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@luumiinaa
━ ⋆⋅⋆ welcome to my twilight zone of archived hearts ⋆⋅⋆ ━
LUMI ⌞199X⌝ ⭑ Moonlighter Status ⌞ACTIVE • DRIFTING IN SPACE⌝ ⭑ Twilight Navigation ⌞🔭 ⋅ ✨ ⋅ ☁️⌝ ⭑ Twilight Content ⌞MAINLY NSFW KPOP RECS⌝ ⭑ Moonlighter Disclaimer ⌞AGELESS-BLANK BLOGS & MINORS WILL GET BLOCKED⌝
━━━━ ⋆⋅⋆ happy gazing within your horizon ⋆⋅⋆ ━━━━
–ᝰ.ᐟ✮ In which Jeonghan definitely didn’t mean to confess — but accidentally does, with a hundred escape routes lined up just in case. Too bad none of them work when you smile back and choose him anyway.
pairing: jeonghan x f!reader
genre: fluff, academic setting, mutual pinning, chaotic softness, reverse fluster, bickering idiots to lovers, accidental confession, Jeonghan.exe has stopped working (again)
word count: 2.1k
a/n: ahhh here’s the part 2! i’ll be posting on this acc moving forward, because the other one was a secondary acc and i couldn’t reply to anything. do check out part 1 if you haven’t, where Jeonghan, king of flustered exits and soft boy spirals 😌
Jeonghan’s always been good with noise.
He’s used to the background buzz of people laughing, the sounds of pens tapping on desks, your voice calling him out with that amused tone you reserve just for him. He’s good at filling silences, charming his way through awkwardness, saying too much just to make sure you don’t look at him long enough to figure him out.
But now, sitting beside you on the steps outside the campus building, it’s quiet.
The sky’s dipped into that soft golden hour — orange spilling into pink, shadows stretching long — and you're both taking a break before heading home. You’re sipping a canned drink, scrolling something on your phone, your shoulder barely brushing his.
And for once, you’re not teasing each other. You’re not playing the game. You're just there.
Soft. Real. Beautiful in that casual way you always are when you’re not trying to be anything at all.
And for once, Jeonghan isn’t thinking of what to say next. He’s not planning a comeback or a smirk. He’s not leaning in to mess with you.
He’s… still. And it hits him.
Oh.
Oh no.
He likes you.
Not in the fun way he used to convince himself he did — not just because you blush when he calls you pretty or because you get flustered when he leans too close. Not because you’re easy to tease or because you know how to push back in just the right ways.
It’s because of this. Because even in silence, he wants to be near you.
Because your laughter fills something in him, and your little victories — the way you fluster him now, the way you challenge him without even trying — they make him feel like he’s changing. Like he's becoming someone who wants more than just the game.
He turns to look at you, really look at you, and there it is — that smile again. Not one meant to tease, but one you wear when you're genuinely happy.
And he’s so, so screwed.
“Why are you staring?” you murmur, still looking at your phone.
Caught. He blinks, turning away. “I wasn’t.”
“You were.” You nudge him. “Is Jeonghan.exe still broken?”
He huffs a laugh, trying to recover. “No. Rebooted. Fully functional.”
You hum, unconvinced. “Mm. You’re being awfully quiet for someone who usually runs his mouth nonstop.”
He doesn’t reply right away.
Then, quietly: “Just… thinking.”
You glance over. “About what?”
You.
He doesn’t say it. Not yet. But his fingers twitch like they want to reach for yours, and he knows it won’t be long now.
“Nothing important,” he lies, soft.
But his heart’s still racing, and he’s still smiling like he’s losing control — and honestly?
He might be okay with that.
It’s raining when it happens.
Not pouring — just a soft, steady drizzle that starts when you’re both walking out of campus, too late to run for cover, too early to call it romantic. Jeonghan offers to walk you home, because of course he does. Because that’s just what he does now, apparently.
The two of you duck under the nearest awning, laughing as you shake the water off your sleeves. You’re both a little damp, a little breathless, and standing far too close for his heart to behave normally.
You hug your arms. “Great. Should’ve brought an umbrella.”
He nudges your shoulder. “Tsk. Rookie mistake. Don’t you know I come prepared?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Do you?”
He grins and pulls out a folded umbrella from his bag like it’s a magic trick. You gasp, dramatically.
“You’re actually useful?”
“I’m full of surprises,” he says, handing it over.
You hesitate. “You’re not gonna walk with me?”
He blinks. You blink. And suddenly the air feels thicker than the rain outside.
“...I mean,” he coughs, scratching his neck, “I could. If you want.”
You don’t say anything. Just smile, small and knowing, and tilt the umbrella slightly his way.
The two of you walk in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder, sharing the tiny patch of dry space between you. The umbrella’s barely big enough — your hands brush when you both reach to adjust the angle. He swears his heart skips.
You glance at him, amused. “You’re weirdly quiet again.”
He forces a breath. “Thinking.”
“Still?”
“...Yeah.”
You fall quiet again. The world is just wet pavement and dim streetlights, the sound of rain against the plastic above you. Then, without thinking, you reach out and wrap your hand around his arm.
It’s not a big thing.
It’s casual. Soft. Like you’ve done it a hundred times. Like it’s normal.
But to him, it’s everything.
He looks down at where your fingers curl lightly around his sleeve, then up at your face — relaxed, content, like this is exactly where you want to be.
And something inside him just gives.
“This,” he says, voice a little too quiet.
You glance over. “Hm?”
He looks at you. Really looks. “This feels a lot like something.”
You pause. “Something like…?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Then, half a second too late: “...Never mind.”
You don’t push. You just smile, that soft little smile again — the one that started all this. And he swears he’s done for.
It starts with a guy from your elective. He’s nice — funny, good-looking, charming in a way that’s not unlike Jeonghan, except a little more obvious about it. And lately, he’s been talking to you more. Offering to walk with you after class. Asking if you’ve got lunch plans. The usual.
You don’t think much of it. You’re friendly. He’s harmless.
But Jeonghan…?
Jeonghan is not handling it well.
He sees you laughing at something the guy says, and for the first time, it feels like he’s watching the game happen without him. Like the spotlight’s shifted.
And he hates it. He tries to act normal. Really, he does. Slides into his usual spot beside you with a lazy smile and a “what’d I miss?”
But his voice is just a little too sharp. His eyes flick toward the other guy just a little too long.
You glance at him, amused. “You good?”
“Peachy,” he says. Bites into his straw like it offended him.
The other guy leaves after saying bye — to you, not to Jeonghan — and when he’s gone, the silence stretches.
Finally, you look at him properly. “What’s with your face?”
He blinks. “What face?”
“That face. The one that looks like you just swallowed a lemon.”
“I like lemons.”
You give him a look.
He shifts in his seat, still not meeting your eyes. “He’s… bold.”
“Huh?”
“That guy.” He gestures vaguely. “The one who keeps orbiting you like a lost puppy.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Are you jealous?”
He scoffs. “Pfft. No.”
You lean in a little, teasing. “You sure?”
He doesn’t answer. Just drinks his juice like it’s saving him from this conversation.
You grin. “Wow. I think you are.”
“I'm just saying,” he mutters, finally looking at you, “he’s not that funny.”
You snort. “Are you keeping score?”
His eyes meet yours. There’s something behind them this time — not just playfulness, but something else. Something sharper. Real.
“I didn’t think I had to,” he says quietly.
Your smile falters. “Jeonghan…”
He leans back, dragging a hand through his hair. “Forget it.”
But you don’t.
Because that wasn’t him teasing. That was him feeling. And for the first time since this started, you see him flustered in a whole new way — not because he’s being outplayed.
But because he’s starting to realize… He might lose you. And that? That terrifies him more than he expected.
The weird tension between you and Jeonghan hasn’t gone away.
If anything, it’s gotten worse.
He's quieter now. Still around — always around — but with less teasing, fewer grins. More moments where he stares a little too long. More times where he almost says something and doesn’t.
Today, you’re walking beside him again, like always. There’s a light breeze. Campus is quiet. Everything feels normal. But it isn’t.
Not with the way he keeps fidgeting with his sleeves. Not with the way he’s the one sneaking glances at you now.
You finally stop walking.
He halts too, blinking at you. “What?”
You cross your arms. “Something’s up.”
“Up?”
You nod. “Spill.”
He hesitates. Then sighs. “You’re really annoying, you know that?”
You raise a brow. “Nice way to deflect.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “No, I mean it. You’re annoying. You mess with my head.”
“Is this your way of saying you missed being the one in control?”
“No,” he says, and for once, he’s not smirking.
He’s serious.
“I mean… I liked teasing you,” he starts. “I liked watching you get all flustered. It was fun. You were cute. Still are.”
You blink.
He keeps going, eyes on the ground now. “But then it stopped being a game. I started noticing stuff I shouldn’t. Like the way you hum when you're thinking. Or how your nose scrunches when you're trying not to laugh. Or how good it feels when you say my name like you mean it.”
You’re frozen. You don’t even know if you're breathing.
“And that guy?” he scoffs. “The one who keeps hanging around? I don’t hate him. I just hate that it made me realize I… actually care.”
He pauses. Lifts his eyes to meet yours.
“But it’s fine,” he adds, shrugging quickly. Too quickly. “I’m not saying it means anything. I’m just messing with you. Like usual.”
A beat.
Two.
You don’t say anything.
Jeonghan swallows. “Unless…”
Your voice is soft. “Unless?”
“...Unless you want it to mean something.”
Silence. You take a step forward. So does he. There’s maybe three inches between you now.
Your heart’s in your throat. His is written all over his face — that flicker of panic, of hope, of I might’ve ruined everything but I had to say it anyway.
You smile. “Hey, Jeonghan?”
He stiffens. “Yeah?”
You reach up — two fingers, gently tapping his forehead. “You’re the one who’s flustered now.”
He groans. “God, you’re the worst—”
“Shut up,” you laugh. “You’re cute when you’re panicking.”
He grins, finally. “...So is that a yes?” he murmurs.
“Only if you want it to mean something,” you echo back.
And this time, he doesn’t hesitate.
“I do.”
One week post-confession, and it’s exactly as chaotic as anyone who’s ever met the two of you would expect.
You and Jeonghan haven’t officially defined anything — and by “not defined,” that means you’re still bickering over who liked who first, and he still walks you to class, shares his umbrella, and flirts like it’s a full-time job.
Today is no different.
You’re at your usual bench, mid-argument over whether or not his dumb energy drink tastes like battery acid.
“It’s citrus!” he protests.
“It’s radioactive,” you shoot back.
“Okay, princess palate, go eat your plain crackers or whatever it is you like.”
“Say that again and I’m throwing this at your face.”
He grins, leaning in. “That’d be kinda hot.”
You squint at him. “You’re a menace.”
“And you’re obsessed with me.”
“Am not.”
He hums, entirely too pleased. “You confessed first.”
“You confessed in denial.”
You glare. He winks.
It’s… infuriatingly comfortable.
But what you don’t notice is the small group of your classmates passing by, very not discreetly watching you two like it’s an episode of a drama.
One of them turns to you after a beat. “Wait. So… are you guys, like, together now?”
You open your mouth. Pause. Jeonghan beats you to it. “Why does everyone keep asking that?”
Everyone stares. You stare at him.
The girl blinks. “Babe, you literally called her your ‘emotional support menace’ last week and gave her the last bite of your muffin. We’ve all just been waiting for the soft launch to become a hard launch.”
Jeonghan looks genuinely offended. “Wait—you all thought we were dating?”
“You shared your fries,” someone adds solemnly.
“You let her steal your hoodie and didn’t even fake-complain,” another chimes in.
“She flicked your forehead and you looked giddy.”
He gasps. “I was not giddy—”
“You looked like you were gonna propose, bro.”
You’re laughing so hard, you can barely breathe. Jeonghan turns to you with his most dramatic pout. “Babe. Are we really that obvious?”
You lean in, voice mock-whispering: “You literally tried to fight a guy with your eyes last week because he offered me gum.”
“That was territorial instinct,” he huffs. “Totally different.”
You roll your eyes and shove his shoulder. “You’re hopeless.”
And then — like it’s the most natural thing in the world — he grabs your wrist, pulls you in, and kisses you.
Soft. Brief. Easy.
Like it’s already been happening for a while.
And maybe it has.
You blink, breathless. “What was that for?”
He smirks. “Needed to prove a point.”
You raise an eyebrow. “About?”
He shrugs. “I’m the better kisser between the two of us. Obviously.”
You grin, looping your arms around his neck. “Wanna bet?”
He doesn’t answer. Just kisses you again. And this time? No one even pretends to look surprised.
I love me a chaotic-connection 🫶🏼
"big tiddie anime bitches" | jjk
↳ Summary: Jungkook, bless his heart, has an obsession. An obsession with big titty anime girls and the idea of you dressed as them. His birthday is coming up, what better time to fulfil his weeb fantasies than on Jungkook's special day.
Alternatively...
You hate the idea of dressing up as those stupid "big tiddie anime bitches" but your love for Jeon Jungkook is stronger. Besides Jungkook will have his turn next.
↳ Pairing: Jungkook x reader
↳ Genre: smut, pwp, fluff, established relationship, 'maid for you' couple !
↳ Rating: 18+
↳ Word count: 3.5k
↳ Warnings: disgusting amount of love and adoration between these two ew, unprotected sex, swearing, spanking, titty job, oral (both female and male), spit, reverse cowgirl, lovebites, fingering, big dick! jk, stomach bulging, creampies, crying (but the good kind), dom! jk,
↳ a/n: this is a prequel to my other fic 'maid for you' however this fic can be read on its own. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO JEON JUNGKOOK MY LOVE <3
“Okay, hear me out.”
“No, Jungkook, I will not hear you out.”
With an exasperated sigh, you rise from the couch and head to your bathroom, leaving a pouting Jungkook who follows you like a lost puppy.
“Don’t you think it would be so hot though,” Jungkook tries again.
You hastily clip your hair back, eyeing him through the reflection of the mirror, “maybe for you, you pervert.”
Jungkook remains nonchalant, your claim doing little to defer his desires. “Babeee,” he whines again, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close so he can lean his chin onto your shoulder.
“Sorry that I don’t want to feed into your weeb fantasies,” you say, reaching for your toothbrush.
Jungkook’s silent for a while, watching as you brush your teeth before muttering a quiet, “fine,” and leaving you with a light kiss to your neck.
In all honesty, the thought of dressing up as Mai from you and Jungkook’s recent anime binge, ‘Rascal Does Not Dream of Bunny Girl Senpai,’ doesn’t disgust you. You’ll admit, her little bunny girl get up is hot, and out of all the other characters Jungkook has begged you to dress up as, the bunny girl outfit is probably one of the easiest costumes to get into because let’s be real, no matter how much Jungkook begs you will never paint yourself blue (he can find his own Widowmaker somewhere else).
As you finish up your skincare, you ponder over his request once again. His birthday is coming up soon, and ignoring the fact that there's a suspicious lump of presents stuffed in the back of your closet all for him, one more present wouldn’t hurt.
Entering your bedroom you find your boyfriend bundled up in the sheets, the glow of his phone highlighting his pretty face.
You make yourself known, your knee dipping into the mattress, making Jungkook turn over towards you, his arms welcoming you for your nightly spooning.
“You’re not mad at me right?” he whispers into your hair to which you reply with a snort, “no, why would I be?”
Jungkook sighs like he’s embarrassed, nuzzling his nose deep into your neck, you wiggle away at the ticklish feeling but his strong arms keep you in place. “Because I always ask you to dress up as those characters even though you always like to rant to me about the male gaze and how a bikini doesn’t count as armour.” He cards his fingers through your hair, his other hand rubbing small comforting circles on the skin of your waist, “I don’t want you to think i’m some crazed horndog who objectifies their girlfriend.”
You laugh, big and goofy, and if Jungkook wasn’t so caught up in his thoughts he would’ve kissed you silly.
“Baby I would never think that, you’ve proved to me many times that your love is genuine. But hey, I don't blame you, I’ve got great tits,” you declare, turning to face his sleepy eyes.
“And a great ass too,” he adds, gripping your bottom with a tight hold that makes you gasp.
“I love you,” Jungkook says, pure adoration across his face.
You wanna squish his cheeks so bad, “aww you love me?” comes your teasing reply.
Jungkook rolls his eyes before wriggling into a more comfy position, “just say it back so I can sleep.”
You give into your desire to squish his cheeks by booping his nose. It scrunches cutely and he opens one eye, “I love you too,” you finally say.
The lively music is cranked down and the attention is solely focused on Jungkook. He’s got a big smile plastered across his face, his cheeks a cute shade of pink as he raises his cup.
“I’d just like to thank you all for being here tonight, I couldn’t ask for a better birthday celebration,” Jungkook announces, eliciting a “I LOVE YOU JEON JUNGKOOK!” from none other than a plastered Park Jimin. Jungkook’s eyes crinkle when he shouts back a string of adoration before pulling you in towards him.
“I would also like to thank my beautiful girlfriend who planned this all out,” Jungkook says, those eyes of his that you love so much sparkling just for you.
A round of “awws” makes its way to the two of you and you shyly hide your blush into Jungkook’s chest. He gently kisses the top of your head, the flicker of his birthday candle flames creating an angelic aura around you.
When the chorus of singing finally dies down and Jungkook bends down to blow out his candle and make a wish, he wishes for a forever happiness with you.
As you approach Jungkook with the last handful of empty beer cans, you dump them into the large trash bag and wrap your arms around his backside.
“Hey,” you whisper, gripping his shirt to grab his attention.
“What is it baby,” Jungkook replies mindlessly, scrubbing a stubborn stain out of a plate.
A mischievous grin paints your visage as you tell him, “I have one more present for you.”
Placing the clean plate onto the drying rack, Jungkook cranes his next to look at you, “what! baby you’ve done so much for me already.”
Your smile only grows wider as you gauge Jungkook’s reaction to your words, “I know, but I wanted to fulfil one of your wishes.”
Jungkook pauses, his head tilting slightly as he tries to remember what you’re talking about. “What do you mean wish? What wish are we talking about here?”
You release your grip on him to lean against the counter top, eyeing him closely, “you know… the thing you wanted me to do the other week?”
He shakes his head, looking at you as if it would help him remember before giving up, “I’m lost.”
Pushing yourself off of the counter you roll your eyes, “ugh just meet me in the bedroom when you're done,” you say as you sashay out of the kitchen and into the bedroom.
There’s a long second that passes, the water from the tap suddenly getting hot before Jungkook breathes in with a mumbled, “oh, oh.”
Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook’s eyes light up with the realisation that he was gonna get lucky tonight. He rushes to the bedroom, almost breaking a glass cup on the way. He expects you to be on the bed laid out for him, but you’re not.
There’s a sliver of yellow light that spills from under the bathroom door and a quiet “shit” that leaves your lips. Jungkook hears a snap, like a rubber band against skin, a small whimper comes from your mouth and Jungkook worriedly knocks on the door.
“What are you doing in there? Are you okay?”
When you bought the damn costume you didn’t read the reviews. You completely missed the part where numerous people recommended buying a size up. Now you’re suffering those consequences and you finally shimmy the body suit on.
“Get on the bed and wait,” you try to say as sweetly as you can, but there's a twinge of struggle that comes making Jungkook lean his ear suspiciously against the door.
“Alright, I’ll wait, but I should remind you that It’s my birthday and you shouldn’t keep the birthday boy waiting.”
You hear the shuffle of bedsheets, Jungkook probably listening to you and lying down on the bed. You stare at yourself in the mirror, both shocked and surprised at how good you look despite the fact that your tits bulge out like you’ve squeezed yourself into those corsets from the 19th century. Not to mention that the body suit is so tight that if you took a deep breath it kind of hurt, but you’ve already made it this far, and you have an excited birthday boy on the other side of the door so with small inhale that doesn’t cause your lungs to hate you, you open the bathroom door.
“Can I open my eyes now,” Jungkook asks excitedly, his tattooed hands covering the entirety of his face.
You’re standing like a stiff soldier, unsure of how to present yourself, “uh, no, don’t look yet.”
Should you pose? How should you stand? Maybe lean against the doorframe? No that’s stupid…
“Oh, fuck”
In the midst of deciding if you should pose like a bunny girl, or get onto the bed, Jungkook had lost his patience and opened his eyes.
“Jungkook! I told you to shut your eyes.”
Jungkook remains frozen, his eyes big as he drinks up your curves. He doesn’t know where to look. Your hips are rounded to perfection, thick thighs on display, your boobs practically one jump away from popping out, the cute bunny ears standing tall that surprisingly suit your features.
“Shit, is it bad that i’m already hard, fucking hell.”
Jungkook doesn’t know if he’s proud because he finally convinced you to dress up for him or proud at the fact that you’re all his. His dick however, agrees to both.
“Men,” you scoff sarcastically as you crawl towards Jungkook whose head lays against the headboard, his taut thighs spread as if to welcome you.
You find comfort between his thighs kneeling before him and holding his chin in your hand. “Happy birthday, Jungkook,” you say, seduction dropping from your lips.
He smirks back, eyes dropping down to your glossy lips, “mmm, happy birthday to me indeed.”
It’s messy, both your lips getting sticky with a mixture of your lip gloss and saliva, but you love it. Jungkook opens his mouth, you follow his rhythm, your tongue poking out to intertwine with his.
You moan into his mouth when his hands find purchase on your ass. His big hands squeeze both cheeks before slapping them, a loud smack echoing around the room. His action pushes you closer to him, your hands on his chest to steady yourself.
Jungkook’s hands continue to wander before he giggles softly at the discovery of the cute fuzzy tail attached to your bottom.
“Cute,” he utters into your neck, licking your collarbones and sucking your sweet skin.
“What?” you pant, leaning your head back to offer more skin to Jungkook, to which he happily leaves a trail of love bites that slowly bloom along your neckline.
He pokes your butt, “you have a little tail.”
You wiggle your hips, the tail brushing along Jungkook’s hand. You move away from him and run your nails down his thighs, “whatever, get your shirt off and your dick out.”
A lopsided smile erupts on his face, “ohh bunny girl is feisty tonight.” Though, he obeys your command, pulling his shirt over his head in that weird but attractive way that boys do, and unbuckles the belt of his jeans.
Jungkook is indeed very hard, his cock slapping against his abdomen the second it's released from the denim.
You spit into your hand, gripping his cock immediately, drawing out a shocked groan from your boyfriend.
You take care of him with love, your grip tight, making sure to fist his red tip before bringing it back down the length of his shaft.
Once his cock is nice and prepped, shiny from your saliva, you wrap your lips around the head, sucking softly before fluttering your lashes up at him.
His lids are half open, to keep his gaze on you while revelling in the bliss of your heavenly mouth. “Fuck baby, love your mouth,” he groans, bringing his fingers to brush away the strands that fall into your eyes.
You continue your actions, bobbing your head up and down as you watch your boyfriend crumble from pleasure. Suddenly, an idea pops into your brain. Releasing his length from your mouth, you begin to pull off the tight clear straps from your shoulders.
Your tits pop out provocatively, bouncing slightly as they’re released from the confinements of the tight bodysuit.
Jungkook stares, mouth wide open, “wh-what are you doing.”
You’re still continuing to jerk him off, and Jungkook swears he’s about to bust a nut when you ask, “do you wanna fuck my tits?”
He sits up at that, startling you, “are you kidding? Fuck yeah I do.”
You laugh at his cute reaction and flick your hair so it falls off your shoulder, you gotta make sure the girls are all clear for your man after all.
Jungkook holds the base of his cock and you use your hands to press your tits together. He slides in with ease, a hiss and a small “shit” falling from his lips.
You keep your gaze on him, he always likes when you look at him during intimate times like this. You continue your stare, eyes hazy and you let drool dribble out of your mouth, letting it run
down your cleavage and onto his tip. His dick twitches in response and you hide your smile by biting your lip.
Holding your tits together you bounce them up and down, you stick your tongue out teasingly, letting it connect to his tip every time his cock peeps through your cleavage.
“Does it feel good baby?” you ask, helping Jungkook speed up the rhythm of his thrusts. “Mmm God, feels so good baby,” he whines and you swear a flood breaks out in your panties.
You love to please him, his eyes fluttering shut, until he takes his cock out of your hold. “Come here love, I'm gonna cum if you keep going. It's my turn now.”
You pout at the loss of his warmth, “babe it's your birthday, today is all about you. Let me take care of you.”
Jungkook gets up, pulling his jeans fully off his body, leaving his stark naked in front of you. You shamelessly ogle his body, he’s just so fine!
“There’s a flaw in your logic there babe. Today is all about me, therefore I get to decide what I want to do. And what I want to do is eat you out.”
“Alright birthday boy,” you grin, switching places with Jungkook. Before you lay down you start to remove your bodysuit, that’s until Jungkook lets out a choked, “no! Keep it on.”
You pause, head cocking to the side, “but how are you gonna-”
“Shh, don’t even worry about it, leave all the work to me babe.”
And work he does as he gets right into pleasuring you.
Jungkook starts by teasing you slowly, kissing your heat over the thin material. “Shit baby, you’ve soaked your costume,” he jibes, hooking his thumbs under the elastic to reveal your dripping slit.
You feel his hot breath as it hits your pussy making you involuntarily clench at what’s to come. “Fuck, baby you’ve got the prettiest pussy in the world.”
You cross your arms over your face embarrassed, “Jungkook, please.”
Jungkook listens, flattening his tongue against you, tasting you.
You inhale sharply as Jungkook pulls the costume back more and you fist the sheets when he finally dives in.
“Oh, God! Jungkook!” you moan, basking in the electric pleasure that shoots through you as Jungkook sucks and tongues at your clit like a man starved.
With his free hand, he pops two fingers in his mouth, watching your flushed expression with dark eyes. You feel his fingers at the entrance of your hole, teasing you as his tongue continues to draw pictures on your swollen nub.
Your thighs clench around Jungkook’s head when he slips two of his fingers inside of you. “Ah! Feels so good, baby.”
He says nothing, his reply coming through the wet sounds of his mouth and fingers.
Jungkook is skilled, used to all the signs and crevices of your body, so when your hips begin to lift, and your toes begin to clench, Jungkook keeps at his pace.
His mouth opens and closes around your heat, his fingers curling inside as you explode, your orgasm completely swallowing you.
You throw your head back into the pillows, a whine bubbling out of your mouth. Once your hips settle back down, Jungkook knows the high is over, releasing his mouth and fingers off of you.
Your costume snaps back into place and you sigh, Jungkook crawling on top of you, a cheeky grin plastered on his face. He always gets so cocky after making you cum.
He kisses you again and you melt, tasting yourself on his tongue.
His hands find your waist and you squeal into his neck as he swiftly flips you on top of him. You brush away the hair that had fallen into your face from the abrupt movement, “your strength continues to amaze me,” you giggle, smiling down sweetly at Jungkook.
You kiss him again because you simply can’t get enough of him, he slaps your ass grabbing your attention. “I want you to turn around.”
You almost frown, “but I want you to look at me when I ride you.”
He runs a ringer down your arm before squeezing your boob in his palm, “you will baby just turn around for me first.”
You comply anyway, turning your body away from him, “you just wanna watch my bunny tail bounce don’t you,” you accuse. Jungkook laughs, “maybe.”
You don’t allow another second to be wasted, sitting up on your knees to move the sticky costume to the side. With your other hand you reach down and hold the base of Jungkook’s cock, positioning it at your entrance before slowly sinking down on him.
You both groan at the sensation of your warmth enveloping his length, your voices harmonising together in pleasure. You swivel your hips in small circles, getting comfortable with his huge size.
Jungkook places both hands on your hips, and you take that as a sign to show him how well you can ride it.
You begin with a light bounce, letting go of the bunny girl costume material as his cock holds it out of the way. You lean your hands on his thighs gaining a steady rhythm humming at the euphoria that spreads through your body.
Jungkook will admit, the sight of your bunny tailed ass paired with the ears that sit atop of your cute head is a sight that makes him release a deep groan.
His hands tighten on your skin and he thrusts up, his body spinning in pleasure, “baby you’re so hot, so tight, fuck.”
You try your best to maintain the speed, loud wet smacks ricocheting around the walls of your room. However, the burn in your tired thighs takes over, and Jungkook notices the way you start to slow down, and he’s not having it.
Jungkook takes the reins and thrusts his hips at a rapid speed that has you screaming his name. As Jungkook increases his speed, he grabs both of your arms, using them to help him piston into you at a faster speed.
“Ah! Oh fuck Jungkook” is all you can say, the pleasure vibrating all over your skin. A mix of both your essences melds together and drips down your thighs, you sigh and fall back against his chest. You can finally see Jungkook, and god, he’s so pretty.
Jungkook continues to thrust into you, his breath staggered and rough as it rushes against your ear. Your tits bounce ferociously like those hentai videos you’ve caught him watching, and as you expected, he grabs one in his hand rubbing a finger over your nipple and squeezing the other.
You pant in his neck, leaving small kisses on his hot skin to which he turns his head to offer you his lips.
Jungkook’s hand releases your tit to find your clit, rubbing fast circles that push you further to your release.
Your mouth falls open, unable to speak. Jungkook is focused on the way your bodies meet, his eyes wide when he notices something.
“Holy shit, look at that love, my dick so big you can see it through your stomach.”
You raise your head, eyes almost crossing at the sight of the bulge that pokes through your stomach every time Jungkook sends a hard thrust into you.
You can’t take it anymore, “Jungkook! Baby I’m gonna cum,” you feel your eyes starting to water at the impending explosion of your orgasm.
You know Jungkook is close, his teeth wrapped around his bottom lip, “yeah, hold it baby I’m almost there, fuck I love you.”
You could almost cry. “I love you so much too Koo.”
With one final thrust you both cum together.
Jungkook holds you tightly, his dick snug inside of your walls as he starts to soften.
No words are spoken, just the sound of deep breaths and shuddered sighs. It’s heavenly.
Jungkook gently exits your heat, his cum slowly dripping out onto your thighs and onto your bed sheets.
“Just letting you know, it’s gonna be your turn next,” you mumble tiredly, stretching your arms before wrapping them around Jungkook’s head as he continues to catch his breath.
He only scoffs in return, turning his head towards you to plant a sweet kiss against your forehead, “as if.”
Oh, you're so getting back at him.
•reblogging from shadow reader days•
⁺ ❤︎ ⊹ ₊ ͏͏✧
Jay’s hands…
you don’t remember exactly when the obsession started. maybe it was the first time you saw him play guitar, veins along his forearms flexing, his long, elegant fingers pressing against the strings with such confident ease. they were veiny, just the right amount of rough, and the way his knuckles flexed as he changed chords had you swallowing hard. he was wearing silver rings that day—your favorite—and your eyes kept darting to them every time they glinted under the soft lamp light.
“they’re so pretty…” you whispered with soft, dreamy voice.
he stopped playing and looked at you, one eyebrow raised. “my hands?”
“they’re just so perfect, Jay. is not fair.” you traced a finger down his wrist, trailing over the veins with a soft gasp. “do you even know what you do to me?”
his jaw tightened the smugness faltering as your touch lingered.
“you like them that much, princess?” he teased, but there was heat behind it now. he set the guitar aside, tilting your chin up. “should i show you what else they can do?”
or maybe it was when he first touched you.
because Jay doesn’t just touch, he handles. gently. like you’re precious. like if he pressed just a little harder, you’d bruise, and he’d never forgive himself. his hands always find you. on your thigh when he’s driving, thumb lazily brushing your skin like he needs to remind you that you’re his. on your waist at parties, when someone else’s gaze lingers too long and his grip subtly tightens, never rough, but enough. enough for you to feel it. enough for him to make a point. under tables at dinner with the guys, his fingers resting on your bare skin while he talks like nothing’s happening, all casual and composed while you try not to shift too obviously in your seat.
you’re the one who asked, shy and breathless, for his fingers in your mouth one night, unable to stop staring. he hesitated at first, always afraid of crossing a line, of hurting you, but he gave in when you begged. and fuck, he groaned, low and quiet, letting you pull two of his fingers past your lips.
now you always do it.
your mouth is so warm, your tongue swirling around them immediately, like you’ve been waiting for this all day. you suck slow, messy, eyes fluttering shut as you moan softly around them. and Jay is mesmerized, watching you absolutely fall apart from something so simple. he tightens his arm around your waist, other hand twitching at his side. “you’re really doing this just from my fingers, huh?” he murmurs, voice lower now, strained. “you’re such a dirty little thing.”
you whimper around him, drool starting to slip from the corners of your mouth as you bob your head slightly, like you need more. he watches the spit string between your lips and his knuckles, and it drives him crazy.
“fuck, baby,” he groans, tugging you closer, voice rough in your ear. “my messy girl.”
then came the night you asked for more.
“put your hand around my throat?”
he’d blinked, startled, like you’d just spoken another language. you felt his breath catch before he even answered.
“you’re serious?”
and when you nodded, flushed, needy, voice small, he listened. his fingers came up slow, wrapped so carefully around your neck like he thought you might break. the pressure wasn’t hard. just present. your body’s response was immediate. back arching, thighs tightening, eyes fluttering.
and that’s when he changed.
“fuck,” he groaned, voice low and ruined, “you like this. you—you really like this.”
and now? he can’t stop. it’s never too much. never careless. just perfect. like everything he does to you.
like the way he curls his fingers when they’re inside you, hitting just the right spot, soft and slow and purposeful like he’s more focused on making you fall apart than getting off himself. he always knows what you need, when to tease, when to press deeper, when to go still and just hold you.
in quiet moments, he takes your hand. always. never just grabbing it, no, he locks fingers. pulls it close. holds it tight. sometimes he lifts them to compare, palm to palm, brow furrowed like he can’t get over the size difference. “look at this,” he’ll whisper, tracing your fingers with his. “mine cover yours completely.”
he lives for it.
because you were obsessed with his hands from the start. but nothing compares to the way he looks at yours, like they belong in his. like the only place you should ever be is right next to him, hand in hand, thigh under his palm, jaw in his touch, body under his control.
he’s so soft and gentle with you, and you are completely sure that his hands were made just for you.
im not sure if u take au requests but if u do pls do a coworker!tyun (or even boss!tyun) x reader with lotsss of sexual tension ;)
office hours
WHEREIN: you and taehyun have always shared a professional relationship. but lately, the tension between you has been escalating, and it's only a matter of time before it boils over.
彡 pairing: coworker!taehyun x f!reader 彡 genre: suggestive, smut 彡 warnings: explicit sexual content, tension, suggestive dialogue, kissing, bending over (?) semi-public, from behind, lace tights ;)
the office was quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the occasional clatter of keyboards. you glanced up from your screen to see taehyun across the room, focused on his work. his brows were furrowed in concentration, and you couldn't help but admire the way the screen light highlighted his sharp features.
you tried to focus on your own tasks, but it was difficult with the electricity in the air. it seemed that every time you looked up, his eyes were already on you, quickly darting away when you caught him staring. this unspoken tension had been building for weeks, each stolen glance and accidental brush of hands adding to the growing heat between you.
today, it felt different. more intense. more urgent. you felt it every time you passed by each other in the narrow hallways, the proximity igniting sparks that made your heart race.
finally, it was time for the weekly meeting. you gathered your notes and headed to the conference room, taking a seat beside taehyun. as you settled in, your elbows brushed, and the contact sent a jolt through you. you glanced at him, and he met your eyes with a look that was both intense and unreadable.
throughout the meeting, you were hyper-aware of his presence. his cologne, a mix of something fresh and woody, was intoxicating. every time he leaned forward to make a point, his arm would brush against yours, and you felt the heat radiating off his skin.
by the time the meeting ended, you were a bundle of nerves. you stayed back, pretending to organize your notes, while the rest of the team filed out. taehyun lingered as well, seemingly engrossed in his laptop.
when the last person left, the door clicked shut, leaving the two of you alone. the silence was thick, and you could hear your own heartbeat in your ears. you glanced up to find taehyun watching you, his expression serious.
