, you shut your eyes, completely aware of how pathetic you look right now; hands holding on to his neck for dear life, and soaking core begging for his attention.
his hand travels down to your neck, softly applying pressure, “start moving, princess,” he kisses your cheek softly, “please.” your eyes open hazily at that, starting to move your hips at a slow pace.
his pouty lips part tantalizingly at the way your brows furrow and tears start to well up where your eyeliner meets your waterline. he could come undone just watching you like this, but when your hips begin to move faster and your thigh starts rubbing against him, he can’t help but kiss away the tension on your pretty face.
you kiss back lazily, now focused on the friction his flexed thigh is giving you and the increasing pressure on your neck, “you’re so perfect,” he mouths against your jaw now, tongue traveling lower as his grip on you loosens and his lips start to suck on your neck.
you can’t help the moans that leave you as he softly blows air on the newly marked spot, “this all for me?” he’s looking directly at you now, the possessive look in his eye almost sending you over the edge if it weren’t for the small glint beneath it.
“yes, god, yeah—” you say breathlessly, keeping eye contact with him as your hips start to move sloppier. he scans you darkly, “tell me again.”
and you do. chin tilting slightly at the overwhelming feeling, your hands tangle in his hair to crash your lips together again, moaning out between desperate kisses, and saliva all over your mouths. you both wordlessly tip over the edge at that, his knee snug between your inner thighs and your leg rubbing against him so deliciously, he wishes he could engrave this moment in his mind forever.
foreheads touching, his hand tenderly smoothes over your waist, slowly moving to plant a trail of kisses from your nose, to your jaw, over the marks he left, and finally back to your lips.
he swears you’ve never looked more beautiful, his thumb softly cleaning up your smudged mascara, leaning in to delicately kiss your eyelashes.
“i meant what i said.” you break the silence after a while, looking at him like he unknowingly held the world in his hands.
suddenly, the gleam in his eyes from earlier returns, mentally cursing himself for not being able to articulate just how much he agrees with you, fingers drawing calm patterns against your waist.
“i know,” a smile, “i feel the same.” is all his raspy voice will allow him to say without choking up, his breath invading your senses like the most intoxicating drug.
a sheepish smile creeps onto your own lips at that, and yeonjun swears he can finally die happy.
he wraps his arms around you now, lifting you off the ground with ease before starting to make his way towards the entrance, digging his phone out of his pocket for a ride.
“what about the party?” you giggle against him, lips betraying you as you begin to leave open mouthed kisses on his neck. he only laughs at the question, helping you wrap your legs around his hips and leaving a chaste kiss against the shell of your ear.
— pairing: highschool!beomgyu x fem!reader
— genre: enemies to lovers
— word count: 6530
— disclaimers: idk why but high school setting
— synopsis: first loves always suck. what sucks even more? knowing they're in a relationship with someone else. what do you do when someone offers to break them apart with you? join in, of course.
— series masterlist
— author's note: this... is just a bit over a year late. it's been 2 or 3 comebacks at this point, lmao. i had this in my drafts for the longest time but couldn't bring myself to put it together... but ta-da!
Every high school had that one person—the orbiter who hovered at the edges of your friend group like a satellite that couldn't decide whether to crash or fly away. At your school, his name was Beomgyu.
You were not impressed. You’d seen Beomgyu in action since first year, and you had him pegged: too loud, too clever, not half as funny as he thought. He orbited around Soobin and Yeonjun like he was the sun and they were the gas giants, occasionally colliding, sometimes combusting, and mostly just making everyone else miserable with their collective gravitational pull.
But the thing was, Beomgyu always found a way to talk to your best friend, Chaeryeong, as if the universe required him to pass through your sector of the galaxy at least once a day. Their parents were both teachers, which meant family dinners and childhood secrets and the kind of enforced friendship that only made things more awkward once you all hit puberty and realized no one had anything in common except mutual embarrassment. Even now, Chaeryeong would smile at him with a kind of polite, we’re-adults-now patience, and he’d respond by making an even worse joke than the one before.
It was Thursday, a day unremarkable except for the fact that it was your least favorite day of the week. You sat at your usual spot in the classroom, near the window because you liked the light and the faint sense that you could escape at any time. Chaeryeong was mid-rant about the upcoming midterm, her mouth moving a mile a minute, when Beomgyu came strolling in, two buttons of his uniform shirt undone like he had somewhere better to be and just happened to stop by.
“You’re blocking the sunlight,” you said, not looking up from your notes.
“That’s what I do,” Beomgyu replied. His voice was always a little too loud, like he wanted everyone to hear what he had to say, which made it even more annoying when he said things like, “What are you guys doing, plotting world domination?”
“Your world, maybe,” Chaeryeong shot back, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder and narrowing her eyes at him. She never seemed intimidated, even when he was full Beomgyu, which you respected.
You side-eyed him, but he caught it, raising his eyebrows and smirking. He knew you thought he was an idiot, and you suspected he liked it. He said, “I’d surrender now if it means you’d go easy on me.”
It was so shameless you almost had to respect the commitment. Instead, you rolled your eyes, because that was your main mode of communication with boys like him.
He perched on the edge of Chaeryeong’s desk, sprawling out in a way that made your bones itch. If it had been anyone else, you’d have told them off, but there was a kind of inevitability to Beomgyu’s presence, like an outbreak of the flu—he’d just keep circulating until everyone caught it.
But if you were being honest with yourself, Beomgyu's antics were just background noise. The real show—the one that made your heart skip—was happening three rows over, where Heeseung sat, completely unaware of his starring role in your daydreams.
Heeseung was what your mother would call “a nice boy.” He was smart but not nerdy, funny but not obnoxious, and tall in a way that made him look like he was always about to duck under a doorframe. You’d had a crush on him since you were both twelve, when he’d been the only person in the entire school to notice that you’d gotten braces, and instead of making a joke, he’d just said, “Cool. You look shiny now.”
It was a dumb thing to remember, but you did. That was how crushes worked: they stuck like gum under a desk, impossible to get rid of even when you wanted to. You had convinced yourself that, if you just bided your time, you’d get your moment. High school was full of ugly duckling transformations, right? So you put your head down, did the work, and waited for Heeseung to notice that you’d stopped wearing the oversized glasses, or that you’d finally learned how to do eyeliner, or that you’d grown five inches over the summer and your legs now looked like they belonged to someone in a Nike ad.
It hadn’t happened yet. But you were patient. It was one of your better traits.
Now, as Beomgyu and Chaeryeong bickered over the last strawberry milk in her lunch bag, you watched Heeseung from the corner of your eye. He was sitting at his desk, head tilted, his hair falling just so. He wasn’t doing anything special, but your brain still lit up every time he laughed or leaned over to help someone with their worksheet. It was unfair how easy he made it look.
"Hello? Anyone home?" Beomgyu snapped his fingers inches from your nose. "If those daggers in your eyes are for me, I'd like a head start."
You startled back to reality. "Just picturing blessed silence. Maybe a gag involved."
"Kinky," he whispered with that insufferable smirk. "But my freedom doesn't come cheap."
Chaeryeong rolled her eyes. "God, you're such a theater kid."
"Rich, coming from someone who held a funeral for an empty yogurt bottle," he countered, ducking as her eraser sailed past his ear.
It was the usual, dumb rhythm of high school: the constant back-and-forth, the way every day felt like an episode of a sitcom you were both forced and desperate to keep watching. You wondered if it was like this for everyone, or if it was just your class, just your circle, doomed to repeat these tiny humiliations until graduation.
