what it’s like to be in a secret relationship with satoru. mdni.
you never intended to keep your romantic relationship with satoru a secret from the people you know, especially to your close friends.
breaking the news to them had obviously crossed your mind already. but things happened: shoko and utahime moved to a different city right after their engagement, suguru became extremely busy managing his newly opened cafe downtown, sukuna is on a tournament for professional boxing, and yuki seems to be touring the world (she’s always on vacation!).
planning hangouts with the entire friend group in attendance became elusive. everyone’s schedule just cannot seem to align; one or two people are always unavailable due to schedules set weeks prior.
before you knew it, months had passed. then months turned into a year.
of course, you still have regular communication with one another. you would sometimes come and watch sukuna’s boxing fights in your spare time then drink the night away afterward at his place with other mutual friends. satoru would be there as well. and when it isn’t so busy during the day, suguru would temporarily entrust the cafe to his staffs to meet the both of you over lunch.
aside from that, it has also been a part of your weekly routine to have a video call with the girls to gossip and talk about any happenings from your lives. yes, you could’ve mentioned it during one of the calls, but it just didn’t feel the right way to do so.
what you and satoru have is not just a fling nor a friends-with-benefits setup. thus, announcing it in person felt imperative. after all, you both share the same close friends so this affects the dynamics of your circle.
though you’d be lying if you say you don’t enjoy the secrecy of your relationship—disappearing from sukuna’s house parties to have a sloppy make out session with satoru in the bathroom, or him sneaking a kiss on your cheek whenever you are on the phone with the girls; he would always wait patiently next to you on his couch, and once your face is slightly out of view from the screen… smooch!
caught off guard, you would turn your camera off and glare at him, but the moron had already run off with a big smile on his face, followed by silent giggles (since your mic is still on) like he had just successfully pulled off a high-risk task.
yes, you like the intimacy of a secret relationship. how you and satoru share the same truth only you can touch. there is a certain thrill that could never be experienced in an ordinary relationship, and you found it to be quite addicting.
one time, suguru pointed out how you and satoru would often arrive at the meet up place together. always coming from the same direction at the same time, he said. you just shrugged off and feigned innocence by calling it a mere coincidence.
later on while enjoying the meal, satoru sneakily moved his hand under the table to caress your thigh underneath the dress, as if teasing you for how you spouted a white lie off your mouth so naturally. he drew slow and lazy circles over your soft skin as he simultaneously talked to suguru in front.
satoru did it in such a casual manner, not even sparing you a look, and thus, he was oblivious about the redness on your cheeks and the brewing desire in your core. you pressed his fingers, a signal for him to stop, but all you got from your boyfriend was a quick glance and a mocking smirk.
soon after, you excused yourself to go to the restroom; he then followed the lead saying, he just needs to make a phone call.
and there in the cramped restroom cubicle, satoru pulled his slacks and boxers down, clung your thigh over his arm, and pulled your underwear to the side. the way he did it was so abrupt and impatient you swore you heard a thread snap from your lace thong.
he fucked you with much eagerness and gentle frustration; you can tell that he, too, was craving for your body just as you were craving for his—as if the pretense that afternoon had been too unbearable and all he wanted was to be all over his girlfriend.
you held onto satoru’s shoulders for support, gave his neck wet kisses as he pulled his massive cock in and out of you. the tissue dispenser mounted on the partition next to you rattled from how hard he was thrusting into your wet and tight pussy. squelching sounds and your breathy moans fused with the distant indiscernible chatter from customers filled up the space.
sure, the thrill of it was fun and exciting. but enough time has gone by. and both of you are growing tired of treading the line between secrecy and passion. satoru wants to share his love for you to other people. he craves of being able to hold your hand in the streets—when you’re walking alongside each other—without the fear that a mutual friend might see. he wants to take you out on a date at his favorite fancy restaurants, not just to the hole-in-the-wall cafes. the takeouts at his place were also just as fun because it’s always followed by rough sex on his bed. but. but. satoru yearns for more. he wants to flaunt you, his oh so lovely girlfriend.
you have this pure and honest love resting on the palm of your hands—still growing and vulnerable—and a voice inside your head wants you to keep it hidden. it whispers in your ear telling you to just leave things as they are; no one can ruin something they have no knowledge about. but the better part of you knows that a relationship shadowed by limitations would never prosper and last. what you feel for satoru doesn’t have to be loud—it only has to be free.
and so you’ve made up your mind.
shoko and utahime’s wedding will be held today and it’s your chance. of course you don’t want to steal the thunder from the soon-to-be newlyweds, so you plan to do it tomorrow, during the post-wedding lunch with the close friends. everyone—shoko, utahime, yuki, suguru, and sukuna—will be there and you refuse to let this opportunity pass.
the first thing you notice as you enter the bride suite is the makeup lined up on the vanity tables—liquid foundations in different shades, eyeshadow palettes from multiple brands, and lipsticks in every possible shade imaginable. and there–sitting in one of the vanity chairs—is your best friend utahime. you read the word written on the back of her chair—in white font and a beautiful cursive it says ‘bride’. you see her smile from the mirror reflection.
you ask if she’s nervous. utahime just shakes her head; she says she’s never been more sure about anything ever in her life.
you hate to admit it but you are a sucker for weddings. the abundance of love radiating from everybody never fails to make you emotional. friends and families. friends turned into families. celebrating the union between two people. the wedding vows. the lengthy speeches during the reception. they collectively pull the lever to your fountain of tears.
when it is your turn to have your makeup done, you sit at one of the unoccupied vanity chairs. the future newlyweds went all out and hired four hair and makeup artists so the preparation is more efficient.
minutes later, as the artist is applying eyeshadow on your lids, you hear a familiar ringtone.
your ringtone.
yuki, whose makeup is already finished, grabs your phone from a nearby couch and looks at the screen. “someone is calling you- who is this ‘my love’?” she asks with an inquisitive tone.
shit. shit. shit.
why is satoru calling you? and now when you are currently glued to the vanity chair, defenseless against the possible scrutiny from your girl friends. your eyes remain closed as the artist continues on her work; you can’t tell where yuki is standing.
grabbing the phone from her hand is impossible. you’re fucked. no. maybe you can reason your way around it. before your brain could even make up a weak excuse, yuki had already answered the call and set your phone on speaker.
you feel a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as you hear the voice of your satoru. “baby, you forgot your heels in the car. should i bring it to you?” you held your breath. you feel your insides getting twisted. it’s as if your brain has short-circuited; words, excuses, start to hover around your head like a murder of crows—cawing, awaiting for a release that never came.
and just like that, the secret is out. getting busted out about your year-long relationship with satoru through an unsuspecting phone call wasn’t the plan, but here goes nothing.
only the clank of makeup brushes can be heard as the artists remain impassive on what is happening. you bite your bottom lip. there is no way in hell that your friends would not recognize his voice.
the moment they connect the dot and register it in their head—the contact name and the man in the other line—collective gasps echo from different parts of the room.
“what the fuck, gojo? is that you?” yuki’s high pitched voice almost makes you wince.
“uhh. . . haha. . .” he clears his throat. “no, who is gojo satoru?”
“jackass! she didn’t even say satoru,” utahime interjects.
“wait, t-the signal here is bad,” you hear indistinct shuffling noises in satoru’s background, “h-hello? can you hear me? he-”
and the call ends.
you sense the piercing glares from your friends, “you have got some explaining to do,” said utahime.
satoru gojo who finds out that his cum doubled in amount when he became spider man. not only that, but the thickness and flavor changed as well. what he enjoys the most is how you’ve been eating it up.
“please.. please cum in me.” you begged your boyfriend as he pounded into your weeping cunt. you had no clue how or why his cum changed so much. maybe he has been taking some sort of pill? you didn’t bother asking anyways.
“yeah? want me to put a baby in ya?” satoru chuckled. he knew that the type of spider that bit him is capable of giving birth to hundreds of babies at once, and he got off on the idea of you gifting him many children.
satoru let out a sharp groan the second you squeezed his cock, making it almost impossible for him to pull out.
his grip on your neck tightened as he pushed your face deeper into the drool stained pillow. “guess i got my answer huh?”
he snapped his hips forward, fucking you deeply. ever since the ‘bite of 2026 as he liked to call it, his stamina went off the chart, making it possible for him to endure fights, and of course for sex marathons.
your fingers gripped the sheets, back arching as you felt yourself grow near. with a final thrust, satoru released into you.
“fuck..” he gently pulled out, mesmerized at the way the extra liquid spilled out like a goddamn waterfall. his finger teased at your hole, collecting his own juices. “felt good, baby?”
you nodded, feeling absolutely worn out. his cum was too much, but you weren’t complaining.
Beomseok turns into a bundle of nervous care once he's spent, hovering over you with wide eyes to check if you're okay. He fetches water, wipes sweat from your skin with a soft cloth, and pulls you into his arms, peppering your forehead with apologetic kisses if he got too carried away. His fingers massage any aches gently, whispering sorrys even if you loved every second, until you're both relaxed and tangled together. He also loves if you take care of him afterwards, sometimes ending up crying from the overwhelming amount of comfort he feels by you caring for him.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)
He likes his lips best—soft and full, great for sucking marks into your neck or wrapping around your nipples, also for making you cum over and over again when you're ovulating and his cock is too spent already. On you, it's your neck and collarbones; he obsesses over kissing and nipping there, watching goosebumps rise as he trails down to your breasts, hands cupping them while he lavishes attention on that sensitive strip of skin. He also loves marking them because he loves knowing that you have that trust towards him.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Beomseok cums in hot spurts, often pulling out to spill across your belly or thighs because he's scared of the responsibilities of getting you pregnant, blushing as he watches it drip down your skin. He loves when you make him finish on your pussy—he'll lick it off afterwards, tasting himself mixed with you, or finger it into you with shaky breaths because you claim it can't stick that way (you just want to get knocked up by him fr).
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Beomseok secretly gets off on the idea of you dominating him in front of a mirror, making him watch as you ride his cock or grind on his face. He imagines your commands forcing him to hold back, the humiliation of seeing his flushed face and leaking tip making him throb harder—he's too shy to ask, but practices alone sometimes iykwim (definitely feels embarrassed afterwards).