"there's something we need to address," he said, his voice low and intense.
your breath hitched. "what's that?"
he stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking until you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "this," he said, gesturing between the two of you. "this tension. it's driving me crazy."
you swallowed hard, feeling the air around you crackle with electricity. "me too," you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper.
taehyun's eyes darkened, and he reached out, his fingers grazing your arm. "i can't stop thinking about you," he murmured, his hand trailing up to your shoulder. "about how badly i want you."
a shiver ran down your spine at his words. "taehyun..." you breathed, unable to tear your gaze away from his.
he stepped even closer, his hand now cupping your cheek. "i think about you every night," he confessed, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "i imagine what it would be like to kiss you, to touch you..."
your heart pounded in your chest, and you felt a heat pooling in your core. "what are you waiting for?" you whispered, leaning into his touch.
that was all the encouragement he needed. his lips crashed onto yours, the kiss hungry and desperate. you moaned into his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair as he pulled you closer. his tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you willingly parted them, welcoming the heat of his mouth against yours.
the kiss deepened, tongues dancing in a passionate rhythm as taehyun's hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and dip with a possessive urgency. his touch ignited sparks along your skin, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. you pressed yourself against him, craving more of his warmth, more of his touch.
he backed you up until your back met the wall, pinning you with his body. his kisses trailed down your jawline, to the sensitive spot on your neck that made you gasp. his teeth grazed your skin, eliciting a low moan from deep within your throat.
he broke the kiss, his breath ragged as he stared down at you with a glint in his eyes. "turn around," he commanded, his voice husky with desire.
you obeyed, your body trembling with anticipation. he pressed up against you from behind, his hands sliding around to your front, caressing your stomach before moving upward. his breath was hot against your ear as he whispered, "you have no idea how long i've wanted this."
you gasped as his hands reached your chest, his fingers teasing and squeezing your breasts in a way that made your knees weak. "taehyun," you whimpered, arching your back to press closer to him. the sensation of his touch sent a rush of heat through you, igniting a desire.
his thumbs brushed over your hardened nipples, eliciting a low moan from your lips. taehyun's touch was possessive yet tender, his fingers exploring every curve with a hunger that matched your own. you could feel the intensity with the way he held you and the way his breath mingled with yours.
his began kissing and nipping at your skin. "bend over," he growled, his hands guiding you to lean forward onto the table.
you complied, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressed against you. he hiked up your skirt, his hands running up the backs of your thighs, the smooth fabric of your black stockings contrasting against his warm touch. you felt a rush of anticipation as his fingers traced the lace trim at the top of the stockings.
"you're killing me in these," taehyun murmured, his voice husky with desire. his gaze flickered up to meet yours, dark with longing and appreciation.
you bit your lip, a thrill running through you at his words. "do you like them?" you teased, feeling bold under his intense scrutiny.
his smile was sinful as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "i love them," he whispered, his breath sending shivers down your spine. "they make me want to do things to you."
taehyun's fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, slowly pulling them down. "you're so beautiful," he murmured, his hands caressing your bare skin. "i can't wait to feel you."
you moaned softly, your body trembling with need. "please, taehyun," you begged, your voice breathless.
he positioned himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips with a firm yet gentle hold. "are you ready?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.
"yes," you breathed, closing your eyes in anticipation.
without further hesitation, taehyun guided himself into you, his movements slow and deliberate. the feeling of him filling you completely made you gasp, a mixture of pleasure and desire coursing through your veins. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as he whispered soft encouragements.
"you feel so good," he murmured, his voice thick with need. "so perfect."
you clutched the edge of the desk, your fingers digging into the wood as you surrendered to the intensity of the moment. he was rolling his hips into yours in such a way that he hit that spot nestled within your depths. each and every time. never stopping. never faltering.
the room filled with the sound of your shared desire, the rhythmic slap of skin against skin punctuating the air. taehyun's pace quickened, his movements becoming more urgent as he chased his release. you matched his rhythm, meeting each thrust with equal fervor, lost in the heat of the moment.
you let out a loud moan, the sound echoing in the empty office. reality crashed back in, and you froze, the realization sinking in that you were still in the workplace, surrounded by desks and papers.
taehyun's eyes widened with realization, a mix of panic and amusement flickering across his face. he quickly covered your mouth with his hand, his eyes darting around the room to ensure no one had heard.
"shh," he whispered urgently, his voice a breathy plea. "we have to be quiet."
you nodded frantically, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. the intensity of the moment had swept you away, but now the reality of your surroundings was impossible to ignore. you pressed your lips together, trying to stifle any further sounds, while taehyun kept his hand firmly over your mouth, his touch oddly comforting despite the situation.
"taehyun," you moaned airily, your voice breaking with pleasure. "i'm so close."
"me too," he grunted, his grip on your hips almost bruising. "come for me, baby."
his words pushed you over the edge, and you came with a shuddering moan, your body convulsing with the intensity of your orgasm. taehyun followed moments later, his release spilling into you as he groaned your name.
for a moment, you both stayed there, catching your breath and savoring the afterglow. taehyun finally pulled out and helped you stand, turning you around to face him. his eyes softening as he looked at you, "are you okay?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.
you nodded, a satisfied smile tugging at your lips. "more than okay," you said, leaning in to kiss him gently.
he smiled against your lips, pulling you into a warm embrace. "good," he murmured. "because i don't think i can stop wanting you."
you chuckled, resting your head against his chest. "i don't want you to stop."
⋆˚࿔ taglist! @flowzel , @izzyy-stuff , @inkigayocamman , @vicurious28
© 2024 seoulzie
good behavior .ᐟ.ᐟ
you're riding kim mingyu and find him absolutely beautiful and perfect. and so it's so easy for good boy to slip from your lips. little do you know that's all he needs to take full control so he can truly show you how much of a good boy he really is.
꒰୨୧꒱— kim mingyu x fem!reader
꒰୨୧꒱— wc is approx. 2.8k
꒰୨୧꒱— genre : smut (mdni)
꒰୨୧꒱— cw : switch!gyu and switch!reader with dom!gyu. penetrative sex, unprotected sex. gendered praise on both sides (good boy/good girl), pet names (reader: princess). descriptive dirty talk, both narratively and with dialogue itself. heavy praise kink!
꒰୨୧꒱— tw : overstimulation, dummification, crying during sex from pleasure n overstimulation. cumming inside, heavy (?) subspace.
꒰୨୧꒱— notes : pure smut! this fic is written very stylistically for smut lol
you don’t think you’ll ever get over the sounds your boyfriend makes.
kim mingyu is beautiful; this is no different even when he is beneath you.
your knees press into the mattress on either side of his hips. your arms are behind you, hands braced on his strong — thick — thighs. you can feel the clench of muscle underneath you with every gentle fuck of your hips, every sweet roll. your body is like the bow of a violin, his the instrument; with every soft grind of your body against his, the most beautiful, loud song sings, his thighs and abdomen clenching underneath you, his mouth parted wide.
your boyfriend’s pleasure is undeniable as you look down at him. your hips move in sweet figure eights that make his hands constantly shift from gripping at your thighs to the bedsheets, that makes his head tilt back and bare his golden throat to you.
and of course his voice.
mingyu is not quiet with his pleasure, body or sound. so while his body bends and shifts beneath yours, seeking and pushing from the pleasure of his dick in your cunt, his mouth sings.
“fuck,” he whines, dark brows furrowed together. he hisses, white canines glinting in the bedroom light as his jaw drops in his moan. you can see where his teeth are indenting his pinkish brown mouth, marking his lips while in his sexual trance.
“feels good,” you question, voice breathy as you continue to gently fuck down on him. it’s a trick question: you know he feels good. you feel so fucking powerful: mingyu, tall and broad and handsome and perfect mingyu, beneath you, his fat cock so deep inside your pussy you swear it’s in your cervix, gravity pushing you further and further down with every roll of your hips.
his fat dick is deep within you, his large hands digging into the flesh of your thighs, and he’s moaning, mingyu is moaning, lips curling with pleasure. this man, this absolute powerhouse of a man, is moaning and whimpering beneath you, and fuck if you don’t feel absolutely heady with that power.
when you fuck down on him you ensure his cock is sliding along that pleasure-spot in your pussy, sweetly stoking your own fires of passion. you can’t help but roll your head back at the slide of his dick, eyes falling shut prettily at the sensation.
mingyu’s hands slip over you. he’s touching without any particular aim, just wanting to feel. he slides his hands over your thighs, your knees. he brush his fingers along the outside of your legs before he grips at your hips. he nails, neatly trimmed and cleaned, dig into the flesh there.
he doesn’t use his grip to manipulate you in any way. mingyu just holds you like that, possessively marking your skin.
“feels so good,” he says, hands flexing against you. you can feel him shift beneath you, hips minutely tilting. “you feel so good, princess.”
you let out a little huff of laughter. sweat dots your hairline, your skin is discolored from his enthusiastic mouth and teeth, and your cunt is soaking from your arousal and his precum; yet you’re princess.
you move forward. you place your hands on mingyu’s abdomen. for a moment you just take in the feel of him beneath your hands. his soft skin, the way it rises and falls with every ragged breath he takes. you don’t think you’ll ever spend a moment not admiring mingyu; his heavy thighs and plush tits, his brown nipples and sweet mouth.
using your hands to give yourself leverage, you raise your hips off of mingyu. he lets out a shuttering hiss, voice cracking high on the tail-end of it.
when you drop back down on his cock, the flesh of your thighs meeting his with a sharp slap!, mingyu lets out a deep groan that seems to bubble out from deep within him.
you laugh again. “that’s it,” you say, still smiling as you raise yourself up off of his dick once more. “gotta be loud for me, sweetheart.”
mingyu lets out another little noise at the deceptively-soft nickname. “gonna kill me,” he whines. “you’re so —”
you drop back on his dick roughly. if you hadn’t spent so long riding him already, hadn’t already been thoroughly fucked open by his cock, the momentum would’ve absolutely torn you in half. as it is you feel breathless, as if the wind had been knocked out from you.
mingyu lets out a moan. “princess —”
“good boy,” you say, not quite aware of what words are escaping from between your lips, “such a good fucking boy.”
mingyu’s dark eyes open wide, his mouth parting. for a moment or two he just stares, just looks at you.
you raise your brows at him, hips shallowly fucking down on him, a silent challenge.
but then mingyu is flushing, blood rushing to color his golden skin. “say it again,” he properly whines, “say it again.”
you laugh at him, breathless. “taking me like a good boy,” you say. “you feel so fucking good inside of me, baby. stretching my tight little pussy so good like the good boy you are.”
mingyu groans again, and then he’s using his grip on your hips to tip you over onto the bed. his dick slips from your pussy as he moves the two of you, pressing your hot, sweaty body into the sheets and claiming your mouth with his.
mingyu kisses you with absolutely no finesse. it’s all tongue. he shoves his tongue into your mouth and sucks at yours in turn as he lines his dick back to your pussy.
he doesn’t fuck back into you immediately. mingyu holds his dick with one hand, sliding the tip of it along your folds. you’re absolutely soaking, and you can already feel fluid, a combination of your own juices and his precum, leaking down your cunt.
“say it again,” mingyu demands, eyes pleading. his curls stick to his forehead sweetly. altogether he paints a cute picture of desperation, of a man trapped in a place where the lines between want and need blur completely.
you laugh against his mouth. you wind your arms around his neck, bringing his mouth to yours once more. you suck at his lower lip, and for a moment he’s so distracted by your mouth that he forgets how he was taunting you with his dick, cock and the hand guiding it stilling.
“fuck me, mingyu,” you say against his chin. “fuck me like a good boy.”
mingyu lets out a groan, and then he’s fucking his fat cock back inside.
your cunt is, rather bluntly, gaping; there’s no pain from the stretch of his dick against your walls because there is no stretch. your pussy has so sweetly molded itself to the shape of him, allowing mingyu to seamlessly thrust back in.
immediately he’s pushing until his dick is perfectly nestled in, the root of his dick against you. mingyu tucks his head against your neck, letting out a shuddering breath.
you smile, one of your hands going to entangle with the sweaty curls at the base of his neck. “c’mon,” you gently taunt, “fuck me, baby.”
mingyu groans, a strangled noise, and then, ever obedient, he begins to fuck you.
the slide of his dick against your walls has you tightening your hold on him, knees squeezing at his hips and toes curling. mingyu can’t help but grunt a little as you constrict him. so he shifts, arms moving to loop underneath your legs and forcing them up, breaking your hold around his neck.
“gotta fuck you good,” he huffs. he uses the fold of your legs as leverage, slowly, maddingly, pulling his cock back from the hot heat of your pussy. “gonna fuck you so good, princess.”
his hands slip along the underside of your thighs, gripping them as mingyu moves to his knees. mingyu begins to fuck you properly, his thighs meeting your ass with sharp noises that seem to echo throughout the room; they do nothing, however, to hide the wet squelching noise of his cock thrusting in your pussy.
despite all the times you’ve fucked before, you never seem to be able to get over this. the feeling of his dick striking against your cunt walls, the slight burn of your legs from the position he has you in, the noise of your cunt squelching with every quick thrust.
because mingyu fucks you so eagerly. he’s chasing that high, chasing that hot pleasure that burns at his core. but he isn’t, of course, a greedy lover.
mingyu makes sure to grind his hips against you, makes sure to rub against your walls and make those electric bundles within you dance from the stimulation. and he talks as he does it, lisp becoming prominent, eyes bright with the fever of passion.
“feel so fucking good,” he says, and you almost can’t hear him over the sharp slap of his hips. “you’re so fucking hot and wet, princess — so fucking perfect, fucking made for me, made for my cock.
“perfect pussy — it’s mine, princess. you’re mine, fuck —” and when your cunt clenches down around his dick in response, mingyu can’t help but laugh breathessly, canines peaking. “like that, princess? like me telling you that you’re mine? you are. all fucking mine, no one else’s.
“no one else gets to see this,” he says, eyes darting over your body. he takes in the jiggle of your tits as he thrusts, the sweat that glistens on your skin. “no one gets to see you all fucked out ‘n pretty like this. no one else gets to see your pretty fucking tits, your cute little cunt.”
he lets out another laugh, and then he’s covering your body with his, hands sliding to the backside of your knees to force them lower and lower. you can’t help but groan a little at the pain of it, toes curling at the stretch.
and his dick — his dick seems to slide deeper in you, somehow forces itself further.
“tell me,” mingyu hisses, beginning to fuck you once more. “tell me i’m doing good, princess. gotta say it. say i’m fucking you good.”
you can’t speak for a moment. so much is going on. your pussy is clenching, gut tightening. you’re trying to pay attention to what he’s saying, but you can’t help but feel everything so acutely; the slap of skin against skin, the stretch of your legs, his fat cock going so deep inside —
“tell me.”
your mouth quivers for a moment. when you speak it’s all automatic, not a single actual thought running through your brain. “so good, gyu — so — you fuck me so — so good —”
finally, and inevitably, mingyu slips his hand down to your cunt. it’s an easy glide of his thick fingers, slippery with your precious juices. for a moment he feels at your hole, feels your little hole gape around his dick as he fucks in out, in out.
then mingyu’s hand continues on its journey, slipping up to frame your cute clit with his fingers. you’re already tensing up, pussy gripping his cock, in anticipation.
and then mingyu begins rubbing at the muscle on either side of your clit, sending electric desire sparking up your body. he doesn’t rub in rhythm with his thrusts; instead mingyu keeps his hips quick and rabid and his rubbing smooth, a constant wave. it’s so much, it’s verging on overstimulating.
you don’t know what to focus on — you can’t focus.
your hips are bucking up into his, trying to meet each thrust, trying to spear yourself on his fat cock. at the same time you’re trying to force his fingers against you, trying to seek them out, and it’s this horrible, delightful overstimulation where you just don’t know what to do.
it’s mind dumbing. you feel frantic; wantonly so. there’s no thought in your mind, no desire other than this.
you want and you’re not even sure what you want; his cock fucking you so good, drilling into your sopping wet pussy, or his fingers, coaxing around your clit.
you feel dumb with desire and overstimulation. you don’t know, you just don’t know.
and it’s inevitable, really: you burst into tears. they spring out from your eyes and your mouth opens in a sob, your head pressing back against the mattress. you want want want but you don’t know, you don’t know —
mingyu presses his body against yours, grounding you with his heavy bulk. he presses open-mouthed kisses to your shoulders and throat and chest, trailing his lips. “c’mon,” he says, “gotta cum for me, princess. cum on my cock, fuckin’ cum on it.”
and you want want want —
mingyu’s teeth are sharp as he bites down onto your shoulder, digging in. the pain is bright and furious as it slices through you. it’s so startling that your entire body just seems to snap, and then you’re cumming, cumming cumming.
it’s — you don’t even know what it is. all-consuming; electric; overpowering. it’s a cosmos bursting into everything and nothingness.
mingyu stops thrusting as you cum, instead focusing on rubbing at your clit to get you through the orgasm. the loss of sensation has you sobbing once more, fingers twisting into the sheets as you buck your hips.
you try to say something; fail. you try again. “p — please, please —”
mingyu lets out a loud groan. once he’s sure your orgasm has subsided, he withdraws from your cunt. you can’t help but cry at the loss, cry at how empty and gaping your pussy feels.
mingyu manhandles you, twisting your body so your chest is pressing against the mattress and your ass is in the air. he mounts you, cock thrusting inside of you in one swift, almost brutal, movement.
you press your face against the sheets, crying into them. so much is happening. your body is still ringing with the aftershocks of your orgasm, but mingyu is fucking you, and it’s so so so much and it’s so so so wonderful.
because you feel so utterly used. you’re just a hole for him at this point, just a pussy for him to fuck and get his full of.
and mingyu does.
mingyu fucks you. there’s no love in it other than the fact he’s fucking his girl, his princess; no love other than the fact you’re his. he fucks you purely to seek his end, to make that burning-hot fever within him snap, and it just so happens the hole he’s using belongs to you.
his hands are strong as they grip your hips, slapping you back onto his dick. he lets out soft pants, deep moans.
“good boy,” he hisses out, mostly air. “‘m your good boy, yeah? fuckin’ you so good, princess. say it. say i’m fucking you so good.”
you fight around the sobs that escape you, and when you speak your words are muffled by the mattress. “fuckin’ me good,” you sob, “my good — good boy, gyu —”
mingyu lets out a low noise, a growl, of satisfaction. he fucks your cunt a few more times, each thrust harsh and quick. the noises are crude, the sound of wet skin against skin, of his dick resisting against the wet suction of your pussy with every pull out.
and then mingyu’s cumming in you. his cum is hot and thick, and as soon as you feel it fill you there’s an overwhelming satisfaction that shoots through you.
you made him cum; he came from your cunt.
mingyu drapes himself over your back, ignoring how your body collapses beneath him. he’s still inside of your pussy, dick plugging your hole and keeping his white cum from dripping out.
he pushes your sweaty hair aside, presses his nose against the shell of your ear. when he speaks his breath is hot against your flesh. “good girl,” he groans, his hips giving a gentle buck into you. “what a good girl you are. you’re my good girl, aren’t you? my babygirl with the fucking perfect little cunt, perfect little pussy.”
you whine, nodding against the mattress. his words echo in your brain: good girl, good girl, good girl.
“say it.”
“‘m your good girl,” you whimper.
mingyu laughs against you, breathless. “yes, you are. and ‘cause you’re my good girl you’ll let me, let your good boy keep fucking your cunt, yeah? let me fill you up?”
your body is exhausted. your mind is exhausted. you can’t think, and you don’t know, quite frankly, how you’re even breathing. absolutely nothing is happening; even your blood seems to slow to a stillness within you, your body overwhelmed to a point of merely existing.
but still:
“my princess is a good girl,” he says, nipping at your ear lobe. “you’ll let me fill you up again, yeah?”
and you are. you are his good girl, are totally, completely his.
and so you say:
“yes.”
— 𑣲Fuma .ᐟ Eeveelution love
› pairing┆Fuma x reader › genre┆fluff date ✎ word-count .ᐟ 1.7k ⌁ summary┆Making Fuma’s dream come true on Valentine’s Day.
✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! note › A Pokémon-themed park recently opened in Japan, so I took the opportunity to write this since Fuma would love to go there!
You don’t tell Fuma where you’re going. That’s the one and only rule of the day, even if he does not like it.
It’s deliberate. Carefully planned. You’ve had this secret tucked away for weeks, folded neatly in your chest alongside screenshots, reservation confirmations, and the memory of every single time he’s mentioned this place like it’s something sacred. Which it is, …for him at least.
The train hums beneath you, steady and familiar, sunlight sliding across the windows as Tokyo drifts by. You sit close enough that your knees brush, close enough to feel the warmth of him without trying. He’s relaxed - too relaxed - which almost makes you laugh and concerned. If he knew what was coming, he’d be going crazy.
You’ve been smiling to yourself the whole ride, your fingers naturally playing with the rings on his hand. He keeps glancing at you, eyebrows lifting slightly every time you smile to yourself, every time your phone lights up every now and then with reminders you definitely do not let him see.
“What?” he finally asks, getting his face closer to yours. His eyes are soft, playful. “You’ve been like that all morning.”
You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “Like what?”
“Like you know something I don’t.”
You shrug, leaning back against the seat. “Maybe I just like spending Valentine’s Day with my boyfriend.”
He huffs a laugh. “You’re bad at lying.”
“I’m not lying,” you say sweetly. “I’m just… withholding information.”
That earns you a look. Fond, amused, a little wary.
“You’re dangerous,” he says.
You take that as a compliment, giggling as an answer.
When the train slows, and the doors slide open, you stand first, heart pounding just a little harder now from anticipation. You step onto the platform, then turn back to him, reaching out your hand for him to hold.
“Come on.”
He takes your hand and follows without question.
And then he sees it.
The sign is impossible to miss - bright, cheerful, unmistakably Pokémon. Valentine banners hang from the entrance, pink with red and white, hearts stitched into familiar silhouettes. Pikachu balloons bob gently in the air. There’s music, laughter, the low, happy buzz of a place built entirely around joy.
Fuma stops walking.
You feel it immediately - the way his hand tightens around yours, the way his breath catches like it’s been knocked out of him. For a moment, he just stares, brain short-circuiting, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, as if he’s afraid that if he acknowledges it, it might vanish.
“…wait,” he says quietly. “Is that-”
The Japan Pokémon Theme Park is the one place he has been dreaming of going.
You turn fully to face him now, letting the park glow behind you like a revel and letting out a soft “Happy Valentine’s,” while kissing his cheek.
He looks at you. Then back at the entrance. Then at you again.
He laughs - one of those disbelieving, breathless laughs, hand coming up to cover his mouth like he’s afraid the moment will disappear if he reacts too fast.
“No, this-this is real?” he laughs, shaking his head. “No, you didn’t- this isn’t a prank?””
“I did,” you say. “We’re here. All day.”
His laughter spilling out again, breathless and disbelieving. His eyes shine - actually shine - and it hits you all over again just how much this means to him, and how much Fuma means to you.
“This is real?” he asks. “You planned this?”
“For you.”
That’s all it takes.
He pulls you into a hug so fast you barely have time to react, arms wrapping around you tight and sure. He presses his face into your shoulder, holding on like he’s grounding himself in the moment.
“I’ve wanted to come here forever,” he murmurs. “I didn’t think-I mean, I never thought-”
“I know,” you say softly, smiling into his hair. “You talk about it like it’s a dream.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes warm and overwhelmed and full of affection; he doesn’t bother hiding.
“I love you,” he says, kissing your cheek.
Your chest aches in the best way.
Inside the park, everything is brighter and magical. Softer, louder, and quieter all at once. Valentine-exclusive decorations line every path—heart-shaped Poké Balls, pastel lights decorating the trees, Eevee silhouettes cut into pink panels. Couples wander hand in hand, arms full of plushies and shopping bags, laughter spilling freely.
Fuma doesn’t know where to look, lost in happiness. He keeps looking around, almost afraid to blink, trying his best not to miss a thing.
He keeps stopping, tugging gently at your hand every few steps, but never letting go. You guide him gently, all while letting him set the pace. Every few steps, he stops to point something out.
“That’s—oh my god, look at that display,” he says, pointing at a display.
“They have that plush in person?”
“Wait, that’s limited edition, right? This is crazy.”
“Wait—wait, can we go there first?”
You let him. That’s part of the plan.
You laugh, letting him pull you along, watching him like this—unfiltered joy, barely contained excitement. This is exactly what you wanted. This version of him, eyes bright, smile easy, heart wide open. Your favourite version of him is out brighter than ever.
When you reach the Eevee section, he goes completely still - nearly breaking him.
It’s massive. Shelves stacked high with Eevee plushies in every size and pose imaginable, Valentine editions with tiny stitched hearts. Eevee-themed chocolates wrapped in pastel foil, pins, stationery, mugs, and keychains. The cherry on top is a centrepiece display that showcases Eevee and all its evolutions arranged like a crown.
Fuma exhales slowly, letting out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a gasp.. “They really did it.”
He steps closer, almost reverent, reaching out to squeeze a plush Eevee like he’s confirming it’s real. His thumb brushes over the soft fabric, and he smiles to himself, quiet and content.
You watch him, heart swelling. This—this is why you planned it. Not for the photos, not for the spectacle, but for the way his eyes light up when he’s surrounded by something he loves.
While he’s distracted, you casually pick up an Eevee plush—one you know he’ll love—and tuck it carefully into your bag.
The first gift stays hidden.
You wander through the park, stopping for heart-shaped churros dusted with sugar and sharing them while wandering through the garden area. You break one in half and hand him a piece, but he shakes his head. Fuma insists on feeding you the first bite, watching your reaction closely, as if it matters deeply.
“You first.”
He holds it up to your lips, watching you take a bite, eyes focused as your reaction matters more than anything else.
“Good?” he asks.
You nod. “Perfect.”
He smiles, satisfied, then takes a bite himself—sugar dusting the corner of his mouth. You wipe it away with your thumb before you even think about it. Your thumb lingers for half a second too long. He stills, eyes softening.
“Hey,” he says gently.
“Hey,” you reply.
It’s a quiet moment, tucked between excitement and noise, and it feels like yours.
Later, you tug him toward a Valentine photo spot framed with Eevee and Sylveon art. He pretends to groan but fixes his jacket anyway, smoothing his hair.
“You’re enjoying this,” you tease.
“I tolerate it,” he says, smiling. “I just have a reputation to maintain.”
“A cute reputation.”
The photos come out adorably perfect in their imperfection - one where you’re laughing too hard to pose properly, your head resting on his shoulder, one where you both hold up a little Eevee plush between you like it’s part of the couple, and a last one where he kisses your cheek and you look surprised, soft and completely gone for him.
He pockets the photo strip as if it’s something precious.
For lunch, you take him to the themed café you booked weeks ago. You watch him stare at his plate like he’s been personally attacked by cuteness. Eevee-shaped rice. Valentine desserts with tiny sugar hearts. A drink topped with foam art that's almost too pretty to disturb with, you guessed it, more Eevee.
Fuma stares at his plate. “This is illegal,” he says. “You can’t make food this cute.”
“You’re still going to eat it,” you point out.
“Yeah…Without any regret,” and he happily did.
Halfway through dessert, you slide a small box across the table.
He looks at it, then at you. “Another gift?”
“Open it.”
Inside is a simple bracelet, a silver chain, with a tiny Eevee charm. It’s subtle enough to wear anywhere, but unmistakable if you know what to look for. Perfect for him.
His breath catches.
“You got this… for me?”
“For you,” you say. “So you can carry it with you today.”
He puts it on immediately, adjusting it carefully, then reaches for your hand across the table and squeezes gently.
“No one’s ever done something like this for me,” he says softly. “You planned all of this… for me.”
“You’re worth planning for,” you shrug, smiling.
The afternoon drifts by in warmth and laughter, with shopping bags. At one point, when you’re sitting on a bench resting your feet, you finally pull out the Eevee plush you hid earlier and hand it to him.
He freezes, staring at you.
“You—when did you—”
“You were distracted,” you say, grinning.
“I’m surrounded by enemies.” He laughs and hugs the plush to his chest. “I love you so much.”
As the sun dips lower, the park lights come on—soft pink and gold, reflecting in his eyes when he looks at you.
“Thank you,” he says. “For making my dream real.”
You lean into him, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, Eevee plush tucked between you.
“Happy Valentine’s, Fuma.”
He kisses your temple, gentle and full of affection. “Best Valentine ever.”
And as you walk out of the park together, hands intertwined, bags heavy with gifts (loads of booster packs) and hearts even heavier, you know you planned it perfectly—not because everything went right, but because you got to see him this happy.
That was the real gift.
✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! › anonymous review form & join my taglist
@ credits┆thank you @orbitondgtl for beta reading ☆彡
☘︎ taglist: @shinysobi, @kyeomofhearts, @eclipsaria
‧₊ ᵎᵎ "CHERRY.zip" ⋅.*
falling in love at first sight (x3)
a/n: so i woke up in cold sweat and i had to write this. there's like 30k i could've written about this but tbh, i needed to get this out lol. also taesan has been living in my head rent free so this is his eviction notice. quick note: feedback, comments, etc. GREATLY encourage writers! if you felt any sort of way (in a good or bad way!) about this fic, pls leave feedback!
word count: 6.3k
tags: college au!, basketballplayer!taesan x nurse!y/n, honestly it's just a fluff piece, idiots in love, dongmin is DOWN BAD and falls in love with the same girl 3 times, uhh y/n is a feisty nurse warnings: taesan is called dongmin, uhh alcohol + memory loss involved with getting shitfaced lol
HAN DONGMIN DIDN'T REALLY BELIEVE IN SUPERSTITIONS. to him, things like 'knocking on wood' or 'not opening an umbrella inside' were just old wives' tales that didn't have much substance to them.
but after dongmin had shattered his bedroom mirror this morning (he'd accidentally launched his alarm clock across the room after sleeping too late last night), nearly every single thing in his life had gone wrong.
he'd put expired milk in his cereal because kim donghyun (his roommate) hadn't switched out the milk like he'd promised to the day before. then he went to take a shower, only to be burned by scalding hot water since the landlord refused to change the heating system, even though they'd been suffering through the sticky heat of august for fifteen days already. as if all of that wasn't enough, he'd accidentally torn his favorite hoodie trying to clean up the fragments that'd fallen on the floor. and when he was trying to salvage his hoodie, he scraped his forearm against the fragments, meaning he had a nasty gash along the long side of it.
which meant he'd have to go to the hospital to take care of this stupid bloody mess instead of going to class.
that was how han dongmin found himself sitting in the waiting room of the urgent care center of the hospital, a shoddy rag wrapped around his forearm, his essentials hoodie covered in blood, expired milk, and mirror dust.
needless to say, dongmin had gotten more than a few strange looks from the other people in the waiting room in the last four minutes he'd been there.
"han dongmin!" the receptionist calls out, and dongmin launches himself out of his chair, impatient to get this over with as soon as possible.
something about hospitals just gave dongmin the heebie jeebies. the fluorescent lighting, the smell of rubbing alcohol, the tangible feeling of sickness that wafted through the air.
ugh. dongmin hated hospitals. in fact, he was so sure that he would never even step foot in a hospital after this. if he needed to wrap himself in bubble wrap to do so, then so be it because he hated hospitals and he would never come ba -
dongmin stops dead in his tracks, right next to the recovery bed that the receptionist had led him to. standing in front of him was the most gorgeous person he'd ever seen in his life.
you were smiling at something the patient in front of you was saying, leaning over to bandage the patient's scrape with a little bandaid that had cartoon ryans all over it.
fuck that.
dongmin was ready to break his leg if it meant that he got to stay in the hospital and stare at your beautiful face all day. before he could find something big and heavy to knock his leg into, however, you make your way over to dongmin, clipboard and first aid kit in hand.
"hello," you say with a soft smile. "my name is y/n l/n and i'll be taking care of you today. is there anything i can help you with?"
"will you go out with me?" the words escape dongmin's mouth before he can even process what he's saying and you immediately lean backwards, a disproving wrinkle between your eyebrows.
"excuse me?" you say, and it's clear that dongmin's not gonna be in your good graces if he hits on you. he really hoped you were like this with everyone and not that you just found him super unattractive or anything (donghyun swore up and down that dongmin was not ugly - especially now that he'd dyed his hair! but donghyun also never had to chase after a girl in his life so...). or worse, if you already had a boyfriend.
but before he can ruminate about your affronted stance too deeply, dongmin rushes to fix his mistake. "i mean, hospitals really freak me out. the ethanol smell and the lighting and everything kinda gets in my head, you know what i mean? do you think you could just slap some gauze on outside?"
the tension in your shoulders immediately relaxes and you take a step forward once more, setting the first aid kit down next to dongmin.
"oh yeah, that makes sense," you say, sounding relieved. "unfortunately, i can only provide care while inside the hospital to make sure that the instruments and gauze are sterile to prevent any contamination. i promise i'll be as quick as possible so i can get you out of here!" you explain, a slight pout tugging your lips down in the most adorable way as you seem genuinely sorry for dongmin.
it was official: han dongmin was in love.
"no, don't worry. take your time. i mean, the cut is pretty bad and i don't wanna leave any mirror guts in it," dongmin says. as quick as possible, my ass, he thinks to himself. i gotta find a way to make this last for as long as i can.
"of course!" you assure, before looking down at the clipboard. "so i assume you cut yourself on a broken mirror? does it hurt when you apply pressure?"
what was the answer that would keep you here longer?
"yes?"
"are you asking me or telling me?"
"telling?"
"very convincing. i'm gonna need to apply pressure and confirm for myself then, if that's alright with you?" you look at him in a way that seems to be somewhat apprehensive and dongmin has never wanted to reverse time more than in this very instant.
until he doesn't because your hands are on his forearm, examining the wound gently and applying pressure around the open gash.
"does it hurt when i do this?" you ask, eyes trained on the way that his forearm muscles ripple and move as you apply pressure in different places.
dongmin's not the most buff guy on the planet, and you checking out his muscles was definitely not for your own pleasure, but at least all of his time on the court and in the gym has paid off in some way.
"uh...no. not unless you're super close to the cut," dongmin says and you nod with a gentle smile. it's in that moment that dongmin decides that he would kill anyone and anything just to see you smile like that again,
"that's good to hear. well, i guess that all we need to do is 'slap some gauze on' after disinfecting the wound and making sure we don't have any 'mirror guts' in it," you say, a hint of cheekiness in your tone. dongmin doesn't know what it is about it but it makes him blush, regardless.
"yeah. that sounds good," he says dreamily, trying hard to compose himself once more when you flash him a questioning look.
you work carefully on his arm, making sure to give a tiny little stress ball to dongmin to use when you descend upon his wound with some antibacterial medicine and rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball.
"so, uh, you look pretty young for a doctor...?" dongmin says, trying very hard to focus his attention on you instead of the stinging pain that came with every touch of the cotton ball on his wound. the more he looked at you, the more he began to wonder if he'd seen you somewhere before.
dongmin wasn't the superstitious type, and didn't exactly believe in 'love at first sight', but no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't place you anywhere in his memory.
"that might be because 'm not a doctor," you say somewhat distractedly. "i'm a nursing student."
"oh. oh! you're a nursing student?" he asks. student. that means that you were either his age or just a few years older than him. and it also probably meant that you were a student at a university near by - maybe his?
"yep. a second year. although, don't worry, i've completed all of my first aid clinicals last year itself," you explain, leaning back in satisfaction when you finish cleaning up the wound.
"my school has a pretty famous nursing program, you know. maybe you've heard of yonsei's nursing program?" dongmin asks, eyes shining with hope.
it's only then that you look up at dongmin with an excited look in your eyes, turning to throw away the used cotton balls.
