synopsis : a figure skater meets a gentle dentist after a toothache, and their soft, supportive love grows alongside her skating career. With his constant encouragement, she wins Olympic gold, and then he proposes on the ice, proving he’s been her greatest victory all along.
• pairing : dentist! yunho x figure skater! reader
𓈒𓍼𓏸 wc : 7.4k
𓈒𓍼𓏸 genre : fluff, romance, slice of life, light erotica (just a little)
𓈒𓍼𓏸 warnings : 16+
♡ author's note : hey babies ! so i wrote this inspired by yunho's first dream and my first dream, and honestly, this trope has a unique dynamic that you may love ! hope u enjoy lovies and pls lmk if it's good ! <3
☆ masterlist
You first met Yunho because of a toothache.
Which, in your opinion, was one of the most unfair meet-cutes ever.
Not in a café. Not at a rink. Not in a bookstore. No. A dental clinic.
Your day off was supposed to be sacred.
No training. No drills. No coach yelling “again.” No early alarms. Just sleep, coffee, and maybe stretching if guilt won.
Instead, you woke up with a dull throb in your jaw.
You ignored it.
Figure skaters ignored pain like it was part of the job description.
By noon, it pulsed.
By two, it stabbed.
By four, you were clutching your cheek and googling emergency dentist near me like your life depended on it.
That’s how you ended up standing in front of a clean glass building with soft pastel signage and a neat little logo shaped like a smiling tooth.
You groaned.
“Of course it’s cute,” you muttered. “My suffering must be aesthetic.”
Inside, the clinic smelled faintly of mint and citrus. Calm instrumental music played, the kind that felt like it was trying to convince your body you weren’t about to be stabbed with tiny metal tools.
The receptionist smiled. “Appointment?”
You pressed your cheek. “Pain. Sudden. Urgent. I will cry if not helped.”
She nodded sympathetically. “We can fit you in. Please sit.”
You sat.
You regretted everything.
You hated dentists.
You hated the sound of drills. The sterile lighting. The way you couldn’t talk while someone examined your mouth like you were a science project.
A door opened.
“Next patient?”
The voice was warm.
Low.
Gentle.
You looked up.
And forgot about your tooth.
He was tall.
Not just tall—tall tall. The kind of tall that made doorframes look slightly concerned. Soft brown hair framed his forehead, and his eyes—
You blinked.
Kind.
That was the word.
Kind eyes.
He smiled politely. “You must be our emergency patient?”
You stared.
He tilted his head slightly, amused but patient.
You snapped back to reality. “Yes. That’s me. Emergency disaster.”
“I’m Yunho,” he said. “I’ll take care of you.”
Oh.
Oh no.
He had the voice of someone who read bedtime stories to children and made them believe monsters didn’t exist.
You followed him into the treatment room in a daze.
You sat in the chair.
He adjusted the light.
“You said it started today?”
You nodded.
“Sharp pain or dull ache?”
“Both,” you mumbled. “It upgraded.”
He chuckled softly.
Why was that comforting.
“Open for me?”
You opened your mouth.
Dignity left the chat.
He leaned closer, gloved fingers gentle as he tilted your chin. His touch was careful, almost apologetic, like he didn’t want to inconvenience you by examining your own teeth.
Professional, you reminded yourself. He’s professional. Stop noticing things.
His brows furrowed slightly as he checked.
“Hm.”
You froze.
Was that a bad hm.
“That’s a worried hm,” you tried to say, which came out as “Tha ah wah-ee hm.”
He laughed quietly. “Not worried. Thinking.”
He leaned back. “Looks like a small cavity that finally decided to protest. We can fix it today.”
Relief flooded you.
“No root canal?”
“No root canal.”
You nearly cried from joy.
While preparing tools, he asked casually, “So what do you do?”
You swallowed. “I’m a figure skater.”
He paused mid-motion.
Turned.
Eyes bright.
“Really?”
You nodded cautiously.
“That’s amazing.”
Not fake-polite amazing.
Real amazing.
You felt heat creep into your cheeks. “It’s… just a job.”
“It’s not just anything,” he said gently. “That takes discipline. Balance. Years of training.”
You stared.
Most people either said Wow you must be flexible or Do you know how to do backflips?
No one ever said discipline.
“…Yeah,” you said quietly. “It does.”
He smiled softly, like he understood something about you that most people missed.
“Alright,” he said, adjusting his mask. “I’ll numb the area first.”
You stiffened.
He noticed immediately.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”
You hesitated. “…I don’t like needles.”
His eyes softened.
“I’ll be quick,” he promised. “And I’ll tell you before I do anything. Nothing sudden. Okay?”
You nodded.
He raised the syringe slowly so you could see it. “This is the anesthetic. Small pinch. That’s all.”
You gripped the armrests.
He waited.
Actually waited.
Not rushing.
Not dismissing.
Just… there.
“You ready?” he asked.
“…Okay.”
Gentle fingers rested against your cheek, steadying you.
“Little pinch.”
It stung.
You flinched—
—and then his thumb lightly tapped your wrist.
Distraction.
Comfort.
Grounding.
It was over in seconds.
“…That wasn’t bad,” you admitted.
He grinned behind his mask. “I have a reputation to maintain.”
The procedure was quick.
You expected tension, pain, panic.
Instead—
You felt calm.
Because every movement he made was deliberate. Every tool introduction came with a soft explanation. Every adjustment came with “You okay?”
At one point he paused.
“You’re doing great,” he said.
Your heart did something embarrassing.
Why did praise from a dentist feel like winning a championship medal.
When he finished, he leaned back. “All done.”
You blinked.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“That was…” you searched for the word. “…pleasant.”
He laughed. “I’ll put that on our reviews.”
You sat up slowly, still numb.
He removed his gloves.
“You should avoid chewing on that side for a few hours,” he said. “And no cold drinks until sensation returns.”
You nodded.
Neither of you moved.
The air shifted.
You didn’t know why your chest felt tight.
Maybe it was the way he looked at you—not as a patient, not as a stranger, but as someone interesting. Someone worth paying attention to.
“So,” he said lightly, “when’s your next competition?”
You blinked. “Next month.”
“I hope you win.”
It was simple.
Sincere.
No teasing. No exaggeration. Just belief.
Your throat felt weirdly tight. “…Thanks.”
You told yourself you didn’t go back because of him.
You told yourself it was responsible dental care.
Routine checkups.
Preventative maintenance.
Totally normal.
Totally professional.
Totally not because your dentist had the warmest smile you’d ever seen.
But somehow—
Your appointments kept landing on his shift.
Coincidence.
Sure.
Every time you walked in, his face lit up slightly.
“Hey, skater.”
Every time, your heart betrayed you.
Three months after your first visit, you were practicing a program when your coach clapped.
“Break.”
You glided to the barrier, breath visible in the cold air.
That’s when you saw him.
Standing near the entrance.
Tall.
Scarf around his neck.
Looking wildly out of place in a skating rink.
You blinked.
“…Yunho?”
He waved awkwardly. “Hi.”
Your brain malfunctioned.
“You… you’re here.”
“Yeah.”
“Why are you here?”
He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “You said your practice was today. I was curious.”
Your coach smirked from behind you.
You ignored her.
“You came… to watch me?”
He nodded.
Heat spread across your face that had nothing to do with exercise.
You stepped back onto the ice.
Your heartbeat felt different now.
Not nerves.
Not pressure.
Something lighter.
You skated.
Spun.
Jumped.
And every time you passed the boards, you saw him watching—eyes wide, completely captivated, like you were performing in an arena instead of an empty practice rink.
When you finished, you glided back, breathing hard.
“Well?” you asked.
He looked like he’d just witnessed magic.
“That,” he said softly, “was incredible.”
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
After practice, you sat across from him in a small café.
He stirred his drink. “I didn’t realize how intense skating is.”
You laughed. “People think it’s just sparkles and music.”
“You make it look easy.”
“It’s not.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why it’s impressive.”
You studied him.
“You really pay attention, don’t you?”
He tilted his head. “To things that matter? Yeah.”
Your chest fluttered.
It happened quietly.
Naturally.
Like it had always been heading there.
You were walking outside the café, evening air cool against your skin.
“I’m glad my tooth hurt that day,” you said suddenly.
He blinked. “Most patients don’t say that.”
You laughed softly. “If it didn’t… I wouldn’t have met you.”
He stopped walking.
Looked at you.
Really looked.
“…I was hoping you’d say something like that.”
Your breath caught.
“I wanted an excuse to see you outside the clinic,” he admitted. “But I didn’t want to cross a line.”
“You didn’t,” you said gently.
Silence.
Soft.
Warm.
Then—
“Can I take you out sometime?” he asked.
Your answer came instantly.
“Yes.”
Dating Yunho was like living inside a soft song.
He remembered things.
Your competition dates. Your favorite tea. Which ankle got sore first during winter training.
He showed up with snacks after practice.
He learned skating terminology just to understand your stories.
And when you got nervous before competitions, he held your hands and said—
“You’ve already won, you know.”
“How?”
“You love what you do. That’s the rarest victory.”
The night before your biggest event of the season, you sat beside him on a quiet bench outside the arena.
“I’m scared,” you admitted.
He squeezed your fingers. “Of what?”
“Messing up. Falling. Disappointing people.”
He turned toward you.
“You could fall ten times,” he said softly, “and I’d still think you were amazing.”
Your eyes stung.
“You’re biased.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “I’m your biggest fan.”
You didn’t win first.
You placed second.
But when you stepped off the ice, breathless and shaking, he was there with a small bouquet of white flowers.
“You were beautiful,” he said.
Not your skating was.
You were.
And somehow that meant more than any medal.
Months later, you lay on his couch, head resting on his shoulder as a movie played you weren’t watching.
His fingers traced lazy circles on your wrist.
“Hey,” he murmured.
“Mm?”
“Your checkup is next week.”
You laughed. “You’re dating me. Isn’t that cheating?”
“Nope,” he said. “It’s dedication to oral health.”
You snorted. “Romantic.”
“I can be more romantic,” he said.
“Oh?”
He tilted your chin gently.
Smiled.
“You still have the nicest smile I’ve ever seen.”
Your heart melted.
If someone had told you that the love of your life would be a dentist—
You would have laughed.
But love didn’t arrive dramatically.
It didn’t crash in like a storm.
It came quietly.
With gentle hands.
Kind eyes.
Soft reassurances.
And a voice that always said—
“You’re doing great.”
And somehow, with him beside you—
You always believed it.
You didn’t expect the call to come on a Tuesday.
Tuesdays were boring. Tuesdays were conditioning drills and protein bars and your coach yelling about posture.
Tuesdays were not supposed to change your life.
Your phone buzzed during your water break.
Unknown number.
You almost ignored it.
Almost.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Y/N?”
“Yes?”
“This is the national federation.”
Your stomach dropped.
Your coach froze mid-lecture across the rink.
You swallowed. “Yes?”
“We’re calling to inform you that you’ve officially qualified for the 2026 Winter Olympics.”
Silence.
Not dramatic silence.
Not cinematic silence.
Real silence — the kind where your brain shuts off because reality suddenly becomes too big to process.
“…I what?”
“You qualified.”
Your knees went weak.
Your coach was already running toward you.
“You qualified,” the voice repeated gently. “Congratulations.”
Your lips trembled.
“…Thank you.”
You hung up.
Stared at your phone.
Your coach grabbed your shoulders. “Well??”
You whispered, “I made it.”
She screamed.
You burst into tears.
Your hands shook as you dialed him.
He picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, skater.”
Your voice broke. “Yunho.”
He sat up instantly. “What happened? Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”
“I—”
You couldn’t say it.
Not because you didn’t want to.
Because you couldn’t breathe.
“I qualified,” you whispered.
Silence.
“…For what?” he asked softly, like he already knew but didn’t want to assume.
“The Olympics.”
Another silence.
Then—
“You qualified,” he repeated.
Not loud.
Not shocked.
Just… full.
Proud.
You heard him exhale slowly.
“I knew it.”
Your chest tightened. “You did not.”
“I did,” he said. “I told you before, remember?”
You remembered.
You’ve already won.
Your eyes filled again.
“I’m proud of you,” he said quietly. “So proud.”
You cried harder.
That night he showed up at your apartment with takeout, flowers, and a cake that said:
GO GOLD OR GO HOME
You laughed so hard you nearly dropped it.
“That’s aggressive,” you said.
“I panicked at the bakery,” he admitted. “There were too many options.”
You set the cake down. “You could’ve gotten something classy.”
“I did,” he said, pointing at himself.
You snorted.
He pulled you into a hug before you could reply.
And that was when it hit you.
Not the Olympics.
Not the pressure.
Not the expectations.
Just—
Him.
His arms around you.
His steady heartbeat against your cheek.
“I’m really going,” you whispered.
He nodded against your hair. “Yeah. You are.”
Olympic preparation was different.
Harder. Longer. Sharper.
Everything mattered now.
Your jump height. Your spin speed. Your landing edges. Your breathing. Your stamina. Your sleep.
Your stress.
Especially your stress.
Which is why Yunho became your unofficial emotional support human.
He brought meals when you forgot to eat.
He taped your ankles when they ached.
He sat quietly during late-night stretch sessions, reading while you worked.
Sometimes you’d glance up mid-stretch and find him already looking at you.
Softly.
Fondly.
Like you were something precious.
“What?” you’d ask.
“Nothing,” he’d say.
But his smile always answered.
Every athlete has one.
The day nothing works.
You fell three times.
Missed two combinations.
Under-rotated a jump you’d landed perfectly for months.
Your coach called break.
You skated off, chest tight, throat burning.
You didn’t cry at the rink.
You never cried at the rink.
But the second you got outside—
The tears came.
You didn’t even realize you’d called him until he answered.
“Hey love—”
“I’m bad,” you choked.
Pause.
Then calm.
Gentle.
“No, you’re not.”
“I couldn’t land anything today.”
“That happens.”
“I’m going to embarrass everyone.”
“You won’t.”
Your voice cracked. “You didn’t see me.”
“I don’t need to.”
Silence.
Then softly—
“I’ve seen you enough to know one bad day doesn’t define you.”
Your breathing slowed.
He continued, voice warm as sunlight:
“You’re allowed to struggle. Champions struggle. That’s how they become champions.”
You wiped your eyes.
“…Can you come over?”
“I’m already grabbing my keys.”
He didn’t ask you to talk when he arrived.
He didn’t ask what went wrong.
He didn’t analyze.
He just sat beside you on the couch and opened his arms.
You went into them immediately.
No hesitation.
No pride.
Just need.
He held you quietly, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back.
“You’re safe,” he murmured.
And somehow—
You believed him more than you believed your own doubts.
The airport was loud.
Too loud.
Too bright.
Too everything.
Athletes milled around with luggage and gear bags and headphones and game faces.
You stood beside him near security.
Your fingers were laced together tightly.
“You’ll text me when you land?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And after practice?”
“Yes.”
“And after meals?”
You laughed softly. “Okay, mom.”
He smiled sheepishly. “I just want to know you’re okay.”
Your expression softened.
“I will be.”
He hesitated.
Then leaned down and pressed his forehead gently to yours.
“I wish I could be there.”
“You will be,” you said. “Just… not physically.”
He nodded.
Then quietly—
“Bring me back a gold medal, okay?”
You grinned. “Bossy.”
“Motivational,” he corrected.
It felt unreal.
Flags everywhere.
Languages everywhere.
Energy everywhere.
You should’ve felt intimidated.
Instead—
You felt focused.
Because every time nerves tried to creep in, you remembered Yunho’s voice.
You’re doing great.
Your room was dim.
Your skates rested beside your bed like loyal companions.
Your phone buzzed.
Yunho.
You answered instantly. “Hi.”
“How’s my Olympian?”
“Nervous.”
“Good.”
You blinked. “Good?”
“Nerves mean you care.”
You smiled faintly. “You always know what to say.”
“I practice speeches in the mirror,” he said seriously.
You giggled.
Silence settled.
Comfortable.
Warm.
“Y/N?” he said softly.
“Yeah?”
“No matter what happens tomorrow… I’m proud of you.”
Your throat tightened.
“…Thank you.”
“And,” he added, “I’ll be watching live. So don’t fall.”
You gasped. “YUNHO.”
He laughed.
Your tension melted.
The arena lights were blinding.
The crowd was thunder.
Your name echoed.
You stepped onto the ice.
Cold air kissed your skin.
Blades touched the surface.