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Not experienced at all, but he's a quick learner of your body. He learns your cues fast—where to lick, how hard to thrust—eagerly practicing until his fingers curl just right inside you or his mouth hits your clit perfectly, turning awkward thrusts into rhythmic pounding that has you writhing beneath him.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Missionary so he can see your face, burying his face in your neck as he slides in deep, hips rolling steadily as he sucks on the sensitive skin on your neck. He also craves you on top, hands gripping your waist while you bounce on his cock, his eyes glued to your tits jiggling with each drop down his length.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
A mix—he starts nervous, cracking shy smiles or stuttering mid-thrust, but gets serious when you're moaning, brows furrowing in concentration. Light laughs escape if you tease him, like when his rhythm falters, but he pushes through with determined grunts. Can also get sentimental at times but tries not to show it because he's embarrassed.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Beomseok grooms neatly, trimming his pubic hair short and soft, a lighter patch that grazes your nose slightly when you go down on him. Sometimes he shaves it all but his main goal is to just keep it neat and trimmed. Does not give a fuck about if you shave or not.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
He's all about closeness, holding your gaze as he pushes inside slowly, whispering your name like a prayer. Hands intertwine, bodies pressed flush—he kisses you through every thrust, making love feel personal and deep, even when he picks up speed and fucks harder. To him it's important that you always feel loved and cherished during intimate moments like this.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Beomseok strokes himself in bed at night, hand slick with lube as he pictures your pussy clenching around him. It's frantic, hips bucking into his fist until he cums with a muffled groan, often using your panties stolen from the laundry to wrap around his shaft for the scent. Also jerks of to your Instagram pictures more often than he'd like to admit, he just can't help himself when he has such a pretty partner.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Praise kink hits him hard—you calling him good boy while he eats you out makes him devour your clit desperately. He also loves light bondage, letting you tie his wrists so you can use his cock however you want, or marking him with bites to match the ones he leaves on you. Don't go to hard on him though cause he's sensitive :(
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
His or your room feels safest to him, door locked as he lays you on his bed and explores every inch. He will also fuck you in a public place if you beg him enough because he can't say no to you.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Your encouragement lights him up—words like "fuck me harder" or touches on his bulge make him instantly hard. Seeing you vulnerable, like after a bad day, flips a switch; he wants to bury himself in you, proving he can make you feel good amid his insecurities.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Nothing violent or degrading—he panics at real pain, pulling back if it hurts. Turn-offs are roughness without consent or anything public where he's exposed too much; he needs trust, hating the idea of being watched without control.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
He loves giving, kneeling between your thighs to lap at your pussy eagerly, tongue flicking your clit while fingers pump inside. Receiving makes him shy at first, but he eventually starts to thrusts into your mouth with soft whines, hands in your hair as you suck him dry.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Starts slow and sensual, savoring each slide into your wet heat, but builds to fast and needy, hips snapping erratically as he chases release. He matches your pace, going rough if you claw his back, gentle if you sigh into his kisses—it's all about your comfort and pleasure to him.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Quickies are not his favorite but if you really want to have a quickly between classes or before leaving his apartment, he'd be up to it. Just make sure not to make them too regular because he'll start overthinking about the fact that you may be using him for sex.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
He's cautious but willing, trying new angles or kinks if you ask him enough times. Will never do anything too risky though and does not want to end up being a teenage parent, so no unprotected sex.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Two solid rounds before he's spent, but he lasts decently, drawing out pleasure with pauses to kiss you. Recovery is quick if you stroke him, hardening again for a slower, deeper session until you're both exhausted. Will always be down to please you in other ways if he's too tired to fuck you.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
No toys, how tf would he get one with his strict ass father? Also because he's insecure that they'd bring you more pleasure than he can give you.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Not very—he's too eager, diving in when you want it. But he learns to tease, ghosting fingers over your slit or sucking your nipples without touching below, giggling nervously at your frustrated bucks until he gives in.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Tries to be quiet but he's whiny and vocal—soft moans escape as he thrusts, escalating to breathy "fuck"s and your name when close. He gasps into your skin, begging quietly, loving when you hush him or moan back to spur him on.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
If he catches you masturbating in your room, he will stand at the door and stroke himself while watching you, a hand clamped over his mouth as he tries his hardest not to get caught by you.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Beomseok's cock is average length, around six inches, not too girthy with a flushed head that leaks pre-cum steadily. Straight and eager, it twitches visibly when hard, veins pulsing as he grinds against your thigh. His tip is light pink btw. (source; trust me bro)
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
High but repressed—he's constantly half-hard around you, daydreaming about bending you over. Once started, he can't stop, humping your leg if denied, sex drive spiking with every brush of your body.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Fifty-fifty. Sometimes he falls asleep super easily and sometimes he lays awake for hours, overthinking every single thing and hoping that he didn't disappoint you in any way.
• five loves having deep conversations with you. whether it’s about time travel theories, existential questions, or complex mathematical problems, he enjoys engaging with someone who can keep up with his sharp mind.
• he values his alone time, but he also cherishes moments spent with you. he’d find simple yet meaningful ways to connect, like sharing a quiet cup of coffee together, reading in comfortable silence, or taking walks where you can just be yourselves.
• five has a sharp tongue and a sarcastic sense of humor, and he’d love it if you could match his wit. you’d exchange playful banter regularly, and he’d find your quick comebacks refreshing. it’s his way of showing affection and enjoying your company.
• while five might not be overly affectionate in front of others, when you're alone, he lets his guard down. he'd be more open to holding hands, giving you quick kisses, and showing that soft side he usually keeps hidden.
• LITTLE SPOON FIVE>>>
• after being alone for so long, he begins to develop separation anxiety when the two of you have to part ways, so he’ll always kiss you before you have to leave him.
• five has been through a lot, which makes him wary of trusting people. it would take time for him to fully open up, but once he does, you’d know that he trusts you completely. your relationship would be built on mutual respect and understanding.
• he’s not one for grand romantic gestures, but when he gives gifts, they have thought behind them. it could be something practical that he knows you need or a book he thinks you’d love, showing that he pays attention to your interests.
• five would value your opinion and input, especially when dealing with complex issues. he’d appreciate having someone he could brainstorm with, whether it’s about a mission or a personal dilemma, making you a true partner in every sense.
• while he might not be the best cook, five enjoys the act of making food with you. it’s a way for him to relax and focus on something simple and grounding. expect a lot of sarcastic commentary in the kitchen, especially if something goes wrong.
• five might not admit it openly, but he’d enjoy binge-watching tv shows with you, especially if they have complex plots or time travel themes. he’d probably have a lot to say about the inaccuracies in time travel depictions, making watching these shows an entertaining experience.
• despite his sarcasm, five retains some old-fashioned manners, likely from his upbringing and time spent in different eras. he’d open doors for you, offer his arm when walking together, and use polite language, making you feel respected and cherished.
• he is very protective, but not in an overbearing way. he respects your autonomy and knows you can handle yourself. however, if he senses genuine danger, he’ll step in without hesitation, often with a cool, calculating demeanor to handle the situation.
• five enjoys the quiet solace of bookstores, finding comfort in the smell of old books and the peace they provide. you’d often go on dates to local bookstores, spending hours browsing the shelves and discussing your favorite reads.
• this man is the DEFINITION of touch starved.
• when the two of you are alone, he likes to hold you in his arms with your head resting on his chest. he just likes to know that you’re always there.
• five’s humor can be dark and dry, reflecting his life experiences. while it might catch others off guard, you’ve come to appreciate this aspect of him. it’s his way of coping with the world, and you know how to respond with your own brand of humor.
• he struggles with opening up emotionally due to his past, but when he does, it’s very genuine. he’d share his fears, hopes, and the weight of the things he’s seen, creating a deep emotional bond that strengthens your relationship.
• he is used to being alone and might need his own space from time to time to think and recharge. he appreciates that you give him the freedom to have his alone time, knowing that it’s not about you but rather his way of coping with everything.
• once five becomes more comfortable and confident in his abilities, he might take you on small time jumps for fun. these trips would be carefully planned, giving you both a chance to experience different eras together, even if just for a few moments.
• over time, you help him overcome his ptsd and comfort him through his nightmares. <33
hi!! i love ur writing sm, i was js wondering if u could write someone rue bennett x fem!reader about readers birthday! (if you’re taking requests lmao)
ugh i miss rue so yes very much will be writing this. idk exactly what direction you wanted me to take this...so i hope you don't mine where i went. enjoy, love!
"it's not much," she whispered holding the cupcake with a single candle in the center. sprinkles decorated the frosting that layered the spongey cake on a silver liner. you could hear the smallness in her voice. the uncertainty. it's like she'd thought you'd completely hate the gesture when in reality it melted all the already soft parts of your soul.
a smile spread across your face. you hadn't realized you were crying. not until you felt the warm tears trickling down your cheeks. her hand cups your face. thumb brushing away the tear. her fingers wrap around the back of your neck pulling you closer until her lips touch your forehead. your cheek. the corner of your mouth.
"make a wish," her voice soft as she pulled away. the small smile on her face as she watched you close your eyes made your insides flutter and though you pretended to think of something to wish for, there's really nothing else you needed. you had everything you wanted.
when her knee brushes yours, you open your eyes. smiling before blowing out the flame. she laughs softly and you can't help but stare at the way her teeth peek slightly through her lips when she smiles or how her eyes are also shining under the street lamp.
you think of the moment she called you to meet her at your secret spot. that she had a surprise. you hadn't expected this. not at midnight. down to the second.
when she dips her finger in the frosting and taps it on your nose, you laugh and lean in until your nose touches hers and when your lips touch it all just feels right. the words 'it's not much' ring in your ears because it may not have seemed like much but it was more than you'd had hoped for.
your best friend had been avoiding you, your weekly sleepovers coming to an abrupt end, text messages shortening more and more. it wasn’t like sae-byeok to just completely ghost you, so you had to take it upon yourself to figure out why.
You didn’t have many friends growing up, you were always seen as the weird girl who talked to herself at recess. No one had ever given you the energy to get to know you, so your childhood self had thought you were going to be an outcast forever.
Until a new girl joined the school.
You remembered the day vividly, it was lunch time and like usual you were by yourself. Munching on the bento your mom got up early to make, you were staring at all the kids laughing and throwing bits of food as you heard the slam of a tray in your vicinity.
Startled, you looked up to see a girl sit down diagonal from you. Her short black hair pulled back into pigtails as a red headband decorated her head. You could only assume she was a picky eater from the way her fork danced around her food.
You were a bit intimidated to speak up at first, yet your desperation for a companion was greater than your nervousness.
“What’s your name?”
“Sae-byeok.”
You were attached to the hip ever since.
All throughout elementary, middle, and high school you stuck together. Wherever one of you went, the other followed. Getting the occasional “lesbian” rumor thrown at you more than you could count.
It continued that way until college.
“Oh my god, have you seen that new Spider-girl around the city? She is so cool.” You couldn’t help but gush, phone balanced in both your hands as you stared intensely at the video displayed on your screen. Said heroine swinging from Seoul’s buildings.
“Eh, she’s alright.” Sae-byeok shrugged, fingers skimming the arrange of books in the library as she listened to your ramblings.
“Just alright? She’s awesome, she helped this one ma and pops shop from getting robbed so fast. I bet the police wished they had gotten there on time, shows them.” Grumbling, you stood up from your crouched position and positioned your head on her shoulder. Phone facing her already occupied gaze in an attempt to catch her attention.
“Hey! Wanna come over and help build my new lego set? We can finish watching juvenile justice.” You proposed, falling into step with her as she walked towards the front desk to check out her books.
Your opportunity was one she never passed up, even thought she didn’t prefer the term ‘sleepovers’ because it sounded too childish—she couldn’t deny that your overnight hangouts were her favorite part of the week.
Out of the corner of your ear, you could see her grimace as she thanked the librarian. Her hesitant answer made you falter slightly. “I really wish I could but I have to tutor Ji-yeong tonight. I promised her.”
“Since when do you tutor? Especially Ji-yeong.” You couldn’t help the disappointment that crept up your chest, small amount of jealousy blooming at the mention of your best friend’s former crush.
You didn’t oppose Sae-byeok having other friends, she was attractive, approachable, it was bound to happen but sometimes you had wished she was all yours and only yours—especially when it interfered with your quality time together. You couldn’t place what that exact feeling was but it had a strong hold on you.
“But we haven’t had a sleepover in a month, Sae-byeok. I miss my best friend, this is our first time seeing each other in two weeks.” You felt like a child whining but you had no problem in complaining your thoughts to the girl. By her expression you could tell she was sorry, with the apologetic smile—there was no convincing her.