"i go to yonsei as well! i'm just starting my second year. it's a little strange because the nursing program runs through the summer, which is why i'm working clinicals right now. i'm almost done though, so i'll be switching into a field i'm more interested in," you say and dongmin swears he hears wedding bells in his mind. beautiful, kind, intelligent, and the same age as him? it was like god was basically handing his soulmate to him on a platter. maybe love at first sight was real after all.
"me too! well, i'm not a nursing major, but i'm a second year electrical engineering major," dongmin says, watching you turn back towards him with a clipboard.
"mhm, well, i've gotta tell you to be careful for the next week or so. no heavy lifting, sports, and definitely no cutting things. we don't want to make the wound worse, now do we?" you say chidingly, scribbling instructions on the clipboard of how to clean the wound with rubbing alcohol and how many pills of ibuprofen to take per day.
"of course," dongmin says half-heartedly. as much as dongmin hated the feeling of pain, the was the only way that he could think of to get to see you again was to somehow hurt himself again.
"how about you come back in a week to just make sure that it closed up well? make sure it didn't get infected or anything?" you ask, handing him the sheet of paper.
god was real.
dongmin swore he was going to go to church and donate at least 10,000 won for the blessing after blessing he was receiving today.
"oh sure," he says, a mischievous thought popping into his head. "but is it ok if i find you on campus? i have a lot of labs over the next week and i can't miss them if i can't even participate in them, so i can at least get the information. i won't really have time to stop by the hospital," dongmin says carefully, watching your expression to ensure that it wasn't changing with every word that escaped your lips.
technically, it wasn't a lie. dongmin did have a lot of labs next week but that's definitely not why he wouldn't have time to stop by the hospital.
"i don't see why not. i don't need any sterile instruments to just check quickly, so that shouldn't be an issue," you say slowly, nodding to yourself as you look around the little station to make sure you wouldn't need any of the equipment.
"perfect," dongmin says, shuffling out of the bed that he was sitting in to leave before turning around nonchalantly. "do you think i could get your number? so i know where to find you?"
you look up at him, and dongmin tries his best to seem sincere and genuine rather than as calculating as he felt, trying every tactic possible to see you again.
"yeah. yeah, here let me type it into your phone."
he hands his phone over to you, and it takes every single fiber of his being to keep himself from looking excited about any part of this transaction. you were already suspicious enough of him; you definitely didn't need more reasons to add to the list.
you're frowning slightly when you hand the phone back to him so dongmin pockets it without a second thought, to prove that he wasn't trying to be weird.
"thank you so much again." dongmin waves as he leaves, flashing the award-winning smile that he usually reserves for aunties and restaurant owners for free sides. oh, and for his fans.
you don't blush and trip over yourself when he does like his fans do - although you offer him a soft smile in return.
although, dongmin muses, i guess it would be weird if a nurse who met me for the first time would be anything like a college basketball star's fan though. maybe.
he shakes his head, opening the door to the hospital, looking down at his arm wrapped in gauze. yeah. there was no way that dongmin was taking a break from basketball. season started in less than three weeks and as yonsei's point guard, he had no choice but to just power through the injury.
it might work out in his favor after all. at least it would give him more chances to see you.
+++
turns out, the universe gives him a chance less than two days after he sees you for the first time. and in any other case, dongmin would be incredibly excited to see you again. he'd probably be ready, waiting with freshly showered hair and clean clothes and nice smelling cologne.
instead, when he sees you again, he's wearing raggedy shorts, a stained shirt, and holding a basketball that he definitely should not be holding.
dongmin knew he was fucked the moment you walked in through the double doors that opened up to the indoor basketball court of yonsei, light spilling in from the outdoors, along with the chatter and excitement of students returning to university.
you walk in wearing white, along with six other people dressed similarly, the basketball team's physician (dr. moon taeil) at the head of them all. dongmin hopes that you don't recognize him - or at least don't see him actively playing but of course, you manage to turn your head to see dongmin throw the ball out of his hands in a random direction in panic.
the ball, then of course, managed to fall neatly through the hoop, as though dongmin had intentionally thrown it there, causing him to want to die on the spot.
so he couldn't do that during a game with korea university, but now that he was doing everything in his power to keep you from seeing him play basketball, now he manages to throw it in the one place it shouldn't go.
your eyes narrow when dongmin turns to face you, your gaze falling to his (poorly) wrapped forearm. he offers you a trembling grin, which slowly turns into a frown when you look away, shaking your head as you start talking to the girl next to you.
at least you wouldn't say anything to coach about how he wasn't supposed to be playing right now, dongmin thinks to himself. even if i've effectively ruined my chances of her ever believing me about anything ever again. uh. not that i've had more than one conversation with her. or might have more in the future.
dongmin shivers, jogging over to where the basketball had fallen to pick it up and return to his place at the three-point line and continue shooting practice.
he returns to where he's supposed to be practicing, so that his back is facing the group of people who'd entered - namely, you.
"i forgot coach mentioned that we've got new on-site medical staff," dongmin mutters to himself, dribbling the ball before lining up his shot. "i didn't know that she'd be a part of that though - she can't be the sporty type if she didn't recognize me from the hospital."
dongmin is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't even feel the dark presence looming over him until the ball is released from his hand.
"HAN DONGMIN!" someone yells, right next to his ear, and dongmin scrambles to attention, wincing when the basketball bounces off the rim and into the cart of basketballs he was practicing with with a resounding clang!
he turns slowly, eyes closed, as if that would make you go away.
"i cannot believe that i bandaged you up so carefully just for you to start playing again! how could you be so careless? do you not want to be able to play during the season? you're yonsei's ace and you're being this irresponsible!" you're heaving by the end of your rant and dongmin blinks, trying to come up with a response.
you definitely didn't know him well enough to yell at him like this - much less in front of all of his teammates - but for some reason, that's not what stuck out to dongmin.
(much to his chagrin, you being angry was hot. like really hot. especially since he'd thought you'd be the soft and cozy type, not the impulsive and quick to anger type. he really liked this side of you.)
"you know who i am?" he asks slowly.
"OF COURSE I KNOW WHO YOU ARE! OH, YOU ARE GETTING ON MY NERVES. YOU ASS, I DIDN'T BANDAGE YOU UP THAT NEATLY FOR YOU TO BE WALKING AROUND SHOOTING THREES!"
you're yelling at him, and for some reason, dongmin has never wanted to kiss someone more in his life. he'd never though he'd be this attracted to someone that he's just met yelling at him, much less in front of his entire team and her own entire team. but for some reason, as dongmin looks at you waving your hands all crazy and annoyed, all he can think about it how much he likes you.
it wasn't just physical. of course, he thought you were beautiful - possibly the most beautiful person he'd ever seen in his life and he would die on that hill - but it was more than that. it was as though he'd genuinely fallen in love at first sight.
you could tell him that you were a serial killer and at this point, dongmin would just admire your bloodlust.
"uh. dongmin?" coach jung says behind him, hands crossed over his chest. "do you guys need a moment to step out and come back?"
even coach jung seems a little bit intimidated by your livid state of being and dongmin has to cough to cover up his life.
"no coach. we're done here," you say, turning dramatically on your heel to turn back to your friends. but dongmin moves quicker than even his own mind can process what happens.
before he can think, his hand is wrapped around your wrist, spinning you closer to him, almost as if the two of you were ballroom dancing.
you look up at him, shocked, but dongmin is slow to let go of your wrist, not wanting to lose contact with you.
"no, we need just a moment," dongmin says, his eyes never leaving your own. it's clear that you neither expected this nor were used to this kind of behavior from anyone and before the fight that's building inside of you bubbles out, dongmin tilts his head toward the door that leads to a hallway extending to the equipment room, practically begging you with his eyes.
you aqcuiesce - or at least, dongmin thinks you do - from the way that your shoulder melt just the slightest and you let him pull you into the hallway.
"what?" you snap the second the door shuts behind the two of you. "okay, maybe i didn't let on that i knew you from our encounter, but that's irrelevant. i didn't need to tell you that i knew you. and besides, as your healthcare provider, it would have been extremely irresponsible on my end for me to let slip that i'm a fan - or that i know you personally at all."
dongmin can't help but let a small smile slip. "personally? we know each other personally?"
you fluster in that moment, looking anywhere but at dongmin, bringing a large smile to his face. he'd never thought that the feisty, quick to temper and quick to lose it, loud type was his type but he was starting to enjoy it very much.
"alright, well i know you personally enough, alright?" you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "we've met before."
now it's dongmin's turn to look flustered, as he wracks his brain, trying to come up when or where the two of you have met before. he wasn't the one-night-stand type, so that couldn't be it. he also didn't have an insane amount of friends outside of the basketball team and donghyun's friends, so that wasn't it either.
"i'm really sorry - and i'm definitely trying to hit on you, just not right now - but i don't remember. i'd definitely remember someone like you," dongmin says, and he's well aware of the fact that his tone does not sound any level of displeased, and rather dreamy.
you roll your eyes, looking down at the ground. "we kissed once. twice actually. but um. that's not my point."
you clear your throat, as if you hadn't just dropped the biggest bomb of the century on dongmin, shaking your head. "why the hell are you playing basketball on an injured arm anyway? i specifically said no sports!"
dongmin raises an eyebrow. "you say you're my fan and yet you're still asking me why i'm playing when we have our first game in a week. and hold on. i'm not letting go of that first part; we've kissed? twice?"
you shrug, but it's clear that you don't think of it as nonchalantly as you're trying to make it sound when you speak. "yeah. in freshman year. once in spring semester and then once in fall. it's not a big deal. to you at least. clearly you kiss a lot of girls, if you don't even remember us kissing at all."
"now that's not fair," dongmin pouts, but he's well aware that he's not conveying this well at all. suddenly, a flash of a girl wearing a red dress, looking up at him with big eyes and a pouty lips crosses his mind.
good god. were - were you dongmin's mystery girl?
+++
"what do you mean dongmin finally found his mystery girl? the one he's been crushing on for a full year?" myung jaehyun says incredulously, instantly pulling out his phone to look you up on instagram.
dongmin sits in the middle of his friends, all sitting at the same table as they were supposed to be eating lunch, his head resting in his hands.
"you mean the one that he swore was the love of his life? god, he wouldn't shut up about that for at least six months," lee sanghyuk says, shoveling noodles in his mouth.
"try a year," donghyun groans, rubbing his forehead in pain. "do you remember the state of this kid when he woke up the next day?"
"good god, it was horrible. all he could say for a full week was that he wanted to jump out of the window because he'd lost her number and that he was never going to find true love because he couldn't remember her name, number, or even what she looked like," sanghyuck adds.
park sungho, the newest addition to their friend group, blinks, looking at dongmin, who's head is still in his hands.
"you were down bad, man," he muses and jaehyun on the side of him snorts.
"down bad doesn't even begin to describe it. it got to the point where we had 'girl in the red dress' and 'true love' jars because he would talk about her." jaehyun sighed, looking at dongmin pointedly. "he'd put enough money that we'd bought alc for the rest of freshman year. just in spring semester."
"that's what you get for trying to prove that you could drink a 4lokos without getting shitfaced," donghyun says, nose crinkling as he recalled the hours he had to spend making sure that dongmin wasn't going to die by choking on his own spit. "and he went and did it twice. it took us months to get to the point where we could invite this guy anywhere so as long as he swore not to bring her up again."
dongmin looks up, almost excitedly. "do you think that if i drink another 4lokos, we'll kiss at another party?"
sungho leans over, smacking him upside the head. "you're so fucking dumb. and i can tell just by these stories. you're not allowed to drink until season's over, idiot. and she's on your medical team. why don't you start by making a good impression while you're not so drunk you're going to start insisting that spongebob is hydrophobic."
("you were there when that happened?")
("you idiot, you thought i was spongebob. you kept throwing my drinks away because you thought i was going to disappear into them if i drank them. which makes no sense because that's not what hydrophobic means.")
("oh. sorry man.")
"yeah. just go to the med clinic tomorrow, apologize to her, and bring her flowers or something. women eat that shit up!" sanghyuk says with a mouthful of noodles and jaehyun nods, pointing his chopsticks at him excitedly.
"they do! my girlfriend always feels better with food and flowers," he says, cheeks stuffed to the brim with carbonara.
dongmin's mind races with all of the implications of doing so, but every single one of his thoughts fade away in light of the fact that he could redeem himself in your eyes. he slams his hands down on the table, swinging his legs over the bench to run to the nearest flower shop.
"i'll be back before practice!" dongmin calls out over his shoulder, waving a quick goodbye as he sprints towards the florists.
he makes it to the edge of the courtyard before he hears the yelling of his friends behind him, turning to see them waving at him (and waving some very rude fingers at him).
"YOU FORGOT YOUR WALLET, YOU IDIOT!"
+++
dongmin's friends were useless. absolutely useless.
he'd went and bought the prettiest bouquet of flowers he could find, a nice meal from his favorite bento place, and had even bought three different types of ice cream bars because he didn't know which one you'd like.
he'd walked right into the medical clinic office, his apology gifts all in hand, ready to apologize to you, redeem his honor, and become your own true love.
the last part probably wasn't going to work anyway, but the first two should've been foolproof.
instead, he manages to prove that he was a fool.
as it turns out, he wasn't the only person who thought that the flowers were beautiful; dongmin had managed to bring the queen bee as a secret surprise in the bouquet, which meant that the rest of her hive was NOT very happy that he'd committed royal kidnap, as far as the bees were concerned.
"HAN DONGMIN WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!" you yell from underneath your desk, where you were hiding from the sudden swarm of bees that had followed dongmin in.
he doesn't respond, too busy opening the window to drop the flowers out of, hesitating when he sees the number of people that were lounging around the courtyard that the medical office looked out of.
dongmin lines up the bouquet, sending a prayer to god (any one that would listen) as he shoots the best three he's ever shot in his life, so that the bouquet (and all of the bees that accompanied it) landed far away enough from people to prevent them from getting hurt.
of course, a few brave souls had stayed behind to exact revenge for their queen on dongmin, resulting in upwards of five bee stings, before dongmin finally evaded the great medical bee disaster once and for all.
he turns sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.
"i don't suppose i could find medical care in this clinic, could i?" he says, and he's well aware of the fact that he's flushed bright red, as he always seems to when he's made a fool of himself.
thankfully, there are only four or five people, including you, in the office to witness this disaster - although, dongmin can see the girl you were talking to yesterday surpressing a smile.
"yeah, of course you could. but we're all headed on break so unfortunately, y/n is the only person who's gonna be able to give you medical care. you know, since you've already brought lunch for her," your friend says with a knowing grin. she ushers the rest of the medical staff out of the office, closing the door behind her with a telltale click.
"you can come out from under the desk now," dongmin says, and despite the situation, he finds it adorable that in the case of a bee swarm, your first instinct had been to hide underneath a desk.
"i was going to," you grumble, slinking out from your hiding spot and dusting off invisible dust from your pants. "what were you thinking, bringing flowers with bees in them?"
dongmin blushes, tilting his head as he tries to look anywhere but where you were. "i wanted to apologize to you. in my defense, i kinda always thought bees were made up. i mean, they're so fat! there's no way they should be able to fly. that directly violates like every law of aviation in the world."
your eyebrow quirks upward as you look at the ice cream and lunch he had set down on your desk in his bee-induced panic. "i can't believe you're quoting the bee movie at me right now."
"i can't believe you know i'm quoting the bee movie. i should've known the love of my life was an internet connoiseur," dongmin says with a sigh, examining the bee stings on his arm. how did these bees even manage to crawl underneath the sleeves of his shirt?
"excuse me?" you bark, hands on your hips. "did you just call me the love of your life? when you couldn't even remember who i was like yesterday?"
"okay, wait. you don't understand. first, i need you to help me out by getting some ointment on these stings because they're starting to burn and i don't know if that's so normal. and then, i'll explain everything, trust me."
you reluctantly reach back into a cabinet that reads 'insect stings' and grab the kit for bee stings, pulling a cream out of it, beckoning dongmin to come closer so that you could treat it.
"do you remember what happened that night? or those two nights, i guess?" you ask softly, eyes trained on dongmin's arm so that you don't have to look him in the eyes and he nods.
"i remember. well, as much as i can, anyway. i was blackout drunk both times. and from what i remember, you weren't exactly sober either, so i don't know how you remember me but trust me, whatever you think about me is not true. i was - i was so down bad that my friends had to make a 'no y/n' jar!" dongmin yelps the last part when your hand on his arm presses a little too hard.
"i'm sorry! sorry!" you gasp, immediately leaning over to blow cool air on the place you'd accidentally put too much pressure. "what do you mean by a no 'no y/n' jar though? i thought you didn't remember my name."
"i didn't! and it killed me! i don't remember exactly what happened those nights but i remember how much i liked you. i remember thinking that i'd never meet a girl like you in my life. it still frustrates me that i lost your number - although, i do remember the part where you smacked me over the head the second time that we met. i think i suffered permanent brain damage from that.
"but i remember glimpses of that night. like that red dress you were wearing and how much you were rambling about stars. you were giving me an in-depth explanation about how black holes work and something about how rockets look like they're stuck in time in black holes. not the point. but the point is that i genuinely fell in love with you that first night we met.
"i've got this horrid habit though, when i get drunk - i become either super scared of water, or super infatuated with it. it's honestly a coin-toss. so imagine my feeling the next morning when i wake up with a dissolved piece of paper in my pocket that's supposed to have your number on it, semi-wet clothes, and a raging migraine.
"i thought i met the love of my life and i couldn't even remember her name, number, or even her face. it drove me and my friends absolutely nuts. me because i didn't know how to find you when i couldn't remember anything. my friends went insane because i would talk about you so much that they bought me those swear jars for every time i mentioned you.
"of course, i didn't know your name so you were just 'the love of my life' or 'girl in the red dress' but i think i dumped at least 300,000 won in those jars by the end of the semester. and then as if the universe was out to make my life living hell, we met again and i was shitfaced again. i swore to never touch a 4lokos after that, if that's any level of redemption.
"anyway. i brought you flowers and all this stuff because i wanted to tell you that - that i've liked you for a lot longer than even i've known! i remember most of the conversations that we had, even if i couldn't remember exactly who you were. when i saw you at the hospital, i genuinely thought i was falling in love at first sight. but i guess, that's kinda not true. cause that would be my third time falling in love at first sight."
"why, though? three times? i mean, i don't think i'm ugly or anything but three times? yeah, i mean i guess i kinda also had a thing for you after those two nights. god. i wish i remembered what we talked about for us to get this attached," you say, mumbling the last part. dongmin turns to you somewhat confused, watching you as you open up the bento box he'd bought you.
"you don't remember what we talked about? besides the black holes and stuff?"
"nope. but i've also got a horrible reputation amongst my friends for how much i talked about you. the worst part is that i remembered you but not what we talked about. it was so stupid because no one believed me that han dongmin, yonsei's point guard was the guy i'd had my heart for the past year." you instinctively smile the moment you take a bite of the food and even though it's so small, dongmin's heart swells with pride.
"why didn't you ever come up to me? i mean, this whole year of pining could've been avoided if you'd talked to me," dongmin says, accepting the ice cream bar you handed him. how the hell did you know that was his favorite ice cream?
"i gave you my number once, and i kissed you twice. i figured you were just ghosting me at some point if you weren't going to reach out to me. and besides, nursing really picked up right after basketball season so...i kinda just ended up torturing my friends for the past year," you say, somewhat sheepishly, but dongmin is barely even listening anymore.
after all, how many people can say that they fell in love at first sight with the same person three times?
"well. we're here now. will you go out with me? i promise i won't even touch a 4lokos!"
"deal. as long as you promise to tell me everything we talked about that night. i still can't tell why i fell so hard for you that i chased you down a basketball court in front of your whole team."
"my stellar looks? my killer smile? my stupidly handsome personality? my superb basketball skills?"
"try your stupid attraction to water molecules."
"i have a feeling i shouldn't have told you about that."
+++
freshman year, spring semester.
"really? you've never fallen in love before?" you ask incredulously. you and dongmin are sitting on the balcony of some random friend who decided to throw a party, feet dangling over the edges in between the bars.
"nah. i don't think so," dongmin says, leaning backwards on his palms. "i don't think i've ever met someone who's ever made me feel like my entire heart is their's to do whatever they want to do with."
"then let's play this game," you say, clumsily pulling out your phone. "that one thing on new york times, where you fall in love with someone within 36 questions."
"why? you want me to fall in love with you?" dongmin says, leaning over with a cheeky smile. you push him playfully, focused on trying to pull up the questions list.
"you'd do that whether i told you to or not," you fire back. "and besides, i think i'm a fantastic kisser. so you're probably already in love."
"you're right," dongmin says with a sigh. "i think i am."
freshman year, fall semester.
"question 36. i can't believe we never finished all the questions last time," you say. this time the two of you are sitting so close, dongmin can still taste the watermelon chapstick you're wearing. at this point though, dongmin might as well be the one wearing it.
"to be fair, last time i think we were otherwise preoccupied."
"get your mind out of the gutter!"
"i was talking about how many times you kept getting distracted by the dog."
"anyway. we're on question 36; are you in love with me yet?"
"i should be asking you that. i've been in love."
"han dongmin! i thought you weren't the superstitious type?"
"i'll be whatever you want me to be."
𝜗𝜚⋆ 【 jay. 】 takes care of you after a long day !
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ 𝒇.𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 wc. 𝟔𝟔𝟖 ˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉, 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗌, 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌, 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗃𝖺𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅
reblogs 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 appreciated !
“princess?”
the word barely makes it into your awareness as you step inside your little apartment and close the door quietly behind you. you don’t even have the strength to bend down properly; your heels slip off with a dull scrape against the wooden floor, your bag drops next, your blazer slides off your shoulders and every tiny movement feels painful after a long, exhausting day of work.
your body feels too delicate, too overstretched, your wrists feel weak, ankles throbbing, cheeks warm thanks to the long hallways and artificial lights.
you’re still feeling sensible after your boss yelled at you earlier, after making a few mistakes that you had to spend the rest of the day fixing.
you blink slow, lashes heavy, vision a bit blurry when you look at your boyfriend.
Jay is sitting on the couch, knees bent, black hoodie, an old f1 race replay muttering on the TV and any other time, you would laugh softly and tease him about his little obsession, but tonight you don’t even have the strength to walk.
Jay looks at you with his heart visibly breaking.
you open your mouth to say hi, but nothing comes out. your lips only shape a tiny pout, trembly, and before you can even hold yourself back, a tiny little sob escapes, and your eyes instantly shimmer.
“oh, my baby…”
he’s already moving, popcorn set aside, hands wiping gently on his hoodie, slow steps.
by the time he reaches you, you’re already leaning into him without even thinking, your forehead brushing his chest like you belong tucked under his chin. and even that small gesture makes you feel a bit better. he’s always there for you after a long day.
“had a bad day?” his voice is sweet and soft, barely above a murmur, as he smooths his hand down your hair and presses tiny, flutter–light kisses across your forehead.
you can’t even form words, you just nod, sobbing harder against his chest as the ache in your feet pulses like fire.
jay exhales, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other sliding down to hold your waist.
“my poor angel…” he whispers, lips brushing your hairline, “you shouldn’t ever have to hurt like this.”
you are a strong, hard-working girl, you never breakdown like this. but today was one of those days where you felt like everything was too much, your job and all the things you had to take care of.
so it’s nice, to feel that you have someone that takes care of you like this, and you sob even more at the though. how did you get so lucky?
Jay shifts his grip carefully and then he lowers himself to his knees again in front of you, guiding you to sit fully down on the couch. your fingers tremble as he gently takes your foot in his hands, settling it on his thigh. just that contact alone, his warm palms against your swollen skin, makes your pulse start to calm down.
your boyfriend’s dark hair falls into his eyes as he bends over you, thumb stroking along the tender inner arch with skill and care, he knows what he’s doing but he also doesn’t want to hurt you any more.
“look at you,” he murmurs, kissing the bone just below your ankle like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched, “so tiny and hardworking…let me take care of you, my baby.”
you lean back, feeling a couple of tears fall down your cheeks, lashes sticky with a mix of worn mascara, your heartbeat slowing as his touch coaxes the tension out of you inch by inch. he works slowly, soft circles and warm pressure, and every knot of pain in your foot begins to dissolve beneath his hands.
he’s silent for a moment.
then, in a voice so gentle that’s so him:
“you’re my angel,” jay breathes, looking up at you through his lashes, “and i’ll always be the one who takes care of you.”
chicken-less dreams ; m. jaehyun
pairing. drunk!jaehyun x fem!reader genre. fluff , est. relationship synopsis. your boyfriend’s drunk antics are often loud and chaotic, but they also remind you why he’s your favorite kind of trouble word count. 1.7k warnings. mentions of alcohol (but no actual drinking) , stripping in a non-sexual context ? , kissing , jaehyun is very drunk and very in love but so is reader playlist. you are in love by taylor swift , ribs by lorde notes. i actually had literally no idea what to title this… so ‘chicken-less dreams’ it is ! unless i can think of another title 😭
riwoo: 911 riwoo: emergency emergency
you: ????
riwoo: your man’s shitfaced and refuses to go home
you: i’ll be there in 15
riwoo: plz hurry he’s about to sing bigbang’s haru haru
You could spot your boyfriend from a mile away. Your eyes were immediately drawn towards him—the way he held onto a metal spoon as if it were a lifeline, singing into it with unbridled passion like it was a microphone. You folded your arms, a quiet laugh escaping your lips as you watched from a distance. Jaehyun stood in the middle of the bar, belting out the melancholic lyrics of BIGBANG’s ‘Haru Haru’, accompanied by his dramatic and melancholic acting. Despite sitting at the same table, his friends were looking away, as if embarrassed to be associated with his drunk singing.
You caught Sungho’s gaze and he gestured to you to come over to save them all. Despite being embarrassed, he also seemed to enjoy the situation with the way his eyes sparkled with a small smile. With a small resigned shake of your head, you made your way towards their table, weaving through a throng of bodies.
Snatching the spoon from Jaehyun mid-chorus earned you a dramatic gasp and a look of wounded betrayal. “Hey! I wasn’ done!” he protested, but the moment his bleary eyes focused on you, his face lit up and he threw his outstretched arms around you. “My girlfriend! It’s my girlfriend, guys!”
He turned to the rest of the bar, raising his voice to a volume only a drunken Jaehyun could manage. “My girlfriend came to pick me up! Suckers!”
You wrinkled your nose at the overpowering scent of alcohol wafting off of him. “How much did you guys give him to drink?” you asked the guys as you tried your best to dodge Jaehyun’s drunk kisses.
The boys shrugged in unison.
“Uh,” Riwoo started, scratching the back of his head. “It started with one, but then he promised to not sing if he had more, but as you can tell…” he gestured to the spoon Jaehyun had just used as a microphone. “So… yeah, this is on us. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you sighed, already resigned to your fate. “I’ll take him home now. Thanks guys.”
You nodded at your boyfriend’s friends and tugged on said boyfriend, only to find that he had somehow slouched into a near-horizontal position on the couch, looking suspiciously comfortable. Muttering under your breath, you tugged on his arm. You became highly suspicious that he would actually die if your attention wasn’t on him at all times, like he often argued. “God, this kid.”
With Taesan and Leehan’s help, you were able to load Jaehyun into the passenger seat of your car. He slumped against the window, lips smacking loudly together. “Nono… I needa sing one more song…”
“Babe, one more song and you would’ve been blacklisted from that bar for life,” you chuckled, starting the car. The engine roared to life and you backed out of the busy parking lot. “Come on, let’s go home.”
Jaehyun didn’t protest and the quiet hum of the car engine soon lulled him to sleep.
Getting Jaehyun into the house was a battle of endurance and patience. Juggling keys, fumbling in the dark, and supporting the dead weight of a half-conscious boyfriend clinging to you was more than exhausting.
“Please let this be the one,” you whispered, trying yet another key. When the lock finally clicked, you let out a loud sigh of relief. “Thank you,” you murmured to the heavens, tugging Jaehyun through the doorway as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “C’mon.”
“Don’t wanna…” he mumbled, and his warm breath sent a slight shiver down your spine. “I gots to finish my performance…”
Somehow, you managed to guide him to the couch, where he collapsed in a heap. He sprawled out, stretching out his limbs in all directions. Brushing a strand of hair from his face, you observed how the pale moonlight streaming through the window highlighted the sparkle in his eyes.
“Alright, Mariah Carey. Let’s get you ready for bed. Even a diva needs to sleep, no?” you said gently, stroking his hair. “Did you drink any water?”
Jaehyun shook his head with a small pout.
When you straightened up to fetch him some, his hand shot out, grasping your wrist tightly. “Where’rr you going?” he slurred, looking up at you like a lost puppy. “Please don’ go…”
“I’m just grabbing you water, baby.”
“Nono…” he said firmly, shaking his head as if the thought of you leaving him for a second was unbearable. “I’m goin’ with you. It’s dangerous outthere.”
“Oh, really? What kind of dangers?” you asked, amused.
He leaned in, wide-eyed, and whispered gravely, “... Chickens.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing. “Okay, okay. You can protect me from the chickens, Myung Jaehyun.”
What could’ve been a 30 second trip to the kitchen turned into a 10 minute ordeal. He clung to you like a koala, stumbling along as you poured water into a glass. Perched on the counter, he sipped reluctantly while you stroked his hair, murmuring soothing words.
“Nomo…” (translation: "no more…")
“No, you’ve gotta finish everything, Jae,” you responded firmly. Your boyfriend huffed with a dramatic roll of his eyes but nonetheless complied. “Good boy,” you patted his cheek affectionately once he finished the entire cup of water and Jaehyun beamed at your praise.
When you wiped his face with a cloth, he grinned lazily, leaning into your touch. You pressed a quick kiss to his lips.
Jaehyun’s eyes flew open at the contact and he stared at you in shock. You burst into laughter at his reaction and brushed your fingers through his hair. “What, never been kissed by a girl before?” you asked jokingly.
“Not by a pretty one,” Jaehyun whispered and you laughed again. “Not funny!”
“Is too,” you teased. Tucking your arms under Jaehyun’s arms, you hugged him tightly and you rested your head atop his shoulder. “I love you, Jaehyun.”
All you got was a quiet “Whoa” in response.
You managed to get him to the bedroom, but Jaehyun’s antics still weren’t over. When you tried to pull his shirt off to help him change, he recoiled dramatically, crossing his arms over his chest like a scandalized debutante.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! I’m sure you’re a very nice lady, but I have a girlfriend!” he protested, wagging an accusatory finger at you. “She doesn’t like it when I talk to other girls. Especially ones who—who try to take my clothes off! Like you! Perv!”
You watched with an amused smile, your hands resting on your hips as Jaehyun retreated further into his bed, distancing himself from you.
“And I love my girlfriend! Sorry not sorry, but I’m not for the huzz,” he waved his hand dismissively.
“Jae, I am your girlfriend,” you insisted but Jaehyun wasn’t having it. He shook his head with vigor.
“No thank you lady, I’m not interested.”
With a sigh, you leaned in and kissed his cheek. “It’s me, Jae,” you spoke softly, watching as his cheeks turned pink.
“Ohh… hi baby,” he whispered sheepishly.
Thankfully, getting Jaehyun into bed afterwards wasn’t too difficult, his protests reduced to sleepy murmurs. Once he was settled, you took a moment to ensure he was comfortable and you brushed a stray strand of hair from his face.
You slid under the covers beside him, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight. Jaehyun was sprawled across the bed in an ungraceful manner, one arm flung over his face and the other clutching the blanket like a child with a security toy. His lips moved faintly, forming incoherent words as he teetered on the edge of consciousness.
Carefully, you reached out and placed your hand on his cheek, the warmth of his skin grounding you. He stirred at your touch, his eyes cracking open just enough to reveal the sleepy gaze within them. A slow smile crept across his face: lopsided and utterly endearing.
“Hi…” he mumbled, the word drawn out and soft.
“Hey,” you whispered back, your thumb brushing against the curve of his cheekbone in a slow, soothing motion.
Jaehyun’s brows knitted together, his drunken thoughts forming an odd jumble of words. “Y’know… you’re really, really pretty. Like… unfairly pretty. Like… if there was a… a contest or somethin’, I think you’d win. Every time.”
You couldn’t help but laugh quietly at his rambling. “You’re too sweet.”
“No, no, no,” he insisted, his voice muffled as he turned his face slightly into your palm, pressing his lips against your skin. “It’s true. You’re, like… the queen of… uh… the stars? Yeah, like a star queen. Like, Dairy Queen but instead of queen of dairy, you’re the queen of stars.”
“A star queen?” you repeated, amused, leaning closer until your noses were almost touching.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his words slurring together. “And… and I’m just some guy… but you picked me anyway. Like what?” He blinked sluggishly, his expression a mixture of wonder and disbelief.
You chuckled softly, your fingertips tracing the edge of his jaw. “You’re not just ‘some guy,’ Jae. You’re my guy. My favorite guy.”
That earned a pleased hum from him, his eyes fluttering shut as he melted further into your touch. “Mmm… your guy. I like that. Sounds nice. Sounds… cozy.”
“Cozy?” you echoed, your lips twitching into a smile.
“Yeah,” he murmured, barely audible now. “Like… blankets… or hot chocolate…” He paused, letting out a soft sigh. “Or… you. I think you’re cozy too.
You leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss to his forehead. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
“Y’know what’s ridic..ous?” he mumbled, his voice trailing off as sleep began to claim him. “How much ‘m love with… y... and… ch… chi…”
You stayed there for a while, watching his breathing even out as he sank into peaceful slumber. Your hand never left his face, your thumb continuing its gentle strokes along his cheek. His skin was warm beneath your touch, a quiet reminder of his presence, his love.
Nestled beside him, you whispered, “I love you, too, Jaehyun. So much.”
Although he was asleep, his lips curved into the faintest of smiles, as if somewhere in his chicken-less dreams, he had heard you.
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Weight Loss Alternatives
⤑ pairing: sub!baekhyun x dom!reader ⤑ genre: explicit smut, fluff, married au, non-idol au ⤑ summary: baekhyun wants to lose weight but hates working out, so you offer an alternative method—sex. ⤑ warnings: 18+ mdni, nsfw, mentions of weight and losing weight, p in v, teasing, oral (m receiving), face fucking, facial cumshot, cumplay, riding, unprotected sex (wrap ya willy), overstimulation, creampie ⤑ word count: 4.6k
a/n: to the anon that requested baek working out... you ARE heaven-sent!! mans been posting so much about working out and shit that i'm literally going insane AND THAT IG LIVE JFC (ಥ﹏ಥ) i'd like to think that gym sessions (iykwim) are so incredibly hot haha (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄) hope you like this! <3
One of the incredible perks of being married to your best friend and the person who once ignited your deepest crush is the profound level of comfort and intimacy that defined your relationship. In this unique union that you shared with Baekhyun, there existed a delightful absence of any awkwardness, even when you found yourself in the unconventional position of ogling and admiring your spouse's physique while he pushed himself to the limits during a grueling workout.
In the private sanctuary of your home gym, the air was filled with the warmth of exertion, beads of sweat glistening like precious gems on Baekhyun's forehead. The room resonated with the rhythmic sounds of his determined grunts, each echo serving as proof of his unwavering commitment to self-improvement. As you observed his efforts from one of the benches, you couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration mingled with a healthy dose of amusement.
"Baby, tell me again why I'm working so damn hard?" Baekhyun's voice carried an exasperated tone, punctuated by a groan that seemed to emanate from the depths of his being. You couldn't help but chuckle softly, appreciating the endearing blend of vulnerability and determination that he displayed.