Heeseung got up to grab something from his locker, and you watched him out of the corner of your eye. He passed by your desk, nodding in that casual way he had, and said, “Hey, Y/N. Did you finish the reading for literature?”
You nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. Did you?”
“Of course,” he said, smiling. “But I’m betting you got a better score on the quiz.”
You shook your head, but your face was burning. This was the extent of your conversations: thirty seconds, maximum, usually about homework or class or—on rare, magical occasions—about his band, which played covers at school festivals and had a name you could never remember because it changed every week.
Heeseung lingered, then said, “See you in class,” and walked away.
Beomgyu leaned in conspiratorially. “You know, you’re really obvious.”
You glared at him. “Obvious about what?”
“About Heeseung,” he whispered, like the word itself was nuclear. “You look at him like he’s the last piece of cake at the bakery. It’s almost sweet, if it weren’t so tragic.”
You debated shoving him off the desk but settled for flipping to a new page in your notes with a violent rustle. “At least I’m not obsessed with myself,” you muttered.
Beomgyu’s lips twitched. “You don’t know me as well as you think.”
“Not sure I want to,” you said, but it came out softer than you meant, and he gave you a look you couldn’t decipher.
“Anyway,” he said, stretching, “if you need help getting Heeseung to notice you, just let me know. I’m an expert in lost causes.”
“Thanks,” you said, voice dry as dust, “I’ll keep you at the very bottom of my options list.”
He seemed unbothered. He never was. That was the worst part: he could walk away from any conversation like it had never happened, leaving you stuck in the aftershock.
You spent the rest of the period pretending to take notes but mostly replaying the thirty seconds with Heeseung in your head, like there was a code you were missing.
When the bell rang, you packed your bag slowly, watching as Heeseung gathered his things and left the room. You had half a mind to catch up to him in the hallway, but then you saw Winter standing by the door, waiting. She was pretty in a way that was both understated and annoying, and you watched as Heeseung’s face lit up when he saw her.
You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That he just liked talking to people. That Winter was probably just a friend. You were good at convincing yourself of things. Maybe too good.
Beomgyu and Chaeryeong left together, their voices echoing down the hall as they continued their debate about the correct way to eat bread (Beomgyu was a tearer, Chaeryeong a slicer). You followed, falling into step a few paces behind. As you walked, Beomgyu turned back once, catching your eye, and for a split second there was something unreadable on his face. Then he grinned, and the spell was broken.
That was the thing about Beomgyu. He was always smiling, even when he wasn’t. Even when it seemed like he shouldn’t be. Maybe that was why he annoyed you so much. Or maybe you just didn’t like that, on some level, you wished you could be like that too.
You shook the thought away and focused on the real goal: get Heeseung to notice you, for real. That was all that mattered.
But as you watched him walk away with Winter, you felt a weird little pang in your chest, like you were missing something important. You ignored it, because that was what you did best.
The rain came down in sheets, as if the sky itself were mocking your already drenched mood. You found yourself lingering by the gym without really meaning to. Chaeryeong was gone—violin lesson—and your classroom had become unbearable, the air thick with teenage sweat and the lingering smell of someone's lunch. Out here in the empty corridor, your shoes squeaked against the tiles in a rhythm that matched your thoughts. The echo bounced off the walls, keeping you company while you wallowed.
Since first year, when Heeseung had smiled at you—just once, just briefly—you'd been hopeless. That's what crushes do: they hijack your brain. Suddenly every song on your playlist is about him, every joke reminds you of something he once said, even the weather forecast seems like a sign. You'd practiced looking casual whenever he was around, but the truth was, if he so much as handed you a pencil, your imagination raced ahead to some fantasy future where you shared an apartment and finished each other's sentences. Pathetic, really.
Today, the rain had let up just enough that you could hear the voices coming from behind the bleachers. You froze, heart doing a double take. Heeseung. You knew his laugh the way you knew your own reflection—a little too self-conscious, a little too sweet.
You were about to turn back (you were not a stalker, no matter what Chaeryeong said), but then you heard another voice: Winter.
Winter was in your class, too. She was the kind of pretty that didn’t have to try, the kind of nice that made you hate her a little, just because you couldn’t find a single flaw. She was always lending out highlighters or offering her umbrella, the type to say “thank you” to the bus driver and mean it. You’d never had anything against her, until now.
You pressed yourself to the cold cement, heart tripping, the sound of their voices filtered by the hiss of water rolling off the roof. Heeseung was teasing her—about her hair, maybe, or her sneakers. Winter giggled, and then there was a soft, thud sound. Footsteps, shifting on the wet grass. You didn’t want to know, but you couldn’t not know.
“I told you not to meet here,” Heeseung said, but he was laughing, low and gentle. “Someone’s gonna catch us.”
“Who would care?” Winter replied. “It’s not like we’re breaking the law.”
There was a pause, and then the unmistakable sound of two people kissing. It was wet, and awkward, but it was also real. You stepped backward, one hand over your mouth, but your foot slipped and a bit of the metal railing creaked. Instantly, their voices stopped. You panicked and bolted, shoes sliding on the concrete, backpack banging against your ribs.
You didn’t stop running until you reached the side gate, lungs burning. You hunched under the awning, rain dripping down the back of your collar, and tried to force the tears back. They weren’t for Heeseung, not really. They were for the version of yourself that had hoped, against all evidence, that if you just waited long enough, something perfect would happen.
You heard footsteps. You scrubbed at your eyes, wishing you had waterproof mascara. You’d just managed to collect yourself when Beomgyu appeared, hands shoved in his pockets, hair matted with rain. He looked like he’d been running, too.
He saw you and smirked. “Didn’t peg you for the athletic type.”
“Go away,” you muttered, because if anyone in the entire universe was less equipped to handle you right now, it was Beomgyu.
He leaned against the wall, letting the water drip off his sleeve. “You look like a sad raccoon.”
You glared. “And you look like someone who lost a bet with a hairdryer.”
He grinned, which was the usual, but then he looked at you a little more closely. “Wait, are you—” He stopped, blinking. “Are you actually crying?”
You shook your head, because maybe if you denied it hard enough, it would become true. “It’s just rain,” you lied.
He considered this, then fished a crumpled pack of tissues from his bag and tossed it to you. “If you say so.”
You wiped your eyes and blew your nose, refusing to meet his gaze. There was a long, awkward silence, filled only by the distant thump of a basketball somewhere in the gym and the soft hiss of water pooling at your feet.
Eventually, Beomgyu said, “Let me guess. Heeseung?”
You stiffened. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged, but there was something gentler in his eyes, like maybe he’d seen this movie before. "The way you orbit him, it's like watching a moon that doesn't realize its planet has other satellites."
The cruelty was expected, but the tone wasn’t. He didn’t sound mean, just—tired. Like he was making fun of both of you.
You hugged your knees to your chest and stared at the puddle gathering at your feet. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” he said, quieter now.
You couldn’t believe you were about to say it out loud, but the words tumbled out anyway. “He likes Winter. They’re… together. I heard them.”
Beomgyu whistled, low. “Ouch.”
“That’s it?” you snapped, all your feelings fizzing into anger. “Just ‘ouch’? Not even a little sympathy?”
He looked at you, really looked, and for the first time since you’d known him, he seemed to run out of things to say. He sat down next to you, unbothered by the rain seeping into his jeans.
“My bad,” he said, finally. “That sucks. Like, actually sucks.”
You wanted to tell him to shut up, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you started crying again, quiet this time. Beomgyu didn’t move, just sat there and let you. When you’d finished, he handed you another tissue.
“Is it that obvious?” you asked, voice hoarse.