“Fine, have fun with Ji-yeong.” Sneering, you pushed past her. Ignoring her teasing calls at your dramatic behavior, you could just imagine the small smirk she followed after you with to cheer your spirits.
Read.
The last text Sae-byeok left you with.
Small plastic packages scrambled in-front of you, colorful pieces of assorted brick sitting inside. You huffed out in boredom as a random show played in the background, you were looking forward to spending time with your best friend. Your dampened mood was hard to recover from as you thought back to her recent distant habits.
Maybe she was growing tired of you. The thought of that being true made bile rise in your throat, it couldn’t be true—no way.
“What if it is?” Muttering to yourself, you groaned. Head slamming down on the mattress behind you. A small whimper leaving your throat at the aggressive action.
The past month was absolutely torturous to you, slowly reminding you of the time you had no friends. No Sae-byeok. You couldn’t deal with it. You had to know what was going on, if she wasn’t going to tell you, you were going to force it out of her.
“I’m so smart.”
The treck to her apartment wasn’t far, it was one of the reasons you were able to spend so much time with her. You knew the path like it was second nature to you.
“Hello, Mrs. Kang.” Smiling softly at the older woman, she returned the gesture. Grabbing a hold of your arm lightly as she pulled you into her home.
“Hi, dear. Sae-byeok isn’t home currently. Did you two have plans?” Shaking your head, you followed her as she walked to the small kitchen. An appetizing aroma coating it.
“I came to surprise her, is it alright if I go to her room until she comes back?”
“Of course, just come down if you need anything. I made bibimbap.” Nodding in appreciation, you turned to open Sae-byeok’s door. Her room was very minimalistic, soft bed in the corner with a simple nightstand, dresser and desk. Papers scattered over top with a small lamp and framed picture of the two of you. It was your birthday there, you had insisted taking one for memories.
As you made yourself comfortable on her bed, you laid your head on her pillow. The recognizable scent of her made your eyes flutter and a cozy feeling warm your chest. You didn’t care how long you had to wait for her arrival, your desperation at getting answers was consuming your every thought.
You didn’t expect to doze off after so many minutes, the soft humming of her ceiling fan lulling you to sleep.
The sound of the window opening made you shoot up, breath quickening as a red gloved hand pulled it up. White moon light being your only attempt at sight.
“Spider-girl?” You gasped, seeing her figure freeze as the white eyes of the mask fell on your figure. “What are you doing in Sae-byeok’s room?”
“What are you doing here?” She asked, completely ignoring your question—full body now standing in your best friend’s room. Skin tight suit framing her body just right, it made you flustered you couldn’t deny.
Your idol was in the same room as you.
Sae-byeok’s room.
“Hey.” You trailed off, hands coming to meet your hips as your eyes grew into slits. “Ghosting me, going out late at night, having random injuries on your body. Your sudden muscular, very attractive arms.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, wait-“
“I’m not dumb, Kang Sae-byeok. There is no reason why Spider-chick would be in your room unless you were her.” Hearing the faintest sigh from the mask, gloved hand came to pull it off her head. At least it had saved you the embarrassment of potentially being wrong.
There she was, hair disheveled and sweat beading her face. Small cuts littered it as apparent black eye-bags decorated her features.
“You look like shit.” Was the only response you could utter, seeing her eyes roll—you yelped, smacking her upper arm to release your not to serious anger.
“Ow!”
“You asshole! You freaking made me jealous thinking you were with Ji-yeong but no! You were out being a superhero!”
She raised an eyebrow. “You were jealous of Ji-yeong?”
“Don’t change the subject.” Hand raising in front of you, Sae-byeok sighed for probably the tenth time that night.
As she approached you, hands grabbing yours in an attempt at comfort. She looked in your eyes, face void of humor. Apologetic expression painting it.
“Look, i’m really sorry. I didn’t want you to worry and potentially be in danger if you knew who I was. You’re my best friend, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I guess you’re forgiven.” Sighing, you smiled at her. Tugging her into a hug, she laid a hand on the back of your head as you rested in her arms.
your best friend had been avoiding you, your weekly sleepovers coming to an abrupt end, text messages shortening more and more. it wasn’t like sae-byeok to just completely ghost you, so you had to take it upon yourself to figure out why.
You didn’t have many friends growing up, you were always seen as the weird girl who talked to herself at recess. No one had ever given you the energy to get to know you, so your childhood self had thought you were going to be an outcast forever.
Until a new girl joined the school.
You remembered the day vividly, it was lunch time and like usual you were by yourself. Munching on the bento your mom got up early to make, you were staring at all the kids laughing and throwing bits of food as you heard the slam of a tray in your vicinity.
Startled, you looked up to see a girl sit down diagonal from you. Her short black hair pulled back into pigtails as a red headband decorated her head. You could only assume she was a picky eater from the way her fork danced around her food.
You were a bit intimidated to speak up at first, yet your desperation for a companion was greater than your nervousness.
“What’s your name?”
“Sae-byeok.”
You were attached to the hip ever since.
All throughout elementary, middle, and high school you stuck together. Wherever one of you went, the other followed. Getting the occasional “lesbian” rumor thrown at you more than you could count.
It continued that way until college.
“Oh my god, have you seen that new Spider-girl around the city? She is so cool.” You couldn’t help but gush, phone balanced in both your hands as you stared intensely at the video displayed on your screen. Said heroine swinging from Seoul’s buildings.
“Eh, she’s alright.” Sae-byeok shrugged, fingers skimming the arrange of books in the library as she listened to your ramblings.
“Just alright? She’s awesome, she helped this one ma and pops shop from getting robbed so fast. I bet the police wished they had gotten there on time, shows them.” Grumbling, you stood up from your crouched position and positioned your head on her shoulder. Phone facing her already occupied gaze in an attempt to catch her attention.
“Hey! Wanna come over and help build my new lego set? We can finish watching juvenile justice.” You proposed, falling into step with her as she walked towards the front desk to check out her books.
Your opportunity was one she never passed up, even thought she didn’t prefer the term ‘sleepovers’ because it sounded too childish—she couldn’t deny that your overnight hangouts were her favorite part of the week.
Out of the corner of your ear, you could see her grimace as she thanked the librarian. Her hesitant answer made you falter slightly. “I really wish I could but I have to tutor Ji-yeong tonight. I promised her.”
“Since when do you tutor? Especially Ji-yeong.” You couldn’t help the disappointment that crept up your chest, small amount of jealousy blooming at the mention of your best friend’s former crush.
You didn’t oppose Sae-byeok having other friends, she was attractive, approachable, it was bound to happen but sometimes you had wished she was all yours and only yours—especially when it interfered with your quality time together. You couldn’t place what that exact feeling was but it had a strong hold on you.
“But we haven’t had a sleepover in a month, Sae-byeok. I miss my best friend, this is our first time seeing each other in two weeks.” You felt like a child whining but you had no problem in complaining your thoughts to the girl. By her expression you could tell she was sorry, with the apologetic smile—there was no convincing her.
“Fine, have fun with Ji-yeong.” Sneering, you pushed past her. Ignoring her teasing calls at your dramatic behavior, you could just imagine the small smirk she followed after you with to cheer your spirits.
Read.
The last text Sae-byeok left you with.
Small plastic packages scrambled in-front of you, colorful pieces of assorted brick sitting inside. You huffed out in boredom as a random show played in the background, you were looking forward to spending time with your best friend. Your dampened mood was hard to recover from as you thought back to her recent distant habits.
Maybe she was growing tired of you. The thought of that being true made bile rise in your throat, it couldn’t be true—no way.
“What if it is?” Muttering to yourself, you groaned. Head slamming down on the mattress behind you. A small whimper leaving your throat at the aggressive action.
The past month was absolutely torturous to you, slowly reminding you of the time you had no friends. No Sae-byeok. You couldn’t deal with it. You had to know what was going on, if she wasn’t going to tell you, you were going to force it out of her.
“I’m so smart.”
The treck to her apartment wasn’t far, it was one of the reasons you were able to spend so much time with her. You knew the path like it was second nature to you.
“Hello, Mrs. Kang.” Smiling softly at the older woman, she returned the gesture. Grabbing a hold of your arm lightly as she pulled you into her home.
“Hi, dear. Sae-byeok isn’t home currently. Did you two have plans?” Shaking your head, you followed her as she walked to the small kitchen. An appetizing aroma coating it.
“I came to surprise her, is it alright if I go to her room until she comes back?”
“Of course, just come down if you need anything. I made bibimbap.” Nodding in appreciation, you turned to open Sae-byeok’s door. Her room was very minimalistic, soft bed in the corner with a simple nightstand, dresser and desk. Papers scattered over top with a small lamp and framed picture of the two of you. It was your birthday there, you had insisted taking one for memories.
As you made yourself comfortable on her bed, you laid your head on her pillow. The recognizable scent of her made your eyes flutter and a cozy feeling warm your chest. You didn’t care how long you had to wait for her arrival, your desperation at getting answers was consuming your every thought.
You didn’t expect to doze off after so many minutes, the soft humming of her ceiling fan lulling you to sleep.
The sound of the window opening made you shoot up, breath quickening as a red gloved hand pulled it up. White moon light being your only attempt at sight.
“Spider-girl?” You gasped, seeing her figure freeze as the white eyes of the mask fell on your figure. “What are you doing in Sae-byeok’s room?”
“What are you doing here?” She asked, completely ignoring your question—full body now standing in your best friend’s room. Skin tight suit framing her body just right, it made you flustered you couldn’t deny.
Your idol was in the same room as you.
Sae-byeok’s room.
“Hey.” You trailed off, hands coming to meet your hips as your eyes grew into slits. “Ghosting me, going out late at night, having random injuries on your body. Your sudden muscular, very attractive arms.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, wait-“
“I’m not dumb, Kang Sae-byeok. There is no reason why Spider-chick would be in your room unless you were her.” Hearing the faintest sigh from the mask, gloved hand came to pull it off her head. At least it had saved you the embarrassment of potentially being wrong.
There she was, hair disheveled and sweat beading her face. Small cuts littered it as apparent black eye-bags decorated her features.
“You look like shit.” Was the only response you could utter, seeing her eyes roll—you yelped, smacking her upper arm to release your not to serious anger.
“Ow!”
“You asshole! You freaking made me jealous thinking you were with Ji-yeong but no! You were out being a superhero!”
She raised an eyebrow. “You were jealous of Ji-yeong?”
“Don’t change the subject.” Hand raising in front of you, Sae-byeok sighed for probably the tenth time that night.
As she approached you, hands grabbing yours in an attempt at comfort. She looked in your eyes, face void of humor. Apologetic expression painting it.
“Look, i’m really sorry. I didn’t want you to worry and potentially be in danger if you knew who I was. You’re my best friend, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I guess you’re forgiven.” Sighing, you smiled at her. Tugging her into a hug, she laid a hand on the back of your head as you rested in her arms.
synopsis: what started as an art assignment quickly grows into a small crush
genre: very minor angst, fluff
PART TWO
You’ve been sketching around campus since week one. Mainly because your drawing elective requires it, but also because sitting outside feels better than rotting in the library pretending to study.
You’re doing “observational studies” to help build your portfolio. So nearly every afternoon after class, you sit somewhere on campus and draw whatever’s in front of you.
Students hunched over textbooks.
Friends sprawled across the yard.