"Because you're on a mission to shed those extra pounds, my darling," you replied, your voice a gentle, supportive melody amidst the backdrop of his physical struggle. Your gaze was filled with affection and encouragement, a silent promise that you were there for him, no matter how much he despised this particular activity.
An adorable pout emerged on Baekhyun's sweaty face, his disheveled hair clinging to his forehead and rivulets of perspiration tracing intricate patterns down his temples. With a tone that bordered on petulance, he grumbled, "I really hate working out."
Empathy surged within you as you empathized with his sentiment. The journey towards self-improvement was indeed a treacherous road, marked by sweat, discomfort, and moments of self-doubt.
Yet, as you continued to watch your husband's unwavering efforts, an unexpected and exhilarating sensation began to stir within you. The sight of his glistening, athletic figure, shaped by his relentless dedication, sent a thrilling ache deep into the core of your being.
In that intimate home gym setting, Baekhyun wore a snug-fitting black sports shirt that hugged his torso with precision and a pair of sleek black shorts. His movements were rhythmic and determined as he pressed the barbell, his arms lifting in a monotonous repetition that showcased the full extent of his strength and commitment.
Your gaze, initially focused on his contorted face and the sheer effort etched into his features, gradually wandered. It traced the sinuous lines of his bulging biceps, lingered on the strain evident in his forearms, and followed the graceful sweep of his hands as they gripped the barbell handle. Your eyes danced across his chest, sculpted and defined, as it moved with each measured breath, the fabric of his tight shirt accentuating every contour. Eventually, your gaze landed, almost by its own volition, on his clothed crotch.
It was a momentary lapse into a wild, carnal reverie that sent your thoughts spiraling into uncharted territory. Your husband was busy doing exercises while you couldn't help but acknowledge the daring thoughts that infiltrated your mind, tempting you to entertain the desires you hadn't anticipated before—what an absolute mad woman that you are. You even marveled at the dichotomy of your character, embracing the passionate desires that now gripped you.
"You know," you began, your voice taking on a tone that suggested deep contemplation, "there are other ways to achieve your weight loss goals…"
Baekhyun, intrigued by this unexpected change in conversation, momentarily paused his movements at the bench press. With beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, he carefully placed the barbell back into its resting position, sitting up to fully focus his attention on you. In his quest for weight loss, he was open to exploring any viable alternatives that didn't involve the strenuous workouts he currently endured.
"What do you have in mind?" he inquired, his curiosity evident in the quirk of his eyebrow, his breaths still heavy from his exertions.
You approached him, your movements slow and tantalizingly sensual, igniting a spark of anticipation in his eyes. Baekhyun couldn't help but wonder about the intriguing proposition you were about to unveil, eager to explore a path that promised relief from the relentless grind of his workout routine.
As you positioned yourself directly in front of your seated husband, a magnetic pull drew you closer to him. Your arms found their way around his neck, fingers sliding sensuously up and down his warm, wide, familiar shoulders. Baekhyun responded instinctively, his strong arms encircling your waist, and his eyes fixed intently on yours, awaiting your response to his earlier question.
"Sex," you declared with a sly and mischievous grin, "it's enjoyable and it also happens to be a calorie-burning activity."
Baekhyun couldn't help but playfully roll his eyes as if the suggestion was almost too elementary. "Baby, we do that all the time," he quipped, running his hands from your waist to your hips in a gentle, affectionate caress. He couldn't resist the urge to probe further, a hint of playful curiosity in his voice, "You want more of it, is that it?"
A sly smirk crept across your face, a silent acknowledgment of the delightful connection you shared with your husband, one that allowed you to explore the boundaries of your desires openly.
"Why not?" you responded with a teasing counter-question, your voice a sultry whisper. "Have you any idea how irresistibly wild I become when my hands trace the contours of your broad shoulders, gliding over your sexy back? It's especially true when you're deep inside me, our bodies locked in a passionate embrace, and you become my only anchor, drawing you closer to me with each thrust."
The sudden admission of your innermost desires took Baekhyun by surprise. He had been in the midst of taking a sip from his water bottle as you passionately voiced your cravings, causing him to choke and sputter, his coughs echoing through the room.
Your playful teasing and the unexpected unveiling of your carnal fantasies had left Baekhyun in a state of bewilderment. Glistening water droplets adorned his lips and chin as he gasped for breath. The air in the room was punctuated by the sound of his choked laughter and gasps for breath, charged with the aftermath of your audacious confession. The sight of his disheveled state, hair touseled, and eyes wide with surprise, only served to fuel your sense of amusement.
As you discreetly began to step back, attempting to conceal your playful escape from Baekhyun's notice, he finally regained his composure. His eyes locked onto your mischievous expression and he realized your intentions.
In a lightning-fast maneuver, he hurled a nearby pillow in your direction, setting off a chain of reactions of giggles and excitement. You darted away, the thrill of the chase coursing through your veins as you squealed with delight. Baekhyun, equally charged by the playful exchange, joined in with equal enthusiasm.
"You better run fast, ___!" he exclaimed, his laughter infectious and echoing through the entire room.
The gym transformed into a playground of joy as your husband pursued you with all the vigor of a man on a mission. With each step, he drew closer to you, fueled by the pure joy of the moment.
Finally, Baekhyun seized the perfect opportunity to catch you by surprise. As you scrambled in search of a hiding spot, attempting to catch your breath during a brief respite from your spirited sprint, he stealthily closed the gap between you two. With a fluid, unexpected maneuver, his strong and muscular arms, further accentuated by the pump from his recent workout, enveloped your waist. His hold was secure and unyielding as you attempted to wriggle free, your laughter harmonizing with his deep chuckles.
"Got you," he teased, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
Baekhyun's playful assault continued as he planted affectionate kisses on your neck and launched a merciless tickling attack on your sides. Your laughter intensified, and you pleaded with him between giggles.
“Babe, stop tickling me!” you laugh-cried out, your pleas punctuated by uncontrollable laughter.
“No can do, baby,” he purred in reply, a devilish grin playing on his lips, and he resumed his relentless tickling onslaught on your sides and neck.
You couldn't help but whine, tears of laughter prickling the corners of your eyes. In the midst of your ticklish struggle, you gasped for breath.
“Pleaseeee,” you begged, your voice laced with mock desperation.
Baekhyun finally relented, his fingers withdrawing from their tickling mission. "Fine," he conceded with a grin, "only if you keep your word."
As you caught your breath and regained your composure, you tilted your head in curiosity, puzzled by his cryptic request. "What do you mean?"
"The one you told me earlier," Baekhyun cleared his throat as he clarified, a slight blush tinting his cheeks, "the thing about exercising and sex." His last words came out as a soft murmur as if he were suddenly feeling bashful about broaching the subject.
Recognition flashed across your face and a sly Cheshire grin returned. "Oh!" you exclaimed with a sly wink, "Of course, babe. I fully intend to fulfill my promise, Girl Scout's honor!"
Your newfound confidence seemed to double over as you witnessed your husband become so shy and adorable. Although he couldn't discern the specific thoughts swirling within your mind, he could sense that you were planning something, and the element of surprise only added to the playful tension between you two.
With an alluring, purposeful stride, you closed the distance between you and Baekhyun, your fingers reaching out to seize his hand. Wordlessly, you guided him back to the exercise equipment he had been using earlier, the bench press.
Perching yourself sensuously on the bench you encouraged Baekhyun to position himself in front of you. As you gracefully knelt down, your eyes bore into his with a teasing smirk, and you spoke in a sultry tone as you looked up at him, "Now, I'm going to devour you."
The boldness and urgency of your actions took Baekhyun by surprise, leaving him momentarily dumbfounded. He allowed you to take control, his anticipation building with each passing moment.
Eagerly, you began to pull down his shorts and boxers, exposing his length until they pooled around his knees. Your delicate fingers wrapped around him, stroking his engorged cock a few times.
Baekhyun's breaths grew ragged as you teased the dripping slit with your slender fingers, eliciting a series of hisses and shudders under his breath whenever the pad of your thumb caressed that sensitive spot.
Once satisfied with the reactions you were drawing from him, you lowered your head, anticipation hanging thick in the air. Without further ado, you wrapped your plush, eager lips around his throbbing cock. A guttural groan of pleasure tore Baekhyun's throat, hips jerking involuntarily as he found himself enveloped in the warm, wet haven of your mouth.
Baekhyun's pupils dilated, blown wide as he gazed down at you, his tongue flicking out to wet his own lips in anticipation.
"Shit, baby, fuck," he drawled out, his voice laced with longing and desire, his hand slowly finding its way from his side to the soft tangle of your hair.
You anchored your hands firmly on his thighs, grounding yourself as you sensuously bobbed your head along the length of his throbbing arousal. The intoxicating blend of his natural musk, mingled with the sheen of sweat, created a heady cocktail of desire that strangely aroused you further.
Baekhyun was unrestrained, his reactions loud and unabashed. His gasps, sighs, and primal grunts filled the air, an erotic symphony that echoed through the room, igniting a delightful smile within you. You relished the beautiful sounds he was making, reveling in the way his body responded to your skilled ministrations.
With practiced expertise, you hollowed your mouth even further, allowing him to penetrate deeper, brushing against the back of your throat. The intense sensation brought tears to the corners of your eyes, a testament to the intensity of the moment and the allure of your husband's desire.
The rhythmic motion of your head, fueled by a fiery passion, created an echo of sinful sounds that seemed to reverberate around the gym, forming a seductive melody for Baekhyun's ears. Every calculated move you made sent ripples of pleasure coursing though him, intensifying the experience beyond his wildest fantasies. His grip on your scalp tightened, yanking almost painfully hard, only to trail down the curve of your neck with a featherlight touch that sent shivers down your spine. The contrast between his fierce hold and gentle caress was addicting, heightening the tension in the room.
Amid the symphony of passion that engulfed you both, whispered curses slipped from his lips like silent prayers, each word laden with desire and need. The sheer intensity of the encounter drove Baekhyun to the brink of ecstasy, a place where every sensation was heightened and every touch felt like an exquisite torment.
One of your hands deftly moved to grip Baekhyun's throbbing shaft, synchronizing with the movements of your mouth as you expertly bobbed your head around the tip. Your hand, slick with anticipation, effortlessly stroked along his length, the combination of your warm, wet mouth and the firm, yet tender grip sending waves of pleasure washing over him. It was an orchestration of aching pleasure that left him teetering on the edge of release.
As you continued your passionate ministrations, you reassured yourself that your position on the narrow bench was secure, and Baekyun's grasp on you wouldn't cause any accidental mishaps. With a newfound boldness, you shifted the remaining hand that had been using Baekhyun's thigh for support to cup his velvety-soft testicles. Your fingers gently fondled and squeezed, adding a stimulating dimension to the sensory overload you were subjecting him to.
All these combined actions pushed Baekhyun closer to the precipice of ecstasy, gradually eroding his control over the pleasure that had been building within him.
"Baby, I'm gonna cum," he whimpered, his voice laced with longing and desperation.
Hearing those words, a surge of determination coursed through you. Your movements quickened, your mouth working in perfect harmony with your stroking hand and the tantalizing fondling of his sensitive marbles. The sultry sounds that Baekhyun was emitting stirred a hunger within you and you couldn't help but press your thighs together, your panties growing incessantly damp with your own arousal.
Baekhyun's thrusts grew more aggressive as he chased the elusive peak of pleasure, reducing your mouth to a warm, inviting haven for him to thrust into relentlessly. Your lips made audible clucking sounds and the drool dribbled down your chin as his fervor escalated.
By this point, your hands had abandoned their quest of adding pleasurable sensations to Baekhyun's cock and balls, and instead gripped the bench for support, clutching for dear stability as his cock continued to penetrate your mouth with a relentless urgency. Your eyes rolled back and your body surrendered to the intoxicating haze of lust, matching his fervor stroke for stroke as the two of you neared the pinnacle of desire.
With one final, sloppy thrust, Baekhyun's grip tightened around his pulsating cock. He swiftly withdrew it from your eager mouth, a glistening trail of your combined saliva connecting your lips and his throbbing cock.
He unleashed a torrent of thick, white cum, the hot ropes splattering across your face with unrestrained force. Some streaks landed on your flushed cheeks, others found their mark in the middle of your forehead, and a generous portion filled your mouth, the salty, intoxicating taste an irresistible temptation.
As Baekhyun's eyes fluttered closed in the throes of orgasmic release, a deep, guttural groan escaped his lips. He continued to stroke his cock in rapid succession, each movement accompanied by a powerful surge of pleasure as he sought to relieve himself of every last drop.
As he peered down at you through half-lidded eyes, a mischievous thought crossed his mind and he allowed his intrusive desire to take hold. With his half-hard cock still in hand, he smudged the glistening cream across your face, a wicked grin playing on his lips. His fingers artfully guided the thick, sticky substance, creating an erotic tableau across your flushed skin as he essentially played with his own release.
"You look incredibly hot like this, darling," he murmured affectionately, his voice laced with undeniable desire. He reveled in the decadent sight before him, appreciating the way his cum adorned your features like a tantalizing mask.
Your fingers delicately swiped across your cum-splattered face, gathering the evidence of his passion. With a boldness that mirrored his own, you brought your fingers to your mouth, savoring the taste of him, your tongue dancing sensuously over your digits.
Baekhyun, aroused by your unabashed act and the provocative tableau before him, couldn't resist the pull any longer. Leaning down to meet you, he initiated a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue intertwining with yours. It was a tantalizing exchange, a melding of desires as he tasted himself on your lips and reveled in the shared intimacy of the moment.
Baekhyun's firm, gentle grip found the towel he had left nearby the bench press earlier, after his spirited chase had left you both breathless. He proceeded to tenderly wipe your face clean of his now-drying release, his movements carrying a tender, affectionate air.
As he was about to pull his shorts back up, thinking that the "exercise" had finally concluded, a sudden curiosity tugged at your thoughts, prompting you to inquire about his actions.
"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice a mixture of intrigue and a hint of playfulness.
Confused by the unexpected question, Baekhyun responded, though it sounded more like a query than a statement, "Leaving?"
You arched a curious brow at him, silently pressing for more information, as if your raised eyebrow was an unspoken question in itself, asking why he was leaving.
"I'm going to shower, darling," Baekhyun finally explained, his words laced with anticipation of the soothing cleansing ritual.
However, your response caught him off guard, you rose from your seat, stepping closer to him and clicking your tongue in a playful yet assertive manner.
"We aren't done here yet, Mr. Byun," you admonished, seizing his hand with purpose and guiding him back toward the bench.
A mixture of confusion and adorable curiosity played across your husband's face, his expression a captivating blend of wonder and anticipation as he inquired, "We aren't?"
You shook your head, a sly glint in your eyes. "Oh no, we still have one more exercise to complete," you declared, punctuating your statement with a flirtatious wink, leaving Baekhyun intrigued and eager to see what you had in store for your unconventional workout routine.
As you gently guided your husband back to the bench, a playful command danced upon your lips. With an air of confident allure, you instructed him to touch himself while you prepared to indulge in a provocative striptease before him.
One by one, pieces of your clothing cascaded down, forming a tantalizing pile of discarded attire on the gym floor. Baekhyun's eyes remained fixated on you, watching in rapt attention as the live-action, erotic performance unfolded right before him.
With a subtle, graceful twirl, you showcased your allure for him, inviting him to explore the contours of your body with his eager gaze. Slowly, you strolled towards him, the anticipation in the room electrifying as you straddled his hips, your warmth meeting his in an intimate embrace.
Baekhyun's hands instinctively moved to support your hips as you settled onto his lap. Your folded knees rested on the bench and your feet dangled sensuously at your back. The closeness between you two radiated a magnetic, lustful energy.
"How was the show, Mr. Byun," you inquired with a sultry tone, your soft kisses peppering his jaw and neck. Your fingers entwined with his damp strands of hair, a teasing smile playing on your lips. The intimate playfulness of your words and actions sent shivers of desire down Baekhyun's spine.
The playful use of the pet name "Mr. Byun" had an unexpectedly powerful effect on Baekhyun, further intensifying his arousal with each utterance. Each time you gracefully rolled the affectionate term off your tongue, it seemed to fan the flames of his desire, forging a connection between the pleasure you were giving him and the intimate affection that you both shared. The simple act of addressing him in this way tapped into his deepest fantasies and desires, leaving him enamored by your seductive words and the sensuous experience unfolding before him.
"You're truly a fantasy come true, Mrs. Byun," Baekhyun breathed, his voice laced with reverence and longing. His fingers gently tilted your chin, guiding your gaze back to his face. Without a moment's hesitation, he claimed your lips in a deep, needy kiss, a passionate affirmation of the desire and affection that bound you both in that moment.
As he playfully nipped at your lower lip, catching you off guard, a low, sensual moan escaped your parted lips in response to the pleasurable assault. Baekhyun seized the opportunity, his tongue invading your mouth with fervor. The passionate kiss was a battle of desire and dominance, a fervent exchange that left both of you breathless and longing for more.
Skin met skin, the pace of your grinding against his throbbing length intensified, a growing neediness permeating the room with each tantalizing movement.
"Need you now, Baek," you gasped against his lips, the urgency in your tone mirroring the desperation of your movements.
With fervent agreement, Baekhyun nodded and aligned his aching cock with your entrance. As you lifted your hips off his lap, a simple yet thrilling action created a tantalizing strain against your core, igniting a fire of anticipating and desire that both of you were eager to quench.
With an electrifying jolt of desire, you felt the tip of throbbing cock nestled just at the entrance of your eagerly awaiting heat. Without hesitation or warning, you succumbed to your carnal craving, sinking down onto his length. The angle allowed you to take him in completely, every inch of his cock sliding smoothly inside your slick cunt.
The sudden intrusion sent a shared, unrestrained groan echoing through the room, a symphony of unabashed pleasure. You arched your back, pressing against his chest and gripping his wide shoulders, the overwhelming sensation of being so entirely filled leaving you breathless and dizzy with desire. Baekhyun buried his face against the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin as your gummy walls gripped his still-sensitive cock, almost driving him to tears of ecstasy at the corners of his eyes.
"Damn, you're so tight, baby," he grunted, his voice laced with a raw need as he felt the rapid pulsations of your needy cunt constricting around his cock.
As you gradually adjusted to his size, a sultry rhythm began to emerge. You lifted your hips just enough to allow the tip of his cock to tease your sensitive entrance before crashing back down with a fervor that left both of you gasping for breath. The friction intensified, causing Baekhyun to hiss in pleasure and his grip on you to tighten, leaving telltale marks of passion against your skin.
"I'm going to devour you whole, Mr. Byun," you purred, your words punctuated by panting breaths as you maintained the tantalizing pace, bouncing on his cock with relentless determination.
Baekhyun couldn't help but chuckle at your eagerness for a moment, a fleeting hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Of course, you will, Mrs. Byun," he retorted playfully.
However, the levity didn't last long as the undeniable pleasure surged through him, another orgasm looming on the horizon. You continued your relentless assault on his cock, each bounce and powerful descent sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of you. The dynamic between you had shifted, a potent transformation of intimacy that left you feeling empowered as you rode your husband with unbridled lust, the sensations driving him to new heights of ecstasy as he writhed beneath you.
"I won't last very long, baby," Baekhyun whimpered, his eyes squeezed shut as the overwhelming waves of pleasure threatened to consume him.
"Wait for me, I'm almost there," you whispered fervently against the column of his throat, planting open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin. With every ounce of strength you had left, you continued to ride him, increasing the speed of your movements with an urgent desire to reach the pinnacle of ecstasy together.
The room was filled with the unmistakable, explicit sound of your passion—the loud sloshing of your juices echoing and mingling with your shared moans and gasps.
"Coming, coming, coming," you murmured feverishly against his ear, the desperation in your voice mirroring the intensity of the pleasure coursing through your veins.
Not a minute later, Baekhyun found himself unable to hold back any longer as well. It was your insatiable drive that had pushed him over the edge. With his mouth seeking the sweet spot of your collarbone, he released his pent-up climax, spurting streaks of warm, cum deep inside you. His thrusts grew sloppy as he rode out the euphoric wave of release, every sensation heightened by the throes of orgasm.
Hunched against his shoulder, you panted, gasping for breath as you felt the warmth of your husband's seed coating your walls. The intense shared climax had left you both trembling and sated, a powerful reminder of the raw, primal connection that bound you together in that moment of ecstasy.
As the intensity of your shared climax slowly ebbed away, you both rode down the waves of pleasure, chests heaving as you caught your breath. The layer of sweat that clung to your bodies glued you together, intensifying the sensation of intimacy that enveloped you two.
In the aftermath of your passion, you clung tightly to each other, reveling in the intimacy you had just shared and the closeness you had just experienced.
Suddenly, Baekhyun's voice broke the peaceful silence, "You're leaking."
A momentary realization washed over you and you remembered the position you were in. You were still seated atop your husband's lap, his strong thighs controlling the width of your spread legs, which had now opened quite wide during the adrenaline of riding him and being rode.
Your dripping cunt, mingling with both yours and his cum, was creating a sensual pool of arousal beneath you.
You playfully rolled your eyes at your husband's comment, leaning in to gently boop his nose with your lips.
"Come on, let's wash up. We're done 'working out' after all," you quipped, a mischievous innuendo hidden within the words that elicited a shared laugh between the two of you.
As you attempted to rise from his lap and stand up, your trembling legs betrayed you and you began to lose your balance. Baekhyun reacted swiftly, catching you just in time before you could stumble to the ground.
His chuckles filled the air as he effortlessly lifted you off the ground, holding you in a bridal-style embrace. You grumbled about the challenges of leg day, wrapping your arms around his neck for support.
"Stupid leg day," you mumbled.
Baekhyun laughed heartily in response, his eyes filled with adoration as he pressed a tender kiss to your sweaty forehead.
"So worth it, though," he declared, his infectious smile spreading to your own lips, leaving you both grinning like two satisfied lovers who had just shared an unforgettable, intimate experience.
It’s giving, “you is right”
starlight
pairing: yang jungwon x f reader
genre: soulmates au, university au
word count: 13.4k
warnings: swearing, angst (but a happy ending because I’m not a monster), soulmate lore, copious amounts of pining and yearning and sighing
soundtrack: crying over you - honne, beka / a world alone - lorde / this is me trying / invisible string / daylight - taylor swift / spring day - bts / so far away - agust d, suran
note: this was another find in my old drafts that I spent a couple of days editing/rewriting. I have very much been in a jungwon mood these days, and it was fun to venture into some more angsty stuff that I haven't written in a while. happy reading! ♡
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There’s a word for it. Something that’s whispered behind closed doors, shunned like a bad omen you can’t quite shake.
Glitch. A cruel twist of fate. A failed soulmate match.
Something you’ve been marked as since the countdown on your wrist ticked to 00:00 two long years ago and left you lonelier than ever. Something you’ve been fighting since destiny carved itself into your skin with a dull, lifeless shade of gray.
But fate is a funny thing. And love, as you’ve learned, is often found in the most unexpected places.
or,
fate, with all of its cruel, incandescent scheming, leads straight to yang jungwon.
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The overhead fluorescents in this particular lecture hall always manage to leave you with a pounding headache that even a strong dose of Advil can never quite seem to mitigate.
“And with time, these bonds only strengthen. Until a point is reached after which both parties would experience immense pain were they to be physically separated, willingly or not.”
Well, it’s either the lightbulbs or your professor’s droning.
Today, his words are slightly muted where they reach your ears, as if you’re underwater. Drowning in a topic that’s been beaten to death a million times over.
Still, this is information you should be taking in. Or, at the very least, jotting down notes of, since it’s all but guaranteed to appear on your final exam. But no matter how much you will yourself to focus, you can’t get your mind to cooperate.
After all, it’s bad enough that you’re forced to be here in the first place.
Sociology 112: Intro to Soulmate Theory. An absolute joke of a class.
The very foundation your society is built around. A nagging reminder of the grayscale deficiency that stains the skin of your left inner wrist.
Subconsciously, you tug the left sleeve of your shirt down a little further. There’s no need, not really. You made sure that your mark was fully covered before you left your dorm room this morning. Just like every morning.
But long standing habits are rarely broken, and the last thing you need now is another reminder of what makes you different. What makes you wrong.
At the front of the lecture hall, your professor pushes forward in that same, monotonous stupor. He’s either unaware or unconcerned by the fact that some of his students may be affected by his lecture on more than just a purely academic level.
Staring straight ahead, you distract yourself by scanning your professor, eyes taking in his appearance. At the very least, it will make it look as if you’re paying attention to what he’s saying.
With the signature graying hair most men in their mid-fifties carry, a pair of rather plain, slightly round eyeglasses, and neutral button-down appropriate for most professional settings, there’s nothing particularly noteworthy about your professor.
Like most people, he gets up in the morning, selects a plain shirt from his modestly sized closet. He enjoys a cup or two of black coffee before embarking on his morning commute to campus, leaving ten minutes earlier than strictly necessary, because he’s convinced it helps him avoid the worst of the morning traffic.
His life is one of normalcy, you imagine. Nothing that most people would find especially enviable or extraordinary.
But when he reaches up to point out an example on the lecture slide, the left sleeve of that beige button down lifts, just slightly.
You only catch a glimpse, a tiny fraction of a look, but you see it all the same. The glossy, shiny, red 00:00 inked into his skin.
You resist the urge to scratch your wrist. He clicks forward to the next slide. Life goes on.
“As per the syllabus, you’ll be completing projects with an assigned parter on a topic of your choice. Although I encourage you to consult a variety of resources and include several points of view in your project, the only firm guideline is that your topic relates to soulmate theory.”
Several points of view. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Yeah, right. In your experience, any arguments against the traditional soulmate model are scoffed at. Met with nothing but anger and ridicule.
Although it makes for a miserable life, it does make for a simplistic assignment. Assigned partners are usually the bane of your existence, but no matter how incompetent this one is, you’re sure it will be easy enough to meet up once or twice in the university library and regurgitate common sentiment on how the soulmate system is nothing short of a wondrous gift to humanity.
Glancing at the clock as your professor officially dismisses class for the morning, you suppose you do have something to thank the heavens for. He’s wrapped up fifteen minutes early, which means you’ll have enough time to grab a coffee before your shift.
Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and once again checking that the fabric of your left sleeve covers your wrist, you slide your laptop into your bag and stand up from your seat.
No matter what particular strand of bullshit this class dragged you through, today will be a good day. Or at least a comfortingly neutral one. You’re sure of it.
With one final scan of your desk, you head to the exit at the front of the lecture hall without a backwards glance.
And in the very back corner of the lecture hall, tucked neatly out of both sight and mind, Yang Jungwon exhales a long sigh before gathering his things.
…..
“Oh, you are an absolute angel.”
Playful frown tugging at your lips, you ask, “Why is it that you only praise me when I come bearing gifts?”
Jake’s too engrossed with taking a long sip of the matcha latte you just handed him to concern himself with giving your question a real answer.
Despite his inclination to be most forthcoming with compliments when they’re a payment for caffeine, he’s hands down your favorite coworker. He’s genuinely kind, easygoing in a way that makes even the longest of shifts pass quickly.
Setting your bag down, you slide into the seat next to his, turning on your desk computer. “Any new applications to process today.”
“Nothing yet.” Jake glances at the empty inbox to confirm his answer. He shrugs, adding, “This time of year is usually fairly slow, though. We tend to get the most applications at the beginning of the semester and around the holidays.”
“Right,” you nod. “That makes sense.” Times when people are fresh on campus, away from home and exploring a new environment for the first time. And times when people are lonely.
It’s something you understand well. After all, you had been part of the latter group when you submitted your own application.
Last year was your first year of university, and although the numbers on your wrist had already faded to a dull, matte gray by the time you enrolled, living on campus put you far away from your support system for the first time in your life.
Even then, you avoided it as long as you could. It hurt something in your pride, felt like admitting a weakness, admitting a flaw. But the truth could only be avoided so long and on one cloudy afternoon in late fall, the loneliness crossed the line from painful to unbearable.
So, with a rain jacket pulled tight around your body, you made your way to the Student Support Center on campus and sought out help for something you’d been grieving in private for the better part of a year.
It had still felt like shame, to disclose the details of your condition. To tell another person about the cosmic cruelty etched permanently into the soft skin of your left wrist.
And then it was done. Your secret belonged to someone else, too. Pain was shared, and over time, started to feel less like a cut and more like a bruise.
It still ached when you pressed on it, of course, but you felt lighter. Able to breathe a little easier.
But even with all of the support, all of the work you’ve done to feel a bit more like yourself, pain is still a shadow that lingers at your heels.
Even now, months later, sitting next to a friend, you suppress the urge to tug at your sleeve again.
You’re able to see your actions for what they are now. And you suppose it’s the same thing – injured pride, a deep sense of shame, that has you wearing long sleeves even as the last days of late summer cling to the air with stifling heat.
It’s not as if your unfamiliar with the failure etched into your skin. You know what you would find, what everyone would see if you were to wear short sleeves for once.
A dull, matte gray 00:00. A reminder of what could’ve been. What should have been, if the universe had just been a little kinder to you.
Even as days and weeks and months pass you by, you still remember when there was a different number displayed there. One that got smaller with each passing second. One that, like your professor’s, like everyone else’s, glowed a bright, glossy red.
Just like everyone else, you were born with red numbers on your left wrist. There was no sign then, at your birth, that you were different. That you were a glitch.
Just like your family, just like your friends, just like every stranger you passed in the street, your number was normal. In fact, it was enviable. Mostly because it was so much smaller than average.
As a child, you’d reveled in it – the comparatively short length of your soulmate countdown. It wasn’t unusual for people to have to wait well into their twenties, thirties, or even forties to find their soulmate.
But a quick calculation had revealed that your countdown would tick to 00:00 just after your seventeenth birthday.
It feels stupid now, like some sort of cruel joke, that you ever thought of yourself as lucky.
You still remember it as if it were yesterday. Two long years ago, at the delicate age of seventeen. On the precipice of a life-changing revelation. A moment that was meant to mark the beginning of your forever. Your happy ending.
The air was clean that day. Lingering with the fresh scent of the earth after a rainstorm. Rebirth. A sign of something beautiful to come. Dew and humidity clung to you like a second skin as you raced towards the neighborhood park that had been haunting your dreams for the last few weeks.
Soulmates and the bonds that connect them aren’t magic, not exactly, but there was still something divine about it, the cosmic energy that sang to you. That told you that this particular park was where your life was destined to change. That it was where you were going to meet your soulmate.
The other person who felt the same gentle tug towards you, whose wrist was stained with a matching countdown, set to tick down to 00:00 at the very second your eyes locked with one another.
Your heart was racing, nearly beating out of your chest. Your fingertips thrummed with it, that overflow of energy that didn’t come from you but belonged to you all the same.
And like everyone else, your timer ran out.
He was there. He was there, and you knew it was him without having to say a word. Across the park, under the shade of an old sycamore tree, you could see it, feel it in his eyes.
Your soulmate.
Handsome and a year older than you, if you had to guess. A perfect stranger that you felt like you already knew. That already understood you without the need for words.
You had been too wrapped up in it, in him, to notice the one striking oddity. Because unlike everyone else, your completed countdown, that ever coveted 00:00, didn’t remain that gorgeous, shiny red.
No, while your eyes were locked on his, heart singing with unfulfilled dreams and visions of a future you’d never have the privilege of knowing, it had faded to that same dull gray that mocks you now.
It wasn’t the color that you noticed. It was the burning sensation that finally had you tearing your gaze away from him and landing on the skin of your left wrist.
Confused, your brow drew together as you tried to make sense of it. As your mind spun, searching for a plausible explanation.
And when you finally found it in you to look up at him again, the wrongness of it all began to sink in. The way he walked toward you with slow, reluctant steps. The way his mouth pulled tight at the corners, as if he wanted to prevent any words from escaping.
The wedding ring wrapped around the finger on his left hand. The already occupied space you thought would belong to you one day.
It was an accident, he told you. Even then, his voice had been steady. He wasn’t pleading for your forgiveness. He didn’t need it. He didn’t need you.
It was nothing more than a drunken mistake between him and a girl he met at university. One that he wasn’t serious about, but damage had been done nonetheless. A single night that was meant to be a blip, a passing moment in time, but had turned into a child. One that the two of them had already made the decision to raise together.
A child that had made them both decide to forgo the fate written on their wrists and forge a new life on their own.
It hurt, he told you, to see you, to know that he was causing you pain.
But one glance at him confirmed for you that his hurt was different from yours. For one, he could still speak, could form words with that same, even cadence that felt like knives embedding themselves into your skin.
You had wanted to beg, wanted to scream until your throat was raw. It was him. It was him. He was supposed to be yours, and you were supposed to be his. Wasn’t it the same for him? Didn’t he feel it too?
But his mind was made up and you knew better than to plead with a man who had fought and forsaken destiny itself.
It wasn’t your fault. He had told that day, and you’ve heard it countless times since then. From your parents. From your closest friends. From your own tear-stained reflection in your bedroom mirror.
But blame with nowhere to go always had a way of ending up on your shoulders, and empty reassurances never stopped your mind from spinning with painful possibilities on sleepless nights.
What if we had met sooner? What if he had never met her? What if they never had a child?
Or even worse,
What if I found him again? Begged him to reconsider? Convinced him to leave her?
In the end, it was pointless. Fate had been written and then rewritten. Would in a tight string and undone in one fell swoop. The stars had aligned and shifted and still remained so terribly out of reach.
There was nothing you could do, nothing to be done.
But it didn’t stop the loneliness from seeping in. It was always loudest in the quiet moments, but it never truly left. It didn’t matter where you were – in class, with friends, surrounded by people, or completely alone. There was always an overwhelming sense of loss, of loneliness that followed you wherever you went.
So last fall, when the burden of it felt too heavy to bear alone, you’d bitten the bullet and applied to your university’s support program for glitches. Although, of course, none of the staff dared to use that word.
It’s where you first met Jake. And the bright red number on his wrist still ticks evenly, he had a friend once, one that shared a fate similar to yours. One who let the loneliness consume her instead of accepting help.
Even though it wasn’t through firsthand experience, Jake knew the pain of a failed soulmate match intimately. And after a handful of weeks, you’d found genuine friendship in him.
After a few months of attending support groups, he was the one who suggested you for an open position on the support team. It was him that thought you might find a renewed sense of purpose, a distinct kind of empathy for the other students on campus with stories like yours.
You’re grateful beyond words for him, for all of it. For the people and the friendships and the small moments that remind you that life is worth living, even on the hard days. Even when you’re forced to sit through classes on soulmate theory and pretend like long sleeves are nothing but a fashion statement.
So you’ll take his compliments with a smile, even when they come at the expense of a matcha latte from his favorite campus cafe. You’ll take the hard days and the good days and all the little moments in between.
He knows it too, even if you don’t say it with words. Even if all you ask is, “The matcha’s good?”
But something in you still smiles, still feels a little lighter, when Jake turns to you with a grin and assures, “Of course.”
…..
If there’s one place you still find to be painfully devoid of optimism, it’s your damn Intro to Soulmate Theory course. Although it’s an important element of existing sociological systems and objectively relevant, it presses on your ever-lingering bruises more than just about anything else in your day-to-day life.
As if that weren’t enough, it’s a morning class. Which means you’re already in a dreary mood as the clock ticks painfully slow through yet another monotone lecture.
Thankfully, your professor’s cadence is beginning to slow, a surefire signal that class is drawing to an end. Again, you glance up at the clock, a spark of pleasant surprise flickering through your mind. Could you really be so lucky as to get out early two classes in a row?
At the front of the hall, your professor scans his notes one final time. Nodding slightly, you really think he’s about to let you go ten minutes ahead of schedule.
But then his eyes pause at the bottom of the page, a reminder he missed the first time.
“Before we wrap up for the day,” he says, and you suppress the urge to groan audibly. “As I mentioned last class, you’ll be completing your next assignment in partners.”