He shrugged. “You’re not the only one. This is high school. Everybody’s obvious.”
You almost smiled. It was so simple, so true, and so horribly unfair.
He said, “For what it’s worth, I think you’re way more interesting than Winter.”
You snorted. “You barely know me.”
He bumped his shoulder against yours. “I know you hate strawberry milk, and that you correct people when they misuse ‘literally,’ and that you’re a monster for putting ketchup on your eggs.”
You stared at him. “Are you… stalking me?”
“Just observant,” he said, smug as ever. “And I also know that you’re probably going to obsess over this for the next six months and never do anything about it.”
You kicked at his shin, not hard, just enough to make your point. He didn’t flinch.
He said, "Look. I get it. Heeseung smiles at everyone like they're the only person in the room. But that's just who he is. Doesn't mean he's saving that smile just for you."
It was harsh, but there was something comforting in his bluntness. You’d spent so long in your own head, spinning what-ifs and maybe-somedays, that you’d forgotten other people could just—see you. No pretense.
You exhaled. “Thanks, I guess.”
He got up, offering you a hand. “Come on. Let’s hit the corner store. I’ll buy you those weird squid chips you like.”
You hesitated, then took his hand. It was warm and steady, and for a second you wondered if this was what it felt like to stop drowning.
As you walked away from the school, you glanced back at the bleachers. Heeseung and Winter were gone, leaving only a few stray footprints in the mud. You felt lighter, a little, but mostly empty. You wondered if that was how healing started.
Beomgyu let you pick the snacks, even though you loaded up on every sour gummy and salty cracker in the store. He didn’t make fun of you for it, not once. When you got to the register, he slid a chocolate milk onto the conveyor, then looked at you, daring you to say something. You did not oblige.
You ate your way through half the bags before you reached the park, where you sat on the swings and watched the rain make halos around the streetlights.
“So,” Beomgyu said, after a while. “What’s the plan?”
You shrugged, mouth full of shrimp chips. “There isn’t one.”
He grinned. “That’s the spirit.”
You stared up at the cloudy sky, legs swinging, feeling the ache in your chest settle into something manageable.
Maybe he was right. Maybe you were obvious. But so was everyone else.
You glanced over at Beomgyu, who was chewing on a strip of dried mango and staring up at the same sky. For the first time, you let yourself wonder what it would be like to stop looking past him, and just… look.
The thought was strange. Not unwelcome, just strange.
You decided not to think about it. At least, not yet.
A week later, you found yourself on the roof of the old science building, crouched behind an air vent, as Beomgyu scribbled furiously in a stolen notebook.
He’d cornered you at your locker the day after The Incident, looking sheepish but also a little too pleased with himself, as if he’d planned the whole heartbreak just to get you alone. You tried to dodge him, but he was nothing if not persistent, and by the time he’d wedged himself between you and the window, you knew you were stuck.
“Y/N,” he’d said, deadly serious. “I have a proposition.”
“Go away.”
He leaned in, voice a stage whisper: “Let’s team up.”
You blinked. “For what? I’m not joining your fake cult again. My mom almost called the cops”
He ignored you. “Listen. I know about Heeseung and Winter. I also know you still like him—don’t even bother denying it, you look at him like a kicked puppy—and I think, with my expertise and your… whatever it is you have, we can break them up.”
You stared at him. “Are you drunk?”
He grinned. “Just high on revenge. Come on, you can’t say you don’t want to see them crash and burn.”
You did, a little. Not because you hated Winter, or even Heeseung. You just wanted the universe to acknowledge your suffering. To say, yes, we see you. Here’s a little cosmic justice.
Still, you hesitated. “Why do you care?”
He hesitated, too, for a half-beat, just long enough for you to catch it. Then he shrugged. “Heeseung owes me money.”
It was such a transparent lie that you almost laughed. But you were tired of being sad, and the idea of flipping the script—even if only for a week—was intoxicating.
So you said yes.
Now, on the roof, you wondered if you’d made a deal with the devil. Beomgyu was in full command-center mode, drawing up flowcharts and lists, underlining key points with a pink glitter pen that was definitely Chaeryeong’s.
“So,” he said, “phase one: surveillance. We need to know when and where they meet. You’re in charge of logistics. I’ll handle social engineering.”
“Is this a breakup or a bank heist?”
He didn’t look up. “Same difference. Both require planning and ruthlessness.”
You considered this. “What if it doesn’t work?”
He closed the notebook with a snap. “Then we do what everyone else does. Move on. But at least we’ll have tried.”
You wondered if he meant it. Probably not. He lived for the chaos, for the thrill of being the smartest (and most annoying) person in the room.
But you had to admit, there was something exhilarating about being on his team. About plotting, instead of pining. About action.
Their first date was at the neighborhood arcade. Classic. You and Beomgyu arrived early, hiding behind the wall of claw machines, watching as Heeseung and Winter showed up together, heads ducked, hands barely touching.
You felt the ache, still, but it was dulled by the presence of Beomgyu at your side. He kept up a running commentary on their date, complete with sarcastic sports announcer voice, and you couldn’t help laughing.
“Look at him, he’s going for the hand-hold—oh, denied! A devastating block by Winter. Classic rookie move.”
You giggled, immediately shushing yourself, but Beomgyu just grinned wider.
When the couple sat down at the snack bar, Beomgyu nudged you. “Go. Sabotage.”
You glanced at him. “How?”
He handed you a ketchup packet. “Do your thing.”
You sighed, but you went. As you passed their table, you tripped (only a little on purpose), splattering ketchup on Heeseung’s shirt. He looked up, startled, but you gave him your best apologetic face.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” you gushed, pressing napkins into his hands.
“It’s fine, really,” Heeseung said, smiling at you. You caught Winter watching you, her eyes slightly narrowed.
Beomgyu whistled when you returned. “Flawless execution. Heeseung’s too polite to say anything, but that shirt’s ruined.”
You grinned, and for a moment, you almost forgot why you’d been sad in the first place.
Phase two was “sowing discord.” Beomgyu’s phrase, not yours.
You started small: anonymous notes in their lockers, implying the other was hiding something. Then you escalated: setting up “accidental” run-ins with Heeseung, each time leaving him a little more flustered, a little less sure of himself. Beomgyu was a master of the casual rumor—he planted ideas in people’s heads like seeds, watering them with just the right amount of plausible deniability.
It was a little bit evil, but it was also addictive.
After school, you and Beomgyu would debrief at the convenience store, eating ramen from paper cups and rating your performance.
“Today’s highlight: Winter looking at you like you’d stolen her diary,” Beomgyu said, slurping his noodles.
“She’s not even mad. She’s just confused,” you said.
“Give it time,” he said, leaning back in the booth. “Jealousy is slow-acting, like poison.”
You rolled your eyes, but you felt a buzz in your chest that had nothing to do with sodium intake.
Somewhere between “Operation: Tomato Shirt” and “Project Locker Note,” your classmates started to notice. Chaeryeong was the first to say something.
At lunch, she poked at her bento and said, “So, you and Beomgyu. Are you, like… friends now?”
You coughed. “God, no.”
She looked unconvinced. “Because he’s been walking you to class. And you haven’t called him a moron in three days.”
You shrugged, too aware of the heat on your cheeks. “He’s useful, sometimes.”
“So is a calculator,” she said. “Doesn’t mean you take it to the movies.”
You glared. “Drop it.”
She dropped it, but you could tell she was filing it away for future interrogation.
The sabotage escalated, as did your proximity to Beomgyu. You were together so often that even his friends started to comment. Soobin, the gentle giant, asked once if you needed a restraining order.