A dog tied to a bike rack outside the café.
You draw what’s there
One afternoon, you’re killing time before studio class, sitting against a brick wall with your ankles crossed and your book balanced over your knees. You’re halfway through a lazy sketch of a guy waiting at the bus stop when you see her.
Dark hair pulled back, faded black hoodie, a bag slung across one shoulder. She moves through the crowd like she hates being apart of it, like she’s got somewhere to be and everyone else is in the way.
Something about her pulls your attention
You move to a clean section of the page and start a rushed sketch. The loose strands slipping out of her ponytail, the shape of the shoulders, the sharp angle of her jaw.
She disappears into a building before you can get more than a few rough lines down.
You lean back, studying what little you managed to capture, wishing you had more time to properly finish it.
──────────────────────
You see her more often after that.
It’s not intentional— you’re not following her around like a stalker or something—but campus isn’t that big and schedules overlap. By the second week, you’ve accidentally learned her routines.
Mornings: she shortcuts through the courtyard.
Midday: she sits on the front steps to eat lunch.
Late afternoons: she lingers near the bike racks, scrolling on her phone.
You draw other people too, but you draw her the more.
You never approach her. She just becomes someone you notice…someone you can’t not notice. And without meaning to, drawings of her start multiplying.
──────────────────────
Later that day you’re in the campus café, nursing a drink that’s already gone cold. Your friend Ji-yeong’s going on about her tutorial group and how they’re not pulling their weight, but your attention drifts to the girl standing in line.
Same hoodie, same dark hair, same unimpressed expression.
You pull your sketchbook closer and start drawings—her shoulders, the tilt of her head as she checks her phone, the faint crease between her brows as she scans the menu.
“Are you listening?” Ji-yeong asks suddenly.
“Yeah,” you say, not looking up.
She hums, “you’re absolutely not but okay”
She follows your gaze, then giggles lightly. “Oh my god, it’s your muse.”
“She’s not my muse,” you mutter, “it’s for class.”
“Yeah class…right,” she leans closer, lowering her voice. “you’re definitely crushing.”
You flip the page immediately, “oh my god, shut up—finish your coffee.”
She laughs, grinning at you knowingly.
──────────────────────
A couple days later, you’re outside the library in your usual spot, tapping your pencil against the page while waiting for your next class. Your morning lecture ended early, so you’re killing time the only way you know how.
You start sketching the scene around you. Students feeding pigeons, someone arguing on the phone, textbooks that’re scattered across a table.
But then you see her.
She’s sitting at the bottom of the staircase, scrolling through her phone, a slight frown pulling at her mouth.
You hesitate, then turn to a fresh page.
Minutes pass by. You’re so focused on the drawing that you don’t notice she’s stood up.
A shadow falls across your sketchbook.
You look up.
She’s standing right in front of you.
“Are you drawing me?” she asks bluntly.
Your spine goes rigid, the pencil nearly slips out of your hand.
“I—I wasn’t trying to,” you rush out. “I mean, I wasn’t trying to be weird. I wasn’t—"
“You stare,” she says plainly.
Heat rushes to your face.
“And you draw when you stare,” she adds, nodding towards the page. “You’re not subtle.”
Your soul leaves your body.
“It’s for an assignment,” you blurt. “We’re supposed to draw people on campus—candid moments. You just… walk through here a lot.”
You want to die
“I’m promise I’m not trying to be a creep. I usually keep it random but you’re—” you stop yourself before you say something stupid.“—forget it, I’m sorry.”
She stares at you for a second, then drops her eyes to the sketchbook. “Let me see.”
Your chest tightens as you turn the page toward her. It’s rough, but unmistakably her. Rushed lines detail the shape of her shoulders, the curve of her neck, the slightly uneven fall of her hair.
She steps closer, studying it.
“You draw a lot of people?” she asks.
“Yeah all the time,” your fingers tighten on the edge of the paper. “You’re just…one of them.”
She gives you a look that says she doesn’t buy it, “you draw me a lot.”
You need someone to mercy kill you right now.
She looks at the sketch one more time, then steps back, hands sliding into her pockets. “You’re good,” she says simply.
You blink, “oh—thanks.”
She straightens, exhaling softly. “Next time,” she tilts her head, “ask.”
Your heart stutters, “…ask?”
“Yeah,” she gestures vaguely, “it’s less weird if l know.”
“You’d… let me?” you ask carefully.
She snorts softly, “you’re already doing it.”
You wince, “okay…I’ll ask.”
She nods once and walks away.
You sit there frozen, thinking that’s it—you’ll never see her again and you’ll have to live the rest of your life knowing that the coolest girl on campus caught you drawing her repeatedly like some crazy stalker.
Your phone buzzes.
Ji-yeong:
where r u hoe??
You:
outside the library
You:
bro omg I wanna die
──────────────────────
The next day, you’re in the library, slumped over your notes, trying to convince yourself you understand a chapter on composition theory. You rub your eyes, blinking at the same sentence for the fifth time, resisting the urge to just doodle in the margins.
A chair slides out across from you.
You jump, nearly knocking over your water bottle.
“Hi,” she says, dropping into the seat.
She places a textbook on the table, and pulls out a highlighter. “You have your sketchbook?”
You glance at it beside you, “oh—yeah?”
“Good,” she murmurs, flipping a page. “I’ve got ten minutes.”
It takes a second to process.
“You…want me to draw you…now?”
She doesn’t look up from the book, “I wouldn’t have sat here if I didn’t.”
You try to act normal, grabbing your sketchbook, opening to a fresh page.
Having permission feels strangely harder. You’re usually able to hide behind the idea of observation. But now she’s sitting directly across from you, and it’s extremely hard not to be hyper-aware of her presence.
She sits there reading quietly, a lock of hair falls over her cheek, her fingers tap the edge of the page.
You don’t go for extreme realism—there’s no time. Instead, you draw the line of her jaw, the soft shadow under her eyes, the way her lips press together when she concentrates.
“Do you usually ask people?” she asks after a couple minutes.
“No,” you admit, “most of them don’t notice.”
She hums, lifting her eyes to yours. “So why do you draw me?”
You hesitate.
It’s not that you don’t have an answer, It’s that they all feel a little too much when you imagine saying them out loud. You glance back at the page instead, pencil hovering.
“I don’t know,” you say finally, “l kept seeing you around. It wasn’t on purpose, you’re just…interesting.”
She looks up fully this time, eyes settling on you with that same unreadable gaze. She watches you for a beat, then drops her eyes back to the page.
“Mm—okay.”
You wait for her to press, but she doesn’t. She just continues reading, stopping to highlight a sentence, then flips to the next page.
You go back to drawing again, shading lightly, careful not to overdo it. You stop worrying about whether she’s watching you watch her.
After a while she closes the book. “Time’s up,” she says, eyes flicking to you. “Can l see?”
You nod, sliding it over. Your stomach flipping the whole time.
She pulls it towards herself, studying it with a sharp focus.
“It’s weird,” she says eventually, “seeing myself like this.”
“Weird bad?” you ask quietly.
“No.”
She hands it back, then pauses. “You haven’t asked for my name.”
You shrug weakly, “I didn’t wanna cross a line.”
She exhales softly, almost a laugh. “Kang Sae-byeok.”
You repeat it under your breath. “I’m—”
“I know,” she interrupts, nodding towards the inside cover of your sketchbook. “You sign your work.”
She checks her phone, and stands. “l have to go,” she says, gathering her things, “but I’ll see you around.”
She doesn’t wait for a response, just slips her backpack onto her shoulder, gives a small nod, then disappears down the aisle of books.
You stare at the empty chair for a long moment, then close your sketchbook and attempt to return your focus back to composition theory.
"there she goes" — sae-byeok finally meets you, the kind caretaker cheol has been telling her about.
-> kang sae-byeok x fem!reader, fluff, au without squid game, meet cute, reader works at cheol's daycare, sae-byeok being a little softer than usual (ooc? maybe?), sae-byeok lowkey finding the reader pretty (I live and write for lesbians), word count: 980
[ 📀༉‧₊˚. ] — there she goes by sixpence none the richer
The wind chime makes a melodic sound as Sae-byeok enters the convenience store, with the purpose of getting Cheol his daily treat. She had just finished her shift for today and was feeling rather lucky. After all, it was also her pay day, and with that means she had extra money to spoil Cheol with whatever he wanted. And knowing her little brother, Sae-byeok wastes no time and beelines her way to the ice cream freezer.
She slides it open, looking down at her options. Cheol wasn't really picky, he would eat any flavor Sae-byeok gave him. But he was particularly fond of ice cream cones, especially the vanilla ones. And so she grabs one and gets herself a popsicle. When she turns, however, she bumps into somebody. A string of apologies falls out of the person, as they bend down to pick up the things that have fallen.
Sae-byeok, somehow feeling a little nicer than usual, follows and grabs a few of their items. One of which was a small packet of tissues. And when she goes to pick it up, her hand accidentally collides with the other person’s. That’s when Sae-byeok looks up and meets your gaze. Her heart stutters for a bit.
You’re pretty… close. Pretty close to her.
“Uhm, excuse me.” Your voice is quiet, Sae-byeok doesn't hear it, not until you clear your throat that she snaps out of whatever trance you’ve placed her in. “Sorry.” She mumbles, handing you the tissue packet and lifting herself up. You let out a chuckle, the tips of her ears start to feel a little warmer. “It's fine. Thank you.” Sae-byeok nods in response, feeling a little too tongue-tied to say anything. You move past her to the cashier and leave her wondering just what exactly happened.
That was certainly a unique impression to leave, for someone she’s never going to meet again.
Cheol hasn't stopped talking about his caretaker since Sae-byeok stepped inside the orphanage. It was sweet, really, definitely a preferable change from a few months ago—when Cheol would barely talk to her about his day. And now he was even making a few friends.
“Noona, your ice cream..” Cheol points at her popsicle, currently melting down her wrist. Sae-byeok looks down and lets out an annoyed scoff, before lifting the sleeve of her jacket to wipe it. That’s when a hand comes into her vision, offering a tissue. “You can have this.” Sae-byeok looks up and her heart flutters. It's you, from the convenience store earlier.
Cheol says your name, exclaims it even, as he stands up and pulls on your own sleeve. “This is my sister!” He says, giddy, meanwhile Sae-byeok grabs the tissue you offered her and uses it to wipe away the sticky stain the popsicle left on her wrist.
She couldn't believe it, I mean what are the odds, right? That the person she bumped into earlier happens to be the object of her little brother’s affection. Looking at you, though, Sae-byeok was starting to get it.
You're as sweet as Cheol was making you out to be.
You’re sitting next to her now, on one of the benches, as Cheol went off to play with one of his friends. Sae-byeok doesn't know why but she feels a little more nervous than usual. “Sae-byeok, right?” You ask, an attempt to start a conversation, and she wasn't about to leave you hanging. Sae-byeok nods her head. “Yeah, I’m sure everyone has told you.” She tries to look at you, but when your eyes meet, she ends up looking away. You aren’t even close to her, yet you still manage to make her feel light-headed.
She says your name, you perk up. “You know me?” You look genuinely surprised that it makes Sae-byeok raise a brow. How can she not? You’re all that her brother can talk about. But maybe you really had no clue. “Cheol talks about you a lot.” You nod your head, still surprised, but a smile starts to form on your lips. And it makes her heart flutter once again.
So, what if she thinks it's nice to see you smile? It can't really mean anything..