That’s right. You’d almost forgot. Ugh, as if the disappointment of a full length lecture hadn’t been bad enough.
“The instructions, rubric, and due date can all be found on your syllabus, and as always, you’re welcome to email me or attend office hours with any additional questions you may have. I’ve already taken the initiative to place you in pairs, so please listen for your name.”
Glancing down at his notes again, he reads out the first pair.
“Kim Sunoo and Lee Heeseung.”
As he moves through the seemingly endless list of names, you begin to tune out. Have there always been this many people in this class? Admittedly, this is not a lecture that often commands your attention, but it seems like something you should have picked up on.
A minute later, spurred by the sudden sound of your own name, your attention snaps back into focus.
“... and Yang Jungwon.”
Yang Jungwon.
It’s a name you’ve heard in passing, maybe. But it’s not one you’re familiar with.
Standing as the list draws to a conclusion, you begin to look around the emptying lecture hall. You figure it might be easiest to exchange information now, but you’re not sure if you’ll be able to find him with everyone else trying to do the same.
Sighing, you decide to try for a minute or two before just resorting to looking up his email on the online class list later and sending him a message there.
Ultimately, it’s him who finds you.
“___?” At the sound of your name, you spin around, looking back over your shoulder.
His presence, like his voice, is unassuming. Still, as your eyes land on who you assume must be Yang Jungwon, there’s something about him that makes you want to keep looking.
Dark hair falls over his forehead, framing equally dark eyes. Dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and oversized jeans, the attention doesn’t seem like something he’d seek out. Even now, he doesn’t quite match your gaze.
“Yeah,” you affirm, somewhat breathless. “Yang Jungwon?”
“Just Jungwon is fine.” He smiles, but it’s a tight, strained thing. Doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s pressing forward before you have time to linger on it. “Do you want to go ahead an exchange information now? I’ll get my final training schedule this afternoon, so I can message you when I have a better idea of when I’ll be able to meet up.”
Well, he seems competent enough. Or at the very least, willing to put in effort. It’s more than you can say for most of the assigned partners you’ve been given. And it’s pleasant surprise in a string of disappointments and what is surely going to be a miserable project to work on.
“That sounds good,” you nod, reaching for your phone. You open a new contact before handing it to him to fill out. As he types, you watch a strand of hair fall over his eyes. He doesn’t bother to brush it away, even as your fingertips itch with the sudden urge to.
Instead, you busy yourself with asking a question. “Training schedule?” you echo his earlier words. “Are you an athlete?”
If he’s put off by your probing, he doesn’t show it. Steady as ever, he continues typing. “Mhm,” he hums. “Taekwondo team.”
“Ah,” you nod. “That’s cool.” Accepting your phone back, you type your name into the newly created chat. “Here, I sent you a message with my name, so you have my information, too. I work in the afternoons, but I have a pretty consistent schedule. Once you have your training times, we can figure out when we’re both free.”
Glancing at the message that comes through on his end, Jungwon confirms, “Perfect.” Hiking his bag a little further up on his shoulder, he pauses for a moment before turning his gaze towards the door at the front of the lecture hall.
In the time that’s elapsed, most of the other students have made their way towards it. The room is significantly more empty than it was a handful of minutes ago. Still, Jungwon lingers for a moment.
Finally, he looks back at you. This time, he does meet your eyes.
You know it’s nothing but the overhead lights. The same obnoxious fluorescents that always give you a pounding headache. But reflected in his dark, searching gaze, they almost look like starlight.
“I’ll see you around, then,” he says before turning towards the door.
And if you let your gaze linger just a little too long on his retreating back, you’ll be grateful that no one is paying you enough attention to notice.
…..
Your dinner is cleaned up, skincare is completed, and the events from your day are blurring into a sleepy sort of haze when his first message reaches you.
9:36 pm Yang Jungwon I got my final training schedule. Looks like I should be free Tuesday and Thursday afternoons after 4 if that works for you?
Double checking your work schedule, you type a reply.
9:38 pm You I work on Tuesdays until 6 but I can do Thursday at 4.
9:39 pm Yang Jungwon Let’s plan on Thursday then 👍 Meet you at the library? I’ll reserve a study room on the first floor.
9:40 pm You Sounds good, see you then!
With the semester well underway, Thursday is quick to roll around. Other than a quick wave and a small smile towards him during your last shared lecture, you haven’t had any contact with Jungwon since your last messages.
Even though it’s still only early afternoon, you’re already feeling the weight of a busy day weighing on you when you arrive at the library. A handful of minutes before four, you’re working to locate the study room Jungwon just sent you the number of.
Navigating your way through frazzled study groups and overworked, overcaffeinated upperclassmen, you finally find it with a few minutes to spare. Pulling the door open slowly, you’re half surprised to see that he’s arrived even earlier than you.
Early and straight from practice, you assume, if his still slightly damp hair is anything to go by. Freshly showered, the faint smell of his shampoo reaches you where you slide down into the seat across from him.
“Good call on the study room,” you add after your initial greeting. “I always forget how packed the library is once the semester really gets going.”
“Right?” Jungwon agrees. “I have a friend who swore by them last year, and now I’ll never go back.
“Letting you in on the study room secret,” you grin, pulling out your laptop. “That’s a true friend right there.”
“Yeah.” Something in Jungwon’s gaze softens as he nods. There’s a distinct fondness in his eyes, one that makes you think there’s a story there. One about more than just study rooms. “He is.”
When you finish settling in, you pull up your course syllabus again, clicking on the link to the assignment guidelines. “So,” you start, scanning the page one more time, “the instruction seem pretty straightforward. It looks liek we just need to pick a topic within the realm of soulmate theory and discuss recent research or developments.”
Swallowing the sudden lump in your throat, you suppress the urge to tug at your left sleeve. Eyes honing in on the screen in front of you, you force yourself into a practiced state of detachment. The one you always revert back into when discussing this particular topic.
“I don’t know if you have a topic in mind already,” you shrug, “but I’m pretty much open to anything.”
Across from you, Jungwon’s teeth start to worry at his bottom lip. He hesitates for a moment, the room suspended in silence before he ventures, “What about –” Shaking his head slightly, his words die on his lips. “Never mind.”
Looking up at him, you frown. “Is there something you’re interested in?”
“No.” Jungwon shakes his head again. “I doubt there would be any recent research, anyway.”
“Okay,” you concede. Part of you wants to push further, but you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. Instead, you type in a quick search. “I just pulled up some recent research topics, and it looks like there’s been development related to countdown colors and location based soulmate matches.” Ignoring the sudden slight burning sensation on your left wrist, you fight to maintain an even tone as you ask, “Do either of those sound interesting to you?”
Jungwon pauses for a moment, considering. “Maybe location based matches?”
Exhaling, you release a breath you hadn’t been meaning to hold. With a small nod, you tell him, “That sounds good. Let’s look for publications to reference today. We can divide them between us before we go and then take notes on them separately. We can meet up again next week at the same time to start an outline, if that works for you. We have a little over four weeks until the final paper is due, so that should give us a decent start.”
“Yeah,” Jungwon agrees. “That works for me.”
Returning to your computer, you fight the urge to steal small glances at him as he does the same. In the minutes that follow, a silence settles around you. It’s not horribly awkward, but you still find yourself itching to fill it with something.
Finally, you bite the bullet. “Would it be okay with you if I put some music on? Just something instrumental.”
Glancing up at you, your eyes meet. Again, you’re not sure how he does it. But tucked away in a library study room, his gaze reflects the lights above you in a way that looks all too much like starlight. “Sure,” Jungwon nods.
Forcing your gaze back to your screen, you navigate to your study playlist and put it on shuffle. The first handful of notes spill into the silence, a calm piano melody that cuts through some of the stagnance.
A handful of classical pieces and a dozen journal articles later, Jungwon breaks the easy rhythm the two of you have fallen into. “Clair de Lune,” he names the tune that has just begun to weave itself around the room. A small smile turns the corners of his lips upwards. “This is on my study playlist, too.”
You offer him a matching smile in return. A soft thing. A shared moment. “You like this song?” It makes sense. A boy with stars in his eyes listening to a love letter to the moon.
“Yeah,” he nods. The quiet melody sings through the air, floats around tentative glances, delicate breaths. Lands lightly on two sets of shoulders. “You know, you’re better than I am. I always end up turning on my regular playlist and then singing along to the songs instead of actually working on anything.”
That earns him a full blown smile. “Believe me,” you lean in like it’s a secret. Something meant just for the two of you. “I do that more than I probably should, too.”
A shared grin later, the two of you are back to your own laptop screens.
Even though it’s your study playlist that continues to filter softly through your speaker, you find yourself distracted for a different reason.
It’s all too easy to imagine.
Jungwon, alone in his room, eyes sparkling even as he fights off the clutches of sleep. A song playing through his speaker. An old favorite, maybe, or perhaps something he heard on the radio and hasn’t been able to get out of his head since. One that he sings along to softly, assignments lying untouched on the desk in front of him.
…..
Despite your newfound fondness of your project partner, you’re sure that Intro to Soulmate Theory will continue to be your most dreaded class until the end of the semester releases you from its twice-a-week morning monotony.
The universe, as always, seems determined to prove you wrong, though.
Just as your professor steps into position behind the podium at the front of the lecture hall, a person slides down into the usually unoccupied seat just to the left of yours.
Startled, you glance up .
“Jungwon?”
“Hey,” the boy in question smiles. Switching to a whisper as the professor begins his lecture, he adds, “I’m glad I made it on time. I thought for sure I was going to be late.”
Sliding his bag off of his shoulder, he pulls out his computer and finishes settling into the seat next to yours. Then, he sets something on the desk in front of you. “I brought this for you, by the way.”
Eyes landing on the iced coffee in front of you, you can’t find it in yourself to do anything but stare for a moment.
“I noticed you have one sometimes, in this class.” With your silence, Jungwon suddenly seems unsure of himself. “I wasn’t sure what your order was, so I just guessed based on color. And I mean, light brown can be just about anything with iced coffee, so I hope you like it. I probably should have just asked, but…” he trails off, and you don’t think you imagine the light dusting of pink that settles across his cheekbones. “But I thought it would be nicer as a surprise.”
“I – thank you.” The fondness that’s been growing since your time together in library study room begins to swell again.
You glance at him, and your heart gives a strange, unsteady lurch. Not entirely unpleasant, but disquieting all the same. For a moment, it feels like something bigger. Something more.
Something you haven’t felt since a humid afternoon in a neighborhood park that you’ve been trying to forget for a long time.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
Jungwon shrugs, but his cheeks retain their color. “I was stopping by the cafe anyway.” He gestures to the coffee on his own desk, proof of his claim. “Besides, it’s what a partner’s for.”
“Well, thank you,” you repeat. “I –”
“Again,” the sound of your professor’s voice, suddenly sharp, cuts through your words. “I’d like to give a firm reminder to you all that my lectures are not an appropriate place to carry on side conversations. Feel free to exit the room and forfeit your attendance points for the day if you are unable to refrain.”
Thoroughly cowed, you shrink back into your seat as a few wandering pairs of eyes land on you.
At your side, Jungwon shakes with a silent hint of laughter.
Despite the humiliation of essentially being asked to shut up in front of an entire lecture hall, the sight is enough to have you smiling.
And when the two of you part ways an hour later with matching smiles and a promise to see each other again Thursday afternoon, your heart feels lighter than it has in ages.
…..
When Thursday afternoon comes, it finds you and Jungwon tucked away in the same study room, sitting across from one another, laptops open, and outline for your project halfway formed.
This time, the drinks that sit on the table in front of you are courtesy of your wallet. The iced coffee Jungwon brought you a few mornings ago wasn’t your usual order, but it is what you’re sipping on now. You can’t quite decide what you enjoy more: the taste or the sentiment.
Either way, you have a feeling that a tradition of sorts may be blooming.
You can’t say that you mind. It’s nice to have something to look forward to, to have someone to share it with. It doesn’t matter that it’s small. It doesn’t matter that it’s just an unexpected coffee to help a study session pass by just a bit faster. It feels nice, to be considered. To be thought of. It feels… special.
With the same instrumental study playlist filtering through your laptop speaker, the two of you exchange a smile when Clair de Lune begins to play.
With startling clarity, you realize that you enjoy this. It’s pleasant. A project that you were dreading with dragging feet has become something you look forward to.
And you’re sure that it’s because of him.
Despite the fact that you’re poring over research that would sting like a slap to the face under any other circumstances, Jungwon’s presence has a way of soothing the ache. Even as you scan over another promising article detailing the current research on soulmate matches in various geographic regions, you find yourself fighting smiles. Stealing glances.
All Jungwon is doing is sitting next to you. Occasionally trading mindless conversations with you. But that’s enough to keep the reminders of a tragic fate lost to decisions and circumstances out of your control at bay for the time being.
You’re not sure what it is, not sure why it seems to reach you somewhere that’s remained untouched for years, but the more time you spend with Jungwon, the more you start to like it.
That odd sensation that almost feels like butterflies in your stomach. The stilted rhythm of a heartbeat that almost feels like it’s running a little faster, skipping a step every now and then.
The warmth that sits high on your cheekbones and heats almost like a flustered blush whenever he catches your eye for a little too long.
A million little almosts. A thousand little possibilities. The lingering ghost of a hundred somethings you thought you lost along with the dead countdown on your wrist two long years ago.
But you don’t let yourself voice these thoughts. You’re afraid to even let your mind linger on them for too long.
If it does, you’re worried that it will twist and tarnish whatever is taking flight into something ugly, something rotten. Will convince you that this glimmer of peace you’ve found is living on borrowed time and will only bring a future of misery in its wake.
Because the semester will end, the class will finish, and your project will be submitted.
Yang Jungwon will become nothing but a moment in time. A blip on a radar. A distant memory that you hope you’ll reflect on with fondness.
Time will continue on with its incessant march, and the countdown on your wrist will still be that ugly, faded, gray.
It doesn’t matter if the moments that pass between the two of you feel like almosts. Your fate was already written and unraveled by another man who didn’t want you.
You’re a failure. A glitch.
Pretty words and sideways glances and unexpected gestures imbued with kindness won’t change that. Won’t fix you.
Yang Jungwon will move on from this project, from this class, from you.
The countdown that you’re sure must tick bright red on his wrist will continue to get smaller and smaller, and you will be nothing but a forgotten memory.
You’re not sure why it’s so upsetting, here in the sanctity of the study room. Not sure why this series of truths you’ve always known is suddenly so devastating. But something about the way they swirl in the recesses of your mind had you flailing, desperate for air, for distance, for space.
Out loud, you choke out a halfhearted excuse about stepping out for a moment. The concern that immediately flickers across Jungwon’s features barely registers in your panic induced stupor.
You need to go. Need to get away. Need to find somewhere to be alone and away from all of it, from him. You can’t breathe –
“___?” You hear your name. You know it’s him. Hear him ask gently, “Are you okay?”
But it’s muffled. It’s all wrong.
In your haste to escape, you knock over the gift, your gesture of goodwill in the form of coffee you bought for Jungwon.
You watch, horrified, as it falls in slow motion. Hot, dark liquid spills over the table, narrowly avoiding his laptop and class notes.
Of course. Of course you ruined this, too.
“It’s okay,” you think you hear him say as he reaches for a spare napkin, dabbing at the growing puddle. But it’s not. It’s not.
He reaches for his bag, pulling out another handful of napkins from the front pocket. Instinctively, he rolls up his sleeve, the left one, to wipe up the rest of the excess liquid.
That’s when you see it. The inky 00:00 on the inside of his left wrist.
It’s not red. It’s not shiny. It doesn’t make sense for him. A boy with stars in his eyes should have love on his skin.
But even as you blink again, it remains unchanged. It’s a dull, muted, lifeless gray.
A reflection, a twin, a copy of your own.
A moment too late, his eyes fall to the skin of his wrist too. With the practiced reflexes of a trained athlete, he’s pulling it down just as quickly as he rolled it up. But it’s too late. You’ve already seen the truth.
Shared pain. Shared shame.
It grounds you. Reaching out a hand, you take a few napkins from the top of the pile.
“Here,” you offer, voice unbearably small. A million questions swim in your mind, none of which you’ll ask. “I can help.” Hollow words and a hollow sentiment. There’s nothing you can do for him, and he knows it just as well. As luck would have it, spilled coffee is the least of your shared concerns.
Nonetheless, the two of you wipe up the remainder of the spill in silence, a gentle piano melody still weaving its way around the space between the two of you. It wraps itself around both of your stained wrists, threads an invisible string between two lost souls, two shared fates.
Finally, after long minutes, you are the first one to speak. “It didn’t get on your computer, did it?”
“No,” Jungwon shakes his head. He reaches an outstretched hand towards you, taking the soiled napkins you still hold before discarding them in the trash can. “Just the table.”
“That’s good.” A moment passes. Two. And then, “I’m sorry.” You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for. You’re not sure what you should be apologizing for. In the end, you take the easy way out. “I should have paid better attention to where your cup was. You can finish mine, if you want.”
“That’s okay.” Running a hand through his hair, Jungwon explains, “I usually only drink it hot.”
“I can get you a new one –”
“Really,” he insists. “It’s okay.”
And it is. You can tell that he’s not upset, not about the coffee. But the tension is still there. Has yet to vacate the room. Has yet to drain from the tight line in his shoulders.
You saw it. You have the sinking suspicion that he knows you saw it.
That puts you at a crossroads. You can act as if nothing has happened, pretend that you saw nothing and do your best to return to your project.
But you’ve had friends and family tiptoe around you for the last two years, and it never left you feeling anything but empty. Even more unwanted, more of an anomaly. More of a glitch.
You don’t want Jungwon to feel those things. Don’t want him to feel as if he has to carry all of his pain by himself. So, you try your best, in a steady voice, hiding the shake in your hands underneath the cover of the table in front of you.
“You know,” you nod towards his arm, taking great care to keep any sign of judgement clear from your voice. “I actually work at the Student Support Center. I know it’s rare, but there are lots of people and resources there dedicated to helping people that… struggle with soulm–”
“I think we should just work on the project.” Jungwon’s lips are tight, drawn into a thin line. Avoiding your gaze, he sinks a little further into his chair. Even with his eyes trained on the floor beneath him, you can see the tension in his jaw, the uneasy tapping of his fingers against his leg.
The way he tugs at the sleeve that sits over his left wrist makes you want to press matters further, to push just a little more until he knows that he has you on his side, but you’ll respect his wishes.
You may have shared moments between the two of you, but you don’t know him, not really. The boundaries he sets are not yours to push. The lines he draws are not yours to cross.
The last thing you want to do is increase his discomfort, even if you have the sinking feeling that you’ve already done just that.
“Okay, yeah.” You take a deep inhale. “I overstepped. I’m sor–”
But Jungwon just shakes his head again. “Don’t worry about it.”
…..
But you do.
You worry about it when you head back to your down nearly an hour later, after bidding him a goodnight that was still riddled with tension.
You worry about it as you prepare dinner, accidentally leaving the stovetop on long after you’ve finished cooking.
You worry about it as you try to fall asleep, unsettling thoughts of Jungwon suffering from the same pain, the same shame you’ve been hiding for the last two years. Distantly, you wonder how long it’s been for him.
You worry about it when you arrive at your next Intro to Soulmate Theory lecture, two coffees in hand.
Your worry turns to dread when long minutes tick by and still, the seat on your left remains horribly unoccupied, coffee going cold where it sits untouched on the desk.
You worry when you arrive at work, the handful of messages you’ve sent still unanswered no matter how many times you check your phone.
10:47 am You Hi Jungwon, sorry if this is annoying but you weren’t in class today and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay
10:58 am You I’m really sorry about the other day at the library. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.
1:32 pm You Hey let me know when you see this. I just really want to make sure you’re okay.
You’ve typed and deleted a million more, unsure of how to best approach the situation. You’re not close to one another, not really. You’re not even friends. You’re project partners, and not even of your own volition.
You can’t seek him out, because you don’t know where he lives. Who he talks to. What his schedule is.
The whole situation has you feeling a bit helpless. Your shift passes in an absentminded blur as you try to piece together some kind of solution, some way of making sure he’s okay.
In your daze, you hardly notice that the clock has ticked all the way to the end of your shift. Jake finds you, an apologetic smile on his features.
His voice sounds far away, muddled as he asks you for a favor, asks if you’d be willing to pull a double tonight since the person on the evening shift just called out sick.
Usually you’d be hesitant, but right now you’re desperate for a distraction. Something to take your mind off of the fear that gnaws at your gut.
But through the fog in your mind, you’ve forgotten one thing. In your old schedule, evening shifts were always your favorite. Primarily because they’re significantly slower than the daytime ones. Back then, the reprieve had been welcome, and you’d used the extra time to finish up assignments between tasks.
But now, every agonizing minute feels like an eternity.
And it’s an especially slow night tonight. From your office seat, you watch as the light rain showers outside turn into a torrential downpour. With a sigh, you resign yourself to the fact that no one will be visiting tonight. No one will want to leave their home in weather like this.
In the silence, you’re left alone with your thoughts. Again, you check your phone screen, hoping that sometime in the last three minutes since you last checked, there will be a notification to ease your worries.
But there’s nothing. The only thing that stares back at you is the time and the faint outline of your own reflection.
Frustrated, you set your phone back down. There has to be something you can do. You’re halfway convinced that you should just go through everyone on your class list and send emails until someone knows something when the sound of the chime that hangs above the front door to the center rings out against the silence.
Peering over your computer, you frown. Maybe Jake forgot something.
But as the person draws closer, a familiar shape begins to solidify. And it’s not your favorite coworker.
“Jungwon?” It’s him. You’re sure of it. Even if he looks more like a drowned cat than the boy you share a study room with.
Your brow furrows, a strange mix of confusion and relief coloring your features as you stand from your seat. A million emotions flicker through your mind, running too fast for you to fully keep up. Annoyance that he’s been avoiding you and your messages. Confusion as to why he’s here now. And above it all, cold, sharp relief that he seems to be okay.
But then you let your eyes scan him, falling from his dark hair to his soaked sneakers.
He’s absolutely drenched, down to the bone. Rain soaked hair falls over his eyes, stray drops streaking over his cheeks, his nose, his jaw. Dripping from his dark eyelashes. His clothes, usually baggy, cling a bit closer to his frame with the added weight of precipitation.
And his eyes. His sparkling, shining eyes full of starlight.
They’re frantic now, imbued with a panic you recognize all too well.
“Jungwon,” you repeat, letting your strides eat up the ground as you close the distance that separates you.
He’s shaking, you realize. His entire body trembles. Without thinking, without even really meaning to, your hands reach up to smooth some of his dark, wet hair away from his eyes. Your touch only intensifies his shivering.
He stands, motionless, dripping on the floor. He still can’t match your gaze, has yet to breathe a single word to you.
“You’re shaking.” You can’t help but state the obvious. Removing your hand from his temple, you reach for his hand. It’s cold, too. Raindrops melt against your skin as you touch your skin to his. Finding no resistance, you envelop his hand in your own.
Tugging slightly, you pull him into a nearby room, stopping only to grab a warm blanket. Guiding him gently into a chair, you drape it over his shoulders, let it cover his entire body beneath his neck.
Stepping away from him, you begin to brew a warm cup of tea. After another minute of silence, you hand it to him wordlessly.
You watch him take a tentative sip. His fingertips are red, evidence of the lingering chill in his bones, where he wraps them around the mug.
A million questions bubble in your throat. You breathe life into none of them. Silence settles around the both of you. Not entirely unpleasant, but brimming with something heavy.
You’re not sure how much time passes like that. It could be minutes, could be hours. Could be something not bound by the rules and restraints of physics at all.
But soon enough, the mug is empty. Jungwon sighs.
“I just,” he finally breathes, and you feel your heart clench in your chest. Seizing like his pain belongs to you. His voice is ragged, scraped raw. And so, so quiet. “I couldn’t be alone.” There’s a tremble in his fingertips when he adds, “Not tonight.”
“You’re not,” you assure him, shaking your head as you step closer. After a moment of consideration, you slide down into the seat next to him. “I promise you. You’re not alone.”
Jungwon closes his eyes, lets his head fall back against the wall. You watch as his throat works around a swallow.
“Okay,” he finally whispers.
You mean it. He’s not alone. You won’t let him be. Not for the remainder of your shift. Not when the early traces of dawn start to streak in through the windows, clouds parting in the morning sky as the rain releases its grip on the world.
Not as the sun starts to peek its head over the horizon, painting the sky in pastel watercolors and the promise of a new day.
Even then, it’s just the two of you. Jugwon’s head it still against the wall. His eyes are closed, but you know he’s not sleeping.
You don’t move until he does. Until he asks in a small voice if you’ll meet him at the coffee shop the two of you have started to become regular at.
Until you honor his request with a nod and a promise to see him again in an hour.
…..
The coffee shop is mostly empty this early in the morning. You watch, sipping absentmindedly on your iced coffee as a handful of patrons come and go, moving about their day blissfully unaware of the way your world feels a bit like it’s spinning on its axis.
But you feel distant from them, too.
The corner table you and Jungwon occupy feels private, secluded. A bit like the study room you’re also well acquainted with. A fitting place for revelations.
After a minute of baited silence, Jungwon begins all at once, coffee warm between his hands.
His match was supposed to be in a park, too.
It’s interesting – the research you’ve been reading on location based matches supports claims that soulmate bonds prefer open air, areas surrounded by nature. Ironic then, that both of yours should end like this.
Jungwon’s fate was set in stone later than yours. His match failed a year ago. Exactly a year ago. Today is an anniversary for him, a terrible reminder of your shared fate, shared shame.
It was supposed to be in a park. His favorite one. A place he went often, a place he loved. He hasn’t been back since.
Not when that eerie, cosmic, magnetic pull of destiny tugged at him until he was sitting on a bench, next to the rose garden that had just begun to bloom.
Not when his breath stopped the second she arrived, and he knew, he knew that it was her. He was looking at his destiny. His soulmate.
But she wasn’t looking at him.
Not when he stood up to greet her, to meet his future with a wide smile and a fresh bouquet of wildflowers just as the shiny, red numbers on his wrist drew closer and closer to zero.
Not when he watched, a distinct sort of dread building in the pit of his stomach, as someone emerged from the opposite side of the garden. He wasn’t carrying wildflowers, but he did hold a single, ruby red rose.
Not when time ticked on, revealing with every steady, agonizing second that this stranger had the same intentions, the same plan.
The same countdown. The same fate.
Not when he watched, motionless, helpless, as this stranger met her first.
Not when he watched in abject horror as both of their faces lit up with smiles. When she took the rose from him with care in her touch and love in her eyes.
Not when he looked down at his own wrist, vision blurring as tears began to gather in his eyes, as bright, shiny red faded to a dull, lifeless gray.
Not when he was a failure, a miscalculation. An unfortunate needle in a haystack of success stories. A glitch.
Not when he watched the woman that was meant to be the love of his life fall into the arms of another man and leave him standing there alone. Lonely. Forgotten.
Not when his fingers began to shake so bad that he couldn’t maintain the grip on the bouquet.
Wildflowers stained the earth beneath him in a garish array of too bright colors, and he knew, even then, that part of his heart would be left there to die, too.
Even now, in the seat across from you in the cafe, you can see the toll it takes on him.
So you strain for a fragment of twisted comfort in the only way you know how. A reassurance that this particular cruelty is not his alone. That somehow, in an unlikely twist of fate, your paths crossed.
Laying your left arm on the table between you, you slowly drag the bottom of your sleeve up. Only an inch. And only for a moment.
It’s not a lot. Against the tides of his own agony, it’s nothing at all. But for now, it’s enough.
…..
There’s an odd sort of balance, a distinct sense of comfort that comes from the simple act of understanding. Of being understood.
It’s not quite as easy, as lighthearted as it was before, but you and Jungwon are quick to fall into a new kind of simple rhythm with one another. One that saves space for the intricacies of your shared pain and shame while still keeping them at an arm’s distance.
It’s not solace. But it is something.
You’re off tiptoes and on solid ground. For the first time in your life, you don’t feel the need to constantly check the length of your left sleeve. At least, not when you’re with him. You don’t have to pretend that it doesn’t hurt to sit through hours of lectures on soulmate theory every week.
You don't have to explain any of it. Jungwon just gets it. He already knows.
But when you meet him for your next Thursday study session, two coffees in hand, Jungwon’s eyes aren’t sparkling with their usual stars. There’s something different there now. A kind of fire you haven’t seen from him before. One that glimmers with determination.
As you slide down into the seat across from him, he skips all pleasantries and says instead, “I think we should switch our project topic.”
It takes a concentrated effort not to knock over the coffee you set down in front of you for the second time in the span of weeks. “What?” At this point, your outline has long been finished and you’re well into writing your report. The thought of changing topics with barely a week left until the submission deadline is absolutely ludicrous. “Why?”
Jungwon doesn’t miss a beat. “I think we should do our project on glitches.”
You recoil as if you’ve been slapped.
Glitch. It’s a word people usually tiptoe around, whisper behind closed doors. Not meant for respectable society and certainly has no place in a university research paper.
You don’t even take a second to consider. “No.”
“What?” Now Jungwon is the one who looks surprised. Brow creasing, he presses. “Why? I mean, we’re both gl–”
“I said no.” You can’t hear him say it again. Features falling, Jungwon’s confusion begins to mingle with hurt at the sound of your sharp rejection. This might not be something that you’re willing to compromise, but your intention was never to hurt him, either.
Sighing, you explain, “Look, I’m just not comfortable with it. Besides, we’ve done so much work on this topic already. It doesn’t make sense to switch so close to the deadline.”
Only a fraction of what you’ve said seems to resonate. After a pregnant pause, Jungwon echoes. “Not… comfortable.” His tone is flat, as if your words are indecipherable to him.
He doesn’t continue, but you can tell that he has more to say. Can sense the words bubbling on his lips, begging to drip from his tongue. This is already a sensitive subject, and it’s made even more so by the way he tiptoes around it.
Across from him, your cross your arms across your chest. “I can tell that you have something else to see.” You don’t mean to be combative, don’t mean to start anything. But annoyance is starting to creep in. It’s dragging dread along with it, like an old friend, like a dangerous reminder.
“It’s nothing.” Jungwon shakes his head. “I guess I just don’t…” He trails off for a moment, deciding how best to tread treacherous territory. “How can you not be comfortable? I mean, you’re a glitch like me. Aren’t you curious at all? About why we glitched? If there’s anything we can do to fix it?”
And there it is. The lingering fear you’ve been working for two long years to overcome. The deep, aching insecurity that beneath it all, this is all your fault. That something is fundamentally wrong with you. “Fix me, you mean.”
Jungwon frowns. “I mean, I guess you could look at it that way, but I’m more curious about what kind of solutions there are.” He presses on, oblivious to the way every word sounds like nails on a chalkboard to you. The way every syllable pierces like a knife against your skin.
He’s not overflowing with hopelessness where he sits across from you. No, he’s enthusiastic as he tells you, “I did some research the other day, actually, and there’s this one scholar who thinks that all glitches happen for a reason. He thinks that you can still meet your soulmate and get your countdown to turn back to red if–”
“Stop.” Your voice is too loud, too sharp, too much, for the scant space of this small room. “Please,” you’re whispering now, but Jungwon flinches all the same. “Just stop.”
Jungwon’s eyebrows draw into a tight furrow. You thought he understood, but he doesn’t. He still doesn’t get it. He tells you as much. “I don’t understand why you’re so against it. I mean, we finally have a chance to look into why we gli–”
“I said, stop.” Jungwon looks as if you’ve pushed him. Dumped ice cold water over his head and left him out to dry.
But now he’s angry, too. There’s an accusation in his words when he says lowly, “I thought you would understand.”
And you do. You know how flowers wither when they’re left to die without any water. You know how love blossoms and blooms and dies all within the span of a single breath. You know what it feels like to carry a constant reminder of your most intimate pain seared into your skin, your soul.
There was a time when you wanted to be fixed, too. When you would have given anything to have a second chance at that day in the park two years ago. When you were sure if you could just do it again, you would walk away with a different fate. A red countdown. A soulmate.
But the longer you spent with your grief, the more you realized that it didn’t matter. The what ifs didn’t matter. The maybes didn’t matter. The almosts didn't’ matter.
You can’t reverse time. You can’t turn back the clock until your countdown glows red again. You don’t get a second chance at that afternoon in the park.
All you get is the life you have now. And you can grieve for what you’ve lost. Part of you always will. But if you spend the rest of your life lingering on it, obsessed with it, trying to fix it, then that’s all your life will be.
You won’t just lose a soulmate. You’ll lose yourself, too.
You’ll lose new friendships and favorite coworkers and every goal and dream you’ve ever had. You’ll lose quiet moments in secluded study rooms, trading smiles and sharing coffee. You’ll lose every shred of happiness in search of something that never really existed.
Sitting here now, across from Jungwon, you’re not just angry. You feel stupid, too. Ridiculous for ever thinking that maybe, just maybe, butterflies bloomed in the pit of his stomach when he looked at you, too.
That maybe, just maybe, when he matched your gaze, your eyes turned ordinary things into starlight, too.
But even with gray on his wrist and pain in his heart, the distance between the two of you has never felt wider.
Jungwon won’t even match your eye now. He aims for the heart instead. “You know, you’re the only person I’ve ever met who I thought would understand. Who knows what it’s like. To lose the only thing in life that really matters.” His voice is small, but it’s teeming with frustration, with misplaced anger. There’s an unmistakable fury in his eyes when he finally lets his gaze land on yours. But you know him now, even better than you thought. You see the pain just as clearly. The confusion, the hurt.
And where he expects to find an apology, or perhaps some sort of agreement, he’s met only with a rage to rival his own.
“Fuck you.” It’s barely decipherable under your breath, but he catches it, even if just barely.
“What?”
You double down. “I said, fuck you, Jungwon. How dare you. You think you’re the only one who’s ever been hurt, the only person that this stupid fucking system screwed over?” And now your anger has been let loose, the floodgates opened. It rises, ebbs and flows like waves against a shore. Weathering over all the sharp pieces and jagged edges that time hasn’t yet managed to erode. Spills over onto the table like his forgotten coffee from weeks ago.
“Why do you think I work at the support center? Why do you think you’ve never seen me in a short sleeve shirt?”
You’re angry and you’re hurting and you understand his pain. But it’s worse this time. You don’t know why his determination to fix his failed soulmate match stings like rejection. You can’t figure out why it burns in a way that’s all too reminiscent of that afternoon in the park two years ago.
You feel it all, under your skin like an itch you can’t scratch, an ache you can’t get rid of. You don’t know why he didn’t just stop when you asked him, why he won’t just listen to you.
“At least you get to wonder what might have happened.” You don’t mean to do it, to throw his hurt back in his face. To compare pain, to stack your scars against one another and measure them like there’s a winner in this game. “I met my soulmate. I met him and talked to him and fell in love with him and he still didn’t want me. It doesn’t matter what some scholar says. You can’t fucking fix that.”
You’re standing before you know it, heading to the door before you mean to. But you can’t stay here, can’t watch him look at you like that. Not when every word that passes between you opens wounds you’ve spent ages trying to clean.
Not when you know that none of it, even the parts you’d hoped you’d remember fondly, were ever done intentionally. He didn’t mean to hurt you. Didn’t mean to give you butterflies or look at you with starlight in his eyes, and that only makes it worse.
You’re already beneath the doorframe when you find it in yourself to add, “You’re hurting and you’re lonely and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You don’t deserve that pain, and you never will. But I refuse to do this again, to spend the rest of my life thinking there’s something wrong with me. That it’s my fault, that I can fix everything, fix myself, if I just try hard enough. My matched glitched.” You still can’t quite say the word without flinching. “I’m a glitch. But I refuse to let that be the only thing I am.”