Then, one night, as you finished up a long stakeout outside the karaoke bar where Heeseung and Winter were celebrating her birthday, Beomgyu surprised you.
You were sitting on the curb, eating spicy tteokbokki, when he said, “You know why I really wanted to do this, right?”
You shrugged. “Because you’re a sociopath?”
He smiled, but it was thinner than usual. “No. I like Winter.”
You almost dropped your chopsticks.
He looked at you, earnest for once. “I thought if I could break them up, maybe she’d notice me. Stupid, right?”
You didn’t know what to say. You’d spent weeks thinking you were the only one suffering, only to realize you’d been partnered with someone just as broken.
It was almost comforting.
You nudged him with your foot. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
He looked down. “Didn’t want you to think less of me.”
“Impossible,” you said, and meant it.
He laughed, and the air between you shifted, warmer somehow.
With the final phase approaching, you found yourself thinking less about Heeseung and Winter, and more about the dumb in-jokes you’d built with Beomgyu. The way he could make you laugh even when you felt like garbage. The way he’d learned your ramen order without asking.
You wondered, sometimes, what would happen when the mission was over. Would you go back to ignoring each other? Would he go back to tormenting Chaeryeong and starting fake cults? Or would something—anything—be different?
You didn’t have an answer.
The hiking trip was the last hurrah before finals. The teachers called it “team-building,” which was code for “we’re going to abandon you in the wilderness and hope you bond over collective misery.”
You shared a tent with Chaeryeong, who brought a full skincare routine and a battery-powered hair straightener. Across the fire pit, Beomgyu was camped with Soobin and Taehyun, who seemed to be in a contest to see who could eat the most instant rice.
The plan was simple: on the last night, you’d lure Heeseung and Winter to the lookout point, then trigger a series of misunderstandings so spectacular that their relationship would implode in a glorious cascade of drama.
Easy. Foolproof.
Except nothing with Beomgyu was ever foolproof.
The first sign of trouble was the rain. A thunderstorm rolled in, soaking your sleeping bag and turning the trails to mud. Then, as you and Beomgyu tried to set up your final trap (a forged love letter and a rigged phone call), you slipped and rolled halfway down the embankment, landing in a patch of brambles.
You tried to laugh it off, but your ankle hurt, and the cold crept into your bones.
Beomgyu appeared at your side, kneeling in the mud, concern etched across his face.
“Are you okay?” he said, voice uncharacteristically soft.
You nodded, even though you weren’t.
He helped you up, and you leaned on him, shivering as the rain sheeted down. He didn’t let go, even as you both staggered back toward the camp, soaked and exhausted.
At the edge of the firelight, he stopped.
“Hey,” he said. “I know this is all kind of insane, but I’m glad you’re here. With me.”
You looked at him, water dripping from his eyelashes, and felt something crack open in your chest.
“Me too,” you whispered.
He smiled, and for the first time, it wasn’t a shield. It was just him.
The plan went off, more or less, but not the way you’d expected. You watched as Heeseung and Winter had their argument, voices raised and faces flushed, then walked off in opposite directions. You felt a pang, but it was distant, almost academic. You looked at Beomgyu, who looked back at you, and you both started laughing—because what else could you do?
Afterwards, you and Beomgyu sat by the dying fire, the rest of your classmates asleep in their tents. You shared the last packet of Pocky, watching the embers drift up into the night.
“Now what?” you asked, voice small.
He bumped your shoulder. “Now, we move on.”
You leaned against him, the silence easy.
Maybe the universe didn’t owe you justice. Maybe it just owed you a friend who knew when to make you laugh, and when to just let you be.
You fell asleep with your head on Beomgyu’s shoulder, listening to the rain.
For the first time in months, you dreamed of something other than Heeseung.
You dreamed of the sky, clear and bright, and a hand in yours.
And when you woke up, you found that it was real.
Dawn broke over the campsite like a watercolor bleeding through tissue paper. You winced as you shifted your weight—your ankle throbbed beneath its ridiculous wrapping of Hello Kitty bandages that Chaeryeong had insisted on applying. The rest of your classmates had already vanished up the mountain trail for their seven-kilometer trek. Only you and Beomgyu remained behind, you with your obvious excuse, and him because—as Mr. Park had muttered while checking his clipboard—"We can't risk another 'accidental' avalanche of pine cones on unsuspecting hikers."
Beomgyu dragged two camping chairs and a thermos of cocoa, and now you sat together, ankles parallel, staring out into the mist. It was stupidly peaceful, which made it impossible to ignore the fizzing anxiety in your chest.
He poured you a cup, careful not to slosh. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
You took it, fingers wrapping around the warmth. “Did you drug this?”
He smirked. “If I wanted you unconscious, I’d just talk about my gaming stats.”
“Bold of you to assume I’d stay awake for that.”
You sipped, letting the sweet, fake chocolate coat your tongue. You wondered if this was what adulthood would feel like: small comforts, big silences, nobody saying the thing they really wanted to say.
“So,” you said, “do we go through with it?”
He looked at you, and for a second his face was unreadable. Then he shrugged. “I mean, that’s the plan. Unless you’re getting cold feet.”
You tried to laugh, but the sound came out thin. “I think my feet are the only thing not cold right now.”
He glanced at your bandaged ankle, frown tugging at his mouth. “Does it hurt?”
“Only when I try to escape your company.”
He rolled his eyes, but the concern didn’t fade. “You sure you’re okay, Y/N?”
You nodded, a little too fast. “It’s nothing. I’ve had worse.” And you had. You’d survived three years of unrequited crushes and two years of Chaeryeong’s home perms. Pain was a lifestyle.
You picked at the label on your mug, searching for the right words. “So, after… all this, what happens? You get the girl, I get to gloat, and everyone goes back to normal?”
He set down his cup, fingers steepling. “Not sure normal exists anymore. We kind of broke it.”
“Maybe that’s not so bad,” you said, surprising yourself.
He looked up. “Yeah. Maybe.”
The trees swayed, dripping last night’s rain onto the undergrowth. Somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed—like it was laughing at you both.
You felt the question build in your chest, sharp as a splinter. “Do you still want Winter? Like, after everything?”
He was quiet for a moment. “I thought I did. I mean, she’s…” He trailed off, looking down. “She’s nice. But honestly? She never made me feel like this.”
You held your breath. “Like what?”
He fiddled with the edge of his chair, suddenly shy. “Like I want to tell someone everything. Even the parts that suck.”
You didn’t know how to answer, so you took another sip, letting the silence fill the spaces you were too afraid to cross.
He reached over, pulling a pine needle from your hair. “You’ve got, like, a whole tree in there.”
“Nature is healing,” you deadpanned, and he laughed, the real kind, bright and sudden.
After a while, he said, “You know, if you want to back out, I wouldn’t blame you.”
But you shook your head. “No. We finish what we start. Besides, I want to see the look on Heeseung’s face.”
Beomgyu grinned, but this time it was conspiratorial. “Evil. I approve.”
You watched the light shift between the branches, his knee just barely touching yours, and wondered how you’d ever mistaken him for just another background character in your story.
Maybe the plan would flop. Maybe you’d wind up exactly where you started—back in the hallway, pretending not to care. But right now, with the taste of cocoa in your mouth and Beomgyu’s voice in your ear, you didn’t really mind.
You had the weirdest feeling that the best part wasn’t the win. It was the team.
The final day of the trip arrived with mud in every shoe and sunburn on every exposed inch of skin. The teachers made everyone clean up camp, counting tents and trash bags with military precision. You and Beomgyu were packing up your section when Heeseung appeared, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pocket, Winter trailing two steps behind.