And suddenly—
Everything went quiet.
Not literally.
Just inside you.
Because you heard it.
That voice.
Warm. Steady. Certain.
You’re doing great.
Music began. You moved. One step. One glide. One jump. Landed. Spin. Transition. Combination. Landed. Applause swelled.
You didn’t think. Didn’t doubt. Didn’t hesitate.
You just skated. Flew. Lived. Felt. Every hour of training. Every fall. Every bruise. Every early morning. Every whispered encouragement. Every soft “I believe in you.”
It all carried you.
Final pose.
Music ended.
Silence—
Then the arena exploded.
Scoreboards were cruel.
You sat in the kiss-and-cry area gripping your coach’s hand.
Breathing shallow.
Screen flashed.
Numbers appeared.
You blinked.
Your coach screamed.
You stared.
1
First.
First place.
You didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t process.
“…I won?” you whispered.
Your coach was crying. “YOU WON.”
You covered your mouth.
The world blurred.
Back home, Yunho was standing in front of his TV.
Still.
Silent.
Eyes shining.
When your score appeared—
He laughed.
Not loudly.
Not wildly.
Just softly.
Proudly.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered.
The medal was heavier than you expected.
It rested against your chest, cool metal warming against your skin.
Cameras flashed.
Crowds cheered.
Anthem played.
But all you could think was—
I want to show him.
You didn’t even take off your skates before calling.
He answered instantly.
“Hi, champion.”
You burst into tears.
“I did it.”
“I know.”
“I did it, Yunho.”
“I know.”
You laughed through tears. “You sound calmer than me!”
“I’m trying not to scream and scare my neighbors.”
You sniffled. “You watched?”
“Every second.”
Silence.
Then softly—
“You were breathtaking.”
Your heart fluttered.
“…Come see me when I get back?”
He smiled through the phone. “Try and stop me.”
When you landed, the terminal was crowded.
Fans. Media. Officials.
You barely saw any of them.
Because you saw him.
Standing behind the barrier.
Tall.
Bright-eyed.
Holding a sign that read:
WORLD’S BEST SKATER (AND MY FAVORITE PERSON)
You laughed.
Ran to him.
He caught you easily, lifting you slightly off the ground.
“You did it,” he murmured into your hair.
“You believed I would.”
“Of course I did.”
You pulled back and placed the medal around his neck.
“For you.”
His eyes widened. “Y/N—”
“You’re part of this,” you said softly. “Every step.”
He swallowed.
Then gently took it off and put it back on you.
“No,” he said. “It belongs here.”
His fingers brushed your collarbone as he adjusted it.
“And I belong right beside you.”
That night you lay beside him, medal resting on the bedside table.
Your fingers traced his hand lazily.
“Yunho?”
“Mm?”
“If my tooth never hurt that day…”
He smiled sleepily. “Yeah?”
“I wouldn’t have met you.”
He squeezed your hand.
“Then I guess,” he murmured, “that cavity was fate.”
You laughed softly.
And as sleep pulled you under, his thumb brushed gentle circles against your skin—
Just like it always had.
Steady.
Warm.
Certain.
Just like him.
You noticed it three weeks after the Olympics.
Yunho was acting strange.
Not bad strange.
Not distant strange.
Just… secretly glowing strange.
He smiled at his phone more.
Whispered with your coach once.
Closed tabs when you walked past.
At first you thought nothing of it.
Then he started asking questions.
Weirdly specific questions.
“What kind of rings do skaters prefer?”
“Does hand size change after training?”
“Do you like silver or gold more?”
You narrowed your eyes.
“…Why.”
He blinked innocently. “Just curious.”
Suspicious.
Very suspicious.
He told you to dress warm.
That was the only instruction.
“No training clothes,” he added. “Something pretty.”
You stared. “I always look pretty.”
He smiled. “True. But today I want breathtaking.”
Your stomach fluttered.
When you arrived—
Your breath stopped.
The rink was empty.
Lights dimmed.
Soft golden lamps lined the boards.
Fairy lights twinkled along the railing like fallen stars.
In the center of the ice—
One single spotlight.
You turned slowly.
“…Yunho.”
He stood behind you, hands tucked nervously into his coat pockets.
“I rented it,” he admitted.
Your chest tightened. “Why?”
He stepped closer.
Because he was tall, when he looked at you, his gaze always dipped slightly, soft and fond like sunlight filtering through leaves.
“Because,” he said gently, “this is where you shine the most.”
Your throat burned.
He held out your skates.
“You didn’t think I’d make you dress up just to stand still, did you?”
You laughed softly through the emotion rising in your chest.
You changed.
Stepped onto the ice.
Glided.
It felt different today.
Not like training.
Not like competition.
Like floating.
Music began playing softly through the speakers — your Olympic program song.
You looked at him.
He nodded once.
You skated.
Slow. Graceful. Effortless.
No jumps. No pressure. Just movement.
Just feeling.
Just you.
When you finished, you turned toward him—
—and found him already stepping onto the ice.
Carefully.
Cautiously.
Holding something behind his back.
Your heart stuttered.
“Yunho…”
He stopped in front of you.
Close enough that you could see the tiny crease that appeared beside his eye when he was nervous.
“I practiced walking on ice for two weeks,” he confessed. “For this exact moment.”
Your lips parted.
He took a breath.
Then—
He knelt.
Your hands flew to your mouth.
He revealed the small velvet box.
Opened it.
Inside rested a delicate ring that caught the light like a captured star.
His voice was soft.
Steady.
But trembling at the edges.
“I’ve watched you fall,” he said quietly.
“I’ve watched you get back up.”
“I’ve watched you doubt yourself… and prove yourself wrong every time.”
Your vision blurred.
“I’ve watched you become the strongest person I know.”
His eyes lifted to yours.
“And somewhere along the way… you became my home.”
Tears slipped down your cheeks.
“I don’t just want to watch you shine,” he whispered.
“I want to stand beside you for every performance life gives us.”
His thumb brushed your hand gently.
“Will you marry me?”
The world went silent.
Not rink silent.
Not night silent.
Heart silent.
“Yes,” you breathed.
His shoulders dropped in relief, a laugh escaping him as he slid the ring onto your finger.
It fit perfectly.
Of course it did.
He knew you.
You didn’t even realize you were crying until he stood and wiped your cheek with his thumb.
“You’re crying,” he murmured.
“You proposed on ice,” you sniffled. “What did you expect?”
He smiled.
Then you grabbed his coat and pulled him down into a kiss.
Soft.
Warm.
Certain.
His hands settled instinctively at your waist, grounding you, holding you like you were something precious he never wanted to drop.
When you pulled back, your foreheads rested together.
“You’re stuck with me now,” he whispered.
You smiled. “Good.”
The apartment was quiet.
Snow tapped gently against the windows.
You sat on the couch facing him, still staring at your ring like it might vanish if you blinked.
“I can’t believe you planned all that,” you murmured.
He shrugged shyly. “I wanted it to be perfect.”
“It was,” you said. “You’re perfect.”
He laughed softly. “I’m really not.”
“You are to me.”
Something shifted in his expression.
Warmer.
Deeper.
The kind of look that always made your stomach flutter.
He reached out slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I’ve wanted to kiss you all day.”
Your breath caught. “Then why didn’t you?”
“I wanted to wait until you were mine forever.”
Your voice dropped to a whisper. “I was already yours.”
His eyes darkened slightly — not intense, not overwhelming.
Just full.
Full of affection.
Full of love.
Full of you.
His fingers slid gently along your jaw, tilting your face toward him.
This kiss was different.
Slower.
Softer.
Lingering.
His lips moved against yours like he was savoring the moment rather than rushing it. One hand cradled your cheek while the other rested at your waist, thumb brushing slow circles through the fabric of your sweater.
You melted into him.
The world outside faded.
All you could feel was warmth.
His warmth.
Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, holding him closer.
He pulled back just enough to murmur—
“You okay?”
You nodded softly.
Always checking.
Always gentle.
“Yunho,” you whispered.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
His smile was quiet.
Certain.
“I love you too.”
He kissed you again — softer this time, like sealing a promise rather than starting a fire.
And somehow that made your heart race even more.
Later, you lay curled against his chest, his arm wrapped around you protectively.
Your ring glinted faintly in the lamplight.
His fingers traced lazy patterns along your arm.
Comforting.
Steady.
Safe.
“You know,” you murmured sleepily, “all this happened because of a cavity.”
He chuckled quietly. “Best dental diagnosis of my career.”
You smiled against his shoulder.
Outside, snow kept falling.
Inside, his heartbeat thumped slow and sure beneath your ear.
And you realized—
Gold medals were nice.
Olympics were dreams.
But this?
This quiet moment, wrapped in his arms, wearing his promise on your finger—
Synopsis: He was a shy and cute creation, but his inventor died before making him hands, leaving him with scissorhands. He hid in the dark until you met him, giving him a shelter and showing him he was deserving of love.
M. Yoongi x f. Reader
2.8K words.
Genre: Inspired by Edward Scissorhands (1990) | yander-ish.
Tags: Edward scissorhands au, fluff but at the same time dark, cute and sweet Yoongi, but possessive and obsessive Yoongi (don't let him fool you), sweet reader, naive Yoongi, dangerous Yoongi, he's too whipped for reader, insecurities, jealousy, codependency, cuteness, soft Yoongi and reader, very fluffy but very toxic, reader likes her space and Yoongi likes her space too, obsession, murder, smut, rough s3x, cunnilingus, somnophilia, infatuation.
From the series masterlist; Hush.
Navigation Masterlist.
“… There are all kinds of scissors. And once there was even a man who had scissors for hands.”
You sighed rolling your eyes, you regret telling your mom that you’d help her sell her Avon’s products in the neighborhood. You needed the small sales commission, but no one bought anything from you.
This was frustrating, you already knocked all the doors of your neighborhood.
But then… you watched the gothic mansion on the hill from the side-view mirror of your car. The former owner died months ago of a heart attack, and since then, the castle looked abandoned. People say that the former owner was a creator, an artist that lived like a hermit.
You shrugged at your own thoughts, starting the car in the direction of the mansion. After all, curiosity always get the best of you.
You stood before the huge front door of the mansion castle-like, knocking the door and entering uninvited when you noticed that it was already opened.
“Uhm… hello? Is anyone at home? I don’t want to intrude but I have such good Avon products to show you!” You spoke out loudly, your customer-service smile wavered when the only sound that greet you was the echo of your voice.
You were about to turn around defeated until you heard steps in the second floor, making you grin with hope.
You wanted to at least sell one product today, and you were willing to do anything to achieve that, even if it involves literally intruding a stranger’s house and climbing their stairs.
The second floor looked like a huge studio, without rooms, just an empty and big space with canvas everywhere.
You narrowed your eyes when you saw a figure hiding in a dark corner, almost as if they were scared of you.
Your brows knitted, but that didn’t stop you from trying to charm the stranger with your customer-service smile.
“Oh, hello there! Sorry to intrude in your house, I just want to-“
You stopped mid-sentence by a scream of horror. In front of you stood a man with Scissorhands.
Fucking Scissorhands. You didn’t believe your eyes.
The pale boy flinched at your scream, widening his eyes and taking some steps back. His shoulders were a bit shrugged, and you noticed him hiding his Scissorhands behind his back.
A pang of guilt squeezes your chest, you didn’t mean to make him feel bad about himself.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry for my reaction, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m y/n, nice to meet you!” You smile wide again, trying not to waver this time.
The boy tilted his head to the side, like a confused puppy. If you say you didn’t melt by his cuteness, you’d be a liar.
“But I’m the one who’s scary,” he mutters softly, with his cat eyes looking at you with curiosity.
He was so pretty that it took your breath away. His raven and long hair boost his beautiful pale face. He was all dressed in black, goth alike, but his behavior was like that of a puppy.
And well, his Scissorhands were intimidating, but you stopped feeling scared when you realized he was harmless.
“You’re not scary at all, you look very nice to me. You’re just a little bit different, but there’s nothing wrong with that!” You grinned crinkling your eyes, you were trying your best to make him feel comfortable.
The boy returned your gesture, with a soft smile that bared his gums prettily.
You came here trying to be charming not charmed.
You watched your surroundings again, noticing that this place looked so abandoned and desolated.
“You live here alone?” You asked cautiously, watching his every expression.
He pouted with a sad nod.
“Yes, my creator left me without having finished my hands.” He said with a deep sigh, watching his scissors for hands.
He said left, not died.
You felt that pang of pity again, he looked so alone and hurt. Maybe you could… help him?
“I can… I can take care of you for a couple of weeks, to help you find a job and a place to live in the neighborhood.”
The boy blinked shocked, pointing a finger-blade to himself.
“Me? You’ll help me?”
“Yes,” you said smiling softly. “What’s your name?”
“Yoongi,” the gothic boy smiled with stars in his pitch-black eyes, melting you again.
“All right,” you whispered, applying softly concealer under his watchful eyes. You felt his gaze heavy on you while you’re applying the Avon products.
He was still under your touch, his face inches from yours. You tried to ignore the hot knot in your belly by the closeness, but he made it difficult with those piercing and gentle eyes fixated on you.
You saw the next product that you haven’t tried on him, a lip balm. The mischievous part of you made you use your finger to apply the product softly on his lips, and you heard him inhale sharp. You tried so hard to hide your smirk. His lips were so soft at the touch, so you pull your finger away quickly to stop your train of thoughts.
“All done!” You singsong, acting like you didn’t see his face falling when you pull yourself away from him.
You two grew closer the last couple of days, your family wasn’t too eager of accommodating him, but when he offered himself to tend the house garden, turning it into a beautiful magazine-like garden, then they started to accept him.
You ignored the gossips of your nosy neighbors, happy to make Yoongi feel at home. Yoongi always did his best effort to please you, working as a hairdresser thanks to his hair cutting skills. You tried to be always around him, making sure that nobody take advantage of him. He was too naïve and well-intentioned for his own good, so you do your best to protect him.
He always follows you like a lost puppy, and you tried to teach him how to be more independent, but even then, he will still follow you everywhere. It’s like he needs to be around you, so you let him be for now.
Every morning he wakes up next to you on your bed even when he has his own bedroom, but again, you let him be. He cooks all of your food, and follows you when you went out to buy more products or sell to your neighbors. The townspeople say between whispers that the strange man was obsessed with you, but you pay them no attention, it was only gossips of ill-intentioned people.
It was so hard not to like him when he gives you one of his gummy smiles, or when he pulls your foot on top of his knee while trying so hard to tie your shoes, making you giggle at his serious and concentrated face. He was adorable, but… he also doesn’t know much about boundaries.
You see, after the second week you stopped feeling comfortable with him waking up beside you on your bed, not when he was getting so close to you. The other day his chest was glued to your back and his face buried into your neck, you wouldn’t bat an eye if it weren’t for his bulge poking your ass. You told him to wake up on his own bed, but he didn’t pay you attention, ignoring your request.
You started to get annoyed when he didn’t stop following you around even when you ordered him to give you some personal space. But he just shrugged, playing dumb as if he didn’t understand you at all.
That’s why you sneak away from him, having some space for yourself for a couple of hours before he caught you, and when he did it, it’s when you realized that something was off.
Yoongi’s eyes were crazed and his raven hair disheveled, he ran to you, wrapping his arms around your body and crying his heart out with relieve and fear. You were frozen, your limbs unmoving by the shock of his state.
“Why did you hide from me! I thought you left me like he did!” He sobbed, his teary eyes broking your heart.
You ignored the pain you felt at his Scissorhands cutting the skin of your arms.
You let him sleep with you that night, and it was your first mistake, because after that he started to sleep with you every night, not taking no for an answer.
You felt trapped.
Your second mistake was to show yourself vulnerable in front of him. You were crying because the man that sells you the Avon products acted rude and cruel towards you, not wanting to sell you or your mom any more products at all.
Your face was buried in Yoongi’s neck, with his arms wrapped around you while you were sitting on his lap. Your eyelids felt heavy when he rocked softly and gently your body, humming a sweet song into your ear. You’ve never felt so cared for, maybe that’s why you let yourself fall asleep into his arms that night, ignoring the feeling of lips brushing and mouthing your skin.
That was a moment of weakness, one that cost the rude man’s life. You screamed at the top of your lungs when you saw stains of blood covering half of Yoongi’s face, and the blood dripping from his Scissorhands were evidence enough of the crime he committed. His brows knitted with worry at your reaction, he wasn’t good at dealing with your rejection.