“Same with you. Cheol was really adamant for me to meet you. He said you’d like me.” You watch as both of Sae-byeok’s eyebrows rise, catching you off guard. Did you say something wrong? Was that too soon to say?
“Uhm, I mean, he said you’d appreciate me for taking care of him.”
“Ah, yes, of course. I do.” She watches you bite your lip, nervously. Did she make things awkward? Maybe she shouldn't have reacted like that. What was she supposed to do? You said it so out of the blue. She definitely ruined the moment, and maybe blew off her chances too.
“You’re not so bad.” Sae-byeok hums, when you start speaking again. “I was really nervous. The others keep telling me you were intimidating, that they can’t really approach you.” Your lips start to curve upward once more. And Sae-byeok starts to consider that maybe, just maybe, this really was starting to mean something to her.
“Am I?” She asks you. Now, Sae-byeok really isn't the one to care about how people perceive her. She’s been called plenty of things in her life, and yet here she was asking if you found her intimidating or not. When you shake your head, it's somehow reassuring for her.
“I think there’s a chance we’d get along.” Your words manage a small grin out of her, as her eyes glint with a certain amusement, and curiosity.
“You think so?”
“I do, I’m quite convinced so.”
Looks like she didn't blow off her chances after all. Sae-byeok thinks, as she offers to get you a drink from a vending machine nearby.
synopsis: sae-byeok’s always been quiet and composed. but that crumbles whenever you’re between her thighs
genre: smut, fluff
It was quiet in your apartment, just the hum of the fan and the distant noise of traffic through the windows. She’s sitting in the middle of the bed, one of her loose tank tops hanging off her shoulder, bare legs crossed at the ankle, watching you as you pulled your hoodie off and climbed over to her.
She didn’t flinch when your hands found her thighs, she just let them part. One leg bent, the other resting loose and relaxed beside you as you settled between them.
You glanced up at her. “Lie back for me.”
She raised an eyebrow, but leaned back on her elbows, saying nothing. Her expression stayed unreadable, her eyes calm, and mouth relaxed. But her breathing had already shifted.
You ran your hands slowly up her inner thighs, watching her stomach twitch with anticipation.
Getting comfortable between her legs, you drag slow open-mouthed kisses along the inside of her thigh. She was warm and still beneath you, arms resting at her sides like she wasn’t sure what to do with them.
You kissed over her underwear first, slow and gentle. Her lips parted slightly, letting out the softest breath, her eyes half-lidded.
You pulled her underwear down carefully, dragging your lips across her hip as you did. She shifted slightly, but didn’t say a word.
Your mouth found her slowly, tongue dragging a steady line up her slit. She exhaled sharply through her nose, legs shifting a little wider for you.
You circled her clit lightly, teasing. She sucked in a breath, and her fingers curled into the sheet beside her.
Her breath stuttered.
You dipped lower, licking into her, before dragging back up. Your tongue flicked quick and soft, then slower again. Her stomach tensed, her lip caught between her teeth.
You wrapped your lips around her clit and sucked, not hard, just enough, tongue flicking fast and light before easing into a slower rhythm. Her hips twitched into you.
She let out a low noise, barely audible.
You loved the sounds she made when she thought she could keep them in. That shaky inhale, the stifled grunt, the soft curse under her breath. How she tried so fucking hard to stay quiet.
“Sae,” you breathed against her, lips brushing her skin. “You sound so pretty.”
She groaned—frustrated almost, like you were getting under her skin in a way she couldn’t handle.
You hummed into her as your hands slid up to grip her thighs, thumbs pressing lightly into her hips.
You sucked firmer now and then she moaned.
An actual low and raw moan, like it slipped out before she even realised it.
You froze for a second.
When you looked up, she was staring at the ceiling, eyes wide like she couldn’t quite believe that sound came out of her. Her chest was rising fast, completely stunned by herself.
Your grinned
And then, giving her no time to recover, you were back on her. Mouth locked around her clit, tongue moving just how she liked it. You adjusted your angle, changing up the pressure, keeping her right there.
You moaned softly into her, just to let her feel it.
Her hips rolled up, chasing your mouth, and you let her. She was past caring, not even trying to hold back anymore. Her legs were trembling, breath was coming out fast and uneven.
You slid your hands under her thighs, holding her open, giving her nowhere to go. She was panting now, head turned to the side, eyes squeezed shut.
“Fuck,” she whispered.
You flattened your tongue again, focusing on her clit, lapping it in tight, fast circles.
You reached down, and slid two fingers inside her. You went slow at first, then deeper, curling right into that spot that always made her lose it. Her back arched immediately, a raw sound escaping her throat.
She was soaked, so tight around your fingers it made your own thighs clench. Her stomach tensed every time your mouth dragged just right across her clit.
Both her hands were in the sheets now, knuckles white. Her head tilted back, lips parted.
You kept going, deeper, firmer, mouth and fingers working together.
She reached down blindly, grabbing your hair, not rough, just desperate.
Her whole body was shaking now. She was right there, clinging to the edge.
And then she came—hard.
Her back arched off the bed, thighs trembling around your head. She moaned your name, breathless, and desperate, like she couldn’t stop it even if she tried.
You didn’t stop, you just slowed your movements, working her through it gently, mouth still moving. Only when her grip on your hair loosened and her thighs dropped did you ease off.
You pressed one last soft kiss to her clit before slowly crawling back up her body, leaving small kisses along her stomach, her ribs, ans her chest.
She was staring at the ceiling, lips parted, chest heaving.
You brushed her hair back from her face, leaning in a little. “You good?”
She turned her head, eyes still dazed, looking at you she didn’t know whether to kiss you or push you off the bed.
“What…” she muttered, voice still rough. “What the fuckwas that?”
You just watched her, feeling smug. The way her chest was still rising too fast, face flushed.
“Didn’t know you could sound like that,” you teased.
She covered her face with one hand. “Don’t.”
You just laughed softly and kissed the corner of her mouth.
But her hand slid to the back of your neck and tugged you in for a real kiss—slow and heavy.
When she pulled back, still half breathless, she pressed her forehead against yours, “…do it again.”
this is part 2 of You’ve Grown! i strongly suggest reading part 1 first~
synopsis: You’re convinced the holiday fling was a once off. Then she texts. Months of coded messages, breathless calls, and a stolen weekend at her dorm prove it’s more than lust. But summer looms, and with it, a house full of thin walls and thinner lies. Every time the fire grows, it gets harder to hide…
genre: smut (multiple instances), brother’s best friend trope, secret relationship/sneaking around, angst with happy ending, coming out, fluff
warnings: age gap (4 years, both legal), fingering & oral (both receiving), strap on (both receiving), risk of being caught, praise, jealousy, one instance of angry sex, awkward family tension
word count: 6k
a/n: requested by anon(s)
︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶
You don’t expect to hear from her again.
It was a whirlwind. It was impulsive. A short, heat of the moment affair that ended at the airport. You watched her disappear through the security line and told yourself that’s it. Done. Over.
But fifteen days later your phone lights up on the nightstand.
💬 sae: i can’t stop thinking about you
Your heart leaps so hard it hurts. You stare at the screen until it dims, thumbs hovering, then type back before you lose your nerve.
💬 you: same
The next few months are a masterclass in secrecy.
It starts with texts - quick, coded, always after midnight.
💬 sae: these lecture notes are putting me to sleep
You fire back a selfie in your pajamas, hair messy on the pillow. She replies with a voice note, low and raspy:
“Fuckkk, you’re cute.”
Texts become phone calls. You learn the exact creak of her dorm bed when she rolls over, the way her laugh catches when you tease her about her terrible taste in ramen flavors.
Then video calls. The first one, she answers propped against her pillow, hair a dark halo around her forehead, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. The ghost of a smile tugs at her lip the second your face appears.
“Hi.” She says, soft.
You blush like a kid. “Hi.”
You don’t define it. Girlfriends feels too big, too real. But it’s something. Something that makes your chest tight when she murmurs “wish you were here” at 2am, something that keeps you awake at night replaying the way she says your name like a secret.
Graduation talk starts at home. Your parents list schools like a brochure, your brother’s alma mater at the top, of course. You nod and smile, but a single campus flashes behind your eyes: hers. Four hours away. Close enough to steal weekends.
She texts you the date her roommate’s gone.
💬 sae: friday to sunday. clear.
You book the flight before you can talk yourself out of it, telling your parents it’s a “campus tour.” The lie slips out smooth and practiced, but your heart pounds the entire plane ride.
Then she’s there, leaning against a pillar in ripped jeans and that same oversized hoodie, hair tied back, eyes scanning until they land on you. She doesn’t hug you, just smirks, grabs your bag and murmurs. “Took you long enough.”
Her dorm is tiny - two twin beds and one desk. You hover by the door, backpack straps cutting into your shoulders. She twists the lock, turns to you and smirks at your coyness, as if she wasn’t rearranging your insides only four months ago.
“Still shy?” She steps close, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Thought I fucked that out of you.”
You swallow, heat flooding your cheeks. “Shut up.”
She does, by kissing you. Soft at first, like she’s testing. Then deeper, hungrier, until you’re clutching her hoodie and whining into her mouth. She walks you backward until your knees hit the bed, easing you down.
It’s gentle for a while. Cuddling under a thin blanket, legs tangled, sweet pecks that turn into slow, lazy kisses. Her fingers trace idle patterns on your hip. You’re almost lulled into thinking this weekend might just be soft.
Then the heat returns.
“Been thinking about this for four fucking months.” She says against your neck, teeth grazing. “Every time you sent those little goodnight texts I wanted to crawl through the phone.”
You laugh breathlessly. “You’re dramatic.”
“Am I?” She pulls back, eyes dark. “Strip.”
Your hands shake as you obey. She watches like she’s memorizing, hoodie, jeans, bra, then panties. When you’re bare, she hums in approval and shrugs off her own clothes. She’s all lean muscle and sharp angles, freckles dusting her collarbone like constellations.
She crawls over you, kissing you slow and filthy. It’s tongues and teeth and fuck, you missed her mouth. Her hand slides between your thighs, finding you already wet.
“Jesus.” She mutters, circling your clit. “You’re desperate for me.”
You nod, shameless. She rewards you with two fingers, curling just right until your back arches, watching your face like it’s her favorite show.
“Gooood girl.” She praises, voice rough. “Take it.”
She works you open slowly, then faster, thumb on your clit until you’re trembling. You cum with her name muffled into her shoulder, teeth sinking into skin to stay quiet.
She doesn’t let you recover before flipping you onto your stomach, spreading your legs. Her fingers meet your skin again, slick, three pressing into you this time, and you gasp.
“Relax.” She soothes, kissing down your spine. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”
She does. Fingers scissoring, stretching, until you’re pushing back on her, begging. She replaces them with her tongue, hot and wet and obscene. You bury your face in the pillow to muffle your sounds.
When she finally grabs the strap, your whole body lights up. It’s new, thicker than her fingers, silicone cool against your thigh. She lubes it, lines up, and pushes in slow.
“Fuck.” You whine. “Sae-”
“I know.” She bottoms out, stilling. “Breathe.”
You do. Then she moves, long, deep strokes that hit every spot. One hand grips your hip, the other snaking under to rub your clit. You’re babbling, drooling into her sheets when she leans over you, chest to your back, lips at your ear.
“Gonna send your brother a picture of this.” She whispers. “You dripping on my cock. Tell him his little sister’s a slut for me.”