You knew the confrontation was coming; you’d just hoped it would happen somewhere less public, or at least somewhere with better snacks. As it was, you stood in a circle of damp tents, your hands still sticky from marshmallow residue, bracing for impact.
Beomgyu caught your eye and mouthed, “Showtime.” He always did love a big finish.
Heeseung looked between the two of you, his gaze steady. “So. You want to explain, or should we?”
Winter folded her arms. She looked tired, but not mad. “We know you’ve been messing with us. The notes, the pranks, the… whatever happened with the karaoke reservation.”
Beomgyu had the good grace to look sheepish. “Sorry about the singing clown. That was not part of the original plan.”
Winter almost smiled, then caught herself.
Heeseung exhaled. “Look. I get it. You weren’t trying to hurt anybody, but… you kind of did.”
The words hit harder than you expected. You thought the breakup would be enough—some cosmic balancing of scales—but now, looking at Heeseung’s face, you saw the cost. He really had been your friend, once. Maybe, if you’d been less obsessed, you would’ve noticed.
You cleared your throat, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. Both of us are. We were… stupid.”
Winter nodded. “Yeah. But you know, if you wanted to ask about us, you could’ve just said it.”
Heeseung added, “We’re not the only ones who can be honest.”
There was a beat of silence. The air buzzed, waiting.
Beomgyu nudged you gently. “Go on,” he whispered. “You’re the brains, remember?”
You rolled your eyes but stepped forward. “I used to think you were the only good thing in this school,” you said to Heeseung. “I guess I wanted you to notice me, even if it was for the wrong reasons.”
Heeseung’s expression softened. “I noticed. I just thought you’d outgrow it.”
You almost laughed. “Me too.”
Winter smiled, genuine this time. “I forgive you. As long as you promise not to do it again. At least, not to us.”
You raised a hand. “Scout’s honor.”
Heeseung offered you a lopsided grin. “You know, if you spent half as much time on your club projects as you did on scheming, you’d win every academic decathlon.”
You snorted. “Maybe I will.”
The tension bled out of the circle, leaving only relief and a strange, fizzy hopefulness.
Beomgyu, never one for prolonged sincerity, clapped his hands together. “Great! Glad we’re all emotionally healed. Who’s hungry?”
Winter shook her head. “You’re impossible.”
“Thank you,” he said, beaming.
The bus ride home was less dramatic than you’d expected. Heeseung and Winter sat together at the front, their shoulders bumping in the sharp turns. Chaeryeong had commandeered the seat across from you and Beomgyu, her phone camera poised for blackmail material.
“Smile!” she said, snapping a picture as you groaned.
You tried to glare, but Beomgyu ruined it by throwing an arm around your shoulders, leaning in so close you could smell the deodorant he used.
“Get our good sides,” he said, grinning at you.
You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t move away. Not this time.
“Are you going to miss the mission?” you asked, once Chaeryeong lost interest and put her headphones back in.
Beomgyu considered it. “Honestly, I think I’ll miss the partner more.”
You looked at him, really looked, and saw how easy it could be, if you let it.
“I mean, you’re still a pain,” you said. “And you owe me tteokbokki.”
He held up his hands. “Deal. But only if you go with me to the new gaming cafe. As, you know, co-conspirators.”
You smothered your smile. “I’ll think about it.”
He nudged you with his knee. “Don’t take too long.”
Back at school, the days fell into a rhythm. People whispered about the hiking trip, but nobody really cared about your drama—everyone was too busy with finals, college prep, and figuring out how to survive the last months of senior year.
You and Beomgyu became a fixture, the kind of duo that made teachers groan and janitors shake their heads. He still argued with you about everything, from milk flavor rankings to the ethics of karaoke sabotage, but now the arguments always ended with one of you laughing, and usually the other one joining in.
You caught Heeseung and Winter in the hall sometimes, holding hands or sharing a book. It hurt less every day.
One afternoon, as you and Beomgyu walked home together, he stopped at the corner store and bought two cartons of chocolate milk.
He handed you one, eyes bright. “Peace offering?”
You raised an eyebrow. “For what?”
He shrugged. “For being a jerk. For dragging you into my dumb plans. For… you know. Everything.”
You took the milk, touching his fingers just a little longer than necessary. “You’re not that bad. Just mostly bad.”
He grinned. “That’s my brand.”
You laughed, and it echoed between the buildings, clear and real.
Later, on the walk home, he asked, “Do you ever think about college?”
You glanced at him. “All the time. Why?”
He hesitated, then said, “What if we ended up at the same one?”
You thought about it: late-night ramen, shared libraries, the two of you taking on the world, one bad idea at a time.
“I think we’d get kicked out by sophomore year,” you said, but your voice was soft, full of hope.
He bumped your shoulder. “Worth it.”
When you got to your door, he didn’t say goodbye right away. He lingered, hands in his pockets, eyes on you.
“So,” he said. “About that co-conspirator thing.”
You smiled, shy but certain. “I’m in, if you are.”
He smiled back, wide and perfect.
It wasn’t a fairy tale, not exactly. But it was yours, and that was enough.
“let’s play together, you make me so thirsty. feel the bite between my jaw, so tasty.” — teeth, enhypen
pairing: vampire! yeonjun x f! reader
you were going out to a halloween party with your friends tonight, dressed up as your only obsession, a vampire. although for you there was only one real vampire around here, and that was your boyfriend.
You sat at your desk with your smaller mirror propped up in front of you. You adjusted its angle to show your lips down as you placed the last swipes of lipgloss on.
It was Halloween and your friends had planned for you all to go out to some slutty horror party that is thrown every year. You usually stay behind and watch different kinds of movies, as you weren’t much of social butterfly, however Yeonjun; your loving boyfriend convinced you to go. Which in that case, you retaliated and decided to go as a vampire.
“Fake blood? Seriously?” he mumbled, walking through the door which he soon shut behind him.
Yeonjun paused for a moment to admire your beauty, the way the dark corset hugged your curves with love. How it perked your chest upwards with a small cleavage line. Your sheer black shawl draped nicely over your shoulders as it was held together by a small pin. His eyes glanced to the small choices of accessories you made and once more to the laced thigh-high pantyhose that you decided to wear under your black miniskirt.
You caught his eyes staring, feeling the lust from just his gaze alone. Your body made his cravings go haywire just in everyday clothes, seeing you like this only heightened it. Oh how badly he wanted to sink his teeth into your pretty skin. A small smirk painted his face as he walked over to you.
“Why won’t you let me make you one.” he whined, his body hovering behind you.
You laughed softly, powdering your face a bit. You knew he was joking, as he always told you it was your choice for what you wanted to be or do. Though seeing you dressed up like this, sent him over the edge. It was difficult to fight his animalistic tendencies when you only tested that very thing with a body like your own.
“I live a perfectly fine life without immortality, Jun.”
He sighed, wrapping his arms around your chest as his mouth hovered over your neck. You reached for the fake blood beside your bag of makeup, giving it a good shake before opening it. Yeonjun’s head perked up, giving you a look of disgust before yanking the fake blood out of your hands.
“Hey! What was that for?!”
You turned to look at him, watching as he scanned the bottle until ultimately deciding to throw it in the trash by your desk. You scoffed at him, attempting to reach for the trash when he grabbed your wrist. He held it firmly, smirking as he brought it up to his face, kissing your wrist gently.