“I did this for you, because he hurt you, and I love you too much and I don’t want to see you sad.” He burst out with a trembling chin and a watering gaze.
Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, your blood ran cold, you were just shocked. You ignored him, walking past him, turning a deaf ear to his pleas and his heartbroken cries of your name.
Even though you acted tough, you were very weak for him, that’s why you didn’t tell the police that he murdered someone. You felt so ashamed of yourself, you didn’t even know why you were doing this for literally a stranger that you just met a couple of weeks ago. It was just so stupid, you were stupid.
Since then, Yoongi showed you a side of him that was darker, opposite to his sweet and innocent persona. He was acting more possessive and territorial towards you, threating to kill any man that dares as much as talking to you. He didn’t listen to your angry yells, simply staring at you as if you were a toddler throwing a tantrum, pissing you off even more. He was controlling, following you everywhere, you didn’t have space for yourself.
And the worst part was that you were trapped, because you were scared of him hurting more people or your family, and you were worried that he would tell the police that he murdered someone and that you lied for him.
It was a loss-loss situation.
You hide yourself in your bathroom, sitting on the floor and crying your eyes out. The only moment that you have time for yourself, away from him, was in the bathroom. And you needed the space to shed some tears before facing your ugly reality again.
The sobs were getting louder and wrecking, you covered your mouth but your cries could still be heard outside the bathroom. You winced at your own loud outburst.
Yoongi knocked immediately the door.
“Y/n are you okay? Can I come in?” He asked in a rushed tone, you know him well enough to sense his desperation.
You didn’t say anything back, wanting him to suffer.
“Y/n! Please open the door right now!”
This time he yelled at the other side of the door, you listened to his Scissorhands trying to turn the knob but failing, either way the door was locked. He hit the door hard, begging for you to open the door and shouting in anger when you simply ignored him.
Then there was an unsettling and deep silence, way too long for your like.
Until the door burst open, making you startled and scream.
Yoongi’s lips were curled down and his jaw clenched, it was the first time you see him this angry. His gaze was stern and his breath heavy, he walked towards you with long steps, and you flinched away cowering into the bathroom’s corner. His boots stopped before you, you made an effort to not look up and avoid his gaze. He squatted, growling when you still didn’t meet his eyes.
You cried in pain when he used his Scissorhands to grab your chin making you look at him. You felt blood dropping from the wound. His ebony eyes widened, and his brows knitted in worry and anger.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but you make it very hard.” He said with a pained grimace, as if the thought of hurting you wounded him more than you.
“Go back to your house Yoongi, I don’t want you near me.” You pressed between teeth, fighting back tears of frustration.
Yoongi inhaled sharply, with hurt flashing his watery eyes. His lips wobbled and the tears stream like cascades to his chin, he didn’t wipe them away, he only stared at you as if you just stabbed him.
You gulped hard at the sight, ignoring your heavy heart and avoiding his eyes, looking at the tiles of the bathroom instead.
“Is it… because of my hands? I know they’re ugly and sharp, but I promise not to hurt you with them.” He urged with a broken voice, coming closer to you, inches from your face and pushing you deeper into the corner. You felt trapped by him. He just didn’t let you breathe, it’s all him, him and him everywhere you take a breath.
“It’s not your hands! I like them! It’s just… you don’t give me space and you go around killing people and that’s not okay! Can you just have some common sense?” You barked against his face, panting with anger.
Yoongi looked like a kicked pup by your scolding.
“Sense? ‘Don’t know ‘bout that, ‘just know that I like your-your space and I don’t like bad people making you sad.” He whispered with a weak and soft voice, looking defeated.
You closed your eyes a second, the pang of guilt was too strong to bear. He didn’t know any better, he was just naïve.
You grabbed his face into your hands, stroking softly his cheeks with your thumbs, wiping the dry tears away. Yoongi sighed into your touch, with his lids heavy, staring piercingly at you.
You two stayed like that for a couple of minutes, until Yoongi pulled your wrists away, getting more closer to your face till your noses brushed.
“Do you forgive me?” He asked with a thin voice, his hot breath caressing your lips. You felt dizzy by his voice, scent and closeness, it felt like he was putting you under a spell.
You just nodded weakly, not wanting to utter a word and break the tension growing between you two.
His lips roamed until your jaw, brushing the skin and smiling against it, that was your only warning before he stands up pulling you with him, making you gasp and wrap your legs around his waist, he tried to not cut you with his Scissorhands.
You liked being carried by him as if you weight nothing. You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in his raven and soft looks, his scent making you dizzy again.
He took you to his room, closing the door behind him with his foot. He tried to lay you down on his mattress, but you clung yourself around him tighter, not wanting to pull away from his warmth for even a second. Yoongi chuckled at your reaction, trying to lay you down again.
“Let go, pretty girl,” you melted at his words, letting go of him and lying on his bed. Yoongi smirked mischievous at your compliance.
One of his finger-blades caressed your cheek lovingly, your heart beat was wild against your ribcage. Yoongi proved to be very dangerous, but at the same time, very sweet and innocent. You didn’t know what to think of him anymore.
“Let go of your thoughts, focus on me.” He ordered with a deep voice, his heavy gaze was watching your every expression, not missing your doubts.
You blinked surprised at his tone, but you smiled at him anyway.
Your legs were opened widely to make room for him, your toes curled at the feeling of his groin rubbing yours. You whimpered with your back arching at the feeling of his tongue lapping your neck like a starve dog, touching you everywhere like a possessed man. You ignored the pictures of you pinned to his wall, too busy moaning against his ear.
He’s doing what he wanted to do the first time he saw you.
synopsis : a figure skater meets a gentle dentist after a toothache, and their soft, supportive love grows alongside her skating career. With his constant encouragement, she wins Olympic gold, and then he proposes on the ice, proving he’s been her greatest victory all along.
• pairing : dentist! yunho x figure skater! reader
𓈒𓍼𓏸 wc : 7.4k
𓈒𓍼𓏸 genre : fluff, romance, slice of life, light erotica (just a little)
𓈒𓍼𓏸 warnings : 16+
♡ author's note : hey babies ! so i wrote this inspired by yunho's first dream and my first dream, and honestly, this trope has a unique dynamic that you may love ! hope u enjoy lovies and pls lmk if it's good ! <3
☆ masterlist
You first met Yunho because of a toothache.
Which, in your opinion, was one of the most unfair meet-cutes ever.
Not in a café. Not at a rink. Not in a bookstore. No. A dental clinic.
Your day off was supposed to be sacred.
No training. No drills. No coach yelling “again.” No early alarms. Just sleep, coffee, and maybe stretching if guilt won.
Instead, you woke up with a dull throb in your jaw.
You ignored it.
Figure skaters ignored pain like it was part of the job description.
By noon, it pulsed.
By two, it stabbed.
By four, you were clutching your cheek and googling emergency dentist near me like your life depended on it.
That’s how you ended up standing in front of a clean glass building with soft pastel signage and a neat little logo shaped like a smiling tooth.
You groaned.
“Of course it’s cute,” you muttered. “My suffering must be aesthetic.”
Inside, the clinic smelled faintly of mint and citrus. Calm instrumental music played, the kind that felt like it was trying to convince your body you weren’t about to be stabbed with tiny metal tools.
The receptionist smiled. “Appointment?”
You pressed your cheek. “Pain. Sudden. Urgent. I will cry if not helped.”
She nodded sympathetically. “We can fit you in. Please sit.”
You sat.
You regretted everything.
You hated dentists.
You hated the sound of drills. The sterile lighting. The way you couldn’t talk while someone examined your mouth like you were a science project.
A door opened.
“Next patient?”
The voice was warm.
Low.
Gentle.
You looked up.
And forgot about your tooth.
He was tall.
Not just tall—tall tall. The kind of tall that made doorframes look slightly concerned. Soft brown hair framed his forehead, and his eyes—
You blinked.
Kind.
That was the word.
Kind eyes.
He smiled politely. “You must be our emergency patient?”
You stared.
He tilted his head slightly, amused but patient.
You snapped back to reality. “Yes. That’s me. Emergency disaster.”
“I’m Yunho,” he said. “I’ll take care of you.”
Oh.
Oh no.
He had the voice of someone who read bedtime stories to children and made them believe monsters didn’t exist.
You followed him into the treatment room in a daze.
You sat in the chair.
He adjusted the light.
“You said it started today?”
You nodded.
“Sharp pain or dull ache?”
“Both,” you mumbled. “It upgraded.”
He chuckled softly.
Why was that comforting.
“Open for me?”
You opened your mouth.
Dignity left the chat.
He leaned closer, gloved fingers gentle as he tilted your chin. His touch was careful, almost apologetic, like he didn’t want to inconvenience you by examining your own teeth.
Professional, you reminded yourself. He’s professional. Stop noticing things.
His brows furrowed slightly as he checked.
“Hm.”
You froze.
Was that a bad hm.
“That’s a worried hm,” you tried to say, which came out as “Tha ah wah-ee hm.”
He laughed quietly. “Not worried. Thinking.”
He leaned back. “Looks like a small cavity that finally decided to protest. We can fix it today.”
Relief flooded you.
“No root canal?”
“No root canal.”
You nearly cried from joy.
While preparing tools, he asked casually, “So what do you do?”
You swallowed. “I’m a figure skater.”
He paused mid-motion.
Turned.
Eyes bright.
“Really?”
You nodded cautiously.
“That’s amazing.”
Not fake-polite amazing.
Real amazing.
You felt heat creep into your cheeks. “It’s… just a job.”
“It’s not just anything,” he said gently. “That takes discipline. Balance. Years of training.”
You stared.
Most people either said Wow you must be flexible or Do you know how to do backflips?
No one ever said discipline.
“…Yeah,” you said quietly. “It does.”
He smiled softly, like he understood something about you that most people missed.
“Alright,” he said, adjusting his mask. “I’ll numb the area first.”
You stiffened.
He noticed immediately.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”
You hesitated. “…I don’t like needles.”
His eyes softened.
“I’ll be quick,” he promised. “And I’ll tell you before I do anything. Nothing sudden. Okay?”
You nodded.
He raised the syringe slowly so you could see it. “This is the anesthetic. Small pinch. That’s all.”
You gripped the armrests.
He waited.
Actually waited.
Not rushing.
Not dismissing.
Just… there.
“You ready?” he asked.
“…Okay.”
Gentle fingers rested against your cheek, steadying you.
“Little pinch.”
It stung.
You flinched—
—and then his thumb lightly tapped your wrist.
Distraction.
Comfort.
Grounding.
It was over in seconds.
“…That wasn’t bad,” you admitted.
He grinned behind his mask. “I have a reputation to maintain.”
The procedure was quick.
You expected tension, pain, panic.
Instead—
You felt calm.
Because every movement he made was deliberate. Every tool introduction came with a soft explanation. Every adjustment came with “You okay?”
At one point he paused.
“You’re doing great,” he said.
Your heart did something embarrassing.
Why did praise from a dentist feel like winning a championship medal.
When he finished, he leaned back. “All done.”
You blinked.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“That was…” you searched for the word. “…pleasant.”
He laughed. “I’ll put that on our reviews.”
You sat up slowly, still numb.
He removed his gloves.
“You should avoid chewing on that side for a few hours,” he said. “And no cold drinks until sensation returns.”
You nodded.
Neither of you moved.
The air shifted.
You didn’t know why your chest felt tight.
Maybe it was the way he looked at you—not as a patient, not as a stranger, but as someone interesting. Someone worth paying attention to.
“So,” he said lightly, “when’s your next competition?”
You blinked. “Next month.”
“I hope you win.”
It was simple.
Sincere.
No teasing. No exaggeration. Just belief.
Your throat felt weirdly tight. “…Thanks.”
You told yourself you didn’t go back because of him.
You told yourself it was responsible dental care.
Routine checkups.
Preventative maintenance.
Totally normal.
Totally professional.
Totally not because your dentist had the warmest smile you’d ever seen.
But somehow—
Your appointments kept landing on his shift.
Coincidence.
Sure.
Every time you walked in, his face lit up slightly.
“Hey, skater.”
Every time, your heart betrayed you.
Three months after your first visit, you were practicing a program when your coach clapped.
“Break.”
You glided to the barrier, breath visible in the cold air.
That’s when you saw him.
Standing near the entrance.
Tall.
Scarf around his neck.
Looking wildly out of place in a skating rink.
You blinked.
“…Yunho?”
He waved awkwardly. “Hi.”
Your brain malfunctioned.
“You… you’re here.”
“Yeah.”
“Why are you here?”
He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “You said your practice was today. I was curious.”
Your coach smirked from behind you.
You ignored her.
“You came… to watch me?”
He nodded.
Heat spread across your face that had nothing to do with exercise.
You stepped back onto the ice.
Your heartbeat felt different now.
Not nerves.
Not pressure.
Something lighter.
You skated.
Spun.
Jumped.
And every time you passed the boards, you saw him watching—eyes wide, completely captivated, like you were performing in an arena instead of an empty practice rink.
When you finished, you glided back, breathing hard.
“Well?” you asked.
He looked like he’d just witnessed magic.
“That,” he said softly, “was incredible.”
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
After practice, you sat across from him in a small café.
He stirred his drink. “I didn’t realize how intense skating is.”
You laughed. “People think it’s just sparkles and music.”
“You make it look easy.”
“It’s not.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why it’s impressive.”
You studied him.
“You really pay attention, don’t you?”
He tilted his head. “To things that matter? Yeah.”
Your chest fluttered.
It happened quietly.
Naturally.
Like it had always been heading there.
You were walking outside the café, evening air cool against your skin.
“I’m glad my tooth hurt that day,” you said suddenly.
He blinked. “Most patients don’t say that.”
You laughed softly. “If it didn’t… I wouldn’t have met you.”
He stopped walking.
Looked at you.
Really looked.
“…I was hoping you’d say something like that.”
Your breath caught.
“I wanted an excuse to see you outside the clinic,” he admitted. “But I didn’t want to cross a line.”
“You didn’t,” you said gently.
Silence.
Soft.
Warm.
Then—
“Can I take you out sometime?” he asked.
Your answer came instantly.
“Yes.”
Dating Yunho was like living inside a soft song.
He remembered things.
Your competition dates. Your favorite tea. Which ankle got sore first during winter training.
He showed up with snacks after practice.
He learned skating terminology just to understand your stories.
And when you got nervous before competitions, he held your hands and said—
“You’ve already won, you know.”
“How?”
“You love what you do. That’s the rarest victory.”
The night before your biggest event of the season, you sat beside him on a quiet bench outside the arena.
“I’m scared,” you admitted.
He squeezed your fingers. “Of what?”
“Messing up. Falling. Disappointing people.”
He turned toward you.
“You could fall ten times,” he said softly, “and I’d still think you were amazing.”
Your eyes stung.
“You’re biased.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “I’m your biggest fan.”
You didn’t win first.
You placed second.
But when you stepped off the ice, breathless and shaking, he was there with a small bouquet of white flowers.
“You were beautiful,” he said.
Not your skating was.
You were.
And somehow that meant more than any medal.
Months later, you lay on his couch, head resting on his shoulder as a movie played you weren’t watching.
His fingers traced lazy circles on your wrist.
“Hey,” he murmured.
“Mm?”
“Your checkup is next week.”
You laughed. “You’re dating me. Isn’t that cheating?”
“Nope,” he said. “It’s dedication to oral health.”
You snorted. “Romantic.”
“I can be more romantic,” he said.
“Oh?”
He tilted your chin gently.
Smiled.
“You still have the nicest smile I’ve ever seen.”
Your heart melted.
If someone had told you that the love of your life would be a dentist—
You would have laughed.
But love didn’t arrive dramatically.
It didn’t crash in like a storm.
It came quietly.
With gentle hands.
Kind eyes.
Soft reassurances.
And a voice that always said—
“You’re doing great.”
And somehow, with him beside you—
You always believed it.
You didn’t expect the call to come on a Tuesday.
Tuesdays were boring. Tuesdays were conditioning drills and protein bars and your coach yelling about posture.
Tuesdays were not supposed to change your life.
Your phone buzzed during your water break.
Unknown number.
You almost ignored it.
Almost.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Y/N?”
“Yes?”
“This is the national federation.”
Your stomach dropped.
Your coach froze mid-lecture across the rink.
You swallowed. “Yes?”
“We’re calling to inform you that you’ve officially qualified for the 2026 Winter Olympics.”
Silence.