You clench hard and she laughs, dark and filthy. “Knew you’d like that.”
She flips you again, hooking your legs over her shoulders to fuck you deeper. Then she takes her phone out. You’re too gone to protest, watching through teary eyes as she snaps photos: your flushed face, tits bouncing, the strap disappearing into you.
“These are mine.” She says. “Behave, or I send them.”
You cum again, harder, vision whiting out. She follows right after, grinding against the base, groaning your name.
After, you’re boneless. She cleans you up with a damp towel, gentle now, then pulls you into her chest, fingers in your hair.
“Stay the weekend.” She murmurs.
You do.
Saturday is lazy. You eat takeout sitting cross legged on her bed. Afterwards she teaches you how to use the strap on her. You’re clumsy with the harness, but she guides your hips, moaning when you find the angle.
“Fuck, just like that.” She gasps. “Good girl.”
You fuck her slow, until she’s trembling and cursing your name. She returns the favor twice over, with her fingers and tongue, then the strap again until you’re a mess of limbs and whispered pleas.
Sunday morning, you’re cuddling on the bed, her head on your chest, your fingers in her hair, both of you basking in the quiet when the door bursts open.
“Surprise bitches!”
Your brother and her roommate tumble in, arms full of coffee and a donut box, laughing about some inside joke.
You spring apart on instinct, blanket clutched to your chest. Your brother shoots you a quick, confused blink - huh? - then shrugs it off.
Saebyeok sits up smoothly, hair tousled but unbothered.
“Look who I ran into on her campus tour.” She says, casual as hell, tossing a pillow at your brother’s head.
He catches it and grins. “Nice. Didn’t know you were playing tour guide, Sae.”
He doesn’t question it further, just kicks the door shut and starts passing out donuts like nothing happened.
You exhale, shaky but safe.
You spend the rest of the morning squeezed on one bed, eating powdered sugar and pretending your pulse isn’t racing. Saebyeok’s hand finds yours under the blanket and squeezes once, a silent we’re good.
When they finally head out to “see the quad” your brother slings an arm around Saebyeok’s shoulders. “Don’t let her get lost on your watch.”
She smirks. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The door shuts behind them. You sag against the wall.
She turns to you, eyes bright. “Close one.”
You laugh, breathless. “You’re insane.”
“Yeah.” She says, pulling you close. “But you’re here.”
You are, for now.
Summer arrives like a held breath. Saebyeok’s lease ends the first week of June, and your brother convinces your parents to let her stay at yours for the summer. She texts you a single photo: her dorm room stripped bare, boxes stacked, middle finger to the camera.
💬 sae: see you in 48 hrs
You stare at the message until your mom calls you down for dinner. Your brother’s already home, sprawled on the couch with the tv remote like it’s his throne. He doesn’t know you’ve been counting down the days.
She rolls up on a Thursday in her beat up car, windows down, music loud enough to rattle the mailbox. Your brother whoops from the porch and jogs out to help with boxes. You linger in the doorway, pretending not to care, heart in your throat.
She looks good. Tan from pickup soccer games, hair slightly shorter, subtle muscles on show under her tee. She catches your eye over a duffel bag and smirks, slow, deliberate, like she knows exactly what that look does to you.
“Sup, kid.” She says, loud enough for your brother to hear.
You roll your eyes, playing along. “Welcome back, old lady.”
Your brother snorts. “Be nice, she’s basically furniture.”
If only he knew.
The first week is torture by proximity.
She crashes in the basement, among an old couch, mini fridge, and your dad’s ancient xbox. She’s close enough that you can hear her laugh through the floorboards when she and your brother play FIFA until 3am. Close enough that you lie awake imagining the three steps it would take to sneak downstairs.
But you don’t. Not yet.
You settle for the stolen glances across the kitchen table, the texts from five feet away, the brush of knuckles in the hallway when you pass with laundry.
The first time you break is Tuesday night.
Your parents are at a neighbor’s barbecue. Your brother’s at his girlfriend’s. You’re “studying” in your room, door cracked for plausible deniability. Then you hear footsteps on the stairs. Soft. Familiar.
Saebyeok slips in wearing basketball shorts and a tank top, no bra, hair still damp from the shower. She doesn’t speak, just shuts the door, clicks the lock, and crowds you against your desk.
“Missed you.” She murmurs against your mouth.
You’re already wet. It’s embarrassing how fast.
She lifts you onto the desk, knocking a textbook to the floor but you couldn’t care less. Her mouth is on your neck, your collarbone, pulling your tank top down to suck a bruise just above your bra line.
“Gonna have to wear high necks.” You gasp.
“Or tell them you burned yourself with a curling iron.” She grins, teeth grazing. “Liars have to be creative.”
She drops to her knees. You’re in sleep shorts with no panties, because you’re weak. She noses along your thigh, inhaling like she’s been starving.
“Quiet.” She warns, and licks a stripe up your center.
You bite your fist to stay silent, and she eats you slow and thorough, two fingers slipping inside while your legs shake. You cum with your thighs clamped around her ears.
She stands, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and kisses you so hard you taste yourself.
“Your turn.”
You sink to your knees on the carpet. She’s already soaked through her shorts. You peel them down, licking into her like she taught you - slow circles, then fast, until she’s gripping your hair and grinding against your tongue. She comes undone with a shudder, head thrown back as she gasps under you.
After, she pulls you up, peppering a soft kiss to your forehead. “Basement tonight. Bring a hoodie.”
You do.
The basement is darker, cooler. She’s got fairy lights strung along the ceiling now - your doing, a housewarming gift you claimed was for “ambiance.” She locks the door behind you, backing you onto the couch.
“Been thinking about this all week.” She says, stripping you slow. “You in my space. Finally.”
She fucks you with her fingers first, then the strap she smuggled home in a gym bag. You ride her on the couch, hands braced on her shoulders, trying to keep quiet while the xbox hums in the corner. She covers your mouth when you get loud, growling. “Shh, he’s upstairs. One more sound and he’ll hear you, princess.”
You cum twice. She follows once, grinding against the base, cursing into your neck. Afterwards you’re both breathless, sweat slicked and tangled in the blanket. She’s still inside you, hips lazy, when she presses her forehead to yours and mutters, voice raw. “I missed you more than I should have.”
The words slip out like they’ve been clawing at her throat for months. Her eyes widen the second they leave her mouth. Panic flickers across her face, real, sharp, but gone in a blink.
She laughs, too loud, too fast. “I mean-fuck, ignore that. Heat of the moment bullshit.”
She pulls out, rolls you off of her and busies herself with the strap like it’s the most interesting thing in the room. “Post nut clarity’s a bitch, huh?”
You’re still floating, heart hammering. You reach for her wrist. “Sae.”
She avoids your eyes, tugging the harness off. “We good? I’m starving. There’s leftover pizza-”
“Saebyeok.” You sit up, blanket clutched to your chest. “Look at me.”
She does, finally. Jaw tight, walls up. You see the girl who transferred in fourth grade, hoodie two sizes too big, daring anyone to get close.
“I missed you too.” You say, soft. “More than you realize.”
Her shoulders loosen, just a fraction. She exhales through her nose, crawls back over and kisses you, slow and apologetic. No more words.
Summer becomes a game of how close can we cut it.
The reckoning starts with a single look, on a Thursday night at a backyard barbecue. Your dad’s flipping burgers, your mom’s passing out lemonade, your brother’s telling some loud story about his internship. Saebyeok’s leaning against the picnic table, beer in hand, eyes on you while you laugh at something your cousin says.
But the look is too long. Too soft. Too obvious.
Your brother’s head turns, and he catches it. He frowns.
You don’t notice. You’re too busy pretending your skin isn’t buzzing under her stare.
Later, when you’re inside grabbing more ice, you hear them through the screen door.
“You’ve been weird all summer.” Your brother mutters. “You stare at my sister all the damn time. Are you… into her or something?”
Your stomach drops. The ice bag slips from your fingers and clatters to the floor. You bolt upstairs before anyone sees.
Seeing someone.
Not you.
Someone.
You spiral in your room, phone dark, knees to your chest. Every stolen kiss, every basement night, every “good girl” whispered against your skin - cheap and disposable. A summer fling she’s already moving on from.
You don’t text her. You don’t answer when she does.
💬 sae: where’d you go?
💬 sae: Y/N?
💬 sae: talk to me
You ignore them all.
Friday night, your parents are at a movie. Your brother’s at a going away party. You’re in the basement, waiting like an idiot because you need to hear it from her mouth.
She walks in at 11:47, hair damp from the shower, tank top clinging. She sees you on the couch, arms crossed, jaw tight.
“Hey.” She says, cautious. “You okay?”
You stand. “Who is she?”
Her brows knit. “Who’s who?”
“The girl you’re seeing.” Your voice cracks. “The one that’s not me.”
Her face shifts in realization, then panic. “You heard that?”
“Answer the question.”
She steps closer. “It was a lie. To get him off my back. I didn’t think-”
“Bullshit.” You shove her chest, but she doesn’t budge. “You’ve been dodging this all summer. We don’t have a name. We don’t get to exist outside locked doors. So yeah, tell him you’re seeing someone. Tell him it’s real.”
Her eyes darken. “You think I want anyone else?”
“I don’t know what you want!” You’re yelling now, tears hot in your eyes. “You fuck me in your car, in my bed, in the goddamn laundry room! Then you lie to my brother like I’m nothing-”
She grabs your wrists, pinning them to the wall above your head. “Shut up.”
You struggle. “Make me.”
She does.
Her mouth crashes into yours, angry and desperate. You retaliate by biting her lip hard enough you taste copper. She growls, spins you and bends you over the arm of the couch. Your shorts are down before you can blink.
“You think I’d choose anyone over you?” She hisses, hand fisted in your hair. Two fingers shove inside you, rough, no prep. But you’re wet anyway. Your body is a traitor. “This pussy’s been mine since Christmas. You think I’d throw that away?”
You moan into the cushion. She fucks you hard, hips slamming, other hand clamped over your mouth.
“Say it.” She snarls. “Say you’re mine.”
You try, muffled and broken. She curls her fingers, hits that spot, and you cum with a sob, legs shaking.
She doesn’t stop. She pulls out, flips you onto your back and spreads your thighs wide. Her mouth replaces her fingers, sucking, licking, devouring until you’re arching off the couch, tears streaking your temples.
“Still think I want someone else?” She mutters against your clit. You cum again, harder, eyes squeezed shut.
She crawls up your body, kissing you softer now. You taste salt and sex and something fragile. You’re both trembling.
“I’m sorry.” She whispers. “I panicked. I didn’t mean-”
You cut her off with a kiss.
Both of you fall asleep tangled in her sheets, her arms locked around you, fairy lights glowing soft above.
You wake in the morning to the sound of footsteps on the basement stairs. The lower they descend, the heavier they sound. Faster. Growing in urgency.
“Sae? …Y/N?! WHAT THE HELL-”
Your brother.
He’s halfway down before you register, his eyes wide on the sight of you bare and pressed to Saebyeok’s side, her arm draped over your waist under the thin blanket.
Silence. Then…
“I fucking knew it.” His voice is deadly quiet. “You’re dead, Saebyeok.”
He storms the rest of the way down. Saebyeok sits up fast, shielding you with her body, sheet clutched to her chest.
“It’s not what you think.” She says.