Your face flushed red, eyes widened as he quickly caught your attention with such a gesture. His lips slowly snaked up your arm then back down to your wrist, his eyes looking up at you as a smirk creeped onto his pale face.
“I’m thirsty angel. Can I please have a taste?”
You nodded, your heart beat racing as you felt his fangs graze over your vein. Your heart beat heightened his need to taste you, making it harder to resist his temptation to make you his dinner. Not only could he smell your sweet blood, but the mix of your vanilla perfume only intoxicated him.
Yeonjun’s fangs dug into your skin, sending a small but quick pinch through your arm. You always felt like a vampire feeding off of you should hurt more, but not when he does it. It feels… sensual. He made sure it didn’t hurt, he was gentle with you.
“Why use fake blood when you have your own darling?” he pouted, your eyes fixated on him.
He brushed your cheek with his thumb softly, your eyes falling to the blood that dripped off his bottom lip. Yeonjun pulled you in for a kiss, the taste of your own blood seeping into your mouth. He hummed, his hand snaking down to your skirt and slipping under the hem. Without wasting another second, he swiftly threw you onto your bed. His thigh separated your legs as he hovered above you, kissing your neck as you moaned into his ear.
Once again Yeonjun sunk his teeth into your skin, this time being a bit harsher about the blood he sucked from your neck. His hand slipped into your underwear, feeling the warmth of your cunt between his fingers. He looked up at you, blood dripping off of his chin and onto your chest.
“You like when I bite you hm?” His hooded red eyes met your soft ones. “You like being my toy don’t you?”
He slowly rubbed your clit, making your squirm in pleasure at his actions. His thumb toyed with you as his fingers teased your entrance, only increasing your need for him. Yeonjun noticed this, though he wasn’t going to let you have your way so easily, oh no. He wanted you to know that you were his— you and everyone at that party. He didn’t care what he had to do to achieve that.
He stopped, his eyes narrowing at you as he leaned down to your ear. Your breath hitched as his free hand held your chin in the opposite direction. Your heart beat raced once again; the type that one would have when they’re running from something. That’s exactly what he wanted from you.
“I promise this won’t hurt, but if you keep moving I’ll make sure it does angel.”
Yeonjun kissed your cheek, each kiss slowly making its way down your body as his thumb picked back up its pace. You moaned quietly as he undid the clasps to your corset, leaving your bra and stomach bare. He kissed your stomach, watching as you lost yourself under his touch.
How could you stay still when his hands only made you crazy?
His fangs sink into your skin as he stuck two fingers inside of your aching cunt, letting a gasp escape you. With every pump he gave he left more bites onto you, his mark practically making its name onto your skin. He licked the blood off of your skin, pumping his fingers faster as your back arched.
“You like that princess?”
You muttered gibberish as your hands brushed through his hair. A smirk fell onto Yeonjun’s face as he began to circle your clit with his thumb, fingers still inside of you. Your juices leaking into your underwear as he edged on your high.
“Answer me.” He grabbed onto your wrist, bitting it harshly and earning a screech from you. “Now.”
“Yes, yes I do. Please..” You nodded your head repeatedly. He tilted his head at you, his thumb slowly grazing your clit once again.
“Please what? Use your words angel.”
Yeonjun took his fingers out of you, slipping your underwear off as he licked your juices off of his fingers. He kissed your chin as he put your corset back on, clasping each button.
“Please bite me..” you paused, your hips involuntary riding against his thigh.
“I wanna be yours.”
His eyes widened, quickly switching positions with you before you could notice. You were now sat on his thigh looking directly at him. Lust completely filled his eyes, distracting you from the dried blood around his mouth. Yeonjun’s hands rested on your hips, moving them slightly to create friction. You felt your head roll back as your clit rubbed against his thigh, small moans escaping you.
“God you’re such a slut when you’re like this princess.” he watched you hump his thigh like a dog, a smile painting his cheeks.
He bit your shoulder, sucking onto it softly as you hissed in pain. Your hips moved faster, begging for your climax as he found new spots to taste you.
“Jun.. gonna cum.” you mumbled, your hips buckling.
He kissed your chin, smearing blood against it as his hand held your head back. Your moans turned into inaudible sounds, your nails digging into your thighs as your stomach knotted.
“Cum for me angel.”
His tongue tracked your neck bites. You shook your head no, staggering your movement as you tried to prolong your climax. Yeonjun raised his eyebrow, grabbing your wrist and bringing it to his mouth. His fangs graced your sore veins, making you shutter.
“Be a good girl now and listen will you? It would be a shame if I had to make you.”
He watched as you nodded, your hip movement picking back up. You pleadingly rode his thigh, your juices creating a slick surface to heighten the friction. Your moans filled his ears as he kissed at the sore veins on your neck. Your clit motioned faster as the heat built up inside of you, making you push against him harder.
“Jun..” you mumbled, feeling your body heat up at the tension.
Yeonjun hummed, sinking his teeth back into your neck one last time, pushing you over the edge. You quickly came undone under his touch, your pace fastening as your climax washed over you. He licked the blood off you, watching as you struggled to catch your breath. Your heartbeat was quick, feeding into the high he got off of your blood.
“There you go,” he whispered, holding you in his arms as he kissed your forehead. “Didn’t that feel good angel?”
You nodded, wrapping your arms around his back as he played with your hair. His eyes fell to the many bites on your skin, a small frown appearing on his face as he realizes he may have gotten carried away. Yeonjun picked you up bridal style, getting off the bed and beginning to walk out of the room.
“I’m sorry for hurting you darling. Let’s go get you cleaned up, okay?”
a/n: happy halloween!! i knowww it’s been months since ive posted… i lost motivation and was struggling to find it😭 but heyy i kinda did haha. as you can see, im starting to branch out toward other groups hehe
notes: … han’s is in dark mode bcs i just saved the screenshots LMFAO and its night here, sorry guys
thank you for the lovely reactions to the hyung line, pls dm me if you would be interested on being on a taglist! if a handful of people do, i will put one together.
⤷ Agent Assigned: Kim Seungmin x afab!reader
⤷ Client Scenario: A formal gala event with the unwelcomed presence of an ex-fiancée ends with three times the customer satisfaction
⤷ Case Warnings: protected sex, car sex (public sex), cowgirl, oral (f.rec), fingering (f.rec), multiple orgams (f.rec)
⤷ WC: 3k
♡ Stray Hearts File: 001 of 010
⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Your match is 2 minutes away.
The dot on the Rent-a-Boyfriend app inches closer, your nerves are taut under the smooth line of your gown. He’s almost here. One minute away now.
Your screen glows dim under the table you were dragged to by a new hire who talks too much and thinks that the two of you are friends. You aren't, but for now, you'll pretend. It's better than looking like you're alone while your ex-fiancée flaunts that blonde from accounting like she's a rare Rolex.
Part of you hates him, another part of you wishes you didn't. Maybe then it wouldn't be so painful to see him at events like this. Not because you miss him, no. It’s because he’s an asshole.
Your colleague laughs at a joke someone else told and you take the opportunity to slip away. You swipe a glass of champagne off of a nearby tray and drink it too fast to be considered well mannered.
Then—because the universe loves a well timed fuck-you—that’s exactly when he shows up. Your ex.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, all smug in his navy tux, hand already on the waist of the bright-eyed blonde. Her dress is too tight and bright for a gala, you can tell she doesn’t care.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” you answer coolly, fingers clutching your clutch tighter than necessary.
He shrugs. “Just thought it might be hard, ya know. Coming alone.” You don’t flinch. You smile. He’s twenty seconds away.