Not dramatic silence.
Not cinematic silence.
Real silence — the kind where your brain shuts off because reality suddenly becomes too big to process.
“…I what?”
“You qualified.”
Your knees went weak.
Your coach was already running toward you.
“You qualified,” the voice repeated gently. “Congratulations.”
Your lips trembled.
“…Thank you.”
You hung up.
Stared at your phone.
Your coach grabbed your shoulders. “Well??”
You whispered, “I made it.”
She screamed.
You burst into tears.
Your hands shook as you dialed him.
He picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, skater.”
Your voice broke. “Yunho.”
He sat up instantly. “What happened? Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”
“I—”
You couldn’t say it.
Not because you didn’t want to.
Because you couldn’t breathe.
“I qualified,” you whispered.
Silence.
“…For what?” he asked softly, like he already knew but didn’t want to assume.
“The Olympics.”
Another silence.
Then—
“You qualified,” he repeated.
Not loud.
Not shocked.
Just… full.
Proud.
You heard him exhale slowly.
“I knew it.”
Your chest tightened. “You did not.”
“I did,” he said. “I told you before, remember?”
You remembered.
You’ve already won.
Your eyes filled again.
“I’m proud of you,” he said quietly. “So proud.”
You cried harder.
That night he showed up at your apartment with takeout, flowers, and a cake that said:
GO GOLD OR GO HOME
You laughed so hard you nearly dropped it.
“That’s aggressive,” you said.
“I panicked at the bakery,” he admitted. “There were too many options.”
You set the cake down. “You could’ve gotten something classy.”
“I did,” he said, pointing at himself.
You snorted.
He pulled you into a hug before you could reply.
And that was when it hit you.
Not the Olympics.
Not the pressure.
Not the expectations.
Just—
Him.
His arms around you.
His steady heartbeat against your cheek.
“I’m really going,” you whispered.
He nodded against your hair. “Yeah. You are.”
Olympic preparation was different.
Harder. Longer. Sharper.
Everything mattered now.
Your jump height. Your spin speed. Your landing edges. Your breathing. Your stamina. Your sleep.
Your stress.
Especially your stress.
Which is why Yunho became your unofficial emotional support human.
He brought meals when you forgot to eat.
He taped your ankles when they ached.
He sat quietly during late-night stretch sessions, reading while you worked.
Sometimes you’d glance up mid-stretch and find him already looking at you.
Softly.
Fondly.
Like you were something precious.
“What?” you’d ask.
“Nothing,” he’d say.
But his smile always answered.
Every athlete has one.
The day nothing works.
You fell three times.
Missed two combinations.
Under-rotated a jump you’d landed perfectly for months.
Your coach called break.
You skated off, chest tight, throat burning.
You didn’t cry at the rink.
You never cried at the rink.
But the second you got outside—
The tears came.
You didn’t even realize you’d called him until he answered.
“Hey love—”
“I’m bad,” you choked.
Pause.
Then calm.
Gentle.
“No, you’re not.”
“I couldn’t land anything today.”
“That happens.”
“I’m going to embarrass everyone.”
“You won’t.”
Your voice cracked. “You didn’t see me.”
“I don’t need to.”
Silence.
Then softly—
“I’ve seen you enough to know one bad day doesn’t define you.”
Your breathing slowed.
He continued, voice warm as sunlight:
“You’re allowed to struggle. Champions struggle. That’s how they become champions.”
You wiped your eyes.
“…Can you come over?”
“I’m already grabbing my keys.”
He didn’t ask you to talk when he arrived.
He didn’t ask what went wrong.
He didn’t analyze.
He just sat beside you on the couch and opened his arms.
You went into them immediately.
No hesitation.
No pride.
Just need.
He held you quietly, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back.
“You’re safe,” he murmured.
And somehow—
You believed him more than you believed your own doubts.
The airport was loud.
Too loud.
Too bright.
Too everything.
Athletes milled around with luggage and gear bags and headphones and game faces.
You stood beside him near security.
Your fingers were laced together tightly.
“You’ll text me when you land?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And after practice?”
“Yes.”
“And after meals?”
You laughed softly. “Okay, mom.”
He smiled sheepishly. “I just want to know you’re okay.”
Your expression softened.
“I will be.”
He hesitated.
Then leaned down and pressed his forehead gently to yours.
“I wish I could be there.”
“You will be,” you said. “Just… not physically.”
He nodded.
Then quietly—
“Bring me back a gold medal, okay?”
You grinned. “Bossy.”
“Motivational,” he corrected.
It felt unreal.
Flags everywhere.
Languages everywhere.
Energy everywhere.
You should’ve felt intimidated.
Instead—
You felt focused.
Because every time nerves tried to creep in, you remembered Yunho’s voice.
You’re doing great.
Your room was dim.
Your skates rested beside your bed like loyal companions.
Your phone buzzed.
Yunho.
You answered instantly. “Hi.”
“How’s my Olympian?”
“Nervous.”
“Good.”
You blinked. “Good?”
“Nerves mean you care.”
You smiled faintly. “You always know what to say.”
“I practice speeches in the mirror,” he said seriously.
You giggled.
Silence settled.
Comfortable.
Warm.
“Y/N?” he said softly.
“Yeah?”
“No matter what happens tomorrow… I’m proud of you.”
Your throat tightened.
“…Thank you.”
“And,” he added, “I’ll be watching live. So don’t fall.”
You gasped. “YUNHO.”
He laughed.
Your tension melted.
The arena lights were blinding.
The crowd was thunder.
Your name echoed.
You stepped onto the ice.
Cold air kissed your skin.
Blades touched the surface.
And suddenly—
Everything went quiet.
Not literally.
Just inside you.
Because you heard it.
That voice.
Warm. Steady. Certain.
You’re doing great.
Music began. You moved. One step. One glide. One jump. Landed. Spin. Transition. Combination. Landed. Applause swelled.
You didn’t think. Didn’t doubt. Didn’t hesitate.
You just skated. Flew. Lived. Felt. Every hour of training. Every fall. Every bruise. Every early morning. Every whispered encouragement. Every soft “I believe in you.”
It all carried you.
Final pose.
Music ended.
Silence—
Then the arena exploded.
Scoreboards were cruel.
You sat in the kiss-and-cry area gripping your coach’s hand.
Breathing shallow.
Screen flashed.
Numbers appeared.
You blinked.
Your coach screamed.
You stared.
1
First.
First place.
You didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t process.
“…I won?” you whispered.
Your coach was crying. “YOU WON.”
You covered your mouth.
The world blurred.
Back home, Yunho was standing in front of his TV.
Still.
Silent.
Eyes shining.
When your score appeared—
He laughed.
Not loudly.
Not wildly.
Just softly.
Proudly.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered.
The medal was heavier than you expected.
It rested against your chest, cool metal warming against your skin.
Cameras flashed.
Crowds cheered.
Anthem played.
But all you could think was—
I want to show him.
You didn’t even take off your skates before calling.
He answered instantly.
“Hi, champion.”
You burst into tears.
“I did it.”
“I know.”
“I did it, Yunho.”
“I know.”
You laughed through tears. “You sound calmer than me!”
“I’m trying not to scream and scare my neighbors.”
You sniffled. “You watched?”
“Every second.”
Silence.
Then softly—
“You were breathtaking.”
Your heart fluttered.
“…Come see me when I get back?”
He smiled through the phone. “Try and stop me.”
When you landed, the terminal was crowded.
Fans. Media. Officials.
You barely saw any of them.
Because you saw him.
Standing behind the barrier.
Tall.
Bright-eyed.
Holding a sign that read:
WORLD’S BEST SKATER (AND MY FAVORITE PERSON)
You laughed.
Ran to him.
He caught you easily, lifting you slightly off the ground.
“You did it,” he murmured into your hair.
“You believed I would.”
“Of course I did.”
You pulled back and placed the medal around his neck.
“For you.”
His eyes widened. “Y/N—”
“You’re part of this,” you said softly. “Every step.”
He swallowed.
Then gently took it off and put it back on you.
“No,” he said. “It belongs here.”
His fingers brushed your collarbone as he adjusted it.
“And I belong right beside you.”
That night you lay beside him, medal resting on the bedside table.
Your fingers traced his hand lazily.
“Yunho?”
“Mm?”
“If my tooth never hurt that day…”
He smiled sleepily. “Yeah?”
“I wouldn’t have met you.”
He squeezed your hand.
“Then I guess,” he murmured, “that cavity was fate.”
You laughed softly.
And as sleep pulled you under, his thumb brushed gentle circles against your skin—
Just like it always had.
Steady.
Warm.
Certain.
Just like him.
You noticed it three weeks after the Olympics.
Yunho was acting strange.
Not bad strange.
Not distant strange.
Just… secretly glowing strange.
He smiled at his phone more.
Whispered with your coach once.
Closed tabs when you walked past.
At first you thought nothing of it.
Then he started asking questions.
Weirdly specific questions.
“What kind of rings do skaters prefer?”
“Does hand size change after training?”
“Do you like silver or gold more?”
You narrowed your eyes.
“…Why.”
He blinked innocently. “Just curious.”
Suspicious.
Very suspicious.
He told you to dress warm.
That was the only instruction.
“No training clothes,” he added. “Something pretty.”
You stared. “I always look pretty.”
He smiled. “True. But today I want breathtaking.”
Your stomach fluttered.
When you arrived—
Your breath stopped.
The rink was empty.
Lights dimmed.
Soft golden lamps lined the boards.
Fairy lights twinkled along the railing like fallen stars.
In the center of the ice—
One single spotlight.
You turned slowly.
“…Yunho.”
He stood behind you, hands tucked nervously into his coat pockets.
“I rented it,” he admitted.
Your chest tightened. “Why?”
He stepped closer.
Because he was tall, when he looked at you, his gaze always dipped slightly, soft and fond like sunlight filtering through leaves.
“Because,” he said gently, “this is where you shine the most.”
Your throat burned.
He held out your skates.
“You didn’t think I’d make you dress up just to stand still, did you?”
You laughed softly through the emotion rising in your chest.
You changed.
Stepped onto the ice.
Glided.
It felt different today.
Not like training.
Not like competition.
Like floating.
Music began playing softly through the speakers — your Olympic program song.
You looked at him.
He nodded once.
You skated.
Slow. Graceful. Effortless.
No jumps. No pressure. Just movement.
Just feeling.
Just you.
When you finished, you turned toward him—
—and found him already stepping onto the ice.
Carefully.
Cautiously.
Holding something behind his back.
Your heart stuttered.
“Yunho…”
He stopped in front of you.
Close enough that you could see the tiny crease that appeared beside his eye when he was nervous.
“I practiced walking on ice for two weeks,” he confessed. “For this exact moment.”
Your lips parted.
He took a breath.
Then—
He knelt.
Your hands flew to your mouth.
He revealed the small velvet box.
Opened it.
Inside rested a delicate ring that caught the light like a captured star.
His voice was soft.
Steady.
But trembling at the edges.
“I’ve watched you fall,” he said quietly.
“I’ve watched you get back up.”
“I’ve watched you doubt yourself… and prove yourself wrong every time.”
Your vision blurred.
“I’ve watched you become the strongest person I know.”
His eyes lifted to yours.
“And somewhere along the way… you became my home.”
Tears slipped down your cheeks.
“I don’t just want to watch you shine,” he whispered.
“I want to stand beside you for every performance life gives us.”
His thumb brushed your hand gently.
“Will you marry me?”
The world went silent.
Not rink silent.
Not night silent.
Heart silent.
“Yes,” you breathed.
His shoulders dropped in relief, a laugh escaping him as he slid the ring onto your finger.
It fit perfectly.
Of course it did.
He knew you.
You didn’t even realize you were crying until he stood and wiped your cheek with his thumb.
“You’re crying,” he murmured.
“You proposed on ice,” you sniffled. “What did you expect?”
He smiled.
Then you grabbed his coat and pulled him down into a kiss.
Soft.
Warm.
Certain.
His hands settled instinctively at your waist, grounding you, holding you like you were something precious he never wanted to drop.
When you pulled back, your foreheads rested together.
“You’re stuck with me now,” he whispered.
You smiled. “Good.”
The apartment was quiet.
Snow tapped gently against the windows.
You sat on the couch facing him, still staring at your ring like it might vanish if you blinked.
“I can’t believe you planned all that,” you murmured.
He shrugged shyly. “I wanted it to be perfect.”
“It was,” you said. “You’re perfect.”
He laughed softly. “I’m really not.”
“You are to me.”
Something shifted in his expression.
Warmer.
Deeper.
The kind of look that always made your stomach flutter.
He reached out slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I’ve wanted to kiss you all day.”
Your breath caught. “Then why didn’t you?”
“I wanted to wait until you were mine forever.”
Your voice dropped to a whisper. “I was already yours.”
His eyes darkened slightly — not intense, not overwhelming.
Just full.
Full of affection.
Full of love.
Full of you.
His fingers slid gently along your jaw, tilting your face toward him.
This kiss was different.
Slower.
Softer.
Lingering.
His lips moved against yours like he was savoring the moment rather than rushing it. One hand cradled your cheek while the other rested at your waist, thumb brushing slow circles through the fabric of your sweater.
You melted into him.
The world outside faded.
All you could feel was warmth.
His warmth.
Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, holding him closer.
He pulled back just enough to murmur—
“You okay?”
You nodded softly.
Always checking.
Always gentle.
“Yunho,” you whispered.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
His smile was quiet.
Certain.
“I love you too.”
He kissed you again — softer this time, like sealing a promise rather than starting a fire.
And somehow that made your heart race even more.
Later, you lay curled against his chest, his arm wrapped around you protectively.
Your ring glinted faintly in the lamplight.
His fingers traced lazy patterns along your arm.
Comforting.
Steady.
Safe.
“You know,” you murmured sleepily, “all this happened because of a cavity.”
He chuckled quietly. “Best dental diagnosis of my career.”
You smiled against his shoulder.
Outside, snow kept falling.
Inside, his heartbeat thumped slow and sure beneath your ear.
And you realized—
Gold medals were nice.
Olympics were dreams.
But this?
This quiet moment, wrapped in his arms, wearing his promise on your finger—
༘⋆warnings!: plot&smut (duh). boyfrsituationship???? to ??, p in v, oral (f!receiving), sleepy sex, emotional dependency, soft dom dynamic, praise & a bit of degradation, unsafe sex (dont do kids), surveillance/behavior-tracking app, invasive tech, anxiety, loss of self, toxic relationship dynamics. probably missing some as always ahhhh
༘⋆okay so this one is me. like actually me. im outting myself LMAO. i went back and forth so many times w/ this one, which is why ur getting it a month later :))))). it's darker, you'll prob be like mau wtf at the end or throughout, idkkkkk enjoy & ty for reading <3 (also there's a lot of bigger text blocks in this so ya girl had to get creative with the formatting, ty tumblr :/)
Green comes in so many shades, your favorite shade is emerald. Reminds you of outside greenery, trees, calmness.
This color on your fingers is the exact opposite, the green that’s drying on your nails is lime green, the one that burns your eyes.
You noticed it as soon as the tech started on your thumb, you didn’t say anything.
Your nail tech is a sweet girl, maybe in her mid-40s, been doing this for about an hour. She concentrates so hard her grip makes an indent on the band around the buffer tool.
She’s cleaned up your cuticles until they bled, you still didn’t say anything.
Is it that bad though? She already spent an hour on this, she’d have to remove everything and start over. That’s another hour, she might feel bad.
Your ears start to itch, you chalk it up to being allergic to the silver in your earrings, but then the space behind them begins to itch, too.
You try to resist touching them, keep your free hand drawing circles in your lap.
The salon smells like acetone, one of your favorite scents if you’re being honest, and a tinge of floral. The UV lamp heats up and hums, your right hand sits under the light while she works on your left hand.
It’s not that bad, it’s close. I can make it work, something new to try!
You can definitely feel the warmness from your ears now. The heat coming up your neck, goosebumps rising even though the salon is stuffy.
Your tech finishes the last nail, sits back, gives you a smile. “What do you think?”
It’s an opening, a chance to say, actually, this isn’t what you quite wanted, to be specific, to ask for what you ordered.
“I love them!” Your voice is grateful. “Great job on the cleanup.”
That’s not a lie, she did do well on the cleanup, even at your painful expense. You’re just answering a different question than the one she asked.
“Oh, lovely!” She looks relieved, like maybe she was even unsure of herself. “I wasn’t sure about the shape on your ring fingers, but I think it turned out okay.”