“What I think is you’ve been fucking my sister under my roof, our roof, when I gave you a place to stay for the summer.” He steps closer, fists clenched. “Get up.”
Saebyeok doesn’t move. “I love her.”
The words rip out raw and unplanned. Your eyes snap to her. She’s never said it. Not once.
Your brother freezes. “What the fuck did you just say?”
She swallows, chin high. “I love her. This isn’t just some fun to me.”
His gaze slides to you, rage, betrayal, confusion, all at once. “Y/N?”
You sit up, clutching the sheet, fingers twisting in your lap as you nod, throat too tight for words.
He exhales, sharp, and runs a hand through his hair. “What about Mom and Dad? Do they even know you like girls?”
Saebyeok’s hand finds yours under the covers, warm and steady. You squeeze.
“No.” You whisper. “Please-please don’t tell them. Not yet.”
He stares at the floor. The silence stretches, thick.
Finally he sighs, defeated. “I won’t. But you two need to end this. Before you get caught for real. It’s not a good idea. You’re gonna blow up the whole family.”
You’re crying now, quiet. “We’ll be careful-”
“You weren’t careful!” He snaps. “I’m standing right here!”
Saebyeok’s voice is low. “We’ll figure it out. Just… give us time.”
He looks between you, his best friend and his little sister, then shakes his head. “You’ve got until move in day. After that, I don’t wanna know.”
He turns and climbs the stairs. The door slams upstairs. You’re shaking when Saebyeok pulls you into her chest, arms tight.
“I meant it.” She murmurs into your hair. “I love you.”
You cling to her, tears soaking her skin.
When move in day arrives, the campus is pure chaos - parents hauling mini fridges, freshmen crying in parking lots, RAs with clipboards yelling about fire safety. You’re sweating through your hoodie, duffel cutting into your shoulder, when you spot her.
Saebyeok leans against the dorm entrance, arms crossed, sunglasses low on her nose. She’s in a cropped tank and cargo pants, hair tied back, smirk sharp enough to cut glass.
“Need a hand, freshie?” She calls.
You roll your eyes, but your stomach flips. “Thought you were above helping.”
She grabs your heaviest bag like it’s nothing. “Only for you.”
By September you have her schedule learned by heart. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays she’s got a lab until 3. You wait outside the science building with iced coffee, and she kisses you against the brick wall, not caring who sees. Tuesdays and Thursdays you’re in the same gen-ed psych lecture. She sits three rows behind and texts you memes during the professor’s slides. You spend the weekends together in her single dorm (senior perk), cooking terrible ramen, watching The Office on her laptop, and fucking until the sun comes up.
You finally say it back to her in October. You’re tangled in her sheets, your fingers in her hair, her head on your chest where it usually is these days.
“I love you.” You whisper.
She kisses your collarbone, smiling against your skin. “Love you more.”
You meet her friends, and they know about you.
“The high school girlfriend turned campus girlfriend.” They tease her, mercilessly. You blush, but she just slings an arm around your shoulders, proud.
Your friends meet her at a Halloween party, and they love her. You make out in the bathroom, her hands under your costume skirt, until someone bangs on the door.
When thanksgiving break comes you spend the four days together on campus. The dorms are mostly empty, dining halls closed. You live on vending machine snacks and each other. She eats you out on the communal couch at 2am, daring you to be loud. You cum with your face buried in her hoodie.
During finals week, she tutors you in the 24 hour study lounge. When you fall asleep on her shoulder she carries your books back and tucks you into her bed, studying with the light off so you can sleep.
By December you’re official. No more “it’s complicated.” You hold hands across campus. She wears your scrunchie on her wrist, you steal her hoodies. People talk. You don’t care.
Christmas break looms. Four weeks apart, and you’re dreading it.
The night before you leave, she fucks you slow and deep with the strap, her mouth on your neck, leaving a bruise just below your collarbone. A going away gift.
“Wear turtlenecks.” She murmurs, kissing it. “Or don’t. I don’t care.”
You arrive home on Christmas Eve to the house smelling like cinnamon and pine. Your parents hug you too tight, but your brother’s quieter than usual. He’s still processing, still watching.
You’re careful. You don’t text her in the open. You wear high necks, just in case.
But on Christmas morning, it breaks. You’re in the kitchen, pouring coffee when your brother walks in, hair messy, eyes sharp.
“Y/N… no.”
You freeze. He’s staring at your neck. Your sweater slipped when you reached for a mug, and he saw the hickey. It’s faded, but it’s there.
He yanks the collar down just enough to expose it, and your breath catches.
“I told you to fucking end it.”
You open your mouth but nothing comes out.
“That’s it.” He turns away, voice like ice. “You’ve got until New Year’s Eve to tell them, or I will.”
He walks out. The coffee pot gurgles, and your hands shake so hard you spill on the counter.
The house is a minefield in the following days. You flinch every time your mom asks if you’re “seeing anyone at school.” Your dad keeps giving you long, searching looks over dinner.
Saebyeok texts from her mom’s new place three hours away.
💬 sae: breathe. you’ve got this.
💬 you: i’m gonna throw up
💬 sae: then aim for the ugly christmas sweater pile
You rehearse in the mirror.
“I’m gay.”
“I like girls.”
“I’m in love with Saebyeok.”
Every version sounds wrong. Too small. Too big. Too late.
On New Year’s Eve, at 6:47pm, your stomach churns as your feet pad across the floor of the living room. Your parents are on the couch, wine glasses half empty, It’s a Wonderful Life droning on the TV. Your brother is upstairs “giving you space,” but you know he’s listening.
You stand in the doorway, sweater sleeves pulled over your hands.
“Mom… Dad… can we talk?”
They mute the movie and look up, worry creasing their faces. You sit on the ottoman, knees bouncing.
“I… Um, I-”
Your voice cracks. They lean forward.
“I-I like…” The words feel like gravel. You force them out before you can swallow them again. “I like girls.”
Silence.
Then Mom’s eyes widen. “You-”
You cut her off, panic rising. “I like a girl. I… love a girl.”
Their brows furrow, mouths parted. They’re trying to understand - God, they’re trying - but you’re shaking, tears already burning.
“S-Saebyeok.” Her name is barely a breath.
Your dad’s face falls. A flicker of something - disappointment? Shock? Both?
Mom stares at the floor, not breathing. Eventually she whispers. “Saebyeok?”
You nod.
Dad scoffs, shaking his head. “Y/N, she’s four years older than you. She’s your brother’s best friend for Christ’s sake.”
Your mouth is sand.
Mom tries again, softer. “Y/N, you’re so young. You have so much to-” She sees your face, eyes glassy, and your fingers twisting in your sleeves. She stops and sighs. “How long?”
“A… A year-”
Dad’s eyes bug out. “A year?!”
Mom’s gaze snaps to you, less disappointed, more stunned, like she’s rewriting every memory of the past twelve months. Her eyes meet yours, terrified but gentle. “Is it serious?”
You nod, tears spilling. “She loves me, Mom.”
Dad inhales sharp, and stands. Your stomach drops. His face is unreadable, blank, closed off. He steps toward you and you brace.
Then, he hugs you.
His arms are tight, warm, familiar. You sob into his shoulder, hot and messy, and he feels it.
“If she so much as thinks about hurting you,” he whispers, voice rough, “I bury her.”
You laugh, wet and broken, relieved. Mom’s crying too, reaching for your hand.
Your brother appears in the doorway, arms crossed. His eyes are red. You know he heard everything.
He doesn’t say anything. Just nods once, a small I’ve got you, and disappears upstairs.
At 11:59pm, you’re sitting on the porch watching the snow fall soft and slow when your phone buzzes.
💬 sae: happy new year, baby. told my mom… she cried. then asked if you like kimchi.
💬 you: told mine. dad threatened to bury you.
💬 sae: worth it ❤️
Fireworks crack in the distance, and you smile, tears freezing on your cheeks. The front door opens and Mom steps out, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders.
“She coming tomorrow?” She asks.
You nod.
She kisses your temple. “Bring her for breakfast. We’ll make pancakes.”
You laugh. “She hates pancakes.”
“Then we’ll make waffles.”
Inside, the Christmas lights twinkle. Your dad’s already googling “how to threaten my daughter’s girlfriend without going to jail.” Your brother texts from upstairs.
💬 bro: if she breaks your heart i’ll help dad hide the body.
The house is quiet the next morning, too quiet for New Year’s, like it’s holding its breath. You’ve been awake since 6:37, the exact minute your phone buzzed with a text from Saebyeok.
💬 sae: leaving now. tell your dad i come in peace.
You’ve reread it seventeen times. Your stomach is a washing machine on spin cycle.
Downstairs, the kitchen smells like batter and anxiety. Mom’s been flipping waffles since 7:45, each one more misshapen than the last. She’s wearing the apron your brother got her in middle school - World’s Okayest Mom - and her hair is in a bun so tight it looks painful.
Your brother is already at the island, in sweatpants and that godawful light up reindeer sweater, antlers blinking in lazy rhythm. Every time Mom turns her back, he flicks a piece of bacon into his mouth like it’s a sport.
“Morning, gay panic.” He says without looking up. “You look like you’re about to puke on the syrup.”
“Shut up.” You pour coffee with shaking hands, and it sloshes over the rim. “I’m fine.”
“You’re wearing two different socks.”
You glance down. One has tiny pineapples, the other has cats in Santa hats. Whatever. “Fashion.”
He snorts. “Dad’s been sharpening the spatula since dawn. I give Saebyeok ten minutes before he interrogates her about her five year plan.”
“Stop.”
“Relax. I put in a good word. Told him she’s housebroken.” He pauses. “Mostly.”
Mom spins around, spatula raised toward your brother like a sword. Then she sees your face and softens. “Sweetheart, sit. Eat something. You’re pale.”
“I’m fine.” You repeat, but your voice cracks on the second word.
Dad lumbers in at 8:53, still in his flannel pajama pants, hair sticking up like he lost a fight with a pillow. He grunts at the coffee pot, pours a mug the size of a soup bowl, and leans against the counter. His eyes flick to you, then away. Then back. He’s been doing that since last night, like he’s trying to reconcile the daughter he tucked in at night with the one who came home with a girlfriend and a hickey.
“Morning.” He mutters.
“Morning.” You echo.
He stares into his coffee like it owes him money.
The clock ticks. 9:07. 9:13. 9:24. Finally your phone buzzes in your pocket.
💬 sae: outside. send help. or a getaway car.
You’re out of your chair before even you register yourself moving. Mom calls after you, “Shoes! It’s slippery!” but you’re already yanking the front door open.
Cold air slaps your face as you spot Saebyeok’s car idling at the curb, exhaust curling like cigarette smoke. She steps out slow, shutting the door with her hip.
She’s wearing a red sweater, thick and hand knit, you can tell by the slight unevenness of the cables. It’s tucked into a black pleated skirt that stops mid thigh, the kind of thing you’ve never seen her wear, ever. Her hair is down, curled into soft waves that catch the light, a few strands pulled back with a red satin bow. She’s got her converse on, laces loose, one toe kicking at a clump of snow like it personally offended her.
She holds up a tupperware of kimchi. “Hostage offering.”
You step onto the porch, the cold biting your soles through your socks. “Sae, you look-”
“Don’t.” She cuts you off, but her mouth twitches. “I know what I look like. I have a mirror. And a mother who ambushed me with a curling iron… She said if I showed up in sweats, your parents would think I don’t respect them.”