Your ex opens his mouth again—probably to drop some condescending bomb about how he’s “sure you’ll find someone someday”—when a hand touches the small of your back, large and warm. Splayed right over the slight curve in your spine.
“Sorry I’m late, sweetheart,” a low, syrupy voice interrupts. “Parking was a nightmare.”
Your ex turns just in time to see ‘your man’ step into view, black suit like it was made just for him, tie knotted clean enough to tell that he’s done this before.
“Kim Seungmin,” he says smoothly, nodding once at your ex, unbothered, eyes dark but gleaming like he’s already getting a kick out of this. “Director of Strategy at Asan Tech. You are?”
The lie rolls off his tongue like he truly believes it. Hell, it was believable. Even though all he did was spell NASA backwards and slap tech at the end… your ex seems to buy it. You attribute it to the way Seungmin carries himself. There’s a velvet air to him. Something that says ‘I’m barely trying and I’m still better than you’. Something that makes you feel hot in places you shouldn’t, but still, you hold onto his arm a bit tighter.
Your ex stiffens, mouth twitching as he mutters his name. “She and I used to—”
“Ah,” Seungmin cuts in, tone dipped in amusement. “One of those tragic mistakes she doesn’t talk about.”
You almost choke.
Your ex bristles. The blonde is too busy gawking at your man to notice.
Seungmin leans in just a bit, hand resting naturally over yours where you hold him. “Shall we?” he murmurs in your ear, like you’re lovers who never stay at one stop for too long. Easily bored by those who are clearly not on your level.
Once you’re away from the blast zone and seated at your assigned table, you lean in. “Director of Strategy?”
He shrugs, unbothered. “Would’ve gone with CEO, but I didn’t want to emasculate him so hard he goes to HR in the morning. You’re welcome.”
You scoff. “You really think you're charming, don't you?” he’s too busy swiping a glass of champagne from a passing server to look your way. You take the opportunity to assess him properly—sharp jaw line, glowing skin, dark eyes that challenge you just right—then he looks back your way, sliding a glass over.
“Charming enough that you picked me,” he says, not missing a beat. “From just a picture too, so yes. I do.”
You roll your eyes and sip your champagne, but the way he watches you over the rim of his glass—lazy, amused, like you’re his entertainment for the evening, not a client—makes your chest feel tight.
Now dinner starts.
The seating chart is a set up. Your ex and his blonde arm candy are across from you and Seungmin at the long table. The tablecloth is ivory, the centerpieces are gaudy, and the blonde is still chewing her gum. Too loud, too absent minded. Your ex is bragging about god knows what to some senior employee he’s clearly trying to kiss up to. He always was a sell out.
Then there’s Seungmin— sitting with one arm draped across the back of your chair, legs spread just wide enough to toe the line between casual and cocky. He looks like he owns the place. He hasn’t looked at the menu. Hasn’t looked at the servers. Hasn’t even glanced at the table of executives eyeing you both with thinly veiled curiosity.
His eyes are only on you.
“You’re staring,” you mutter, sipping your water without meeting his gaze.
“You’re wearing that dress,” he replies like it’s something he’s used to. Something that routinely poisons his self control. “I’m just appreciating the craftsmanship.”
Your mouth twitches. “The fabric?”
“No.” He leans in, voice low and heat-laced. “The body in it.”
You nearly choke. Again.
He smirks, eyes never leaving your flushed expression.
Across the table, your ex keeps glancing over. His date is talking to someone else entirely and that senior exec he was trying to butter up keeps avoiding eye contact with him. You’ve knocked him off his game. And damn it feels good.
Seungmin’s fingers brush your knee under the table. Casual. Intentional. A distraction. You jolt just a little—surprised but not displeased. He still hasn’t looked away from you, even as he speaks loud enough for nearby ears to hear. “Thank you for bringing me tonight, baby.”
You blink, you wanna say that he had no choice, that he’s literally being paid by the minute but you smile instead “I hope that you’re enjoying yourself, honey.”
The smirk that he offers you is disarming, practiced and perfected. “Of course I am. It’s not every day I get to be the hottest man in the room with the most stunning woman on my arm. Free drinks are just a bonus.”
You roll your eyes, still smiling despite yourself. “You really practice lines like that in the mirror, don’t you?” your voice is a whisper, he watches your lips then leans in just close enough for his own to brush your cheek.
“Only the ones that work.” Your cheeks heat, you clear your throat. How is he so good?
When the first course is served, Seungmin finally looks away. He glances at the plate like it personally offended him, then back at you. “That’s a leaf.”
“It’s arugula.”
“It’s offensive.”
You laugh under your breath, shaking your head. His expression is dead serious as he forks the salad like he’s the one filing a complaint with HR in the morning. The woman next to you—a junior VP with a Cartier bracelet and gossip glinting in her eyes—leans over.
“So,” she says with a saccharine smile. “You two are precious. How long have you been seeing each other?”
You freeze.
Seungmin, however, doesn’t even blink. “Six months,” he says smoothly, setting his fork down. “Met at a conference out of town. She was wearing red lipstick and giving dirty looks to the panelists. I knew I was doomed but I just had to know her name.”
You stare. Impressed.
“Oh, wow,” the woman laughs, hand fluttering. “That’s so…romantic.”
“It wasn’t,” he deadpans. “She told me I was boring before I even introduced myself.”
“I wasn’t wrong,” you shoot back, playing along now. “He was quoting Plato to a bartender.”
“And you ordered vodka cranberry like a nineteen year old trying to blackout before curfew.”
“Excuse me for having taste.” The man beside Seungmin chuckles awkwardly, clearly unsure if you’re flirting or fighting.
Seungmin reaches over and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Too gently. His fingers linger just a second too long. “Noona is even prettier when she’s mean.” he says casually before taking a sip of wine. You dig your nails into his thigh under the table, a silent sign to shut the hell up. His mouth twitches.
Asshole.
He’s a cocky, smooth, handsome asshole.
When you glance at him, your ex is glaring at you and the blonde is gawking at Seungmin once again. It even seems that a few other ladies at the table have joined her in appraising your man.
Mission successful.
The rest of the night is performance art. He knows just how to lean in, just how to touch you without looking like he’s trying. When he laughs, it feels unrehearsed. When he calls you “baby” in front of a coworker, it sounds like he’s said it a thousand times before.
You don’t know how much of it is an act anymore. You don’t know which one of you is blurring the lines. You just know that nothing feels clear right now.
You reach for your glass again. Just as you realize he’s watching you again, leaned back with heart eyes so convincing you forget the arrangement for a beat.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you say.
“Like what?”
“Like this isn’t pretend.”
He hums. “Tell me what part’s pretend, and I’ll stop.”
You don’t have an answer.
So you take another sip. You let his hand rest on your thigh for the rest of the meal, thumb tracing light circles while he tells some made up story about a trip you two took to Aruba. And he just keeps looking at you.
· · ─ ·♡· ─ · ·
The night winds down with speeches and too many fake laughs. Your heels start to pinch. Your wine glass stays half-full, untouched now because if you drink anymore, you’ll say something reckless.
Finally, when the gala begins to thin out, you slip your arm into his and walk toward the parking lot. The night air is a welcome relief—crisp and clean compared to the stifling heat inside, or maybe it was just the warmth of his hand on your lower back for the past twenty minutes.
“Did I play the role well enough for you?” he asks, tone dry.
You toss him a glance. “Yup. You were just the right amount of asshole.” He smirks, small and lethal. You ignore the way it makes your chest flutter. “You nearly made me believe it.”
“You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”
“And you looked like you do this every weekend.”