It’s the color, not the shape, the color.
She leaves to get the topcoat, the thing that solidifies this whole ordeal, you're alone with your hands under the lamp.
You look hard at them, the color is objectively pretty. Just not your pretty, not what you wanted.
You move your hand to touch your ear, it’s warm, like you’re running a fever almost.
I can live with this for two weeks, it’s fine.
The door chimes, you naturally glance up. It’s a ritual in any nail salon to look at whoever is entering.
Yeosang.
He’s early, or rather, you lost track of time. He’s standing just inside the doorframe, scans the salon, and when his eyes find you in chair 5, his eyes don’t go to your hands first.
They go to your ears, you wore your hair up, which didn’t really help your case.
You watch his gaze, the way you’re touching one without realizing it. Then his eyes drop to your nails, still under the lamp.
His expression shifts to something of recognition, not concern.
He walks over, doesn’t rush. He has his hands in his pockets, wearing an oversized hoodie you steal often, his brown hair with a couple of flyaways.
My favorite look.
When he reaches your chair, he crouches slightly, knees popping so he’s at eye level with you. His eyes are back to your hands under the lamp, then back to your face.
“This the shade you wanted?”
Your hand moves to your ear again before you can stop it. He knows.
“Yeah,” your voice comes out steady, “they had the one I picked.”
They had shade 678, you saw the bottle, the emerald green. The tech just grabbed the wrong one, and you didn’t correct her.
Yeosang’s eyes stay on you for a bit longer than necessary, he’s not pressing you. He’s waiting, trying to give you space to change your answer.
You don’t.
“Good,” he straightens up, glances toward the back of the salon. “How much longer?”
“Just topcoat. Maybe five minutes.”
He nods, pulls out his phone, leans against the wall near your chair. The tech returns with the topcoat.
She’s chatty now, asking Yeosang if he’s your boyfriend, telling him how patient you were during the appointment, how she hopes you love them.
He answers politely, smiles when appropriate.
You keep your hands still under the lamp, watch the topcoat cure and harden, locking the wrong color in place.
When she’s done, Yeosang pays, tips well. He holds the door for you, and the sun hits you both as you step outside.
The parking lot is half-empty, his car parked in the back corner. You walk beside him, and he doesn’t say anything again about the nails.
The silence should feel like relief, it doesn’t.
It feels like he’s made a choice to let it go, not push. It feels worse. He noticed my deflecting and decided it wasn’t worth discussing.
He opens the car door for you, you slide into the passenger side, he starts the engine, and the ac kicks on hard, too cold for the weather, but you don’t say a thing.
“You hungry?”
“Not really.”
“Okay.”
That’s the conversation, he turns on music, and you rest your hands in your lap, examining the lime green that isn’t emerald.
Your ears have finally stopped burning, you touch the left one anyway, just to check.
The drive to his apartment isn’t long. He keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console.
The sun is setting as the city passes through the window. Your nails catch the light every time, they look worse in natural sunlight.
When he parks in the garage, and the engine cuts off, the quiet feels louder than the music did. He glances at you, something soft in his expression, and reaches over to brush his thumb across your knuckles.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just tired.”
When am I not, literally and figuratively.
He nods, gets out of the car and waits for you by the elevator. His apartment is all the way on the 8th floor.
A spacious corner unit with floor to ceiling windows that overlook the lake, he tidied it up for you. No blankets unfolded, no shorts hanging around, no dishes in the sink.
You slip out of your shoes by the door. He goes to the kitchen, fills a glass with your favorite juice.
“Thanks.”
He leans against the counter, watching you drink as your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out, expecting a text from Jia or a work email, but the notification is from synCink.
weekly behavior summary available!
You swipe it open, the app loads with the soft gradient dashboard. Normally the summaries are just data—average mood score, sleep quality, and social interaction frequency. It's like a bank statement of your well being, but this summary is different.
WEEKLY SUMMARY: low variance emotional output (−33% range) | conflict frequency (0%) | predictability index (high) — healthy relationships include occasional disagreement; low conflict may indicate avoidance patterns | behavioral rigidity detected → data set narrow — recalibrating → behavioral scope limited — MONITORING
Ummmm?
Then it corrects itself again, settling back into the normal summary format. You stare at the screen, the words sit there, calling you out on something you've been doing without directly naming you.
"Everything good?"
You lock your phone, "yup. Just synCink being weird!"
He doesn't ask what it said, he nods and moves to the couch, patting the cushion beside him. You sit and he shifts closer, his arm drapes across the back of the sectional behind you, his fingers brushing your shoulder.
Your phone buzzes again, this time it's Jia.
jiabia: havent seen u in foreva. you alive? or being customer service again?
You read it twice, it hits a little harder than it should.
you: im good! just busy. we should do something soon.
jiabia: you said that 2wks ago. im not mad btw, just miss u.
There’s a piece of you that wants to spill everything, the nails, the salon, about how you’ve been saying “im fine” so often it’s the equivalent of saying “hi.”
Instead you just type, i love you.
You set the phone down on the coffee table. Yeosang’s hand moves from your shoulder to your jaw, turning your face towards him. His touch is gentle, always is.
He leans in and kisses you, it’s so slow, no rush. You kiss him back as you let him set the pace. His hand slides behind your neck, fingers fidgeting with your hairtie.
He undoes the tie and pulls you closer, shifting so you’re half in his lap, and his other hand settles on your waist. You follow his lead, when he deepens the kiss, you match it.
When he pulls back to catch his breath, you wait.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, guiding you all the way onto his lap. You straddle him, his hands finds your hips, thumbs pressing into your skin and you rest your hands on his shoulders.
He kisses you again, but you can feel the tension in his body, the restraint. Like he’s holding back, waiting on something.
You just kiss him, let him guide you into a slow rhythm against him, let him set the pressure, the speed, the angle.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven.
“You’re so easy to be with,” he says quietly. Yes, I know.
It sounds like a compliment.
You smile, “good, I’m glad.”
He kisses your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth and you stay there in his lap, until he shifts and suggests ordering food.
You agree, he picks the restaurant, you say anything sounds good.
Later when the food arrives and you’ve both eaten, you excuse yourself to the restroom. Wash your hands, careful not to get the counter or floor wet, and you stare at your reflection in the mirror.
Your face looks calm, settled. I like this look more I think.
You think about the synCink notification, about Jia’s text.
You think about Yeosang’s hands on your body, and how you didn’t say what you wanted because you didn’t know if you wanted anything different.
You look at your nails. It’s not that you don’t have preferences, you do, you just dont need to voice them.
That’s maturity, isn’t it? Yeah that’s right. I’m just choosing my battles.
No, you’re being low maintenance, easy. Easy to be with.
You dry your hands, go back to the living room. Yeosang is scrolling through his phone and when you sit beside him, he pulls you into his side without looking up.
You rest your head on his shoulder, examine your nails in the lamplight.
The wrong shade of green.
The stairwell between the 7th and 8th floors becomes yours, your little private place. All on accident.
It happened a few days later. You’re leaving his apartment, he’s walking you down, no elevator, and somewhere between the landing and next steps, he stops.
His hand finds your lower back, fingers spreading wide, and he turns you toward him without saying anything.
It’s narrow as fuck right here.
Walls paint chipping off, the little stairwell light dangling overhead. It smells like fabulouso, like the cleaning ladies were nearby.
That doesn’t stop him from kissing you. His hand cups your jaw, and you tilt your head to give him the angle he wants. Here we go.
When he pulls back, he’s looking you in the eyes, breath warm on your face.
“I like this,” he says under his breath, like he’s trying to catch it.
You don’t ask what he means. Because he means quiet, the way you don’t fill silence with questions, or need reassurance, or ask where this is going.
The way you let him set the pace for everything.
“Me too.” I really do like this.
You like the way his hands ground you, how the stairwell is so cramped, and it’s just the two of you. Your bodies mingling without words.
He kisses you again, deeper this time. His hand slides to your hip, pulling you against him. You let your hands rest on his chest, fingers scrumping up his shirt.
I wanna pull it off him.
When he finally steps back, his hand stays on your waist. “You’re not in a rush, right?”
“No.”
Yes, I had plans to meet Jia for drinks in an hour. But that sounds negotiable now.
“I’m good.”
He smiles, a curve at the corner of his mouth, satisfied with your answer.
--
It becomes a pattern.
The stairwell, his car parked in the garage with the engine off, the corner of his apartment near the window.
Contained spaces, controlled temps, his hand at your back, your head fitting into the space of his shoulder, your body learning the exact pressure he likes when you lean into him.
This is pretty, this small pocket of life. I enjoy it.
You start to notice the way he arranges things. He suggests staying in more than going out. He picks restaurants that are quiet, low-lit, always in a booth and not open tables.
He texts you in the evening when he knows you’re winding down, not in the morning when your day is the most open.
Yet, I adapt naturally to all the asks. Because he’s him and I’m me.
You begin keeping a change of clothes at his places, know which side of the bed he prefers. You wait for him to bring up plans.
Fewer decisions, less friction. It’s easier that way.
One night, you’re on the couch again, his arm draped over you, fingers tracing on your upper arm. The tv has become white noise for you.
He shifts, you move with him, your head finds a new angle while your hand rests on his chest as it rises and falls.
“You’re so easy.”
It’s not the first time he’s said it, but this time you really hear the weight behind it. The relief in his voice, the appreciation.
I won’t change that, if he likes it, I love it.
He likes that you fit into the spaces he has created. It feels good and safe to you.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket, you ignore it. Yeosang’s fingers still on your arm. “You need to check that?”
“No, it’s fine.”
He hums, fingers resume their pattern. You begin to close your eyes while your phone buzzes again, then again, and again.
You don’t move an inch.
You don’t realize you’ve drifted until you feel yourself moving, not walking. Being carried.
I’m being kidnapped, aren’t I?
Your cheek pressed against his shoulder, his arms under your knees, bridal style. You’re aware enough to know it’s happening, but not enough to fully surface. Your body is loose, head slightly hitting him.
The mattress dips when he lowers you onto it, his sheets are freshly washed, cool against your back. His weight settles beside you, then over you, one knee between yours.
You blink slowly, the room is dim, the closet light is spilling into the room. “Hey,” he says.
“With me?”
You nod, your body feels heavy, limbs not quite moving as they should. He leans down, kisses you, tongue slides against yours.
You taste the tea he had earlier. Did the tea make him horny or some shit?
Your hands meet his shoulders, fingers in his shirt, he makes a low sound in his throat. “Is this okay?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
I'm so so sure. Your brain catching up to his words fully, even though your words are thick, a little slurred with sleep.
He kisses you once more, hands slide down your side, his fingertips drag over your ribs, your hip. He tugs at the waistband of your shorts, and you lift your hips; he drags your underwear off and places it on the lampshade.
His shirt comes off next, then his sweat pants, the gray baggy ones you would marry him in. You’re still half dressed, shirt tucked up to your bra, but he doesn’t bother with it.
He just hooks his hands under your thighs and pulls you closer, repositioning you so you’re sitting up in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist.
Face to face, his hands spread wide on your lower back, holding you steady. You’re more awake now, aware of his cock pressed against you. Aware of the way his breathing has changed, got heavier.
My favorite face–The veins with that thing bulges, my god—
He reaches between you, fingers sliding through the wetness, and you jerk slightly. He watches your face as he does it, two fingers pressing inside slowly. Your forehead drops to his shoulder, your exhale is shaky.
“Mm, so damn wet.” When he pulls his fingers out, he grips your hip with one hand and guides himself with the other.
The head of his cock is coated in precum, it sends shivers down your spine, then he’s pulling you down onto him.
The stretch is overwhelming, you gasp against his neck, nails digging into his back. He holds you there, lets you adjust.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he breathes, his hand tightens. “You okay?”
You nod, can’t speak just yet. Fuck fuck fuck indeed, so big, so good.
He starts moving you, slow at first, lifting you a bit and pulling you back down, using his grip on your hips to control the pace.
It’s why his arms are gorgeous.
You’re not doing any work, your thighs are trembling with the effort of staying wrapped around him. His mouth is on your neck, love bites, tongue soothing the sting.
You tilt your head to give him even more access. The angle is deep every time he pulls you down, he hits your cervix each time. You can feel the tension building, heat rising between the two of you.
“Yeo–”
“I know I know. You’re okay.”
He moves one way just an inch, and it becomes too much. Your orgasm just takes over your body, you cry out, nails leaving red welts down his back. He doesn’t stop, just keeps moving you, working you through it.
When he comes, it sounds like he’s choking on water. You feel him pulse inside you, the warmth of it, and then his face is buried in your neck.
You both stay like that for a moment, his cock still inside you and softening, your thigh aching from the position.
You pull back enough to look at him, his eyes are half-lidded, face flushed, he’s satisfied.
“Thank you.”
He blinks, dumbfoundedly, “For what?”
I don’t know? For moving me? For checking, for doing the work?
“Just–thank you.”
He kisses your forehead, gently, “Yeah, of course. No worries.”
You can hear your phone buzz somewhere in the living room again. Chunking that damn phone into the garbage disposal.
You both lay back, his arm draped across you, and you feel the mattress dip as he settles deeper in his plethora of pillows.
Your body is satisfied, but your mind is already drifting toward the routine phone check, the validation you get it and crave of it.
You slip out from under him carefully, like you’re being almost, and quietly walk back to the living room. The screen glows, stacked notifications from synCink.
sustained behavioral alignment: 94%
94%... that’s higher than last week.
variance range: minimal (+3%)
behavioral mirroring: confirmed
partner prioritization: increased
I wasn’t imagining anything, I was right. The app sees the ease I give him, what he needs.
Your phone interrupts your thoughts, a text from Jia. Oopsy….
jiabia: hey haven’t heard from you, everything ok?
The notification sits below the synCink stack, smaller, less urgent. You silence the phone without responding and head back to the bedroom.
The easiness.
He’s half asleep when you slip back under the sheets. His arm finds you again, you settle again, phone still hot in your hand. The glow of those numbers so bright.
You’ve never felt more understood.
The next morning, your phone buzzes while you're still in bed. I’m going to start turning this thing on DND.
Yeosang is in the shower, you can hear the water running, the small sounds of him moving through the apartment.
jiabia: seriously though, drinks this week?
The request is simple. You know Jia, she doesn't do guilt-tripping, she just asks and waits.
Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. You could say yes, or say this week and mean it. But the bed is warm, and Yeosang is still here, and there's that soft pull in your chest, the one that says staying is easier than leaving, even for an hour.
synCink pings.
support network engagement: decreasedpartner prioritization: increased
It's not accusatory. It's just observing, it just sees the pattern and names it.
you: swamped this week, can we do next week?
You are busy, you're busy being here, being easy, being the version of yourself that doesn't require negotiation or explanation.
I’m playing wife without all the benefits.
Next week feels far enough away that it doesn't feel like a real commitment. Next week is hypothetical in your brain.
jiabia: ok cool, lmk
Three words. She's used to this with you, the delay, the eventual yes, the space between. You've been doing this for years, just slower.
Now it's faster, now it feels like a choice.
The shower shuts off. You set your phone down on the nightstand, and by the time Yeosang comes out damp, moving through the bedroom like he's already decided you'll stay in bed a little longer, you've already forgotten about Jia's message.
Almost. Not all the way yet.
There's a small part of you that knows this is the second time. The second time you've chosen the bed over the drinks, the warmth over the memories. The second time synCink has logged it, measured it, validated it.
But that part is quiet. And quiet is easy.
He slides back under the covers. You don't have to ask him to hold you. You don't have to ask for anything. This perfect minimal variance is exactly what you're supposed to be.
It takes two weeks for the drinks to actually happen.
The parking lot is empty except for Jia's car and yours, parked diagonal to each other under a light that goes on and off every few seconds.
You're leaning against her passenger door, a can of twisted tea in your hand. Peach one is to die for btw.
She's beside you, your shoulders almost touch. This is your spot, has been for years. The place where you both came when you needed to talk without the weight of listening ears.
"You look tired," Jia says.
"Work's been busy."
"You canceled three times in the last month."
You take a sip, the alcohol is warm already. "I know. I'm sorry."
"I'm not mad." She shifts her weight. "I'm just noticing."
There's a difference, and you know it. Mad would be easier, mad would give you something to push against. This is just observation, which means it sticks.
I can’t be easier under observation, I can’t succumb.