When the door shuts behind you, it echoes, even in the crowded hallway.
Your footsteps feel too heavy as they eat up the ground between you and the front door of the library. The late autumn air feels too cold as you walk back to your dorm, enveloped in the quiet of the evening, mind screaming with misplaced rage.
The silence of your dorm room is too loud as you sit alone in it.
And the mark on your wrist is too gray, no matter how you look at it.
…..
Jungwon is antsy.
Even with the space of a day between him and your argument, he’s brimming with a sort of uncontained energy that will only spell trouble if he doesn’t find a way to channel it.
Taekwondo practice helps, albeit only slightly. Physically, at least, it grounds him. There’s a solace to be found in the repetitive motion of his well aimed kicks.
He welcomes the familiar ache in his muscles like an old friend, sweat building on his brow as he lets the calm, flowing energy guide his powerful movements.
But even after two hours on the mat and a long, overly warm shower, Jungwon’s thoughts are still spinning in circles, still doing cartwheels through his mind. He needs to talk, needs to process everything that’s happened, everything that he’s feeling.
But save for one person, he’s not sure who to go to.
It’s then, the last member of his team still towelling off in the locker room, that he realizes that under any other circumstance, the first person that he would want to reach out to, to spill his heart and guts and soul out to, is you.
It’s been weeks, a handful of days, a smattering of hours, since you became a name in his mind. A person with an identity other than the pretty girl that sits in the sixth row of the lecture hall, and yet.
And yet.
Jungwon is suddenly overcome with the urge to reach for his phone, to send a message, make a phone call. His better judgement stops him before he can.
Mostly because he has no idea what he would say. An apology is in order, surely. He still sees the look on your face against the backs of his eyelids. The way pain etched itself into your features, the way your shoulders never quite relaxed after he suggested the topic change on your project.
He’s not sure if this is even something that can be remedied with words, but he is absolutely certain that he never wants to see that look on your face again.
So an apology it is, then. But for what, exactly?
If he’s honest with himself, he still doesn’t fully understand.
He let his anger, his frustration, his pain get the best of him, yes, but it was more than that. He’s not sure why you seemed so personally affected by the idea of exploring research around soulmate glitches. Why that word seemed to eat at you so much.
So he lets his confusion carry him to the only place where he thinks he just might find an answer.
The Student Support Center looks different in the daytime. Jungwon still feels that nagging sense of discomfort as he forces his feet through the front door.
His shame feels most prominent here, in a place where admitting that he needs help still feels like weakness to him.
Swallowing his pride, he forces his footsteps forward. The desk he found you at a handful of night ago is empty. But the one next to it is occupied with another student, a boy. One that looks a couple of years older than you, if he had to guess.
He smiles when he sees Jungwon, offering a generic greeting before he takes another look at him.
Jake, he thinks it must be, if your descriptions are anything to go by. Another person that Jungwon has begun to become familiar with in the past few weeks, albeit only by your secondhand account.
And you must have done the same for him, because Jake is quick to mask his shock with something careful, guarded.
“Hi,” he repeats, standing from her seat. “I’m Jake.” Looking him over once more, something akin to a sigh escapes his lips. “You must be Jungwon.”
Jake, as it turns out, is surprisingly easy to talk to. He understands why you like him so much.
In a matter of minutes, a fairly abridged version of your last library session has been reconstructed, laid bare in front of eyes that know you best.
Jake is silent for a moment, turning over thoughts in his mind before he finally says, “It’s not my story to tell.” Jungwon figured as much. “But I think she would, if you asked.”
Jungwon nods. It’s permission. From an indirect source, maybe, but hope flutters through his chest all the same. He has a goal now, something to work towards. Something that he hopes will fix whatever has shattered between the two of you.
There’s a brief pause before Jake speaks again. “What I can say is that she’s done a lot of work to move on. To find meaning in her life outside of the number on her wrist. To stop feeling incomplete, like a burden, like a problem to be solved.”
And I threw those fears back in her face, Jungwon realizes, something twisting unpleasantly in his gut.
The despair must play out on his features, because Jake is gentle when he says, “I won’t pretend to know what it’s like, but I do know how it feels to grieve for what could have been. It’s easier, sometimes, I think, to let that consume you. To spend your life trying to get as close to that lost future as you can, even though you know it will never be quite right. Even though you know you’re chasing ghosts.”
Jake folds his hands across his lap, lacing his fingers together.
“She made the decision to let those ghosts rest, to let that part of her life go. To find something else worth living for instead. For the small moments, maybe. For joy, for love. All those things that she still gets to feel.”
That you still get to feel. Jake doesn’t say it, but Jungwon hears it all the same.
“Those things that nothing, not even fate, gets to take away.”
Jungwon glances down at his wrist. It’s covered, but he can feel the ever present weight of it. Of the gray mark that he knows, deep down, will never fade. Will never change.
And for the first time in a long time, that truth doesn’t feel quite so heavy.
“I…” Jungwon isn’t sure how to wrap his gratitude in words. “Thank you.” For telling him. For helping you. For being here. “For all of it.”
“Of course.” Jake smiles. Lets his fingers fall to his sides as he stands, brushing invisible dust from his lap. “Joy is even better when it’s shared, no?”
Joy is even better when it’s shared.
For the first time in a long time, Jungwon smiles. A real smile, a face-splitting, toothy, uncontrollably wide smile. One that hurts his cheeks and reaches all the way to his eyes.
It’s still there when he’s walking back to his dorm.
It’s still there when he sits down at his desk, reaching for his computer and turning on the last playlist he was listening to earlier, just for something to fill the silence.
After a handful of moments, a familiar melody begins to lilt through his speaker.
Clair de Lune. It’s a tune he would know anywhere. It reminds him of moonlight, of starlight, and everything in between. It reminds him of long study sessions and stolen glances and tentative whispers.
It makes him smile even harder.
Looking at the computer in front of him, Jungwon thinks fate just might be a tangible thing.
He feels it in the back of his throat first and then the base of his nose. The telltale stinging sensations that always comes at the first sign of tears.
He lets it. Welcomes it. Allows them to fall.
Alone in his room, hard, long sobs wrack his entire body and leave him gasping for air. Sorrow and grief and anger and joy all tangled together in one.
Because Jungwon is done mourning himself, the ghost of a life that has haunted him for the last year. The future that was never his to begin with. The weight of possibilities that time cannot undo, that sheer will alone cannot change.
Joy is even better when it’s shared.
And he thinks he’ll start with himself.
…..
The knock on your front door is unexpected. And it comes just too late at night for you to feel comfortable opening it without a second thought. Footsteps padding as silently as possible towards the entrance to your dorm, you run through the short list of people you think could possibly be knocking at your door at this hour and come up blank.
Against your better judgement, you undo the latch, opening the door slowly as if that will be enough to deter any unwanted visitors.
Thankfully, the sliver of space doesn’t reveal a threat. But it does have your brow furrowing in confusion.
“Jungwon? How did you–”
Explanations for how he found your address are not at the top of his priority list. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, words tumbling out all at once. “I don’t…” A pained expression crosses his features. “I’m not good with words, and I don’t always know what the best thing to say is, but I’m sorry. I never should have said those things about you, about us. I – we’re not glitches.” He pauses, frowning. “I mean, we are, but that’s okay. We’re okay. There’s nothing to fix, and I’m sorry that I made it sound like I think otherwise.”
He trails off again, jaw working as he swallows the lump in his throat. “I… You have to know that I think the absolute world of you, ___. I would never, ever want to say or do something that makes you think otherw–oof.”
Jungwon’s words die with the sudden impact of your head against his chest, arms wrapping tight around his torso. Shock renders him immobile, just for a moment, before he’s melting into your touch. Returning your embrace as his arms twine around your back, fingers settling against your spine.
It’s all there, wrapped up in this moment. A solid foundation. A warm place to land. Things that futures can be built upon. Things that can breathe life into possibilities, into almosts, into maybes.
“Thank you,” you whisper, and it’s lost somewhere against the skin of his neck.
“For what?”
“For everything you said.” You melt a little further into him, and Jungwon hopes that he never has to move. “For being here.”
You mean it. He knows it.
He lets his cheek rest against the crown of your head. You feel the movement of his jaw when he tells you, “It’s the only place I wanted to be.”
He means it. You know it.
…..
epilogue.
“Where are you taking me?”
“You know,” Jungwon rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his lips, too. “The more you keep asking that question, the less inclined I am to answer it.”
Huffing, you argue. “We’ve been walking for thirty minutes.” With still no destination in sight, mind you. “Don’t I deserve some kind of explanation.”
“That’s what the coffee was for.” Jungwon’s smile turns into a grin, one of those real ones that lights up his eyes. That has starlight reflecting in them. One that has you returning a smile o your own, despite your complaints. “To distract you from the physical labor.”
“Well, we can’t all be on the taekwondo team.”
Jungown just rolls his eyes again. “We’re almost there. I promise.”
And despite it all, you believe him. Because it’s been six months since you were first assigned as project partners and nearly two since your shared class ended. And he’s still here. Still a permanent fixture in your life. Still responsible for so many moments you’ve come to look forward to, so many memories you know you’ll cherish forever.
Because despite the gray numbers on your wrists, you’re both dressed for the activity. It’s nearing winter now, but it’s unseasonably warm. With the physical exertion included, it’s weather that calls for short sleeves.
Because there’s no one else you’d walk thirty minutes towards an undisclosed location for.
Because there’s no one else that understands you the way he does, not just from shared circumstances, but also as a result of effort. Of honest conversations and the genuine desire to listen. To learn you. To know you like the back of his hand.
Because to him, you’re just you. A person capable of joy and anger and grief and love and all of the beautiful, wonderful, messy things that comes with being a human. You’re not a failure, not something to fix. Your identity isn’t constrained to the gray mark on your wrist.
Because you think you might love him for it.
Because you know that you do.
And when you finally arrive at the small neighborhood park ten minutes later, the only thing you’re thinking about is how beautiful the lake looks bathed in the glow of afternoon sunlight.
Later, sprawled on a picnic blanket underneath the shade of an old sycamore tree, overlooking that same lake, you’ll turn to him and whisper some nonsense about recent studies claiming that soulmates often find each other surrounded by nature. Particularly in the presence of a body of water.
Jungwon will roll his eyes, will brush a strand of hair away from your forehead while he tells you that he doesn’t care, that it doesn’t matter, that it’s all a bunch of nonsense anyway.
His smile will be soft, as he hands you the small makeshift bouquet of wildflowers you hadn’t noticed him collecting on your journey here. You’ll tuck your favorite one behind your ear before you lean back against his chest.
And it will feel a little bit like coming home, like resting after a long day, like basking in the first rays of sunshine as winter finally releases its grip on the world and blooms into a glorious spring when he intertwines his fingers with yours and whispers against the shell of your ear that he thinks you’re beautiful.
Fate is a funny thing, you’ll think as his breath tickles the skin of your neck, sends a shiver down the length of your spine.
And no matter how many nights we’ve spent berating it, cursing it, resenting it, I’ll always be glad that it has led us to this. Or maybe, you’ll wonder as he presses a gentle kiss to the curve of your cheekbone, the space between your eyebrows.
Maybe we led it. Grabbed fate by the collar and forced it to bend to our whims like that masters of destiny we are.
Whatever it may be, I’m glad that it brought me here.
To joy. To love.
And most of all, to you.
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
note: Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed. As always, I love hearing your thoughts. All the best ♡♡
Lover of Mine || 18+
Synopsis: The kingdom's greatest archer only trusted his wife to string his bow.
Pairing: archer!Yuma x wife!reader
Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, p in v, unprotected sex (not for you idiot), cock riding, oral (f receiving), edging, praise, degradation, dom!yuma, sub!reader, lots and lots of kisses, my romantic poetry era back again did you miss me, mention of blood, me having no idea about archery terms
A/N: sigh nika @kwnnies my beloved you should never have given me this idea because lord the way i locked in GENUINELY BAFFLING and now I want Yuma to manhandle me. Gang i fear this era was meant to wipe us all out concept wise yall would not believe the way we were crashing out in the gc. Romantic Yuma debut on this blog because nika deserves it yuma bro go kiss her already. As always, enjoy, my darlings!
Word Count: 11.8k (kisssesssss)
The story of Cupid and his lover Psyche is a well known one. Do you know what it is about, dearest reader?
They say Psyche was as beautiful as mortals came and Cupid, the angel of love, was far too weak to resist, for love makes weaklings out of all of us. He pricked himself with his own arrow, and consequently fell deep in love, disobeying his mother Venus’ order to prick Psyche with it.
The rest of the story goes as all stories do. An adventure for love, a shadowy betrayal, a trip to the underworld and a happily ever after. And a banquet as well! What else could one need?
Love, in Yuma’s opinion, was the only food he needed in order to survive in this rotten world. And with his beloved wife by his side? Survival was only an option, placed below truly living.
To live is to breathe and to breathe is to remind your lungs how much they love the taste of air. For Yuma however, to live was to keep his beloved in his arms all day long in the bed, even as she argued that the sun was already up. How else could he survive without his personal oxygen?
A sigh escaped you, a sound of exasperation that he felt more than heard, his nose tucked into the warm curve of your neck where your pulse beat a steady rhythm. The morning light was painting gold stripes across the rumpled sheets, and duty, that stern and utterly unromantic master, was calling.
Calling who exactly? Definitely your husband, but was he going to listen? Might as well have asked him to capture a butterfly’s feet.
“Yuma.” You deadpanned, trying to twist your head to look back at him. His arms around your waist, only tightened in response. “I need to get up.”
“No.” The word was a low, sleepy murmur against your skin, vibrating through you.
“Yuma.” You pushed back against his chest, but it was like trying to shift a warm, stubborn boulder.
“No.”
His voice came out muffled against your skin, warm breath fanning over the side of your neck as his nose pressed further into that spot he seemed to have claimed as his own. His arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer, as if there were still space left between your bodies to erase.
Oh your darling husband, ever so stubborn to leave you in the morning. It was like trying to pry away a quill from a poet deep in thought, in other words, an impossible task. You managed to turn your shoulders slightly, enough to catch the glint of determined affection in his half-lidded eyes.
“Yuma,” you tried again, your tone flatter now, though it lacked any real conviction, courtesy to you being so in love with him, “I need to fix your bow darling. You’ll be late for practice otherwise.”
“Mmh, tragic.” A quiet hum vibrated against your shoulder.
“Oh come now.” You said softly, fighting back a laugh at his adorable morning voice, “Doesn’t the kingdom need its best archer?” Yuma made a dismissive sound, a soft hmph.
“The kingdom,” he declared, his voice gaining a little more strength, though it remained a soft rumble, “has stood for centuries. It can do without its best archer for one day.” He nuzzled deeper, inhaling slowly as if memorizing your scent, “But I fear the archer cannot survive without his morning ration.”
“Ration?” you asked, playing along.
“Mmhh, kisses.” He murmured, shifting so his forehead brushed the back of your neck, “Very crucial for health.”
You laughed softly, he truly could be so dramatic sometimes, attempting to push his arm away, but he only responded by tangling your fingers with his and anchoring them against your chest. His other arm slid higher, caging you in more securely. It was unfair, really—how easily he could keep you there, how little your body seemed to protest.
“Yuma,” you warned, though it came out gentler than intended, “the sun is already up.”
“Then it can watch,” he replied lazily.
Before you could formulate another protest about duty or daylight, his hands shifted. One arm slid beneath you, the other around your shoulders, and with a gentle, inexorable strength, he rolled you onto your back. He hovered above you, his frame blocking the sun, his eyes fond and utterly focused.
Those eyes had never changed. From the moment you’d met to the day of your wedding to every single lazy morning like this, they’d always remained those same eyes you’d give anything in the universe to capture in a bottle and keep all to yourself.
Lovers were said to share souls, could they not share eyes? As macabre as it sounded, your husband supported your decision, promising to let you have them once the king allowed it.
“The kingdom,” Yuma whispered, his breath a warm caress against your lips, “is out there.” He nodded vaguely toward the window. “But my world is right here.”
Your protest barely made it past your lips before he descended, not on your lips first, but on your forehead. His kiss there was soft, a gentle press of fealty, as if blessing your thoughts. He trailed a line of them, each a tiny brand down to your temple. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, and you felt the faint scratch of his morning stubble, a beloved roughness.
He kissed the corner of your eye, where dreams lingered, and then the crest of your cheekbone.
“See?” he murmured between kisses. “Without this, my hands will shake.” To prove his point, he let his fingers trace a dramatically trembling path down your arm, making you giggle.
Yuma kissed the bridge of your nose, a quick, affectionate tap. “Without this,” he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “my sight blurs. How could I possibly hit a target?” His lips found the apple of your other cheek, lingering there, sucking gently until a soft sigh escaped you.
Your husband mapped the landscape of your face with a devotion that could have rivalled that of the priests. Or perhaps even the sun, who worshiped the moon everyday.
Each kiss was a quiet word in a language only the two of you spoke. He dotted a series of them along your jawline, his nose brushing your skin, and you felt the last of your resistance melt away, replaced by a liquid, golden warmth that pooled in your stomach.
Finally, when your face was tingling from his attention and your eyes had fluttered closed, he reached his destination. His lips met yours in a slow and deep kiss. It tasted of mornings and shared breath, a kiss that said here and mine and this is living. When he finally pulled back, just an inch, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes were shining.
“The bow can wait.” Yuma said softly, stealing another quick peck, “But my soul cannot, my dearest.”
You let out a quiet breath, one that felt like it had been stolen from you somewhere between his first excuse and his last kiss.
“Your soul…” you repeated, eyes closed. “How unfortunate for the kingdom, then.”
“Truly tragic.” Yuma murmured, entirely unrepentant.
His thumb brushed along your lower lip where his mouth had just been, as if committing even that to memory. He watched you like there was nothing else in the world worth aiming for—no target, no duty and most importantly, no call of responsibility that could pull him away from this, from you.
“You’re insufferable.” You said, opening your eyes and smiling up at him.
“And yet you married me.” Yuma replied softly, pressing a gentler kiss to your forehead.
“That bow won’t fix itself.” You tried again, weaker now, your argument unraveling even as you spoke it.
“No,” he agreed easily. “It won’t.”
“And you’re the one who insisted it had to be restrung today.”
“I did.”
“And yet—”
“And yet,” he interrupted softly, leaning in just enough for his nose to brush yours, “I’ve discovered a far more pressing concern.” You huffed, though it came out breathless when his lips ghosted over yours.
“And what is that, dearest husband?” You asked, though the answer was obvious.
“You.” He said, like it was the simplest truth he knew.
He didn’t move to kiss you again, not yet. Instead, he held you there, suspended in the quiet space between his words and his touch. The morning light had shifted, painting a brighter stripe across his shoulder, but he seemed oblivious to it. His world, as he’d declared, was the circle of your shared breath, the press of his body against yours, the way your smile was the only thing that could soften the big bad scary archer.
“You,” he repeated, his voice a low murmur that vibrated in your chest. “My first duty, forever and always.” His hand, which had been tracing your jaw, slid down to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb resting on the pulse point there. “How can I possibly defend a kingdom,” he asked, his tone suddenly, strangely solemn, “if I cannot first secure my own heart’s fortress?”
“Poetry will not get you out of this, my love.” You giggled, your heartbeat quickening at his words, “So,” you said, your voice softer now, all the fight gone out of it, “your morning practice?” The morning light had long since filled the room, but it felt like time had paused somewhere outside the walls, waiting patiently for the moment you chose to rejoin it, “Will the kingdom survive?”
“Probably.” Yuma replied, finally closing the distance. His lips moved against yours with a tenderness that spoke of pure love, the kiss of a man checking the integrity of his most precious weapon, the kiss of a gardener tending a beloved bloom.
“And what about you?” You said, when you broke away, “Will you survive?”
A small smile tugged at his lips as his thumb traced absent circles along your jaw. He brushed his nose along yours again, an affectionate, silly gesture that made the profound sentiment feel light.
“I won’t,” he said simply, “if you get up right now.”
You stared at him for a moment, fully aware of how ridiculous he was being. You laughed then, a soft, surrendered sound.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you love me.”
His arms tightened around you, settling you back into the pillows, his body curling around yours once more. The sun was fully up now, the day’s demands gathering like clear voices beyond the window. But in the warm, drowsy fortress of your bed, with Yuma’s nose once again tucked contentedly against your neck.
What ever were you to do with your love struck Cupid?
_______________
The best archer in the kingdom had one rule and one rule only. His wife and only his wife, was allowed to touch and string his bow. Anybody else who came within a five metre radius of his bow would be struck down immediately.
Nicholas wished he was exaggerating when he said those words, but the memory of Yuma glaring daggers into him when he accidentally brushed his bow lingered at the back of his head. Now, as he stood at the edge of the forest, sighing his fiftieth sigh of the hour, he wondered what Yuma was doing.
Nicholas kicked lightly at a stray pebble, watching it skitter across the dry ground before disappearing into the grass. His mare flicked an ear beside him, wholly uninterested in his impatience, too busy chewing with blissful commitment. He envied the mare, no more responsibilities other than eating carrots and galloping around.
“The best archer in the kingdom,” he muttered under his breath, “and not a feather of him in sight.”
As the morning sun warmed the practice grounds, Nicholas leaned against a weathered wooden post, his gaze fixed on the empty spot where Yuma should have been, drilling with relentless precision.
“He’s probably still wrapped around her like a vine.” Nicholas muttered to his mare, who flicked her tail, “Or he’s getting that damn bow fixed.”
Which would take fifteen more hours, considering that you were the one doing it. Nicholas remembered the time his sleeve brushed against the bow and the way Yuma’s head had snapped toward him. That look, sharp, lethal and entirely disproportionate to the crime.
“My wife strings it.” He remembered Yuma saying, as if the bow itself had taken vows alongside him. Nicholas huffed, shaking his head, though a small smile tugged at his lips. It wasn’t entirely surprising, atleast not when he thought about the wedding.
It had been…excessive. Not in grandeur—though there had been enough of that too—but in devotion, in the way Yuma had looked at you like the world had narrowed down to a single point and that point stood at the end of the aisle.
Nicholas remembered standing off to the side, half-listening to the priest, half-watching his friend unravel like yarn. Yuma had always been so composed and precise, the kind of man who measured distance, wind and breath, who never missed.
And yet, that day his hands had trembled and he had nearly walked into a tree before the ceremony. He had watched as Yuma took your hands, like he was handling something infinitely fragile and precious, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real, that you had chosen him. And when you had smiled? Oh that had been it.
Gone was the kingdom’s best archer, gone was the man of perfect aim and steady breath. In his place stood someone entirely, hopelessly yours.
Struck by his own arrow, Nicholas remembered thinking. The kingdom’s deadliest archer, rendered completely, beautifully vulnerable by love.
The snap of a branch brought him back to the present. He straightened, hand instinctively moving to the hilt at his side before relaxing when two familiar figures emerged.
Maki burst out first, all restless energy and bright eyes, brushing leaves from his sleeves like he had just returned from a grand expedition instead of a routine scout. Euijoo emerged later, his practical leathers dusty, his expression one of weary exasperation.
“There’s nothing in there!” Maki announced a little too loudly, as if the forest might argue back.
“There’s nothing dangerous in there,” Euijoo corrected calmly, flicking a stray twig off his shoulder. “Plenty of ways to get lost though. He nearly proved that.”
“I did not.” Maki protested immediately, turning back to him. “I knew exactly where I was going.”
“You walked in a circle.”
“It was a strategic circle.”
Nicholas snorted, the sound cutting cleanly through their bickering. “Glad to see the kingdom’s future is in capable hands,” he drawled.
“At least I showed up.” Maki shot him a look, a long dimple appearing on the side of his cheek as he straightened his lips into a line.
Nicholas raised his hands in mock surrender, though his eyes flicked, once again, toward the empty path. Still no Yuma. He sighed again—his fifty-first, if anyone was counting.
Euijoo rolled his eyes, joining Nicholas by the post. “Let him be. One day won’t collapse the borders. Besides,” he added, a faint smirk touching his lips, “if his wife is stringing his bow, it means he’s preoccupied with the pre-stringing rituals.”
Maki blinked, confused. “Pre-stringing rituals?”
Nicholas and Euijoo shared a look—a look of older, understanding men. Nicholas cleared his throat.
“It’s….a marital thing.” He said, pressing down a laugh at Maki's innocent eyes, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”
“That man,” Euijoo said, “would forget how to shoot entirely if it meant staying beside her a moment longer.”
Maki followed his gaze, quiet for a second. “Would he?” he asked thoughtfully.
“Well….” Nicholas started, “It’s more about his….focus.”
“Why would his focus depend on his wife?” Maki tilted his head to the side, big brown eyes shining with young curiosity.
“Take it this way.” Euijoo said, a little more kindly. “Yuma believes his accuracy comes from a calm center. And his calm center is her.”
Maki’s brow furrowed, trying to parse this archer’s philosophy. “So if she’s helping his center then his shooting will be better today?” Euijoo let out a soft huff of amusement, folding his arms as he considered Maki’s question.
“In theory,” he said, glancing briefly toward the path, “yes. In practice though it means he’ll arrive late, look entirely too pleased with himself, and still somehow outshoot all of us.”
“Infuriating, isn't it?” Nicholas snorted.
Maki’s face lit up at that, the logic finally settling into place. “So he’s basically the strongest when she’s with him.”
“Something like that,” Euijoo replied, clearly amused by the youngest’s interest in romantic endeavours.
“And weakest when she’s not,” Nicholas added dryly. “Which explains why we’re all standing here, waiting like fools.”
As if summoned by the complaint itself, the faint sound of approaching footsteps carried through the clearing. All three of them turned to see Yuma, his bow perfectly strung and gleaming, slung over his back. A soft, placid contentment rested in his eyes, and a slight, private smile lingered on his lips. He looked like a man who had just drunk from a sacred spring.
Maki brightened. “Yuma!”
“Nice of you to join us!” Nicholas called out. “Did you have trouble finding your way? Get lost in your own courtyard?” Yuma didn’t so much as break his stride.
“If I had,” he replied calmly, stepping fully into the clearing, “I imagine I would have enjoyed the scenery.”
“Disgusting.” Nicholas made a face.
“Apologies, gentlemen.” Yuma said, though his tone suggested he wasn’t particularly burdened by them. “I was occupied.”
Euijoo’s smirk returned. “We gathered as much.”
Up close, it was worse. That look on Yuma’s face—soft and unbothered, faintly glowing with something Nicholas would have to shut Maki’s ears to name—made it painfully obvious exactly what had delayed him.
Maki leaned forward slightly, eyes flicking between them. “Your bow looks different today.”
Yuma glanced down at it, fingers brushing lightly along the curve, checking the tension with a small pull. The string gave a clean, perfect note, almost like a nuthatch’s call.
“It’s as it should be,” he said.
Nicholas threw his hands up. “Of course it is.”
Euijoo tilted his head, studying him more closely now. “No adjustments?”
“None needed.”
“That confident?”
Yuma met his gaze evenly. “Yes.” There was no arrogance in the word, only certainty. The bow his wife stringed would be the most perfect bow in the world.
Nicholas groaned. “I hate when he does that.”
Maki blinked. “Does what?”
“Exists like that,” Nicholas shot back. “Like the rest of us are wasting our time even trying.”
Yuma ignored him entirely, stepping past them toward the marked range at the edge of the clearing where a series of targets stood—some near, some placed deeper into the treeline where shadows made the shots trickier. He rolled his shoulders once, loosening the last traces of stillness from his body.
“Shall we begin?” he asked.
Maki perked up immediately. “Yes!”
Yuma said nothing, as Euijoo assessed the wind, Nicholas pushed himself off the post and stood with his arms crossed and Maki simply watched on, admiring his senior.
Yuma reached back, drew an arrow, and in one smooth motion, fluid and effortless, nocked it. For a brief moment, everything stilled, the air, the leaves, the very earth. Yuma inhaled, drew and released.
The arrow cut cleanly through the space between them, disappearing into the deeper range and struck dead center. A sharp thunk echoed through the trees.
“Already?” the younger archer squeaked, his voice full of awe. “No warm-up? No nothing?”
Euijoo let out a soft, knowing exhale, a puff of air that held a world of resigned admiration. “His warm-up was at home,” he murmured, too low for Maki to catch.
Nicholas finally uncrossed his arms, his expression one of profound annoyance edged with begrudging respect. He stared at the distant bullseye, then at Yuma’s serene profile, then back at the target. The sheer, unshakeable certainty of it was galling.
“I’m going to push you into a river,” Nicholas declared flatly.
Yuma didn’t react to the threat, simply reaching for another arrow, rolling it once between his fingers before sliding it back into the quiver.
“A river wouldn’t help,” he said mildly. “My aim would recover.”
Nicholas let out a sharp breath through his nose. “Unbelievable.”
“You know…” Euijoo’s gaze shifted toward the deeper stretch of forest, where the trees grew denser and the light thinned into long, uneven shadows. “One clean shot doesn’t mean the day’s done.” Yuma followed his line of sight.
“Indeed it doesn't." He agreed. He turned slightly, addressing all three of them now. “Tracks run deeper today, heavier game maybe.”
“Like what?” Maki straightened immediately.
“Boar.” Yuma said. “Possibly more than one.”
“Finally.” Nicholas groaned, stretching his arms above his head, “Something worth the wait.”
Euijoo nodded once. “Then we move.”
There was no further discussion needed. The prospect of a real hunt had instantly shifted the mood, Maki’s awe turning to eager energy, Nicholas’s irritation to competitive focus and Euijoo’s practicality to sharp readiness. They gathered their gear and moved into the dappled shade of the woods, the atmosphere shifting from the open clarity of the field to the hushed, watchful intimacy of the forest.
They moved with practiced quiet, a well-oiled unit. Yuma led, his steps silent, his eyes missing nothing—a bruised fern, a turned stone, the cleaved imprint in the soft earth near a creek bank.
As they settled into a slow, stalking pace along the game trail, Maki, buzzing with the dual excitement of the hunt and Yuma’s earlier display, found himself walking just behind his idol. The question that had been burning in him since he first heard the rule spilled out in a hushed, reverent whisper.
For a while, he said nothing. But curiosity, as always, won.
“Yuma?” he whispered, careful not to break the hush too loudly.
A quiet hum in response. “Mm?”
Maki hesitated, then pressed on. “How did you meet your wife?”
“Oh no.” Nicholas closed his eyes briefly, sighing, “Here we go.” Euijoo’s lips twitched, though he kept his gaze forward.
Yuma was quiet for several steps, his gaze scanning the undergrowth, but a softness came into his eyes that had nothing to do with the dappled light. He didn’t seem to mind the question; in fact, he seemed to settle into it, as if remembering was its own kind of warmth.
“It’s no grand story.” He said after a moment, voice low enough to blend with the forest.
“A grand lie, old friend.” Nicholas said, to which Euijoo chuckled. Yuma ignored him.
“When I first saw her,” He continued, “it was like time itself ceased.”
“My hearing shall cease until this story is over.” Nicholas muttered.
Three years ago
The late afternoon sun had been a spill of honey over the royal archery grounds, gilding the dust motes that danced in the air. Yuma was alone, caught in the meditative rhythm of his craft.
Arrow after arrow, each one precise, each one landing where it was meant to. The rhythm of it had been familiar, draw, breathe in and shoot. The thwip-thud of arrow meeting straw was the only punctuation in the quiet world.
Then, a sound—an interruption to his focus.
A soft, clear humming, drifting from the path that skirted the practice field. It was a simple, wandering tune, the kind someone makes when they believe themselves alone. It was utterly un-self-conscious, and it slipped through his concentration like sunlight through a shutter. He lowered his bow, the arrow still nocked and turned.
And there you were.
Oh there the other part of his soul was.
You were walking along the path, a basket of late-blooming herbs hooked over your arm. You weren’t looking at the archery field, your head was tilted up, watching a pair of sparrows chase each other through the branches of an old oak. The golden light caught in your hair, glowing like filaments of angel dust around your face. You were smiling faintly at the birds, completely absorbed in your own small, peaceful world.
And Yuma, whose entire existence was built on noticing the smallest details—the shift of a leaf in the wind, the subtle tremor in a target—saw everything. The graceful line of your neck as you looked up, the way your fingers, stained faintly green from the herbs, absently brushed a leaf from your skirt.
In that moment, the bow in his hand felt alien, the target thirty paces away seeming meaningless. The entire, precise architecture of his focus—the thing that made him the kingdom's best—collapsed inward, replaced by a single, staggering point of awareness—you.
He didn't mean to speak. The word left him as if pulled by a force greater than his own will.
"You'll scare them."
Your eyes, wide and surprised, found his—the colour of them a blend of universes he never knew could be so beautiful.
"The sparrows," he clarified, his voice sounding rough to his own ears from disuse. He gestured weakly with his bow. "Your humming is lovely. But they're skittish."
You blinked, then a slow, genuine smile spread across your face. “My apologies to the audience then.” You said, your voice matching the clear quality of your hum.
“Was she really that pretty?” Maki cut in, breaking Yuma’s focus. Nicholas snorted, and Euijoo gave Maki a look that was both exasperated and pitiful.
"Maki," Euijoo said, his voice low, "you've just interrupted the single most sacred memory our lovesick friend possesses.”
Yuma didn’t answer immediately. They were still now, half-crouched in the undergrowth, the distant rustle of something threading through the quiet. His bow was already in his hand, an arrow loosely held, but his focus had shifted. At Maki’s question, something almost imperceptible softened in his expression.
“…Yes,” he said simply.
Nicholas scoffed under his breath. “Hopeless.”
You should have moved on, he should have raised his bow again. Neither of the two actions happened.
“You gather herbs?” he asked, the question leaving him before he could measure it, “Are you a healer?”
“Occasionally.” You glanced down at the basket hooked over your arm, as if remembering it was there. “It’s quieter out here.”
“It isn’t always,” he said.
A small tilt of your head. “No?”
He lifted his bow slightly. “Practice.” Your gaze followed the motion, finally taking in the field—the targets, the scattered arrows and the careful arrangement of everything.
“Oh,” you murmured, stepping a little closer. “You’re an archer.” There was no awe in your voice, how intriguing.
“Yes.”
“May I watch?”
It was such a simple question. Most didn’t ask, choosing instead to assume. Yuma had hesitated for a moment.
“Of course.”
“I’m still surprised you didn't pull some poetic line on her.” Euijoo snorted, “Of course, you pull plenty of those nowadays.”
“My wife deserves it.” Yuma answered simply, going back to his story.
Yuma had returned to position, set his feet, raised the bow and drew. But something was off. The rhythm didn’t settle the way it should have. The awareness of you—standing just behind, just to the side—threaded through his focus.
He released the string and the arrow struck the centre, but not as clean as before.
“Again,” you said softly.
He obeyed. Draw, breathe, release. This time, the arrow landed just a fraction to the left, not enough for anyone else to notice but enough for him. A faint crease formed between his brows.
“May I?” you asked, softer than anything he’d ever felt in his life.
He turned slightly. “You’ve never held a bow.”
“No…” you agreed easily. “But you’ll be surprised as to how much healers can do.”
“You know I’d feel like he’d made the story up—” Nicholas cut in, “if I hadn't met his wife in real life.”
“Is she really that amazing?” Maki asked, head tilted, as if asking about some forgotten deity. Euijoo’s shoulders shook faintly with suppressed laughter.
“Of course she is.” Yuma said it like it was a fact, “That’s why I even allowed it in the first place.”
You had stepped closer carefully, your hand reaching for him instead of the bow. Lightly, your fingers rested against his forearm, just below where the string would brush.
“Here,” you’d murmured. You shifted him—a slight adjustment of his elbow and a soft press to his shoulder, easing it down. “You’re too rigid.” You added, “You’re holding it like it’ll run away the moment you relax.”