“I might,” he says, holding your gaze for just a second before letting his eyes slowly wander down, tracing curves that his fingers have ‘mindlessly’ grazed all night. “But I think tonight has been my favorite.”
There’s a pause. Too long.
You shift your weight, wrap your arms tighter around yourself.
“I’ll give you a five-star review,” you mutter, pretending not to feel how charged everything is. “Maybe even a tip. Maybe.”
His lips curve. “Don’t tip me unless I earn it.”
Your eyes flick down to his lips and the champagne from earlier starts speaking for you “Oh? So, is there a way you want to earn it?”
He steps closer, one hand reaching out to fix your necklace—slow, deliberate, far too intimate for a stranger.
“Maybe,” he says, voice dropping low. “The dinner was nice but that was just foreplay.” Your breath catches.
Seungmin reaches past you and pulls open your car door. The back door. You look behind you, then up at him, eyebrows raised. “You’re serious?”
He doesn’t respond, only looks at you with dark eyes that say get in loud and clear. You don’t move, so he does, a small step forward to close the gap between you.
“You hired me,” he says calmly. “Let me finish the job.”
There’s something daring in his voice that makes your thighs clench without permission. You’ve seen his reviews, you knew this was on the table—hell, you’d hoped for it.
Seungmin watches you just as he has all night, Studying. Jaw clenching when his eyes flick to how your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You bat your lashes once, twice, then turn and slide into the seat.
The door shuts behind you. He walks around the other side of the car, no rush, and gets in next to you. Then, with the quiet click of the door lock and the parking lot streetlamps painting amber along the sharp cut of his jaw, he turns to you.
“You’re tense,” he says, reaching over to touch your knee, fingers brushing under the hem of your dress. “Let me help.”
Then he kisses you. Hard. Like this is the part of the job he looks forward to. Like he’s been counting down the seconds until he could ruin you and call it customer service.
Your head tilts back instinctively, one of his hands cradles the back of your neck. The other finds your waist, sliding down to the curve of your thigh. He hikes your dress up with the kind of expertise that says he fucks just as good as he looks. That alone makes you moan into him.
Fingers skim your core over your underwear and you suck in a breath. Seungmin breaks the kiss, nose brushing yours. “Tell me how you like to be fucked.”
You swallow. “With your fingers first. Then your mouth. Then—”
He presses two fingers between your legs and your head falls back with a moan. Every thought is gone, every nerve sparks with the press of his fingers, long and precise.
“Keep talk’n to me” he hums against your throat, slowing his ministrations just enough for you to think. You clear your throat, blink your eyes open and part your lips just enough to make the smallest sound.
“Then—then fuck me. Let me ride. Use me after. I don’t care. Just make me come until I can’t see straight.” his finger hooks into the gusset of your panties, pulling them aside just enough for his thumb to find your clit.
“Good girl.” The way he says it wrecks you. Your hips jerk, chasing more, but Seungmin doesn’t give you a second to think. His fingers move with effortless precision, tracing the heat between your thighs like he’s memorizing every inch.
Slow. Measured. Cruel.
You’re already panting. “Let’s try for three, yeah?” he murmurs, dragging his mouth along your jaw as one finger dips in and curls.
Your hips kick up again, uneven like the moan breaking from your chest. “Ya know, thought you’d be more of a fight.” he kisses the shell of your ear, teeth grazing the lobe. “But you’re melting for me like you’ve been counting down the seconds.”
You grab his tie. “You’re on the clock.”
“Mm.” he slips in another finger, making you shudder. “Then you’d better come fast.”
You choke on a gasp, legs spreading wider as his fingers work you open. You watch him—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, the most infuriating look of casual confidence on his face. It’s unfair. He’s not even breaking a sweat. You’re soaked, whining under your breath, trying not to collapse in the backseat of your own damn car. He pulls his fingers out and sucks them into his mouth then moans—just a little, just enough to ruin you.
Then he shifts, your back to the passenger door and one leg over his shoulder. His hands knock your thighs apart with ease, dress bunched around your waist, and—
Holy. Shit.
He eats like he’s starving. Moaning as soon as his tongue flattens against your cunt and grunting when you make the prettiest little keen he’s heard in a while. Your back arches off the seat, hands buried in his hair. His tongue is relentless—circling, flicking, dipping down just to drag another broken whimper out of your throat before focusing back on your clit. He spits onto you clit just as his fingers rejoin the mix, fucking you open while his tongue follows.
“Oh—fuck—Seungmin—”
He hums. You cry out. He doesn’t stop until your thighs are trembling and your vision is white-hot at the edges. Until you’re coming into his mouth, hips grinding helplessly, and moaning too loudly for a backseat fuck.
He pulls back, chin glistening, smug as hell. “One.”
“One?”
“We agreed on three, remember?” he’s already unbuckling his belt. “Or has that pretty head already gone dumb for me?”
You don’t even have time to blink before he’s pushing his slacks down, cock thick and flushed. He grips your hips, pulling you into his lap like it’s nothing.
“Ride me,” he murmurs. “Like you said you would.” He rips open a condom between his teeth, rolling it on with one hand which would be a red flag for anyone who didn’t do this for a living.
You straddle him, breath catching as he lines himself up, rubbing the tip through your folds and letting you control how much you take. His weeping cock disappears into you slowly. The stretch is perfect, the length is ridiculous. Your moan when he bottoms out is downright obscene.
“Fuck, noona—” he groans, hands digging into your ass. “You’re tighter than expected.”
“So you expected something?” he huffs a laugh, then thrusts up hard.
Your head just barely hits the ceiling. “Jesus—!”
“Not here,” he says, smiling slow. “Just me.”
His hands smooth up your sides, guiding you while you ride him like you’ll never get the chance to again—because you might not. Dress pushed up, one heel digging into the leather seat and one lost on the floor, Seungmin buried deep and panting against your neck as you grind and bounce and take him.
His hands are everywhere—guiding, gripping, spanking once, then twice when you slow down.
“Second one’s coming,” he warns.
You don’t believe him, until he brings his thumb to your clit and makes you see stars.
Two.
You’re barely coherent, slumped against his chest when he shifts your position just enough to fuck up into you with maddening precision.
“You asked for this, baby.” his voice is wrecked. The squelch of your cunt mixes with his heavy breathing. Your moans are muffled into his shoulder but he can hear you loud and clear over the sound of skin slapping.
“I paid for this.” you rasp, gasping when his lips find the sensitive spot of your neck.
“And I’m giving you your money’s worth.”
You claw at his shoulders, fingers digging in like holding on could steady what’s already spinning. “I’m gonna—”
“Good. Take it.” His pace grows sharper, more frantic. “Cum on my cock. So I can fill you up like a good fucking boyfriend would.”
You fall apart.
Three.
“That’s it—shit, gonna cum. Gonna fucking—fuck, noona” You’re shaking in his lap, panting against his neck, muscles limp and dress falling off one shoulder when he finally kisses you—deep, slow, dirty.
He fucks you slow through his orgasm, tongue sliding over yours and low, rough groans vibrating through you. His muscles are tight, cock is throbbing. When he pulls back, you’re breathless.
And then he grins.
“Now,” he says, slicking his hair back with one hand, taking a deceivingly calm breath. "Don't forget to leave me a five-star review.”
You stare.
“You absolute menace.”
“Mm. But you’re glowing.”
You slap his chest, still twitching, and sigh. “Fine. But I’m not tipping.”
“You already did,” he says, smirking like he’s won something. “Three times.”
a/n: I was so nervous to post this! I hope you enjoyed the first one shot of my event! Thank you for reading ♡
romaincrisis
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