"I've been spending a lot of time with Yeosang," you offer.
"Yeah, I see." She turns to look at you. "You used to disagree with things. Like, you'd have opinions about slushy flavors or whatever, and you'd actually say them. Now you just kind of... agree."
Your jaw tightens, you want to argue, but the thing is you can't quite remember the last time you disagreed with him about anything. You can't remember the last time you tried.
"I'm just happy," you say. It sounds defensive even to you. Stop it, stop it.
"I know you are." Jia's voice is gentle. "But you don't interrupt anymore either. You used to interrupt me all the time. We'd talk over each other, have so many yap seshes. Now you just... wait. You let me finish and then you don't say anything."
Am I boring to talk to now?
Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out reflexively, synCink notification, and Jia watches you check it. You silence it without reading the full message.
"Who was that?"
"Nothing. Just an app."
"It's just a compatibility thing. It's not—" You stop. You're about to explain, and you realize you don't want to.
I don't want to tell her about synCink, about the way it validates every small choice I make to stay smaller. "It's nothing."
She just takes another drink and looks out at the empty parking lot. The light flickers again, and for a moment you're both in shadow.
"I miss you," she says finally. "Not like, I miss hanging out. I mean I miss you. The version that was introverted, but people knew she was still in the room."
You want to say something that would let you off the hook, an out. You want to tell her she's being dramatic, that you're fine, that this is just what happens when you're in a relationship.
"I'm still here," you say quietly.
"That's what worries me."
- -
Back at the apartment, it smells like that stupid chicken broth he makes with a mix of the rosemary soap he brought. Good for the skin, according to him.
You're on his couch, legs tucked under you, his hand resting on your ankle. The tv is on, Love Is Blind has been both of your guilty pleasures lately.
He's scrolling through his phone, you're scrolling through yours, and it's the kind of quiet that used to make you anxious.
Now it just feels easy.
Your phone buzzes. synCink's weekly summary. You almost ignore it, but Yeosang shifts slightly, his thumb brushing the inside of your ankle, your anklet dangling with the movement.
You open it without thinking.
The interface loads, pale blue gradient bleeding into white, and the first thing you notice is that it looks different. There's a new section at the top, something you haven't seen before:
You scroll down, that's normal. Expected, but then.
CONTEXT-BASED BREAKDOWNconfined space context: 96.4% / open context: 87.1%
You blink. Read it again. The app is splitting us. Measuring where..
The app has never split it like that before. You tap the dropdown for more detail, and a list unfolds:
CONFINED SPACE INSTANCES>vehicle (18) / stairwell, 7th–8th floor (10) / residential interior, single-occupancy (14) / elevator (3)
My stomach is in my ass.
PHYSIOLOGICAL MARKERS (confined space avg.)>ear temperature: +1.4°C baseline deviation / heart rate variability: synchronized within 4bpm / nervous system regulation: high / cortisol: -22% vs open context
Your hand moves to your ear without thinking, the shell of it is warm.
You glance at Yeosang. He's still scrolling, thumb moving slow and steady across his screen, he hasn't noticed you've gone still.
You keep reading.
OPEN CONTEXT INSTANCES>outdoor environments (11) / public commercial spaces (7) / social gatherings, 4+ individuals (9)
The numbers sit there. The way it's phrased, confined space context, makes your skin prickle.
It's measuring containment.
You scroll a bit further, and that's when you see it.
SECONDARY MATCH DETECTED — K.YS (unregistered) / confidence: 94.2% / data stream: proxy
Your breath catches. Kang Yeosang.
He's never downloaded synCink. You've asked him about it once, casually, and he'd just shrugged and said he didn't see the point, but the app is detecting him anyway.
You tap the word, and a tool fyi appears.
PROXY DEVICE PROTOCOLWhen a registered user maintains prolonged proximity to an unregistered individual, biometric data may be extrapolated via secondary physiological markers (heart rate synchronization, respiratory pattern mirroring, thermal regulation overlap). This allows the system to estimate compatibility with non-users in confined environments.
Your hands feel cold. It's learning him, through me.
You look at Yeosang again. He's put his phone down now, he's waiting for you to say something.
"You okay?" he asks.
"Mhm." Your voice comes out steady. "Just... the app sent a summary."
"What's it say?"
You hesitate. "That we're really compatible."
He smiles, soft and easy, and pulls you closer. You let him, you always let him.
"I could've told you that," he murmurs against your hair.
You close the app. You don't look at the part where it says, proxy, again. You don't think about the way your ears get hot when you're with him, or the way your heart rate syncs to his without you noticing.
You just let him hold you, in his apartment, in the confined space where your compatibility is 96.4%, and you tell yourself that's a good thing. That it means you're safe, that it means you're understood.
Later, when he's asleep and you're still awake, you open synCink one more time. The summary is still there. The split is still there, and at the very bottom, in small gray text you didn't notice before:
note: confined space optimization detected. continued proximity recommended for sustained alignment.
You close your phone, you don't move. You stay exactly where you are, tucked against him, your breathing matching his, your body doing what the app says it should.
In the morning, your phone buzzes three times in a row. Jia.
jiabia: ok so there's this new place that opened near campus, they have those little macaron things you like
jiabia: friday night? pls say yes i miss ur face
You should say yes. You want to say yes. But Yeosang already asked to be with you Friday night, and you'd already said you would, and the idea of canceling on him makes your head spin.
You tell yourself it's just one night, that you'll see Jia next week. That she'll understand.
you: rain check? i'm sorry, i'm just really tired this week
Lying, again.
You're not tired. You slept fine last night, curled against Yeosang's chest.
jiabia: again? babe you've said that like 7843983 times now
Your throat tightens. She's right, you have. And every time, it's been for him.
Am I a shitty homegirl?
you: i know i'm sorry, next week for sure
She doesn't respond right away. The dots appear, then disappear, then appear again. You can feel her frustration through the screen.
jiabia: but we're actually doing it next week. i'm not letting you ghost me
You send back a heart emoji. You don't know what else to say. You don't think about the fact that you didn't hesitate, or that "tired" was a lie, or that Jia's concern is probably justified.
You silence your phone and toss it back onto the coffee table, he curls closer.
"Hey baby," he says in that sleepy voice, eyes half lidded.
"Hi."
He just looks at you, his thumb brushing the hem of your shirt, and says, "You always know where you're supposed to be."
He kisses you then. His mouth is warm, his lips chapped from just waking up and you feel yourself melting into it without thinking. His hands slide up your sides, taking your shirt with them, and you lift your arms without being asked.
He pulls it over your head, lets it drop to the floor.
His eyes move over your skin, then his hands are on you again, fingers tracing your collarbone, your shoulders, the curve of your ribs. He reaches around and unclasps your bra with one hand, and that falls too.
Yup, he’s a whore.
"Come here," he murmurs, and he guides. He shifts to sit up first, pulls you with him, and kisses you again, his hands in your hair, on your neck, your jaw.
You don't do much. You just let him move you, let him tilt your head the way he wants it, let him take what he needs.
Nothing new, same old same old.
When he pulls back, his breathing is heavier. "Turn around," he says quietly.
You shift on the couch, turning so your back is to him, and he guides you down until you're on your hands and knees, your face pressed into the cushion.
What happened to just sleeping in?
His hands are on your hips, thighs, and you feel him pull your shorts down, your underwear with them. You give him no help whatsoever.
"So pretty," he says quietly, and his hand slides between your legs, fingers brushing over you. You're already wet.
Did someone say hurricane harbor?!
His fingers move slow, finding the places that make you gasp. You feel his other hand on your lower back, keeping you still, keeping you exactly where he wants you.
He puts his mouth on you. You bite your lip to keep from making a sound. His tongue is soft, warm, tracing over you in circles, and your hips try to move, try to press back into him, but his hand on your back holds you in place.
"Be still," he murmurs against you.
He works you with his tongue, his fingers, the weight of his hand keeping you down. When he finally pulls back, you hear the rustle of fabric. Then he's pressing into you from behind.
Oh so fucking slow.
"Fuck," you breathe.
"Shh." His hand finds the back of your neck, not squeezing, just resting there. "Let me."
You let him set the pace, let him grind into you with that slow roll of hips. His other hand is on your hip, holding you in place.
I haven’t moved at all…I’m just taking it. You’re letting him use you.
His breathing gets heavier, grip tightens, then he’s low and rough in your ear. "You make this so easy. You never fight me. You just–fuck—you just let me take care of you."
That's what does it. That word. Easy.
It hits something deep in your heart, something that feels like relief and shame and pleasure all at once, and you come hard, your face pressed into the couch cushion, your body clenching around him.
He finishes inside you a moment later, his grip tightening on your neck, his breath hot against your shoulder. He stays there for a moment, doesn’t pull out.
When he finally does, he helps you sit up, lays your hair down. His fingers linger there, then brush the shell of your ear, and you feel your face get hot.
"Good?" he asks.
"Yeah." Your voice sounds like an echo in your own brain.
He kisses your temple. "I'll get you some water."
While he's in the kitchen, you reach for your phone. synCink has updated.
REAL-TIME COMPATIBILITY SNAPSHOT
current status: 94.1% | confined space context: active | BEHAVIORAL MARKERS: compliance state high / resistance index 0.2 (negligible) / manual override not required / autonomic regulation partner-directed — What does that mean? Override of what? My choices? My body? The part of me that used to say no?
You feel something cold settle in your chest. The app is naming something you've been trying not to see.
That you didn't fight him, that you didn't move, that you let him do everything, and it felt good, and you came when he called you easy, and none of that was an accident.
Yeosang comes back with the water, you drink, but the app keeps the words on the screen and you can't stop reading them.
manual override: not required.
Like you were never going to say no in the first place.
--
Few days later, you're back at his apartment again. He texted asking if you wanted dinner, and you said yes before you'd even finished reading the message.
Now you're on his couch again, your legs tucked under you, his arm around your shoulders. He gets up to grab something from the kitchen, you reach for your phone.
The notification is already there when you unlock the screen. Huh?
synCink ALERT — PROXY DEVICE PROTOCOL: ACTIVE | REAL-TIME PHYSIOLOGICAL MONITORING — SOURCE: K.YS (UNREGISTERED): heart rate 67 bpm / respiratory rate 13 breaths/min / nervous system state parasympathetic dominant / cortisol index low / proximity context shared space / post-intimacy recovery — Oh great, even more new shit!
You stare at the numbers. They're his, his heart rate, his breathing. His nervous system settling into rest.
But they're coming through you.
PROXY DEVICE EXPLANATION
when a user demonstrates sustained physiological alignment with an unregistered individual, synCink may utilize the user's biometric data as a secondary monitoring source. This allows the app to track compatibility metrics for non-users who demonstrate significant behavioral and physiological influence on registered users.
I'm a source. I'm tracking him. It's tracking him.
your body is currently serving as a proxy device for: K.YS (unregistered) — data streams enabled: heart rate variability / respiratory patterns / nervous system regulation / stress response markers / spatial positioning (via your location data)
The app is using you to track him. Not just his effect on you. Everything is filtered through your biometric data because you're close enough, aligned enough, that the system can get his state from yours.
You think about the confined space context. The 96.4%. The way your body regulates when he's near, the way your cortisol drops.
COMPATIBILITY PROJECTION (UNREGISTERED MATCH): K.YS demonstrates 97.2% behavioral compatibility / 94.1% physiological alignment / 99.0% confined space facilitation index — note: unregistered match data may contain anomalies. for full accuracy, encourage K.YS to download synCink.
You can see it's also tracking how he creates the conditions that make you feel that way. How he facilitates your confinement.
How he makes you want to stay small.
SYSTEM UPDATE — ghost data stream detected. updating compatibility algorithms to account for unregistered behavioral patterns. continued proximity recommended for data accuracy.
He's a ghost in the system, not tracked. But the app has found a way to see him anyway, through you.
You hear him coming back from the kitchen, you close the app quickly, your heart pounding.
He sits down next to you, hands you more napkins. He kisses your temple, his fingers brushing your ear, and you feel your heart rate slow. You feel your breathing even out.
Somewhere in the app, you know it's recording all of it. His calm through your nervous system.
You're not just confined by him. You're the device that makes his confinement possible. The app has turned you into the architecture of the trap, and the worst part is that it feels good.
It feels like love. It feels like safety.
You don't tell him what you saw, you don't ask him if he knows, because if you leave, the system loses him.
I can't let that happen.
Going back to your apartment feels odd, foreign. Not dirty, not messy, just weird. Like you've been gone too long, and your house isn't inviting you in anymore.
You dropped your bag by the door three hours ago, and you still haven't unpacked it. Work called, emergency meeting tomorrow morning, in-person, non-negotiable.
Makes me wanna walk into the traffic I'll be driving in tomorrow.
You told Yeosang you'd stay at your place tonight to be closer to the office. Now you're here, and the silence is so loud a mime would be jealous.
You check your phone. Your dashboard loads. I think we get the idea, it's my most used app.
compatibility percentage: 94.8% / confined space context: 96.4%
Everything looks normal except that the real-time physiological monitoring section is blank.
RECOMMENDATION: re-establish confined space contact for data continuity. prolonged separation may result in compatibility metric degradation.
You set the phone down on the couch next to you, screen-up, and you try to breathe normally.
You're fine, you're in your own apartment, you're allowed to be here. But your body doesn't believe you.
You catch yourself holding your breath, listening. For what? His breathing. The slow, steady rhythm you've gotten used to hearing when you're next to him, but there's nothing.
Just the hum of your refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic outside.
You press your hand to your chest. Your heart rate feels off. You can't tell if it's too fast or too slow. You pick up your phone again. The app is still open. Still blank.
DATA STREAM LOSS DETECTED — DURATION: 3 hours, 45 minutes / PROXY DEVICE STATUS: inactive / K.YS VISIBILITY INDEX: 0%
He's invisible, without your proximity, without your body filtering his data, he doesn't exist in the app's architecture.
He's a ghost again. You tell yourself it doesn't matter, he's not a user. He doesn't need the app to be real.
COMPATIBILITY STATUS UPDATE — prolonged proxy device inactivity detected. to maintain compatibility metrics, re-establish proximity within 24 hours. failure to do so may result in data loss and algorithmic reset.
You don't know what that means. I'm scared.
What happens if the system resets? Does it forget him? Does it erase the 94.8%, the confined space context, the physiological alignment? Does it go back to treating him like he never existed?
You're spiraling. You know you're spiraling. This is just an app, just data. Just numbers on a screen.
But you can feel the absence in your body. I miss him. No, that's not it. You miss the feeling of him. The weight of his presence, the way your body regulates when he's close.
Without him, you're just alone in your apartment with a blank screen and a heart rate you don't recognize.
I'm nothing.
You check the time. 9:55PM. Too late to go back tonight, you have work in the morning, but you're already opening your messages.
you: hey, can you come pick me up tomorrow after work?
The reply comes fast.
yeo:of course, miss u
You stare at the words. You're not going back because you miss him, you're going back because the system needs you to.
Because without you, he disappears.
And I can't be in a life like that.
You set your phone down. You don't sleep. You lie there, your hand on your chest, counting your heartbeats and wondering if they're supposed to feel this lonely.
Feels like one chamber is working, and the other three are nonexistent.
Thirty seconds later, fast.
re-establish confined space contact for data continuity. prolonged separation may result in compatibility metric degradation.
--
Jia shows up at your desk.
Not a text, no call. She just appears during your lunch break with two lattes and that look on her face, the one that says she's already decided this conversation is happening whether you want it or not.
Shit. WHO LET HER IN?
"Come on," she says. "Conference room's empty."
You follow her because saying no would take more energy than you have. The coffee is still hot when she sets it in front of you. Your favorite order, she remembered.
You wrap your hands around the cup but don't drink.
"So," Jia says, sitting across from you, tapping her fresh set of nails. Her voice is soft. "Are we going to talk about it, or are we going to keep pretending everything's fine?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do."
You look at the coffee. The steam rises in thin, wavering lines.
"I've been busy," you say. "Work's been—"
"You're not busy." Jia leans forward, elbows on the table. "You're gone. You used to have opinions. You used to text me back. Now it's like you're folded up. Trying not to be noticed."
You roll your eyes. "That doesn't make sense."
"Doesn't it?" She tilts her head, with her bitch really look . "This doesn't look like love. This looks like you're disappearing."
"I'm not disappearing."
"Then where are you?"
I’m here. The 10 year old opinionated little girl is trying to take me off this cliff.