His breath caught, just for a second, and even that was like moving the weight of a mountain for him. Your touch was soft as soft could be.
“Draw again.” You said. He did and this time the motion was different, somewhat smoother. The tension in his arm eased, the pull of the string balanced now.
Yuma released and the arrow flew, as if it were no lighter than a sparrow’s feather. And it stuck dead centre effortlessly. For the first time that day, it felt so easy. Yuma blinked as you stepped back immediately, as if the moment had never been yours to keep.
“Better,” you said simply.
“How did you—” he started.
“You were doing too much.” You shrugged lightly, adjusting your basket.
Nicholas snorted loudly in the present. “He hates that.”
“I did,” Yuma said.
Maki leaned in, completely absorbed. “What did you do then?” Yuma’s grip on the arrow in his hand shifted slightly, though his voice remained steady.
“I asked her to stay.”
The forest breathed around them again, the memory settling down, placed carefully back where it belonged. Maki’s eyes were wide with youthful curiosity.
“And did she?” He asked, “Stay?” Yuma nocked the arrow, gaze sharpening once more. But for a fleeting second, his eyes held a warmth that had nothing to do with the dappled sunlight.
The way the light had caught in your hair, that look you’d given him like you had seen straight through to his soul, into something softer he hadn't realised was visible. What a lovesick creature you had made of him.
“Yes.” Yuma answered, the word simple and final, carrying the weight of three years of mornings, of shared silences, of your hands on his. “She stayed.”
Euijoo exhaled softly, as if that answer alone explained everything. Nicholas muttered, “Of course she did.”
Before the young archer could form another word, the forest around them changed. The gentle background chorus of birdsong cut off abruptly, leaving a thick, watchful silence. The hair on the back of Nicholas’s neck stood up. Euijoo, ever perceptive, froze mid-step and held up a closed fist.
All four stilled instantly as a low, guttural grunt rumbled through the undergrowth, followed by the distinct, destructive sound of something heavy rooting through damp soil and snapping fallen branches.
Yuma’s expression transformed completely. All softness vanished, replaced by the lethal calm of a predator. He motioned silently, directing them with subtle gestures of his chin and hand. Nicholas and Euijoo melted into the shadows of two large oaks, arrows nocked, their breathing shallow. Maki, eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement, found cover behind a thick holly bush.
Yuma moved forward alone, a ghost in the dappled light. He found his spot: a clear line of sight through a break in the ferns. There, thirty paces away, was the boar. It was a massive, ancient-looking beast, its dark hide scarred from old battles, tusks yellowed and wicked. It was a prize, a challenge worthy of a legend.
Slowly, with the reverence of a sacrament, Yuma drew his bow. The wood, lovingly strung by your hands just hours before, curved perfectly. He inhaled, the scent of pine and damp earth filling his lungs. He found his shoulder settling into that effortless position. The boar lifted its head, scenting the air, a moment of perfect stillness.
The world narrowed—draw, breathe, release. Yuma carved out the slight dip of the animal’s shoulder. He began the final exhale, the signal for release.
CRACK.
The sound was not the clean thwip of a released string. It was a sickening, dry snap, the sound of heartwood giving way.
The upper limb of his bow shattered, the force of the released tension recoiling violently. The lower limb whipped upward, striking Yuma across the cheekbone with a stinging slap. The unshot arrow tumbled from his fingers, falling uselessly to the forest floor.
For a heartbeat, there was only stunned silence—nothing moved. The arrow flew wild, cutting past the boar’s shoulder, close enough to graze but not strike true and the beast let out a furious, thunderous squeal.
“Damn it—!” Nicholas hissed from the trees, the forest exploding into motion. “Yuma!” He yelled, stepping out from his cover and loosening an arrow.
It flew wide, skimming the beast’s tough shoulder. Euijoo’s shot was truer, burying itself in the boar’s flank, but it only enraged the creature further. It changed course, furious eyes now fixed on Yuma, who stood exposed, holding the two broken pieces of his bow.
Maki screamed a warning but Yuma didn’t move. He stared down at the fractured wood in his hands, his face pale beneath the red welt rising on his cheek.
The world had not just gone wrong; it had broken in a way that was fundamentally impossible. This was his bow, the bow you had strung. It was more than a weapon; it was a covenant, a testament. It couldn’t break, it shouldn’t break.
“Yuma!” Euijoo’s voice cut sharp through the haze.
The boar charged, the ground thundering beneath its weight, fury driving it forward, tusks lowered, its path set and its target chosen.
“Maki, move!” Nicholas barked, already drawing again, but the angle was wrong—too close to Yuma, too dangerous to risk a clean shot. Euijoo shifted, searching for an opening, but the beast was too fast now.
“Yuma!” Maki’s voice cracked, high with panic.
Yuma blinked, the forest snapping back into place. He felt the weight in his hands, the heat rising along his cheek and the thunder of the boar closing the distance.
His grip on the broken bow loosened and it fell, his next breath coming easier. Yuma stepped to the side and at the last possible instant, his body shifted in a fluid motion. The boar tore past where he had stood a heartbeat before, close enough that he felt the rush and heat of the air.
His hand moved, his knife flashing free. He turned with the movement, blade striking clean along the creature’s neck as it passed, not enough to kill—but enough to unbalance it.
“Now!” Euijoo’s voice snapped. This time Nicholas’s arrow found its mark, just behind the shoulder. Euijoo followed a breath later, his shot ending it cleanly.
And the forest fell silent once more, the slow settling of leaves the only sound. Maki stood frozen, chest heaving, eyes wide as he looked between the fallen boar and Yuma.
Nicholas lowered his bow, exhaling sharply. “I swear to—what was that?”
Euijoo didn’t speak immediately, his gaze fixed on Yuma, who was looking down at his empty hands. Then, slowly, he turned to where the broken pieces of his bow lay on the forest floor. For a moment, he didn’t move toward them. Instead, his hand lifted to his cheek, brushing lightly over the rising welt.
“It broke,” Maki said softly, like he still couldn’t believe it.
Nicholas scoffed, though it lacked its usual bite. “Clearly.”
The silence stretched, thick with shock and the metallic scent of the kill. The boar lay still, a dark mound against the green. Euijoo and Nicholas moved with the practiced efficiency of hunters, beginning the grim work of securing their prize.
“Well, this is a story.” Nicholas grunted, rolling the heavy boar onto its side. “‘The day the great Yuma’s bow betrayed him.’ The bards will have a field day.”
“It didn’t betray him,” Euijoo said calmly, not looking up from where he was inspecting the arrow wounds. “Wood is wood, and sometimes it fails.”
“Lovely philosophy. Now are we going to stand here discussing the fragility of existence, or haul this back before nightfall?” Nicholas drawled.
Yuma finally moved, walking slowly to where the two pieces of his bow lay, the splintered ends pale and accusing against the dark earth. He knelt with a numb confusion, picking up the larger piece, the grip still warm from his hand. The cord, the one you had woven with such love hung limp and useless.His fingers brushed over the splintered wood, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. Then he stood.
Euijoo glanced at him, eyes briefly flicking to the mark on his cheek. “You’ll need to clean that.”
“He’ll survive.” Nicholas snorted. “It’s barely a scratch.”
“It’s on his face.” Euijoo replied evenly.
Maki’s eyes widened. “Oh—does it hurt?”
Yuma shook his head once. “No.” It was a lie, but not one worth correcting.
Nicholas smirked, though it was softer now. “Careful. If your wife sees that, she might revoke your privileges entirely.”
Maki perked up. “She would?”
“She might,” Nicholas continued, entirely too pleased with himself. “Given her influence.”
Euijoo shot him a look. “Enough.” But the faintest hint of amusement lingered in his tone.
They set to work quickly after that—Nicholas and Euijoo coordinating the lift with practiced ease, Maki doing his best to assist without getting in the way.
Yuma moved among them, silent for the most part, the broken bow now resting against his shoulder. He looked composed as always but his mind was elsewhere.
Morning light, soft and gold, spilling through the curtains. You, half-laughing, half-protesting as he refused to let you leave the bed. The way your fingers had threaded through his hair when he kissed your cheek, the way your voice had softened, even as you insisted you needed to get up.
He had watched you get up, go away from his hold and string his bow right in front of him, artistic fingers moving like a fairy working her magic, your brows knitting in concentration, your lips parting just slightly.
Yuma’s grip on the bow tightened just slightly. Fifteen minutes, you had kept him there fifteen minutes longer than he should have stayed. Fifteen minutes longer in warmth, in softness, in something that had nothing to do with duty or life or anything.
Were those fifteen minutes to blame for today?
Nicholas’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You’re awfully quiet.”
Yuma glanced at him. “Am I?”
“More than usual,” Maki added.
Yuma looked ahead again, expression smoothing. “It’s nothing,” he said.
Nicholas adjusted his grip on the boar. “When we get back, I’m eating first.”
Maki frowned. “You always eat first.”
“Because I carry more.”
“You complain more.”
“Both of you shut up and walk before I leave you stranded here.” Euijoo sighed.
The voices faded into the background as Yuma walked on in silence, thinking about the way he had been too busy drowning in you to perform the duty to his craft, to the weapon that was an extension of his soul. Your hands had strung it, but his eyes had been too busy looking at you to truly see it. A strange, quiet feeling settled over him, cooling the initial shock.
Well, a lesson was in dire requirance wasn't it?
_____________________
The kitchen was warm, thick with the sweet, buttery scent of something just pulled from the oven. The last of the evening light streamed in through the window, turning the flour dust in the air into something almost golden.
You stood at the counter, sleeves pushed up, completely absorbed. The pie sat before you, its surface smooth and waiting. A small bowl of glaze rested to the side, and with careful fingers, you worked, dragging the tip of a spoon in slow patterns across the top, your tongue peeking out slightly in concentration.
A sound came from somewhere in the distance and you smiled to yourself. Your husband had looked particularly dashing in the morning so you couldn't wait till you saw him again. You heard the sound of him dropping his bow on the work bench.
“You’re late,” you called, voice light, still focused on your work. “Did the forest finally fight back?” Silence answered you, and then warmth.
Arms slipped around your waist from behind, sudden but familiar, pulling you back into a solid chest, keeping you there like you belonged there. Which you did.
Before you could react, his face buried into the crook of your neck, breath warm against your skin, his nose pressing in as if he had been deprived of the space all day. You inhaled softly, your hand pausing mid-motion over the pie.
“Yuma—”
A quiet hum against your neck. His hold tightened just slightly, anchoring you in place, his cheek brushing your skin as he shifted closer, like even that small distance had been too much.
“You smell like sugar,” he murmured.
“And you smell like sweat,” you replied, though your voice had softened.
There was a brief pause. Then his lips brushed against your neck.
“Darling.” You hummed, “What happened hm? Why is my husband being so sweet?” You turned in his arms and stilled.
The welt stood out stark against his cheekbone, already flushed beneath the thin strip of cloth he had stuck there. It wasn’t deep, but it was enough to make your brows pull together and send a sharp flicker of concern through you.
“Yuma…” Your hands lifted instinctively, reaching for his face, “What happened to you, darling?”
He didn’t let you get far, his grip on your waist tightening, firm enough to stop you mid-motion, keeping you exactly where you were—pressed lightly against the counter, nowhere near the small cabinet where you kept your salves.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“You’re not fine,” you shot back immediately, trying again to move. “That needs to be cleaned properly, I have—” His thumb pressed lightly into your side.
“Later.”
Your eyes narrowed. “No. Now.”
“No,” he repeated, softer, but no less certain. He looked unreasonably calm, as he always did.
You huffed in disbelief, trying to twist away, but his hold only adjusted, effortless, unyielding, pulling you flush against him.
“Yuma, let me go—”
“It broke.”
“What?”
“My bow,” he said, watching you now, gaze unreadable in that way that always meant he was thinking far more than he was saying. “It broke.”
Your expression shifted immediately. “What do you mean it broke? It was perfectly fine this morning, I—”
“You strung it.”
“Yes, and I did it properly,” you insisted, confusion edging into your tone. “There was nothing wrong with it, I checked the tension myself—”
“I know.” He said it simply, like that had never been in question.
You frowned. “Then how—”
Your husband closed the distance in an instant. His hands hadn’t left your waist, fingers splayed against the fabric of your dress, maneuvering you around to face him.
The kiss was slow, like he had decided on it long before he acted. Your words dissolved against his mouth, your hands, still halfway lifted in protest, faltering before settling uncertainly against his chest.
Then, when he pulled back—barely an inch—his gaze didn’t leave yours. For a second, you just stared at him—processing how beautiful he looked at the moment. Your husband often came back with scars on his skin and you’d have been lying if you said it wasn't the topmost thing that sent heat rushing to your inner thighs.
“Yuma—”
“Fix it.” Yuma said
Before you could utter a response, his mouth crashed down on yours. The kiss was aggressively romantic, his lips bruising yours as his tongue forced its way past your teeth to claim every inch of your mouth.
You gasped into him, your hands instinctively rising to grip his shoulders, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles. He tasted of salt and urgency, devouring you like a man starved, his teeth nipping at your lower lip hard enough to draw a whimper from your throat.
“You’ll fix it won’t you?” Yuma hummed against your lips, not breaking the kiss fully, his breath hot and ragged, “My beloved wife?” One hand rested on the small of your back now to keep you pinned between the counter and his body.
You nodded faintly, lost in the heat of his assault, your body already responding to his voice and his eyes and his…everything. His fingers dug into your flesh through your skirt, hiking the fabric up inch by inch until he reached the edge of your panties.
With a rough yank, he tore them away, the fabric ripping audibly as he discarded the scraps to the floor. The cold air hit your exposed skin, making you shiver, but his body pressing against yours chased away the chill.
Your husband’s hand delved between your thighs without any further hesitation, his calloused fingers finding your pussy already slick with anticipation. He groaned at the feeling, the sound vibrating through you as he parted your folds, tracing the wet slit with his middle finger.
"So ready for me already, my love?" he murmured, pulling back just enough to watch your face, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. "Little cunt’s already dripping for me.”
His words sent a flush of heat through you, arousal pooling hotter as he circled your clit with a teasing pressure. You moaned softly, hips bucking forward into his hand, seeking more. But oh your mean, mean husband—you knew nothing was that easy with him.
Yuma pushed one finger inside you slowly, your walls yielding to the intrusion with a wet squelch. The stretch was delicious, his digit thick and probing, curling upward to stroke that sensitive spot deep within. The one whose location he knew all too well.
"Yuma... please..." The plea escaped unbidden, your voice breathy and needy.
"Please what, my love?" he taunted, adding a second finger, thrusting them in and out with a steady rhythm that made obscene sounds fill the air.
His thumb pressed firmly on your clit, rubbing in tight circles that had your knees weakening. He held you up effortlessly, his free arm banded around your waist, keeping you pinned to him.
"Tell me, darling. Do you want me to fuck you with my fingers till you cum? Or are you going to be a good girl and string my bow first?"
The choice was clear in his tone—obey, and earn your reward. But his fingers didn't stop, scissoring inside you, stretching your entrance wider, preparing you for what was to come. Juices coated his hand, trickling down your thighs as he pumped faster, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit with each thrust. Your breaths came in pants, mingling with his, resuming in messy, open-mouthed kisses.
"Y-yes….I'll fix it," you stammered between kisses, your hips rolling to meet his hand, chasing the building tension. "Just…..don't stop…..it feels so good….oh Yuma!"
Your husband’s name was a melodically sinful prayer on your lips. And oh how his dick twitched in his pants at the sound of his name falling from your pretty, now swollen lips. His name had never sounded better coming from anybody else.
"Good girl." He praised, nipping your earlobe before capturing your mouth again, his tongue mirroring the plunge of his fingers, “You’re so beautiful like this darling.” He curled them again, hitting that spot relentlessly, your body trembling as the coil in your belly tightened, “Hmm, is my pretty little wife going to cum for me?”
Stars danced behind your eyelids, the pleasure mounting with every slick slide. His lips trailed down your neck, sucking marks into your skin and his fingers worked you mercilessly—the pace a rough contrast to the gentleness of his voice.
"Cum for me, sweetheart," he commanded softly, his voice a husky whisper against your pulse.
Your orgasm crashed through you, pussy spasming around his digits as waves of ecstasy pulsed from your core. You cried out, nails digging into his arms, body arching into him as juices gushed over his hand, soaking his wrist. Yuma held you through it, thrusting slowly to draw out every tremor, his mouth claiming yours once more in a deep, possessive kiss that swallowed your moans.
As you came down, panting and limp in his hold, he withdrew his fingers with a wet pop, bringing them to your lips. "Taste yourself, darling," he ordered, eyes locked on yours. "See how sweet you are?”
You obeyed, sucking his fingers clean, the tangy flavor of your arousal mixing with the lingering taste of his kiss. Yuma watched for a moment, eyes so darkly loving. Then he scooped you up in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you toward the bench in the corner, your usual place for stringing his bows.
The night was deep and quiet, save for the crackle of the candles. He sat down first and positioned you with your back to his chest, your ass settling against his lap. You felt the hard ridge of his cock straining against his trousers, thick and insistent, as it always was in your divine presence.
"Unbutton me, my love," he ordered softly, his voice a velvet command in your ear. Your hands shook as you obeyed, freeing his cock, veined all over and throbbing, the tip already leaking precum like a leaky faucet.
His warmth seeped into your back, his chin resting on your shoulder, his breath stirring the hair at your temple. You could feel every shift of his muscles, every beat of his heart against your spine. A heart that belonged entirely to you.
Yuma gripped your hips, lifting you slightly, and aligned himself at your entrance.
"Slowly now," he teased, lowering you inch by agonizing inch onto his length.
You gasped at the stretch, his cock splitting you open, filling you oh so completely that it felt like nothing else could fit. He went intentionally slow, letting you feel every ridge, every pulse, until you were seated fully, impaled on him, your pussy clenching around his base.
“Now…” Yuma said, his voice a low murmur in the intimate space between your ear and his lips, “You’re going to fix my bow right here.” His arms wrapping round your waist, one hand splaying over your stomach to hold you still, “And then we’ll see where you went wrong this morning, that my beloved bow snapped.” He adjusted on the chair, his cock slightly moving inside you and you whimpered desperately, “Can you do that for me, my love?”
You nodded, your voice a breathless whisper as you reached for the broken bow on the bench beside the chair. The wood felt smooth and familiar under your trembling fingers, but the fullness of Yuma's cock buried deep inside your pussy made every movement a delicious torment. Your walls clenched around him involuntarily, drawing a low groan from his chest that vibrated against your back.
“Answer me sweetheart.” Yuma's breath was hot on your neck, his lips brushing your skin in light kisses that contrasted his iron grip keeping you pinned.
"Yes, Yuma……I can do that," you murmured, trying to focus despite the way his thickness stretched you, pressing against every sensitive inch.
“Hmm good girl.” Your husband hummed, how was he even keeping a straight face with how tight your pussy was squeezing him right now?, “And you’ll tell me every single step, yeah?”
Oh your mean, mean husband.
You took a deep breath in, examining the crack on his carved bow. It was a beautiful one, flowers painted on the wood, ironic considering how many bloodbaths it had witnessed. As beautiful as your husband.
“You—oh…..” You were having trouble getting your words out, his cock buried in you making it hard to even take a breath, “You probably drew it too hard and it broke from the tension right?”
His hand on your stomach tightened slightly, holding you immobile, but he didn't thrust. "Good start, darling," he praised, his lips brushing your ear. "Tell me more. What will you do next?" The warmth of his breath sent shivers down your spine, and you felt his cock twitch inside you, but he remained still, waiting with the patience of a saint.
You swallowed hard, your free hand steadying the bow's grip as you aligned the string's ends with the nocks. "I... I loop the string over the lower nock first, making sure it's seated properly without twisting." Your fingers fumbled a bit, the position awkward with your legs spread over his thighs, but you managed it, the string snapping into place with a soft click.
A subtle shift from Yuma rewarded you—his hips rocked up just once, shallow and teasing, pushing his cock deeper for a heartbeat before settling back. The friction made your pussy flutter, a fresh gush of wetness coating his base, and even that slightest movement had you on the verge of screaming.
"That's my girl." He murmured, voice husky with approval. "Feels so good, doesn't it? Keep going, my love.”
Heat flooded your cheeks, arousal spiking like a fountain at his words. You gripped the bow tighter, using your body weight to press down slightly as you worked the string toward the upper limb.
“Now I need to—oh hah—need to slide the string in….” The motion required you to lean forward a fraction, which ground your ass against his lap, his cock dragging along your inner walls in the process. You bit your lip to stifle a moan, but it escaped anyway, high and needy, music to your beloved’s ears.
Yuma chuckled darkly, his free hand sliding from your waist to between your legs. His fingers found your clit easily, swollen and slick, and he pinched it lightly, rolling the nub between thumb and forefinger and you nearly lost your goddamn mind.
"Mmm, listen to you whimpering already. And you haven't even finished.” He was speaking so casually, like he wasn't noticing you were about to die from the lack of friction already, “Imagine if you'd fixed this properly this morning—I nearly lost that boar today because the damn thing snapped mid-draw."
His tone was teasing, laced with mock reproach as he circled your clit faster, the pressure building a sharp ache in your core. You gasped, hips twitching involuntarily, which only seated his cock deeper.
"I-I'm sorry, Yuma……I thought I checked the tension... ah!" His fingers rubbed harder, dipping briefly into your folds around where you stretched over him, gathering your juices before returning to torment your clit.
“Oh you thought you checked the tension?” Yuma said, faux sympathy lacing his tone, “But you didn’t do it properly did you, my love?” He pressed a maddeningly soft kiss to the crook of your neck, “Keep going.”
The bow trembled in your grasp, but you forced yourself to continue, voice shaky. "The... the string's in place now. So I’ll—oh fuck Yuma!” You moaned high as he jut his hands up juuust a bit, “I’ll twist it to adjust the brace height, making sure it's—hah—it’s even on both sides."
"Twist it tighter, my love," he commanded, his finger flicking your clit in rhythm with your words. "Don’t want it to snap again, do we? You know I had to take that boar down with my knife?” Another soft kiss, like he wasn’t borderline torturing you at the moment, “Had to do aaalll that work just because my wife didn’t pay attention.” Your arousal dripped down his shaft as you worked the string, pulling and adjusting until the bow hummed with tautness.
The correct tension earned another reward: Yuma's hips bucked up sharply, once, twice, fucking into you with controlled force that made your pussy spasm. Stars burst behind your eyes, the sudden thrusts hitting that spot inside you perfectly.
"Yuma! Oh god……ahh hah—" You cried, nearly dropping the tool you'd grabbed to test the draw.
"Not yet, my dearest.” He warned, stilling again, though his fingers didn't relent on your clit, rubbing in firm, insistent strokes that had your thighs quivering. "Finish stringing it fully. Tell me how you'll test it or I'll stop touching this needy little pussy altogether."
You whimpered, nodding frantically as you picked up the small draw weight, hooking it to the string. “I--I’ll pull back to check—nghhh—check the draw length.” Your arms shook as you demonstrated, the bow bending smoothly under your pull, the string holding firm without a sound.
“Perfect.” Pride swelled in his voice as he praised you, “You’re soooo talented, you know that sweetheart?” With that, he thrust up again, his cock grinding against your cervix while his fingers pinched your clit hard enough to tip you toward the edge, “Well now, good girls deserve their rewards don’t they?”
With a swift motion, Yuma lifted you off him just enough to turn you around, your knees straddling his lap now, facing him. His eyes locked on yours, dark and possessive, as he guided you back down onto his slick cock.
The head nudged against your entrance, still dripping with your combined arousal, and he pushed you down slowly at first, letting you feel his cock stretch your pussy walls anew. You gasped, your hands bracing on his broad shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as inch after inch filled you up, bottoming out with a wet squelch.
“Go on darling, take your reward.” your husband commanded, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest and into yours. His hands gripped your hips firmly, fingers digging into your flesh, “Hmmm, so tight..”
You nodded, breathless, your body already trembling from the earlier teasing. Slowly, you lifted your hips, feeling his cock draaag against your inner walls, the veins pulsing as they slid out almost to the tip. Then you sank back down, taking him deep, your pussy clenching around his girth.
The sensation was overwhelming—full and hot, every nerve ending firing as you set a tentative rhythm. Your thighs burned with the effort it took, but the pleasure outweighed it, your clit grinding against his pubic bone with each downward thrust.
"That's it, my love.” He praised, one hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back gently to expose your neck.Yuma's gaze never left your face, watching every flicker of expression, every bite of your lip. He leaned in, lips brushing your throat as you rose and fell on him. "Look at you, pretty girl’s taking every inch. You missed me that much, sweetheart?”
His words sent a shiver down your spine, igniting volcanic heat in your core. You picked up the pace, your hips rolling in a smoother grind now, lifting higher to let his cock plunge deeper on the descent. The chair creaked beneath you both, the wood protesting the building force.
Sweat slicked your skin, making your blouse cling to your breasts, and Yuma noticed, his free hand moving to unbutton it. He pushed the fabric aside, exposing your chest to the cool air, and cupped one breast, thumb flicking over your hardened nipple.
"Fuck, sweetheart.” He groaned, pinching the sensitive bud just hard enough to make you yelp, your rhythm faltering for a second. “Ohhhh pussy’s gripping me so—hah—-so tight.”
You obeyed, slamming down onto him with more force, the slap of your ass against his thighs echoing in the room. His cock hit that spot inside you repeatedly, sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, making your toes curl. You moaned loudly, head falling back as you rode him, your pussy soaking his length, juices trickling down to coat his balls.
"Listen to those sounds, darling. You hear how pretty you sound?” Yuma hummed, “Bet you were thinking about it all day, weren't you? Fixing my bow just to earn a good fuck." His hand in your hair tightened, pulling you forward until your forehead rested against his, his breath mingling with yours. "Tell me. Say it."
"Yes! Oh fuck Yuma!” You cried between bounces, your voice breaking as another deep thrust made you gasp, “Nghhh thinking about you aaall day Yuma—oh haahh oh! Yuma, please….”
"Please what, my love?" He taunted, his hips bucking up suddenly to meet your descent, driving himself impossibly deeper. You cried out, walls fluttering around him. "Use your words, dearest.”
“Need you…” You whispered, then louder as he stilled his hips, forcing you to do all the work, ‘Need you to fuck me harder.”
His eyes darkened with satisfaction, and he rewarded you by thrusting up again, matching your rhythm now. "Good girl," he murmured, lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss. His tongue mimicked the motion of his cock, thrusting deep as you rode him faster, the friction building unbearably. "Hahh—feel how hard you make me, sweetheart? It's all for you, you take it so well, don’t you?”
His honey sweet words washed over you like warm water, pushing you closer to the edge. You ground down harder, circling your hips to rub your clit against him, chasing that release.
Yuma's hands roamed your body—one kneading your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers, the other sliding down to where you were joined. His thumb found your clit, pressing and rubbing in tight circles that made your vision blur completely.
"Oh god, Yuma….” You whimpered into his mouth, breaking the kiss to gasp for air. Your pace grew erratic, thighs quivering as the pleasure coiled tight in your belly. "It feels so good... your cock... so deep..."
"I know, darling," he soothed, though his voice held that edge of command, “Hold it for me, hm?” He pinched your clit lightly, making you jolt, your pussy clenching hard enough to draw a hiss from him. "Fuck, yes—just like that, my love.”
You tried to obey, slowing your movements to draw it out, lifting almost off him before sinking back down torturously slow. Each descent stretched you anew, his thickness splitting you open, the head kissing your cervix. Yuma watched, mesmerized, his chest heaving as he fought his own release.
"That's my girl," he praised, slapping your ass cheek lightly, the sting adding to the fire, “You’re sooo close, aren’t you?”
The degradation mixed with the sweetness made your head spin. "Yuma…..please—can't hold it..." You were grinding desperately now, clit throbbing under his thumb, every nerve on fire.
"Then don't," he moaned, thrusting up powerfully, his control slipping, “Cum for me, my darling.”
His words shattered you. The orgasm hit like a wave, crashing through your body as your pussy spasmed around him, walls rippling in ecstasy. You cried out his name, back arching, nails raking down his chest as pleasure pulsed from your core, juices gushing over his lap.
Yuma groaned, holding you down as he thrust through your climax, prolonging it with deep, grinding strokes. "Fuck, yes—that's it, my love." He kissed you messily, swallowing your moans, his own release building as your contractions pulled at him, “That's my perfect wife.” He murmured, his voice thick with pride and desire.
He lifted you off him slowly, his length sliding free with a wet pop that left you aching and empty, your juices trailing down your thighs. You whimpered at the loss, but he scooped you into his arms effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as he carried you toward the bedroom.
The door creaked open to reveal the soft glow of the bedside lantern, casting golden shadows over the rumpled sheets of your shared bed. Yuma laid you down gently, his eyes dark with hunger yet softened by adoration. He stripped away the remnants of your clothes—your panties long discarded, your skirt now peeled off—leaving you bare and glistening before him.
“Look at you, my beloved.” Your husband whispered, kneeling between your spread legs, his hands tracing reverent paths up your calves, over your knees, to your quivering thighs, “So beautiful, so mine.”
He leaned in, his breath hot against your inner thigh, and pressed a trail of kisses upward, starting from your knee and inching toward your core. Each kiss lingered, his lips soft and worshipful, sucking lightly at your skin until faint marks bloomed like petals. When he reached the apex, he paused, inhaling deeply the scent of your arousal.
“Just like heaven, sweetheart.” Then his mouth descended, tongue flat and broad as he licked a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, gathering your wetness with a groan of appreciation.
You arched off the bed, fingers twisting in the sheets as his tongue delved deeper, circling your folds before plunging inside your pussy. He ate you out with devoted fervor, sucking your clit between his lips and flicking it with the tip of his tongue, then lapping at your entrance as if savoring the sweetest nectar. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady while you bucked against his face, your moans filling the quiet room.
“Yuma…..oh—feel so good…” You moaned, one hand finding his hair, tugging gently as waves of pleasure built under his attention.
He hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks through your core, and slid two fingers into your slick heat, curling them to stroke that sensitive spot inside. His tongue never stopped, alternating between broad licks and precise sucks on your swollen clit, worshipping every inch of your pussy like it was sacred. Your thighs trembled around his head, and he pinned them wider with his elbows, refusing to let you close.
“Cum for me darling.” He urged between licks, “Let me taste my wife properly.”
The pressure coiled tighter, his mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony, until ecstasy broke through you like a starburst. You cried out his name, pussy clenching around his digits as your orgasm flooded his tongue with your release. He drank you down like drinking wine, licking through the spasms until you shuddered and went limp, oversensitive and panting.
Yuma rose then, shedding his trousers fully and climbing onto the bed, his cock hard and leaking anew. He positioned himself between your legs, gathering your hands in his, intertwining your fingers tightly as he gazed down at you with eyes full of nothing but love.
“My beautiful wife.” Your husband breathed, leaning to kiss you, his tongue sharing the taste of your essence. The kiss was tender, his lips moving to your jaw, your neck, nipping softly before trailing kisses across your collarbone.
He entered you inch by inch, his cock stretching your still-pulsing walls with a gentleness that made your heart ache. Once fully sheathed, he paused, forehead resting against yours, breaths mingling.
“Feel me, love?” He hummed, “Every part of me is yours, my beloved.”
Then he began to move, rolling his hips in deep, languid thrusts that filled you completely, grinding against your clit with each pass. His mouth worshipped your body—kissing the curve of your shoulder, sucking at your breasts, tongue swirling around each nipple until they pebbled hard under his attention.
Your fingers squeezed his, the connection grounding you as pleasure rebuilt, softer this time, laced with intimacy. He kissed your wrists, your palms, then recaptured your lips in a passionate lock, tongues dancing as he fucked you steadily, the bed creaking softly beneath you.
“You’re everything to me, my dearest.” Yuma whispered against your mouth, his pace quickening just enough to chase your shared release. His free hand roamed, caressing your side, your hip, thumb brushing your clit in light circles that had you moaning into his kiss.
He shifted, hooking your leg over his hip to angle deeper, his cock hitting that perfect spot with every loving thrust. Kisses peppered your skin—your temple, your eyelids, the tip of your nose—each one a vow of devotion.
“Let go for me, my love.” He urged, voice strained with his own building climax.
Your bodies moved as one, fingers laced tight, until the wave crested again. You shattered around him, pussy milking his cock as he groaned your name, spilling hot cum deep inside you, pulse after pulse filling you with his warmth.
The silence that followed was a living thing, soft and warm, filled with the scent of woodsmoke, the two of you, and love. Though love probably meant the two of you in itself.
The world beyond the candlelight had ceased to exist. He shifted, pulling out slowly, a gentle, lingering separation that drew a soft sigh from your lips. He gathered you immediately against him, your back to his chest, his strong arms wrapping around you. His skin was damp, his heartbeat a slowing drum against your spine.
For a long while, there was only the sound of your breathing syncing, the faint pop of the candle wick, and the profound peace of being utterly known.
“Yuma, I’m so sorry about the bow.” Into the quiet, your voice came, small and laced with a guilt that had survived even the shattering union you’d just shared. “I should have been more careful.”
You felt him go very still behind you. Then, a soft, breathless sound escaped him. His arms tightened around you, and he buried his face in the curve of your neck. His lips moved against your skin as he spoke, his voice a hushed, reverent rasp.
“Shh, my heart.” He turned you gently in his arms until you were facing him, his hands cradling your face. In the dim, dancing light, his eyes were pools of endless, liquid devotion.
“You speak of a bow,” he whispered, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone, where his own welt had risen hours before. “as if it holds a candle to you, my beloved.”
“But—”
“It’s just a bow.” He kissed your forehead, a benediction, He guided your hand, placing it flat over his heart. Your husband, ever the romantic, no matter how much he tried to deny it. “This is my true bow.” He leaned in, his nose brushing with yours. “And you are the one who steadies my aim.”
You laughed then, pecking at the area beneath his eye once. Yuma closed his eyes for a second, as if revelling in the soft moment. Then he took your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each knuckle.
“Poetry, my dear husband?” You said, giggling at the softness of his lips, “Suits you.”
“I’m glad.” Yuma pulled you into him, tucking your head under his chin, wrapping you up so completely you felt you might disappear into his safety. “So no more apologies for loving me too well, hm? The only wrong you could ever do is to stop.”
“Good thing I won’t.” You said, melting into his warmth, “I love you.”
“I love you too, my dearest.”
They say that Cupid, the supposed god of love, was as weak as a leaf for his beloved Psyche, for love makes weaklings of all of us. So weak that he’d pricked himself with his own deathly arrow of love. But if love meant death, Yuma would have gladly walked into the underworld with you in his arms.
What's one arrow to the heart anyway?
fin.
A/N: giggled so violently writing the bow fixing scene like ok mona you actually do know how to write. anyways shout out to the gc for giving me the idea for this (i just wanted to torture my babies) and im lowkey gonna be yuma pilled for the next few weeks so feel free to send my yuma fics arigato
divider by @night-of-the-crumbled
Permanent &team taglist: @eu1joo @kwnnies @nichozzystuffs @blueuijoo @pglpblm @your-local-lune + shoot me an ask to be added!
no words, just great appreciation
IT’S NOT WORTH TRYING TO LEARN OTHER PEOPLE’S LOVE LANGUAGES.
p — MYUNG JAEHYUN x fem! reader. g — humor, fluff, park sungho learns a lesson about minding his own business. w — swearing, death threats (as a form of flirting). 1.5k words.
requested by — @gluion “go kill yourself x “i’m pretty sure they have a crush on me”
note — part of my ship dynamics: insane edition gimmick. this is very the breakup soup coded. i just like writing about a bunch of idiots stressing about the dumpster fire love life of their friend. enjoy.
myung jaehyun’s friends are pretty sure he’s had a very stable, very loving, very normal upbringing.