“You look nice, Sae.”
She exhales shakily, cheeks pink. “Is it too late to turn back now?”
You reach for her free hand. Her fingers are ice. “Breathe.”
“Trying.” She squares her shoulders, clutching the kimchi like a grenade. “Let’s get this over with.”
Your parents have known Saebyeok since she was nine years old, scabbed knees and all. They’ve fed her, grounded her, driven her to soccer practice. Now she’s the girl leaving hickeys on their daughter’s neck.
You lead her inside, and your brother looks up as you enter, his grin slow and evil. “Well, well. If it isn’t the prodigal lesbian and her sacrificial kimchi.”
Saebyeok flips him off with the hand not holding the Tupperware. “Your mom picked the skirt.”
“Technically accurate.” Mom chirps, too bright, flipping a waffle with unnecessary violence. “Saebyeok’s mom texted me the outfit approval at seven thirty. Solidarity.”
Dad stands at the stove, spatula gripped like a weapon. His eyes flick to Saebyeok, then to the faint hickey peeking above your hoodie collar. His knuckles whiten.
“Morning.” He grunts.
Saebyeok swallows.
“Morning, sir.” She sets the kimchi on the counter like it’s wired to explode. “Homemade. Three day ferment.”
Dad eyes the container, then her. “You ferment things now?”
“Apparently.”
Your brother snorts. “She ferments chaos. It’s a skill.”
Mom claps once, the noise shrill.
“Waffles! Everyone sit. Eat. Before they get cold.” She herds you toward the table like a border collie on espresso.
You slide into your usual chair. Saebyeok takes the one beside you, skirt riding up; she tugs it down, ears scarlet. Dad sits opposite, arms crossed. Mom hovers, passing plates with trembling hands.
Silence stretches. The only sound is forks scraping and the reindeer antlers blinking in morse code.
Your brother breaks first. “So, Sae. You planning to defile any other family members, or is my sister the grand finale?”
“Jesus…” You hiss.
Saebyeok chokes on her waffle. “I-uh. No plans at the moment.”
Dad’s fork pauses mid air.
“You’ve been in my house. For a year.” His voice is quiet. Dangerous. “Eating my food. Using my wifi. Sleeping in my basement.”
Saebyeok meets his eyes. “Yes, sir.”
“While-” He gestures vaguely between you and her, fork waving like a conductor’s baton. “-this.”
Mom reaches over, patting his arm. “Honey. Syrup?”
He ignores her. “You’re twenty three.”
“I am.”
“My daughter’s nineteen.”
“I know.” Saebyeok’s voice doesn’t waver. “I knew the first time I kissed her. I know every time I touch her. I’m not… I’m not proud of the sneaking. But I’m not ashamed of her.”
Your throat closes. You stare at your plate. The waffle has a perfect heart shape in the center. Mom’s doing, probably.
Dad leans forward. “You hurt her-”
“I won’t.”
“-I will end you. Shovel. Backyard. No questions.”
Saebyeok nods once. “Understood.”
You risk a glance at her. She’s staring at her lap, jaw tight. You slide your hand under the table, finding hers, and her fingers lace through yours instantly, grip fierce. Dad notices. His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t comment. He stabs a waffle instead.
Your brother leans back, smirking at Saebyeok. “You nervous, Kang? You’re sweating through your cashmere.”
“It’s wool.” Saebyeok mutters. “And shut up.”
He grins. “Make me.”
Dad clears his throat, and the table quiets like someone hit mute. He looks at you, then Saebyeok. “You’re staying for dinner.”
It’s not a question.
Saebyeok blinks. “I-yes, sir.”
“Good.” He stands, chair scraping. “You’re on dishes. And if I hear one more smartass comment from either of you-” he points the fork between your brother and Saebyeok “-I’m confiscating the xbox. Permanently.”
Your brother salutes. “Ay ay, captain.”
Dad grumbles, but the corner of his mouth twitches. He ruffles your hair as he passes, awkward, but there. “Eat your bacon, kid.”
Mom exhales like she’s been holding her breath since December. She reaches across, squeezing Saebyeok’s shoulder. “Welcome to the circus, sweetheart.”
Saebyeok’s eyes flick to you, soft and startled. You squeeze her hand tighter, and under the table, her thumb traces your knuckles. A promise.
Your brother kicks your shin. “You owe me twenty bucks, by the way. I had ‘Dad threatens murder by 10am’ in the pool.”
You kick him back. “You’re the worst.”
“Love you too.”
Saebyeok leans over, voice barely a breath. “Your dad’s terrifying.”
You grin. “Wait till you see him try to work the dishwasher.”
She snorts, then sobers. “I meant it by the way. Every word.”
Her hand stays in yours for the rest of the day.
The year starts with the waffles, threats, and a girl in a skirt who looks like she’d rather face a firing squad than your father.
series masterlist | main masterlist | kang sae-byeok x reader
synopsis: you’re a volunteer at the local children’s shelter. when cheol and sae-byeok first arrived she always kept her distance, only dropping by for her brother. but over time, things slowly begin to change.
genre: angst, slow-burn, fluff
You volunteer at the children’s shelter four days a week. Mostly just arts and crafts, some tutoring, a little cooking when someone forgets to prep dinner. It’s not glamorous or anything, but it helps.
You’d heard from the coordinator that Cheol’s case was special. He escaped from the North, no documentation, no permanent guardian, just a sister. Apparently she’s barely older than a kid herself. Theres no photo of her on file, or intake interview, only a signature scribbled at the bottom of a transfer form.
You didn’t expect her to be so beautiful.
—
You learnt her name the usual way, through filed documents, whispered conversations, bits and pieces of staff gossip while restocking in the supply closet.
“Kang Sae-byeok, she crossed with her brother a few months ago,” another volunteer murmured beside you, handing over another box.
You pause. “How old is she?”
“I’m not sure—nineteen, maybe? She doesn’t talk much, just keeps to herself," they paused, breathing a small laugh. “Cold as hell,” they froze, looking down, “I mean understandably.”
You nod, unsure what else to say.
—
You don’t speak to her for the first two weeks. But you always wave when you see her.
Sometimes she watches you hand out juice boxes to the kids.
Sometimes she sits on the stairwell outside the art room door, chewing her thumbnail like she wants to disappear into the wall.
Sometimes she stares straight at you like you’re the one being weird.
She never waves back.
She’s not officially a resident, but Cheol is. He stays in one of the youth dorms while she worked whatever jobs she could find. Maybe delivery or some other kind of late night work.
She came and went like a ghost. She’d come it bringing him food, checking his homework, or just to see him.
She never spoke to the staff.
But you noticed her noticing you.
Every time you walked in, her eyes found you. When the kids begged for storytime, she watched. When one of the girls hugged you and wouldn’t let go, you caught Sae-byeok staring from across the room, her mouth tight like she didn’t know how to process softness when it isn’t transactional.
—
The first time she speaks to you, it’s because she thought you crossed a line.
You’re carrying a box of donated clothes down the hallway when she steps in front of you, blocking your path with the silent intensity she always carries.
“What did you say to him?”
You blink, confused and a little stunned. “…To Cheol?”
She steps closer, jaw sharp. “He said you asked about our family.”
You frown. “I didn’t—” you pause, “I only asked what he liked drawing.”
She stares at you with hard eyes, like she’s trying to catch you in a lie.
You sigh. “Look, I’m not a caseworker, I just volunteer. Handing out stickers and doing finger paintings, that’s my jurisdiction.”
A long moment passes, her jaw slowly relaxing.
“…Sorry,” she mutters, voice barely audible.
You nod, “It’s okay.”
She doesn’t say anything else, just walks past you after that, her shoulders tight, head down.
—
The next time she speaks to you, it’s a week later. You're on the floor of the common room, helping a group of kids build a crooked cardboard rocket. Cheol’s nearby, frowning hard as he tries to glue the fins on straight.
You’re mid-sentence saying something about being careful, when a shadow moves behind you.
You glance up.
She’s there.
She not looking at you, but watching Cheol. She standing close, close enough that you hear your own breath hitch before you cover it up with a cough.
Cheol doesn’t see her, he’s too focused, his tongue poking out in concentration.
She shifts her weight, her hands in her pockets, still not looking at you. “You’re good with him.”
You tilt your head to face her, “With Cheol?”
She nods once.
“I like him,” you say.
She doesn’t answer, just watches the rocket take shape.
You don’t say anything else, you don’t want to break the moment.
The room is loud—scissors clattering, someone crying over glitter, and too many kids shouting over each other—but the space between you stays quiet.
“Why do you come here?” she asks bluntly.
You look up again, “To the shelter?”
Another nod.
You think about it for a second, “Because someone should.”
That makes her look at you, she studies your face like she’s trying to figure out if that’s a line or if you actually mean it.
You hold her gaze.
After a few seconds, she looks away again.
She doesn’t say anything else, but she stays until the rocket’s done. And when Cheol turns around, proudly holding it up, she reaches out to adjust the crooked fin for him without saying a word.
—
She doesn’t talk to you again for a while.
But something shifts.
She starts to lingering after coming to see Cheol. Not every time, just enough that you start noticing.
Some days she leans against the door. Other days she leans against the windowsill during storytime, pretending not to listen while kids yell out wrong guesses about what comes next.
You keep waving when you see her.
She still doesn’t wave back.
Until after dinner on Thursday night, when the room is half-empty and the floor is sticky from spilled drinks, you feel her watching again.
You’re wiping down a table, not looking up until you hear her voice.
“You always clean up by yourself?” her voice is low, even.
You glance over. She’s leaning against the door, sleeves shoved halfway up.
You shrug, “Depends, sometimes Cheol helps. But only if I bribe him with extra dessert.”
Her mouth twitches.
She glances over at her brother, he curled on the floor with marker, drawing what looks like a lopsided rocket.
“He listens to you more than he listens to me.”
You shake your head, “He looks up to you.”
She doesn’t answer, just keeps watching him.
But then she asks, “Do you have siblings?”
You pause, surprised, “Yeah l have one older sister.”
She nods.
You wait a beat, “Do you have other siblings?”
Her jaw shifts slightly, “Just Cheol.”
You nod, “Right.”
Deciding the change the subject, you toss cloth into the bin, and lean back against the counter. “You don’t usually stick around this long.”
“I had time.”
After a moment, she glances toward the kids. Cheol is laughing, doubled over with someone’s hoodie tied around his head like a cape.
After a while, she says, “Why do you really come here so much?”
You shrug, “I don’t know, l guess l wanted to help out.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
You wipe your hand on your jeans, “I mean, at first it was just something to do. But… the longer I stayed, the more it felt like I should. Like maybe if I could make this place easier for someone, even for a couple hours, that's enough.”
She doesn’t interrupt, just watches you with that blank expression.
“The kids make it easy to stay," you add quietly.
Her gaze drifts back to her brother. “You’re patient with them,” she says.
You smile a little, “They’re easier than adults.”
She hums like she agrees.
After a beat of silence you clear your throat, nodding towards the fridge. “Want to help me bribe your brother?”
She raises a brow, “With what?”
“There’s one muffin left.”
She shakes her head, “He won’t go for just one.”
“He’s seven, he’s easy.”
She starts walking toward the kitchen, but stops, glancing back over her shoulder.
“He’s eight.”
Then she disappears around the corner.
You smile to yourself.
The next time you wave to her in passing, she twitches her fingers in return.