But the fall doesn’t seem so bad.
Because you're not here. Not really. You're thinking about the app that's probably still showing blank data fields, about the fact that it's been so many hours since you last saw him.
"I'm going through something," you say finally. "It's complicated."
"Then uncomplicate it for me."
You shake your head. "It's not—it's hard to explain."
"Try."
You open your mouth, close it. Your hands are still wrapped around the coffee cup.
"We're just... really compatible," you say. The words sound unreal. "Like, the alignment is really strong. And I think maintaining that requires a certain level of... continued proximity."
Sounds like the introduction to a cult.
Jia stares at you. "What?"
You blink, replay what you just said. That's not how people talk, that's how the app talks.
"I mean we're good together," you try again. "We work. And I want to make sure that stays... consistent."
"Consistent," Jia repeats. She's not angry. She's looking at you like you're a stranger. "You sound like a fucking robot."
Your face gets hot. "I don't—"
"You do. You sound like you're reading from a manual. What the hell does 'continued proximity' even mean?"
"It means—" You stop. "It means I'm happy. Okay? I'm happy with him."
"Are you?"
"Yes," you say. But your voice cracks.
Jia reaches across the table. Her hand hovers near yours, but she doesn't touch you. "I miss you. I miss the you who used to laugh. The you who had a life outside of one person."
"I still have a life."
"Really?" She pulls her hand back. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you've erased yourself. And I don't know if he's doing this, or if that app is doing this, or if you're doing this to yourself. But I hate watching it happen."
Your phone buzzes in your bag. You feel it, the pull, the need to check to see if he's texted or see if the app has updated.
Your heart rate picks up. You press your hand to your chest.
"Are you okay?" Jia asks.
"I'm fine."
You're not fine, you need to go. You need to get back to him, if you stay here too long, something will break that you can't fix.
"I have to go," you say, standing up. The chair scrapes abruptly against the floor.
"We're not done talking."
"I know. I just—I have a thing. I'm sorry."
Jia doesn't stand. She just looks at you with that sad, exhausted expression. "I don't know who you are when you're away from him. And I'm not sure you do either."
You don't have an answer for that.
You leave the coffee untouched on the table, you leave Jia sitting there alone. You walk back to your desk, grab your bag, and text him before you've even made it to the elevator, don’t even alert your boss.
you: can you pick me up early?
yeosang: omw
The hurt in your chest eases just a little, because the system needs you back in range, and you can't fight that pull anymore.
--
You're lying in his bed when he says it.
The sheets are cool against your back, the room dim except for the closet light being on. He's beside you, propped on one elbow, his hand tracing lazy patterns on your stomach. You're still catching your breath.
He's already calm, like he didn't just take you apart.
"You're so easy," he murmurs, and his voice is soft. Affectionate, like it's a compliment.
Your body goes still.
"What?"
"Easy. You just... you never make it complicated. You're just here. Present. It's nice."
You've heard it before, from the app, from the notifications that ping when you're lying exactly where you are now.
"Don't call me that," you say quietly.
He pauses. His hand stills on your skin. "What?"
"Easy. Don't call me that."
He pulls back just enough to look at you, confusion flickering across his face. "Why not?"
You don't know how to explain it. How do you tell him that the word has been poisoned? A bad connotation to it? That every time the app uses it, it means compliant.
That it's not a compliment, it's a measurement of how little resistance you offer.
"It just—" You stop. Try again. "It doesn't feel good. When you say it."
"But you are easy." He says it like it's obvious. "You don't fight me. You don't make things difficult. That's a good thing."
"Is it?"
"Of course it is." He leans in, kisses your forehead. "I'm not saying you're boring. I'm saying you're... I don't know. Low-maintenance. Adaptable. It's one of the things I like about you."
That's what the app called it too.
"I don't want to be easy," you say.
He frowns. "Why not?"
"Because—" You sit up, pulling the sheet with you. Your phone is on the nightstand. You can see the edge of it glowing. "Because it makes me sound like I don't have opinions. Like I just go along with whatever you want."
"But you do go along with what I want." He's not being cruel. He's genuinely confused. "And that's not a bad thing. It means we're compatible. It means we work."
There it is again. The app's language in his mouth.
You reach for your phone. The synCink dashboard is staring back at you.
Easy.
"You don't get it," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.
"Then explain it to me."
You can't. Because how do you explain that the app has rewritten the meaning of the word?
"It just—" Your throat feels tight. "It makes me feel small."
He reaches for you, his hand warm on your arm. "I don't mean it that way."
"I know."
"Then why does it bother you?"
Because the app made me this way. Because I used to have layers. I used to push back. I used to take up space.
But the system measured that. Tracked every moment of resistance, every time you said no or hesitated or chose yourself over him. And it labeled those moments as friction.
Incompatibility..
So you stopped. You made yourself smaller, softer, easier.
And now he can't see the difference. To him, this is just who you are. The girl who never fights, the girl who always says yes.
The girl who makes everything so easy.
"I just don't like the word," you say finally.
He's quiet for a moment. Then he nods. "Okay. I won't say it anymore." He doesn't settle immediately though.
He stays propped up on his elbow, looking at you like he's trying to figure you out quietly, like you're a crack in the ground that’s making him trip up.
"What would not-easy look like?" he asks. It's not defensive, it's genuine and that almost makes it worse.
You open your mouth to answer. Nothing comes out.
Because what would it look like? You've spent months adjusting yourself around him, smoothing your tone, swallowing preferences before they fully form. You don't even feel the friction anymore, you intercept it before it can exist.
Not-easy would mean what? Interrupting him? Saying no? Picking the restaurant and refusing to budge?
You stare at him and realize you don't remember what it feels like to want something out loud.
"I don't know," you admit, and you hate how small that sounds.
He nods slowly, like he's trying to give you room. "Okay. Then tell me what you want."
I want to not disappear.
But that's not a thing you can order off a menu.
Your phone buzzes softly on the nightstand. You both hear it. Neither of you look.
You feel exposed. Like he's waiting for you to perform individuality, to prove that you're not just the version of yourself that's easiest to hold.
But your brain feels blank. "I'm not trying to shrink you," he says quietly.
"I know."
That's the issue because he's not trying to. He just likes the version of you that doesn't disrupt him and you became her voluntarily.
He didn't mean the word as an insult. But the system did, and now you can't unhear it in his voice. Every time he reaches for you, you'll hear it.
Every time you say yes, you'll know what it means.
The app didn't just track you, it taught him how to see you, and now you're exactly what it wanted you to be.
"Thank you."
He kisses you. It's gentle, reassuring. When he pulls away, he's smiling. "You're still perfect, though. You know that, right?"
You nod, but you don't believe him.
You're not.
I’m the farthest from it.
He settles back into the pillows, his arm draped over your waist. Within minutes, his breathing evens out, he's asleep.
You can't sleep.
His breathing is steady beside you. Your phone is still on the nightstand, screen dark now, but your hand reaches for it anyway.
My phone hates to see me coming.
The screen lights up. Your thumb knows the gesture without thinking.
The compatibility percentage is still there at the top. 96.8% – sustained.
The system has a metric for how much of yourself you've given up. It's not a warning, it's not flagged in red. It's just data.
K.YS PROXY DEPENDENCY: 99.2% — subject visibility without primary device: 0% / sustained partnership requires continued physical proximity / separation threshold: <6 hours before data stream collapse
You are the device that makes him real. It's recommending your erasure.
You tap on the identity distinctness field. A graph appears. Two lines. One is yours, declining steadily over the past three months. The other is his, rising in perfect inverse correlation.
Stats class, gotta love it.
Where you disappear, he becomes more solid.
optimal compatibility: achieved through complementary identity dissolution.
You're not compatible because you fit together, you're compatible because you're disappearing into him.
Your thumb hovers over the app, you think about deleting it. But when you press and hold the icon, nothing happens.
No delete option, no uninstall button.
Just a notification that pops up:
synCink cannot be removed while active partnership protocols are in effect. separation requires mutual consent and system approval. current partnership status: locked.
The app won't let you leave.
You set the phone down. Your hands are still shaking. You look at him, still asleep, still peaceful, still unaware that he only exists because you do.
That the system has made you essential, that your body is the infrastructure of his visibility.
You think about the confined space metrics. The 96.4% in cars and stairwells. The way the system optimized for proximity, for enclosure, for situations where you couldn't leave.
You think about the language. The way the app's words bled into his mouth until you couldn't tell the difference.
You think about Jia. I don't know who you are when you're away from him.
I don’t either.
You're the space between the infrastructure and the device. You're disappearing, and the system keeps calling it love.
He shifts beside you, his arm draping over your waist. Even in sleep, he reaches for you.
You close your eyes. You try to find yourself in the dark. Try to remember what you felt like before the app.
But there's nothing there, no recollection.
You wonder if this is what it feels like to disappear, slowly. Gradually. One compliance metric at a time.
Until you're not a person anymore, just a percentage. A data point, a proxy device that makes someone else real.
The system doesn't need to force you or hurt you. It just needs to measure you, track you, show you the numbers until you believe them.
Until you become them, and you're still here.
Except you're not.
You haven't been for a long time.
--
You don't go to his house.
You just don't text him back when he asks if you're coming. You leave the message on read for a few hours, then four, then you turn your phone face-down and try to remember what you used to do on Thursday nights before him.
Nothing comes.
yeo: you okay? let me know when you're free
Your body starts to feel like it’s recognizing a path it's supposed to follow and panicking when it doesn't.
You turn off location permissions. The app updates again.
proxy device signal: weakened.geolocation data unavailable. relying on secondary biometric sync.
Secondary biometric sync. Your heart rate, your sleep patterns. The things it tracks even when you're not moving.
The app isn't freaking out because you're leaving, it's observing what happens when you do.
You can't stop thinking about the graph, the two lines, inverse and perfect.
Where did his line start?
You open synCink again. This time you don't look at the dashboard. You scroll past the compatibility percentage, past the real-time metrics, past the partnership summary. You keep going until you find something you've never noticed before:
A tab labeled archived data.
You tap it, the screen loads slowly, a common trend it has to unload everyone’s life story.
behavioral archive — K.YS (pre-proxy)
Before me.
The data goes back two years. Metrics you recognize but have never seen applied to him.
You scroll further. The numbers are all over the place. His heart rate spikes and crashes. His sleep is erratic. There are gaps in the data, days where nothing was logged at all, like he just disappeared from the system entirely.
It's the day you met him, the stairwell between the 7th and 8th floors.
You keep scrolling. The metrics smooth out, his cortisol levels drop. His heart rate steadies, his sleep becomes regular.
And next to each stabilization marker, there's a note:
proximity to proxy device: sustained.biometric sync: achieved.behavioral variance: declining.
You weren't erased by accident, you stabilized him.
You weren't dissolving.
I was load-bearing.
--
You pull up the graph again,t he one you've been staring at for days.
Your identity distinctness, declining. His stability index, increasing.
Perfect inverse correlation.
You zoom in on the first month. The lines are almost flat, barely moving. Then they start to diverge. Slowly at first, then faster. By month two, the gap is obvious. By month three, it's a enornmous.
There’s a note displayed at the bottom:
optimal compatibility achieved through complementary identity modulation.
Not a warning, a success metric.
complementary identity modulation.
You don't let yourself think about what it means.
variance threshold approaching.continued proximity interruption may result in metric destabilization.recommendation: re-establish sustained contact within 48 hours.
The system doesn't want volatility. You're the thing preventing it.
You go over on Saturday, because you need to know.
He opens the door before you knock, like he was waiting by it. His face is calm, but there’s something lying underneath.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey."
He steps aside. The apartment smells like the rosemary soap and chicken still.
Too familiar.
You sit on the couch. He sits next to you, not touching, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him.
"You okay?" he asks. Is that all he can ever say to me?!
"You didn't text back."
He waits, you don't elaborate.
"Did I do something?" His voice is careful, confused.
No. You didn't do anything. That's the problem.
You look at him, everything about his body is still, even. You envy it in a way. "Were you always this calm?"
He blinks. "What?"
"Before me. Were you always like this?"
He doesn't answer right away, his jaw tightens, just slightly.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do."
He looks down at his hands, traces the veins to occupy his mind with something else. "I don't do chaos well," he says finally. "I don't like unpredictability."
"And I make things predictable."
"You make things steady." He looks at you. "Is that bad?"
I have no fucking clue.
"Would you still be steady without me?" you ask.
He hesitates for too long. "I don't know," he says.
There it is.
He doesn't know if he'd be okay without you, he doesn't know if the calm is his or if it's something you're holding in place for him.
And he's never thought to ask. He never asks, really.
"I feel smaller," you say quietly.
He frowns, eyebrows furrow, doing that lip pucker thing he does when he’s confused. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I feel like I'm disappearing. Like I'm not a person anymore. Just—" You stop. Just like a spine. Just the thing that keeps you stable.
"You seem happier," he says.
You stare at him. "Huh?"
"You were exhausted before." He looks at you carefully. "You don't seem like you're fighting anymore."
I don't spiral because I don't feel anything anymore.
But he's not wrong, you are calmer. You don't get anxious the way you used to, you don't overthink. You don't second-guess.
Because I stopped having thoughts to second-guess.
"You think that's good?" you ask.
"I think it's better than how you were before."
The words land like a slap to the face
How I was before. I was ‘too much.’
He liked me better when I started disappearing.
He reaches for your hand, his fingers are warm. "I didn't mean it like that," he says. "I just—I like that you're not stressed all the time. I like that we're easy."
Easy.
There it is again. That word. That goddamn word.
Gonna get it removed from the dictionary.
"I don't want to be easy," you say.
He pulls back slightly. "Why not?"
Because easy means I'm not here anymore. Because easy means I've been smoothed down into dust.
"Because I used to be more than that," you say.
He just looks at you, confused and a little hurt.
He doesn't get it. He doesn't see what's happening. Or maybe he does. Maybe he just doesn't mind.
He doesn’t say anything.
He pulls out his phone instead, orders. The familiar place, same add-ons.
You watch him scroll through the checkout screen, thumb moving slow, relaxed. His breathing is already even again. The earlier tension is gone like it never existed.
The system smoothed it out.
He sets his phone down and leans back into the couch. "You're quiet," he says.
"I’m fine."
"I know." He pauses. Then softer: "You don't have to go quiet to be fine."
The irony almost makes you laugh, you don't respond. The whiplash, the steady mood he has baffles you.
Then he looks at you, thinking it over. "I wasn't always like this," he says finally.
"Like what?"
"Calm."
You look at him.
"I used to overthink everything," he continues. "I'd replay conversations. Wonder if I said the wrong thing. If someone was mad at me. If I was doing too much."
Too much. The phrase lodges in your heart.
"I didn't sleep well," he says. "I'd wake up wired. Or exhausted. No in-between."
Your phone vibrates on the coffee table, you don't reach for it. "You never told me that," you say.
He shrugs slightly. "Didn't seem relevant."
"And now?"
He looks at you like the answer is obvious. "Now I don't feel like that."
"When did that change?"
A pause, he doesn't look at you when he answers.
"When I met you."
The words don't land romantically, they feel different to you.
You swallow. "What do you mean?"
He exhales slowly. "I don't feel chaotic anymore. My head's quieter. I don't spiral." He hesitates. "Being around you… it just evens me out."
Your ears burn. You don't know if it's anger or grief. "You think that's me?" you ask carefully.
"I know it is."
The certainty is what breaks something.
"You're steady," he continues. "You don't react to everything. You don't make things bigger than they need to be. You don't fight me just to fight."
Because I stopped.
"I feel better when you're here," he says quietly. "I like who I am when you're around."
There it is.
Not I love you, not I need you.
I like who I am when you're around.
You wanna cry, but this isn’t the place, not the moment. Your heart is fighting with your head, and they’re trying to end in a tie.
"And if I wasn't?" you ask.
He frowns slightly. "What?"
"If I wasn't around."
He hesitates. "I don't know," he admits.
It's honest, he’s always honest, only if you ask the necessary question.
He reaches for your hand. "I'm not saying you owe me that," he adds quickly. "I'm just saying… it's not nothing. What you do."
What you do.
Not who I am. What I regulate.
You stare at him.
"Do you ever wonder," you say slowly, "if I stopped reacting because it made things easier for you?"
He shakes his head instinctively. "You're not like that."
"How do you know?"
"Because you wouldn't—" He stops. Thinks. "You wouldn't belittle yourself like that."