“stop staring at me, you fucking creep.”
“sorry, i didn’t mean to make your heart flutter. can’t help it when you’re so pretty.”
“i’ll stab your fucking eyes out.”
“my eyes are all yours, pretty.”
so they can’t wrap their head around why he’s acting like he has not a single ounce of self-respect in his body. sungho and leehan watch as their pitiful friend gets shut down again by the most venomous glare, hostile sneer, deflected by the biggest pair of heart eyes in the world that’s ever longingly following your disappearing figure out the library door. “she wants me so bad,” he concludes with a self-righteous smile as he arranges his notes into one neat stack. sungho and leehan share a look. god almighty, please grant their friend wisdom and salvation.
“what...what makes you say that?” sungho attempts to prod. the first step to finding a solution is to figure out the situation. they need to know why myung jaehyun is so down bad for you, and why he’s so convinced that you feel the same way.
“huh?” jaehyun perks up. like he’s genuinely confused sungho has to ask that. “she was so flustered earlier. couldn’t you tell? it was adorable.”
“she threatened to mutilate you…?”
jaehyun beams. “she sure did.”
there...there is no point trying to understand him, sungho concludes. leehan is, for lack of a better word, getting mildly frustrated. “hyung, what the hell?” he raises. “if telling someone you want them dead is an indication of romantic feelings, then my middle school bullies must’ve been head over heels for me.”
a silence. a pause. “we’ll unpack that later,” sungho tells him. then shifts his attention back to problem child number one. “you. you’re a grown man who has full autonomy over his actions and feelings, and i know that. but as your friend, i just can’t keep watching you being disrespected, jaehyun. i can’t help but get angry on your behalf when you greet her good morning and alll she does is tell you to go fuck yourself!”
admittedly, sungho got a little bit heated at the end there. but he has every right to feel this emotion on behalf of his dense and seemingly unaffected friend— who is still sitting there, a smile on his face, hands on his lap like a patient buddha who has learned the true meaning of peace and serenity.
“sungho-yah,” jaehyun starts with a pleasant hum. “there’s no need to worry. the feeling is totally mutual. i’m telling you, she likes me back.”
speechless.
in fact, sungho and leehan are beyond speechless. they have no idea where this ungrounded certainty comes from. they certainly have even less of an idea on how to fix his lovesickness, bordering on insanity.
so, reasonably— they call for backup.
“the only way for him to get his shit together is if he asks her out for real and finally gets rejected for good,” taesan declares confidently. somehow, they see a point. riwoo lets out an echo of agreement. woonhak asks why they’re all excluding jaehyun from this after school garage meeting. “do you guys know when he’s planning on doing that?”
“no idea,” leehan answers. “but maybe we can pressure him into it.”
“so, should we encourage him instead of telling him to give it up?” sungho raises. taesan affirms. sungho lets out a grunt and a huff. “god, that’s gonna be tough.”
a resounding voice of dissent arises from woonhak. “i don’t get why you’re all going against jaehyun-hyung!” he yells indignantly. “let hyung love whoever he wants! this is a free country! you guys can’t dictate his love!”
“he’s received fuck you’s straight in the face and swears she’s flirting, woonhak. you’re too young to understand.”
it’s four votes against one. woonhak can’t win against his hyung’s determination to save myung jaehyun from his self-dug pit of pitifulness that he’d been in ever since laying eyes on you at the freshman orientation. god, they never should’ve went. he never should’ve shot down jaehyun’s suggestion to just skip it. maybe then, myung jaehyun would still be normal.
but this is not the time to lament and regret. it’s time for sungho to right his wrongs. it’s time to bring jaehyun’s self-respect back, they decide. and it starts with a wake-up call in the form of your inevitable, brutal rejection.
which, for some reason, does not happen as planned.
“what?”
“we’re going on a date.” jaehyun is as chipper as ever and sungho’s ears are starting to ring. “thanks for the encouragement, sungho!”
it’s ringing. it’s ringing so badly. “wait, what do you mean you’re going on a date?” he attempts to clarify, grabbing jaehyun by the shoulders because this is two-parts concerning, one-part kind of…proud? this guy actually succeeded? “she said yes? she didn’t tell you to fuck off and die in a hole?”
“she did. she looked pretty while saying it.” jaehyun answers with a bright grin. nevermind. this is all parts concerning. sungho “she also told me she’d kill me if i pick her up late after her class tomorrow. we’re going to have dinner at the thai restaurant that just opened. riwoo recommended it.”
sungho does not understand. he cannot understand because you, who seems to hate all of myung jaehyun’s guts for no discernible reason, agreed to go on a date with him? hello? has jaehyun been right this whole time? do you really reciprocate his feelings? or is this just some new form of torture? is his friend a masochist? is he the weird one for making a big fucking deal out of this? is this how relationships work nowadays?
a thought enters sungho’s mind.
hold on a second—
“anyway, i gotta go, dude. a pretty girl is waiting for me.”
—what if this date is a ploy for you to finally get the chance to kill him?
oh my god.
“wait!” sungho’s face is pale. his eyes are wide and frantic. “don’t—don’t go on the date!”
“hm?” jaehyun bats his eyes at him, taking a moment to think. then sparkles in realization. “oh! don’t worry. i’m not gonna show up looking like this. i’m gonna head home first to change.”
“that’s not the problem! jaehyun! no! no!”
this is it, his friend is going to die. that is, unless, he shows up on your date just in time to stop it. yes. there’s still a chance. he knows where the date is happening. he’s gonna tell the rest of them because there’s no way in hell they’d allow myung jaehyun’s cause of death to read stupidity by misconstruing your murderous intent as affection. they are not only going to save jaehyun’s life— but his dignity as well.
“remember, be quiet. be inconspicuous. they can’t figure out we’re here.”
hopefully, things go as planned this time. all five of them are gathered in a booth at the said thai restaurant, the eventual scene of the crime unless they do something about it. sungho is surveying the scene to find where you and jaehyun are seated. leehan nearly trips over his unnecessarily long trench coat while trying to cover more ground. woonhak is using the menu as cover but has since gotten distracted and has started to pick out his order with riwoo and taesan. “hyung, is the khao soi good?”
“yeah, we should order it.”
“what drinks should we get?”
this is hopeless. this is a mess. their best friend is about to die and all they can think about is dinner.
no matter. sungho can still take care of this himself. his eyes scan the main restaurant wing, from left to right, until his eyes double over in a screeching halt to the back of a very familiar round head—
“huh.”
the back of a very familiar round head that doesn’t seem to be facing the threat of decapitation.
sungho sees you and jaehyun sitting across from one another, jaehyun’s fairly loud voice raising over the music and utensils clattering, people chatting and passing by. “you’ve got something on your face.”
“touch my face, and i’ll kill y— hey!”
first of all, sungho wants to claw his own eyes out seeing his friend being disgustingly sweet. second, jaehyun did touch your face with a napkin and it does not seem like you’re attempting to murder him. in fact, you look flustered even. flushed despite the harbored glare, still seated despite your apparent derision and disgust. the back of jaehyun’s head looks exceedingly happy. the dots aren’t connecting. sungho is malfunctioning.
“should…should we interfere…?” leehan asks, his nose barely peeking out of the trench coat collar.
“i think...i think we should just leave them alone.”
“but isn’t his life in danger?”
“i misunderstood.”
forget misunderstanding. sungho can’t even behind to understand in the first place and has settled that he wouldn’t even try so long as myung jaehyun is happy— happy with being on the receiving end of fuck you’s and go to hell’s in response to his you’re so pretty’s and see you tomorrow’s, happy with getting his advances swatted away and shut down, happy with whatever the fuck is going on between you and him that sungho really can’t just wrap his head around.
IT’S NOT WORTH TRYING TO LEARN OTHER PEOPLE’S LOVE LANGUAGES. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.
sungho’s crashout feels so valid though 😂😂😂
on coffee and confessions
Pairing: xmh x reader | wc: 1k a/n: based on that one tiktok trend where people ask their significant others to make them a coffee // I am so late but - happy (belated) birthday minghao i adore you
The first gentle rays of dawn peek through your window, casting a golden hue over the tangled sheets and throwing soft, shifting shadows across the room. You’re not fully awake yet, lying in the delicious limbo between sleep and consciousness, cocooned in the warmth of the bed and Minghao’s steady presence beside you.
His arm is slung over your waist, anchoring you against him, and you feel his breath fanning lightly against your neck, a slow and steady rhythm that mirrors your own. His legs are tangled up with yours beneath the blankets, every inch of him pressed close, as if even in sleep, he’s instinctively reaching out to keep you near. You shift slightly, just enough to pull him closer, and you feel him stir, his fingers instinctively tracing little, sleepy circles along your hip as he presses his face further into the curve of your neck.
A lazy smile tugs at your lips, and you let out a soft, breathy laugh. He hums in response, his lips brushing against the skin of your shoulder as he lets out a long, contented sigh, seeming to wake up just enough to squeeze you tighter. “Good morning,” he murmurs, voice thick and warm with sleep, a sound so comforting it wraps around you like the blankets you’re both cocooned in.
“Good morning,” you whisper back, closing your eyes and savoring the cozy quiet of the early morning, feeling like the world beyond these four walls doesn’t exist. His hand moves up to your back, fingers gliding softly over your spine, tracing invisible patterns that make you shiver, and you feel a little thrill at how easily he knows just how to make you melt.
In a lazy, playful tone, you ask, “Hey, baby, would you make me a cup of coffee?” There’s no rush behind your words, no real expectation—just the gentle banter that comes with mornings like this.
You feel him pause behind you, and he shifts, lifting his head just enough to look down at you, an amused glint in his barely-open eyes. “Coffee?” he echoes, his voice lilting with that endearing mix of surprise and mischief that always manages to make your heart skip a beat.
Then, without warning, he leans in closer, brushing a trail of soft kisses from your shoulder to the curve of your neck, pausing to nuzzle his nose against your skin. You giggle, helpless against the tickling warmth of his breath, and he lets out a low laugh, savoring your reaction.
“Beloved,” he says, his voice a soft murmur in your ear, holding that playful, poetic tone he uses when he’s in the mood to make you blush, “if you but asked, I would rearrange the very heavens so that the stars spelled your name. I would carve your likeness onto the face of the moon so that everyone who looked into the night sky would know the joy I feel when I look at you.”
Your cheeks heat up, and you can’t hold back a grin, biting your lip as you meet his gaze, his words sinking into you like honey. “You’re ridiculous,” you whisper, but there’s no real protest behind it. You’re too charmed, too wrapped up in the intensity of his gaze, the softness in his touch.
He just raises an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “What, you don’t believe me?” he asks, his voice light and teasing. But before you can respond, he’s shifting again, propping himself up on one elbow, leaning over you so that his face is only inches from yours.
“I’d do anything for you,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, no trace of the earlier humor—just a steady, quiet sincerity that steals your breath. “If a cup of coffee is all you want, it’s yours. But if you asked me to give you the whole sky… the gods themselves would find themselves slain at my hand if they tried to stop me.”
You’re silent, momentarily struck by the intensity in his gaze, the raw honesty of his words. He reaches up, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek, and you lean into his touch, your heart thrumming at the tenderness in his eyes.
Unable to hold back, you reach up and pull him closer, your lips meeting his in a slow, lingering kiss. He kisses you back just as softly, savoring the moment, his hand resting lightly against the curve of your jaw as if you’re something precious, something he doesn’t want to let go of.
After a long, quiet moment, he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed, and you’re both quiet, breathing in sync as you stay tangled up in each other. It’s the kind of morning that makes time feel like it’s stretching on forever, where you could stay wrapped up in him like this, in the warmth and softness of the moment, for as long as you like.
He lets out a long, contented sigh, finally opening his eyes to meet yours again, his expression so full of quiet affection it makes you feel like you could melt. “So,” he says, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a smirk, “about that coffee?”
You laugh, rolling your eyes as you playfully nudge him. “All that, and you’re still leaving me to get it myself?”
He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close, resting his chin atop your head. “Alright, alright,” he says, finally untangling himself from the blankets as he sits up, stretching with a soft groan before leaning back down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “One coffee, coming right up.”
As he slips out of bed and heads for the kitchen, you watch him go, feeling a warmth that has nothing to do with the morning sun spilling across the room. He glances back over his shoulder, catching your gaze with a soft smile before he disappears around the corner, and you find yourself smiling back, your heart full in a way that words can’t describe.
dandelion
author's note. i saw those pics and howled how is he so husband coded..... also decided to post this on his e word day to cheer up us all:(
summary. you feel a little down when your husband seems interested in another woman... but maybe that's your pregnancy causing unnecessary drama in your head
warnings. reader is pregnant<3 slight angst bc reader is hard on herself regarding her looks:( jealousy + mentioned drinking (not reader!!!! never drink while pregnant!!!!), haechan being a lil mean but he doesnt mean it lmao
word count. 1582
jaehyun was helping in the kitchen and laughter was booming from the room whereas you and the others sat in the living room, waiting.
“the food was so good” you sighed dreamily, rubbing your tummy in a satisfied motion and a huge smile.
“i bet she liked it too, huh?” jungwoo snickered, pointing at your stomach.
“oh yes she did. she’s a meat lover after daddy” you giggled and patted your baby bump gently.
“you inhaled that bbq, we thought there’d be nothing left” haechan giggled and mark nudged his elbow.
“dude!” he hissed, sending you an apologetic smile.
you just scoffed, shaking your head.
“no, no, he’s right. it’s the baby you know. sorry” you mumbled and yuta plopped down next to you.
“don’t apologize, he’s just not too much of a thinker” he teased and rubbed his own stomach too “man, i’m full”
“drinks!” doyoung waltzed into the room, balancing a platter. the ice in the elegant glasses clinked, colorful beverages shining in the sun falling through the huge window.
johnny put down a bowl of chips.
“ah, i’ve been waiting for that” yuta hummed like a purring cat and snatched the drink the second doyoung placed them down.
“and an orange juice for a special lady” jaehyun appeared in front of you and handed you the glass. it had ice and a paper umbrella in it, a slice of lemon adorning the edge.
you sent him a soft smile, puckering your lips in a pout. that’s a habit you developed ever since your pregnant belly started being too restrictive. it was a sign for ‘i wanna kiss you but i can’t move’
he leaned closer and planted a sweet kiss on your lips, knowing what you meant.
“i wanna drink too…” you joked, pouting like a kicked puppy.
“one more month baby” jaehyun said softly, sending you a reassuring smile.
the evening went on, chatting and joking accompanied by the football match they were watching.
you were slowly dozing off, partly paying attention to what they were saying.
“y/n is almost as round as the ball now, look!” donghyuck giggled and your eyes snapped open at the mention of your name.
“i wonder if your belly if bigger than a ball… i’d say it’s rather a basketball size, huh?” jungwoo pondered.
a bitter pang overtook your heart. you know they didn’t mean it to sound rude but you couldn’t help but wonder if you’re really that… big… and round… and apparently so easy to target, too.
jaehyun caught your unfazed expression and clicked his tongue.
“you remind me of a ball too. your fuckass big head–“ he joked at haechan and everyone laughed, including you.
and when you went to the bathroom, you missed jaehyun taking the youngest to the side.
“do we have everything, baby?” your husband asked, pushing the cart. you looked at your notes, not even halfway checked.
“we barely entered the mart” you grunted and looked up at him. his dimples poked in a boyish smile.
“anything you’re craving right now, misses” he teased and you rolled your eyes.
you may or may have not sneaked some of your pregnancy cravings into the cart but you didn’t think he’d notice.
“shut up. it’s our girl, not me” you huffed dramatically and wrapped your hands around his arm.
suddenly, a pretty girl appeared in the aisle. she had long, silky blonde hair and was wearing a really cute outfit. it displayed her long legs and the crop top she was wearing exposed her flat stomach. her face was perfect, makeup glowing like a model.
you sulked upon seeing her figure. you missed your old body. you missed being able to walk around in outfits like these. hell, even fitting in jeans was out of your reach now.
you realized that when she passed you by, jaehyun turned his head to look at her.
wave of sadness washed over you, slowly letting go of his arm. you didn’t blame him, though. you were nothing compared to her. big belly, no makeup, hair in a normal ponytail. you haven’t dressed up in a while – and even if you did, you wouldn’t look like you would before.
“i don’t feel too good. i’ll go back to the car” you mumbled, feeling like crying. you wanted to hide from the world… from your own husband.
jaehyun’s features dropped in instant worry, turning to you.
“are you okay? i’ll drive you home. do you need to see a doctor?” he asked, panic in his voice.
“i’m… no, i’m fine! just finish the shopping, ill wait in the car” you grunted and gave him your phone with the list, turning around on your heel.
he has never ran enough a grocery shop so fast in his entire life.
after almost sprinting to the car and loading the bags, he hopped in and scanned your face in search of pain. there was always a risk of you giving birth sooner than expected so he was just extremely cautious.
he noticed your swollen eyes and wet tears. maybe it was just the hormones, it’s not like you haven’t cried before because he just killed a fly. (“what if that fly was pregnant too? what if it was a working father? what if–”)
he started the car and reached out to grab your hand. you just played with his fingers to ease your nerves, a silent drive home.
for the past two days jaehyun had a feeling that you were avoiding him. you’ve been either sleeping all day or hiding away in your bedroom.
at the end of the day jaehyun decided to talk to you. but upon walking into the room, he saw you sitting at the edge of the bed. your loose shirt was slightly up, your fingers tracking red stretch marks on the side of your stomach.
“hey baby, what’s up?” he hummed, walking up to you “we haven’t talked in a while, hm? everything okay?”
you sighed and just pulled the shirt down, covering your belly completely.
“look at me pretty, come on” he was starting to get worried. kneeling down to settle between your looks, he noticed your teary eyes.
“i just feel so gross, you know?” you mumbled, gently rubbing your tummy. jaehyun sighed softly, relieved to hear that you’re not in physical pain. he put one of his hands on your knee, rubbing it in a soothing motion “like i know it’s inevitable but everyone keeps making comments and… and i just miss my old body. it may never be the same… and… it’s just dumb”
“don’t listen to haechan, he’s still a kid. he doesn’t know what he’s talking about” jaehyun said, trying to ease the tension
“i saw the way you looked at the girl, in the store” you mumbled, lips quivering. he furrowed his brows and realization hit him like a ton of bricks. but before he could explain, you went on “and i get it, i’m so ugly now, i don’t even dress up. i can’t even put anything else than sweatpants… and don’t even mention heels. i get you.”
“oh honey… she had a cute outfit, that’s why i looked. i think you have a similar top, by the way. but also, i agree, i turned my head but… her face seemed familiar. you know that it was johnny’s ex?”
“what?” you asked, finally looking at him. the cute dimple smile painted his cheeks as he nodded.
“yeah. i just, i don’t know, was so shocked it was her so i just turned around. but not to check her out or anything. because you are–” he started.
“wait, the one with a foot fetish?!” you asked suddenly.
jaehyun snorted loudly, hanging his head low. and here he was about to be romantic.
“yeah, her” he snickered and looked back up “but my point is, i only have my eyes on you. we both knew that pregnancy will change your body and i admire you so much. you’re so strong. and just know that, whether or not you will go back to your shape… the stretch marks will stay… will grow old and wrinkled… i will love you. those things don’t matter to me”
you shook your head and pulled the shirt over your face, something you did when too embarrassed to cry. and you did, small sobs choking out from under the material.
“you look beautiful to me. you’re carrying our baby girl and you really glow, to me” jaehyun said and stood up, hands going to rest on your shoulders.
“i love you” you cried and put your shirt down only to wrap your hands around his waist and sob into his shirt. he rubbed your skin in a calming way.
“i love you more, pretty girl” he whispered into your hair.
after you’ve calmed down he helped you lay down and tucked you in. jaehyun laid down next to you and rested his head on his hand, adoring you with a soft smile.
“got it? you’re the prettiest” he hummed and placed a soft kiss on your lips. then, his hand sneaked to lift your shirt a bit.
he traced the red stretch marks with a feather-light touch and then put his hand gently on your belly. he felt small movements and warm feeling spilled over his heart.
“and i bet she’ll be equally beautiful, my little dandelion” your husband whispered softly. and you couldn’t help but grin, looking at his whipped state.
nct masterlist | event masterlist
taglist. @l3visbby ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @mon2sunjinsuver ,, @w3bqrl ,,
@eternalgyu,, @haecien ,, @slytherinshua + event: @rubywonu
꒰ : 🌸 [ Second Times - 산 ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯
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Summary: Eunhee was by now over three years old and a little darling, so how would San react to a little suprise? Pairing : Dad! San x Mom! Fem! Pregnant! Reader Word count : 3.4K Words Genre/Warning : Fluff, Angst if you squint - Reader is a bit nervous of Sans reaction, but Ateez helps her a/n : Decided to write this as a little warm up right now to continue Barista! Yunho and the Pirate Story!💜
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Clutching the small pen-like test in your hand, the two lines smiling brightly back at you. It's just been over a month since Eunhees third birthday and here you're sitting on the edge of the tube, holding the test in your hands. Tears rimmed your eyes. Were they from sadness? Not really, maybe a tinge of anxiety of Sans's reaction to a second pregnancy, but they were more like tears of happiness. San never mentioned any aversion to a second child, so you were happy about this.
Your hand softly rubbing over your stomach now, it's probably barely been a few weeks, but knowing you're carrying a child of San yet again, makes you feel nothing but warmth and happiness. Taking the test, you quickly rush into the bedroom, hiding the test somewhere in your things, so well that San nor Eunhee would ever find it, before joining your two favorite people in the living room again. San was lying on the floor, legs straight up into the air as he balanced Eunhee on his feet playing airplane. Her little giggles sound through the whole room and make you smile before she looks up and screeches upon seeing you. "Mommy!" Being let down carefully, she quickly runs over to you, hugging your legs tightly as she grins up to you.
"Having fun?" You ruffle her dark hair softly, bending down to pick her up and hold her on your hip, she has grown a lot recently. "Yeah! Daddy said we'll visit the uncles this weekend for dinner!" Her tiny arms are around your neck now to hold on for support as she tells you smiling. "Oh really? Then we'll have to make you look extra pretty hm? Want all of them swoon over how cute you are!" Softly poking her tummy now as she lets out giggles while kicking her feet now. Setting her down now she rushes over to San again who is sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching the endearing moment now.
"Are you two fine? I wanted to go out for a bit and get some chores done." Walking over to them, you crouch down placing a soft kiss on both of their cheeks. "Daddy got it all handled no worries!" San told you, he really was an amazing dad, he loved his little girl so much. After saying goodbye to them, you grab your purse and leave the apartment smiling with a plan.
The first stop is the printer shop, which takes on orders for personalized clothes. Entering you take a quick look around, before spotting the old man working there. "Good day!" You greet him, making him notice you and greet you back. "I need seven Shirts for man and one for a toddler, the big ones should have something along the lines of 'We'll be uncles again soon' and the little one 'I'll be a big sister soon'" You explain to the man, his eyes light up upon hearing your instructions, congratulating you. He said it would be done in around three days which was perfect timing, just done before the dinner with everyone.
Leaving the shop with a thank you, you make your way to the grocery store to cover up that your chores at hand were to get a few items there in case San asked you what you did.
Coming back home your eyes immediately catch San lying on the couch sleeping, with Eunhee on his chest also fast asleep. Putting the groceries you got away, before walking over to your little family, watching them for a few seconds. It was exciting how soon you'd be a little family of four.. five. Looking down at the cat moving around your feet now, slowly patting Byeols head. Scoping Eunhee up into your arms now, you softly wake up San. "Baby, let's go to bed, you got a schedule and need to sleep in a proper bed." After making sure San would go to bed, you bring Eunhee to her room. She just recently got it done, everyone of Ateez helped along, some put together the furniture, and others painted the walls. It was adorable how dear your little daughter was to everyone.
Laying her down now, you put the blanket over her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Turning on her bed light now, before leaving the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Walking into your shared bedroom now, San was lying on his side waiting for you, typing away on his phone mindlessly. "She's sound asleep, I still left the door a bit open in case she has a nightmare again. I'm a bit worried she's been having them more often lately." You talk to him while getting changed, before laying down beside him, resting your head on his chest. "Don't worry it's normal, her brain is starting to understand and notice more things, it's normal for her to process more in her dreams and therefore get a few more nightmares, it'll settle down again baby." His hand was running through your hair mindlessly now, pressing a kiss to your temple, before closing his eyes, ready to fall asleep.
The next few days went by quickly, Eunhee though was getting a bit more restless, even sleeping in your and Sans's bed the last two nights. Waking up this Friday now you look down at her, noticing how there is a sheen layer of sweat on her forehead and her cheeks are pink. Laying your hand on her forehead now, she was burning up, oh my poor baby you thought. Getting up quietly, San was already gone for work. You quickly get a pair of new clothes, before making her a quick breakfast so she can take some fever medicine, taking along a bottle of water for her. Just as you were picking everything up, your poor baby started crying and calling for you. Rushing into the room, you place everything on the nightstand now before scoping her up in your arms, softly swaying her side to side a bit as her tiny body clutches herself to you.
"It's okay baby, mommy is here, mommy just got you some things that will make you feel better again soon.." Whispering soft words as her cries didn't seem to stop. Probably from feeling unwell and waking up alone. You wish San was here right now, speaking of the devil as your phone starts ringing, picking up and hold it to your ear. "Hello baby.." You greet him, still hushing your daughter as she slowly starts to calm down. "Is Eunhee crying? Is everything okay? Should I come home?" Worry seeped from his voice upon hearing his little princess cry so harshly. "No don't, I got this. She's running a little fever so I don't think she'll be able to come along tomorrow, I'll give her some medicine now and then rest with her." You explain to them, hearing Wooyoung cooe sadly in the background, you were probably on speaker right now. "Okay, if you need anything or need me to come home call me, I'll make it work!" He assures you before ending the call, Eunhees cries quieted down now.
"Let's get something in your tummy so you can take your medicine hm?" You helped her sit on the bed, before helping her eat, but she still insisted that she could eat alone. Giving the medicine to her now, you were glad she never put up a fight when it came to this, before handing her, her water bottle. "You'll feel better soon baby, just rest, do you want something from your room?" Patting her head softly she shakes her head and only points to the TV in your room. Turning it on, she immediately points to one of the new Wanteez episodes that recently came out making you smile turning it on for her. Byeol has settled down on her lap by now, as Eunhee munches on the fruits you brought her.
"Mommy will be in the kitchen yeah? I'll make some soup for you for later." She simply nods, too engrossed in the show watching her dad and uncles be silly. Standing up now, you get changed into some home attire before moving to the kitchen, writing one of your close friends to please pick up your order from the shop, as you won't be able to do it today with Eunhee having a fever. Getting started on the soup now, before moving on the cleaning a bit, checking up on Eunhee every now and then, she at some point falling asleep cuddling Byeol, before waking up again hungry and then continuing to watch the show.
At some point at noon, your friend brought your order, asking what it was as the old man didn't tell her, telling her she'd know soon and that it was a secret for now, before handing her a little thank you for helping you out. Hiding the bag now as San would soon be home and you didn't wanna spoil the surprise.
"Welcome home darling!" You shout from the bedroom, sitting beside Eunhee now as you two watch a Barbie movie, her eyes immediately moving to the opening door. "Daddy! You're home!" Moving to get up, she stumbles a bit before running up to her dad who picks her up, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "How is my baby doing hm? Feeling better?" She nodded, even though she was still feeling unwell, the fever down a little bit due to the medicine. "How about you and Daddy spend an amazing day tomorrow hm? I'll get those amazing little cakes for you from across the street." Sitting down with her on his lap, he leans against the headboard, the movie long forgotten as she nods. "Don't you wanna go to the dinner tomorrow?" Your eyes but his now as he shakes his head. "You took care of her the whole day, the first day is always the worst for a fever, I'll take over tomorrow and you go to the dinner, the boys will still be happy to see you," San explains making you nod and agree, this was actually perfect, that way you could give the boys their little presents first before planning to tell San.
So the next day came, you got ready for the dinner, before grabbing your purse and the bag with the shirts, saying goodbye to them before leaving for the restaurant.
"Y/N! We're here!" You hear Wooyoungs voice call out to you from one of the private rooms in the back, making you smile as you join them. "Hello everyone!" You greet the seven men, making them smile at you as you take a seat beside Jongho and Wooyoung. "How is Eunhee doing? San mentioned she had a fever? Poor thing.." Seonghwa asks you making you nod, telling them she was doing a bit better right now and how she was probably enjoying those little cakes right now San got them while you were still at home so Eunhee wouldn't be left unsupervised.
"So actually I'm rather glad San stayed at home today, that way I can give you guys this." Standing up now, you place the bag on the table before handing out the neatly wrapped shirts. Mingi and Yunho first as they had the biggest size, before continuing, instructing them to wait with opening till everyone had theirs. "Okay! I hope you guys will like this.. You can open now." Some were neatly opening the package like Seonghwa, while others ripped them open like Mingi and Wooyoung. Watching each boy look at the writing on the shirt now, mostly with big eyes, before Wooyoung springs up. "I'LL BE AN UNCLE AGAIN?!" His eyes were full of tears as he looked at you, nodding softly before being pulled into a tight hug. "Congrats dear, if you need any help from us tell us." Seonghwa was the next to speak up, hugging you tightly. Before Mingi approached you, being visibly excited about the news, softly jumping a little bit before hugging you tightly and even lifting you up slightly, making Jongho scream at him to be careful with you two. This made tears prick your eyes. "Jongho.." You softly whimper, laying your arms around the man, who seems to be unsure if he wants to accept but has no real choice, in the end, he places his arms around you carefully. Everyone else told you their congratulations and hugged you.
"So the plan is, I'd like all of you to wear these next Monday, I'll come around with Eunhee, she has her own shirt, before San arrives and that's how I want him to find out!" Everyone cheers now, liking the idea, looking over to Hongjoong now for his approval. "I like that idea, let's do it." He nods now, you were glad he was so supportive. The first time he was rather unsure of the pregnancy, of how the fans and society would react, but the moment he held Eunhee for the first time it was all over, he was absolutely smitten for the little girl like everyone else of them was.
"Do you hope for a boy or girl?" Yunho speaks up now looking over at you. "Honestly I don't care, I'd love him or her unconditionally either way." You smile softly, your hand rubbing over your still flat tummy, knowing fully well it will be bigger in a few months. The boys nod as they agreed, before the orders finally arrived, enjoying a nice meal with them, laughing and joking around.
It was a nice evening, the boys were talking a lot about how excited they were for the new baby, arguing over who would be the baby's favorite, as Eunhee's favorite uncles were by far Mingi and Yunho since her birth.
The evening soon ended, and they promised to keep quiet till the big reveal as you packed everything together and made your way home, hoping San was fine and that Eunhee was doing a bit better slowly. At home you peek inside the apartment, noticing the TV playing as you take your shoes off and make your way into the living room. "Baby, did daddy fall asleep?" You giggle quietly upon seeing Eunhee sit beside San and watch another Wanteez episode, Sans's arm around her as he was sleeping tightly. The little princess looks up as she hears your voice and nods to your question, as you crouch down in front of her. She probably wasn't tired yet from napping through the whole day, softly feeling her forehead now and sighing relieved feeling her fever down finally.
"Let's get you to bed hm? Did you have fun with Daddy today?" You pick her up, San waking up from the movement, blinking softly as he sits up and watches you carry Eunhee to her room, he luckily had changed her into her sleepwear already in case she was to fall asleep while watching the show. "Mhm.. Daddy showed me the new episode with the uncles.." Getting sleepy slowly, Eunhee rests her head on your shoulder as her arms hang loosely around your neck. "Oh wow, that must have been so exciting, we can watch more of that tomorrow. Let's sleep for now baby." Pressing a kiss to her forehead now as you enter her room, sitting down on her bed and laying her down, before pulling the blanket over her.
Leaving her room after taking one last look at her and joining San in the bedroom, watching him fight to stay awake waiting for you. "Sannie sleep if you're tired." Shaking his head, he mumbles a little tiredly watching you change out of your clothes and into one of his shirts to sleep, before laying down beside him. Opening your arms, he immediately scoots over, his arms wrapping around your waist as his head comes to rest on your chest, softly running your hands through his locks. He had recently dyed them red again, it suited him well.
Sunday went by rather quickly, Eunhee was better again, playing around with San and Byeol, helping you cook, and watching another Ateez show again.
So Monday came around, you got up quite early and got ready, making sure you packed Eunhees shirt and the pregnancy test, San looking at you confused still half asleep as you finished getting ready. "I'll visit Lotte World with Eunhee today, I promised her." Pressing a soft kiss to your husband's temple as he nods, a little bit sad he can't join due to work before you leave the room getting Eunhee ready now.
"Where are we going?" Eunhee looked at you curiously, her tiny arms holding onto your neck, her tiny legs kicking a little bit as you walked along the sidewalk in the direction of KQ. "We'll visit the uncles and prepare a little surprise for Daddy." Her eyes light up upon hearing that there will be a surprise for her daddy.. or because she'll see her uncles. Entering the elevator you press the floor of the practice room and let Eunhee stand on her own now, taking her hand as you lead her to the dance practice room. "Yuyu!!" Eunhees high voice screeches upon seeing the tall man, everyone turning to the two of you as Eunhee runs up to Yunho who immediately picks her up. "Hello little princess!" Yunho beams at her, he was always so sweet to her, often being the one to offer to watch her for a weekend or evening when you and San wanted to spend some romantic time.
"Eunhee darling come here for a second." Yunho sets her down again as you sit down on the floor, softly taking her hands when she reaches you. "What do you think about being a big sister hm? Would you like that?" She thinks for a second, looking at you nodding slowly. "If I stay Uncle Yuyu and Uncle Min's favorite!" She answers, making everyone laugh and Mingi cooe at her answer. "You'll always stay my favorite baby!" Mingi calls over, making you smile. "But yes.. I'd like to be a big sister!" She beams at you, making tears rim your eyes as you pull her into a hug, she has grown so much. "You'll soon be a big sis baby." You tell her, making her giggle and smile. Soon she was wearing her personalized shirt along with all of her uncles, Yunho holding the little girl in his arms right now.
"Okay, San should be here soon! I'll wait for him outside and then bring him inside!" Rushing outside the room, you close the door, looking around for your husband. After around ten minutes he finally arrived, looking at you confused. "Darling? I thought you and Eunhee were at Lotte? Where is she? Is she okay?" He looks around for his little princess worried now. "She is with the boys right now, you have to put this on though!" Holding up the blindfold now, he grows even more confused but lets you put it over his eyes. "I'm a bit scared, but I'll trust you." He tells you, taking your hand softly as you lead him into the room.
Taking one last deep breath, before taking off Sans's blindfold. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to get used to the lights, as he now looks at his fellow members and little princess, at first not noticing the shirts, but after ready them a few times his eyes grow wide as he now looks over to you, who was now holding the positive pregnancy test. "This isn't a joke, right? Are we getting another child? You're pregnant again?" His bag lying on the floor now as he looks at you with tears in his eyes and a big smile on his lips. "Yes, I wanted to surprise you." Your own tears in your eyes now, as San pulls you into a tight hug, picking you up and spinning you around laughing. "I'll be a dad again!" He giggles as he presses a soft kiss to your lips. "I love you so much." Laying his forehead onto your forehead, before looking down he sees his little girl tug on his pants softly to be picked up. "Who will be the best big sister?! You will be Eunhee!" He smirks at her as he picks her up onto his hip.
Soon everyone joined the hug, San was beaming all over his face. You were glad that he was this happy and excited and how supportive everyone was. This would be a long 8 months again, but you cannot wait to soon hold the new addition to this already big family.