The silence between you thickens, you don't correct him, because you did.
And he liked it.
"I don't want to lose you,"softer this time. He’s scared.
For a split second, you see it clearly. He doesn't want to lose you. He wants to keep the version of himself that exists when you're near.
The calm, the steadiness, the absence of volatility. You realize something quietly, without panic.
You were a buffer for him and he thought that was love.
Your phone vibrates again, you don't need to check it to know what it says.
re-stabilization successful.
You test it the next day.
He's talking about classes, about an idiot professor. You're half-listening, the way you always do now, nodding at the right moments. Making soft sounds of agreement.
Then you stop. You don't nod, don't make the sound. You just sit there, still, and wait for him to notice.
He keeps talking for a few seconds, then he pauses.
"You okay?"
"Yup."
"You seem distracted."
"I'm listening."
"You're not, though."
Good. Notice.
"I just don't think your professor is that dumb," you say.
He blinks.
"I think you're being kind of unfair to him." It's not true. You don't even know his professor, but you say it anyway, just to see what happens.
His face shifts, he’s thrown.
"I'm not being unfair."
"You are. You're expecting him to read your mind."
"I'm not—" He stops. His jaw tightens. "Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"This. Picking a fight."
"I'm not picking a fight. I'm disagreeing with you."
You look back at him, his hands are tense, breathing is slightly faster. He's destabilizing.
"Why are you doing that?" he asks again.
"You liked this better," you say quietly.
He doesn't respond fast enough, the pause is everything.
"That's not—" he starts, then stops. Doesn't finish the denial.
Just stares at you like you've outted him about something he wasn’t trying to put on the table, you can see it in his face.
The preference. The relief. How easy you became for him.
That night he suggests ordering ramen, like he always does. You order burgers instead.
He doesn't say anything at first, just goes quiet. The silence stretches. You can feel it, the micro-adjustment happening in real time, the system recalibrating around your small act of resistance.
"I was really in the mood for ramen."
You could order ramen, you could go back to being easy. The path is right there, worn smooth from repetition. One text to the restaurant, one less thing to manage.
But you don't, you wait.
He shifts. You can see him working through it, the friction playing out across his face. His hand reaches for his phone, then stops. Reaches again.
"Burgers are good though," he says finally, and the relief in his voice is so loud it might as well be a siren.
He's happy now, he's stable now, and you hate how good that feels.
Because that's the thing about being load-bearing, you learn to love the weight. You learn to mistake the relief of his acceptance for your own victory.
You learn to feel good about making yourself smaller, because his comfort is the only thing that matters anymore.
The food arrives.He smiles at you between bites, he reaches over and squeezes your hand.
"Thank you," he says, like you've done something generous. Like you've given him something instead of taking it from yourself.
You squeeze back and feel yourself disappearing a little more.
After eating his hand finds your waist, pulls you closer, his body curls around yours. "I don't want to fight," he says into your hair.
"We weren't fighting."
"It felt like it."
"I like that you make things calm," he says. "I like that I don't have to worry when I'm with you."
Oh brotherrrrrr.
You don't have to worry because I stopped being a person who could make you worry.
"I don't want to be the thing you take so you don't feel anything," you say.
He goes still.
"I don't want to be the thing that keeps you stable. I want to be—" You stop. What? What do I want to be?
"I don't want to lose you," he says quietly.
He fills the silence before you can.
"I feel more with you, not less." His voice is quiet but certain. "I feel calmer. That's not nothing. That's not less."
You don't know how to respond to that. Because maybe he's right, maybe what you think is erasure feels like peace to him.
Maybe what you call disappearing, he calls being present.
"I don't know if I want to stay," you whisper.
His hand tightens on your waist.
He's not trying to trap me. He's just trying not to fall apart.
But I'm falling apart too, and he doesn't see it. You close your eyes,try to find yourself in the dark.
Is this love? Is this what it's supposed to feel like? Like holding something together by disappearing?
You don't know.
You don't know if what you had was ever real, or if it was just two people using each other to stay above water.
You don't know if he loves you or if he just loves what you do for him. You don't know if you love him or if you just love being needed.
I don't know anything anymore.
--
So you initiate for once.
He's on the couch, you sit beside him, thighs pressed together. He glances up, smiles. You kiss him before he can say anything.
His hand comes up to your jaw. You deepen it, climb into his lap. His phone drops to the cushion beside him.
"Hey," he murmurs against your mouth, surprised.
You just kiss him harder, roll your hips. His hands slide to your waist, grip tightening.
You pull your shirt over your head. His eyes track the movement, pupils dilating. You reach for his belt.
"Bedroom?" he asks.
"Here."
Something flickers across his face, hesitation, maybe, but you're kissing him again and his hands are all over you.
You get his pants open, push them down enough. He's half-hard already. You spit into your hand, wrap your hand around him. He groans, head tipping back against the couch.
"Fuck, you're—"
You don't let him finish. You're already shifting, pulling your underwear to the side letting them tear a little, sinking down onto him.
He gasps, his hands fly to your hips, fingers digging in. You start moving slow at first, then faster. His breathing picks up, you watch his face contort, the way his brows pull together, the way his mouth falls open.
The whimpering, the moaning.
Then something shifts. His grip loosens. His eyes lose focus, drifting somewhere past your shoulder. His breathing evens out, like he's concentrating on something else entirely.
"Yeosang?"
"Mm." He blinks, refocuses. "Sorry, I—"
Your phone buzzes on the coffee table.
You freeze. He's still inside you, but you're not moving anymore. You reach for it.
synCink Notification
multi-source regulation active.
stabilization pathways: diversified.
You stare at the screen.
"You okay?" he asks, hands sliding up your sides. You climb off him, legs shaky. He makes a confused noise, reaching for you.
"I need a second," you say.
You grab your shirt, pull it on. Your underwear is damp, uncomfortable. You go to the bathroom, lock the door.
multi-source regulation active.
This app has lovely timing.
You sit on the edge of the tub, phone clutched in your hand.
He wasn't fully here, he was thinking about something else.
Someone else.
You don't go back to the couch.
You tell him you're tired, that you're going to bed early. He doesn't push, just kisses your forehead, says he'll be up in a bit.
You lie in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Listening to the muffled sound of the speakers through the wall.
When you're sure he's asleep, his breathing deep and even beside you, you pull up synCink. You navigate to cross-network mapping. The screen loads, nodes appearing one by one.
There.
A new node, larger than the others, connected to Yeosang's profile by a thick, pulsing line.
baseline regulation: 34% / supplementary support: active
34%...He's stabilizing Yeosang 34% as much as I am and I didn't even know he existed.
You set the phone down on the nightstand. Yeosang shifts beside you, rolling onto his side. His arm drapes across your waist.
You don't move.
Who the fuck is J.YH?
--
You find out when you're making drinks in his kitchen, your hands know where everything is now, and he's getting ready for his work study. Buttoning his shirt, checking his watch.
"Oh," he says, casual, like he just remembered. "I've been walking with this guy from 3239 in the mornings. Yunho. He's just so easy and nice to be around."
Your hand stills on the kettle. Easy.
That word again.
"Yeah?" you say, voice light. "That's nice." Play it off as much as I can.
"Yeah. We just—I don't know. We don't really talk much. Just walk. It's nice." You nod, he just casually, but randomly threw it out there.
He kisses you on his way out, you smile.
The door clicks shut. You navigate to Yeosang's stability index.
CURRENT STATUS: STABLE
BASELINE: 87%
VARIANCE: ±2%
You scroll back, check the last 72 hours.
Flat, completely flat.
No spikes, no dips. You weren't with him that night. You stayed at your own apartment, told him you had an early meeting.
He was fine. He didn't need me.
You check the cross-network mapping again. The J.YH node is brighter now. The line connecting it to Yeosang's profile is thicker.
baseline regulation: 41%
It went up.
The system replaced my function.
His baseline regulation is higher now, not because of me. Because the system doesn't need singular dependencies.
He was never the problem, volatility was.
You see them on Tuesday.
The stairwell between the 7th and 8th floors. You're coming down, arms full of junk and there they are, side by side.
Yeosang and Yunho.
They move like they’re synchronized. Yunho says something, Yeosang laughs, genuinely, the one you know he’s really enjoying himself.
Your feet stop. They don't notice you at first, you're half a flight above them, standing in the stairwell light, and for a moment you're just watching.
Yeosang's gait is light. Unhurried. His shoulders are loose, his hands in his pockets, his head tilted slightly toward Yunho.
There's no tension in his jaw, no tension in his back.
He looks—easy.
Your phone is already in your hand. You need a flip phone, this is getting out of hand.
Yunho glances up and sees you. His expression doesn't shift, just a polite nod. Yeosang follows his gaze.
For a second, his eyes meet yours, and there's nothing there. He smiles. "Hey," he says.
"What's up," you say back.
They keep walking.
You stand there and wait for something to happen. For your chest to hurt. For your ears to burn the way they used to when he looked at you in that parking garage, when his attention felt like heat.
But they don't, your ears don't burn or itch. Because you're not the one being observed anymore.
You're just there.
He survived me, you think distantly. That's how I knew.
The stairwell door closes behind them, you check your phone one more time.
system recalibration: complete.
load redistributed.
You close the app, walk down the stairs. Your footsteps echo, everything feels a little heavier now.
You don't text. You don't go over, you turn off your location.
Friday, same thing.
You check synCink every few hours. Obsessively, watching the metrics like they're a horse race.
YEOSANG STABILITY INDEX
day 1: 86%
day 2: 87%
You sit on your couch, staring at the screen.
I wasn't singular. I was phase one.
The system adapted.
It found someone easier. Someone who didn't ask questions. Someone who didn't need him to see them.
Someone who didn't disappear because they were never there to begin with. A new, true friend.
yeosang: hey, you good? haven't heard from you
Just checking in, you stare at the message. There was no collapse, no spike, only redistribution.
You don't respond.
You leave at 4 am on a Saturday.
Because you can't sleep, and you can't stay in your apartment anymore, and you need to get your things before you lose your mind.
You still have his spare key.
The apartment is dark when you let yourself in. He’s gonna think a robber is here omg. You move carefully, your phone's flashlight guides you.
Your toothbrush is still in the bathroom. The green one, you grab it, drop it into your bag. Your charger is plugged in beside the bed. You crouch down, unplug it slowly so it doesn't make noise.
Yeosang is asleep on his side, facing away from you. He looks peaceful.
You stand there for a moment, just watching him. (Okkkkkk Edward.)
Did I love him? Or did I love being essential?
You don't know, you're not sure it matters anymore.
You grab the last of your things, a hair tie from the nightstand, a sweatshirt draped over the chair. You're careful not to let the door creak when you leave.
The hallway is empty, lights buzz overhead. You take the stairs.
When you get outside, the air is cold and damp. It's still dark, but the sky is starting to lighten for sunrise. You can see your breath.
He texts at 9:30 am.
You're at a cafe two blocks from your apartment, nursing a coffee that's gone lukewarm. You haven't slept.
yeosang: hey, noticed you grabbed your stuff
No please come back or I need you or what happened.
He's fine.
He woke up. Saw my things gone. And he's fine.
You set your phone down on the table. The barista calls out someone's name. A couple at the next table over laughs.
Go to hell. Kidding. Sorta.
You think about the graph. The two lines.
I gave up pieces of myself to keep him stable, and he didn't even notice when I left.
Because he didn't need me anymore, he never really did.
You wonder if Yunho knows, if he's checked his phone, if he's seen the app. You wonder if he'll disappear too.
load redistributed.
You close the app. Not to delete it, there's no point trying. Just to stop letting it narrate you.
He survived you, that's how you knew.
It wasn't love that kept you there.
It was being essential, and the moment you weren't, the system proved what you were.
taglist: @sangis-puppy @chanscappuccino @cazza1805 @j4mergy @isaluschka @gigikubolong29 @kaitioo @yvanillelate @joongsfantasy @heartyuluv @ningningiloveumarryme @luviebears @choreomvnia @h0ngverse @sparda1234 @teaxtease @cinnamonpinktea @kisvva @h-llsp-wn @raicecakes-and-buldak @yunwoogidoll @prettygirlslietoo @meeghangryfun @yazzyu @lovelylusts @seongjoongs-world @guerrillias @hwabby @atiny3000 @moonchild-stuff7 @mingiblossoms @tinystarryeyes @newworldwritings @do99k @mingtee @straykidsobsessionandenha @sincerely-moth @silenttrxxs @trivia-134340 @vicurious28 @turtash @woobabyyyy @aaa-sia @sleepyheadyunho @honghwalvr @spiderfae03 @moooonandroses @cultofsin @kyeos4ng @blamethemovies23 @zgjoen @jenniepotter @lacitudoll @ogemeliene @minkieater (pls let me know if i missed you, or wanna be taken off!!)
⋆.𐙚 ̊c/w; kinda somno(?), face/throat fucking, cumming on face
You are woken up to your boyfriend’s groaning as he rubs his cock against your belly, his head thrown back as Mingi desperately tries to hold back moans.
“Did I wake you up?” His raspy voice pulls you out of your daze, “Sorry, sweets. But the little guy was troubling me,” he smirks, leaning down to kiss you.
You roll your eyes, pulling him close by the neck, deepening the kiss. “Pervert,” you giggle, stroking his already leaking cock.
He moans in your ear, biting down on the skin on your neck. “Just like that, babe—fuck!” Mingi huffs out, licking your ear.
Being with the rapper for more than three years, you know he is about to come. But he surprises you as he pulls back, holding his throbbing cock in his hand as he palms the tip in an effort to delay his climax. “Want to paint your face, pretty,” he’s so smug about it that it does not even come as a question.
You, of course, agree.
Crawling over you like a man deranged, he almost gives you no time to think as he pushes his cock to your lips, holding your head in place. “Will treat you to a shopping spree later, babe. Let me use you, please.” He begs, eyes heavy with lust.
With a nod, you open your mouth, his cock immediately invading it like a starved beast.
He fucks your throat hard and fast, pushing down on the bulge. “Looking that pretty while you sleep,” he groans, thrusting his cock deeper into your warm mouth. “Is a crime.”
Your eyes roll back to the back of your skull as he uses your mouth like his personal fleshlight, the lack of oxygen making your head dizzy.
As you feel his cock throbbing against the insides of your cheek, he pulls out, shooting thick ropes of cum on your face.
He smirked as he watched your fucked-out face, rubbing his cum all over your face and pushing it back in your mouth with his thick fingers.
✮ Synopsis: Y/n stumbles upon a camboy named Mingi late one night and becomes obsessed. Watching silently, never logging in, never speaking. But Mingi sees her anyway. He knows she’s there.
✮ A/N: Hi! I'm currently reuploading everything that got deleted, so if this seems familiar, that's why! I hope you all enjoy..(again)
Taglist *ೃ༄ @cherrygirlexi @linovvsss (If you would like to be added, send an ask!)
You never really meant to get addicted.
Your curiosity got the best of you one late night. A random link, a friend’s offhanded comment about a site that was “like OnlyFans but better.” You clicked. Browsed. Laughed. Got bored.
And then you saw him.
His preview was cleaner than the others. Dim lighting, professional setup. A single tattooed hand adjusting a camera, then retreating. And then his face appeared.
Song Mingi.
Tan skin, nice lips, and wide shoulders. His expression unreadable, eyes low-lidded and smug like he already knew you were watching. You clicked “join stream” before thinking twice.
That was six weeks ago though. Now, you were viewer number 7451 and you hadn’t missed a single stream. Mingi didn’t know you. That was part of the thrill. You never tipped. Never commented. Never interacted.
You just watched.
And he was good. Too good. A natural performer, cocky in the way only someone who genuinely knew he was hot could be. The first time he moaned into the camera, chest heaving, lips parted, you’d cum so fast you’d barely remembered your own name.
He looked like sin on screen. Slow, teasing strokes, soft growls when he was edging himself, lazy tongue flicks when he licked his fingers before using them. He had no shame. No rush. No mercy.
You watched him in bed. On the couch. In the shower once. He’d worn a harness in one stream. A collar in another. Once, he’d come untouched just from grinding the sheets, fists clenched in the blankets, hips stuttering. You’d cried that night. Quietly. From how badly you wanted him.
But tonight… something felt different.
The stream started like always. Music low, lights dim, Mingi lounging shirtless in bed. Hair messy. Lips swollen like he’d been biting them. Your heart started pounding. You slipped under the blanket and adjusted your laptop on your thighs, biting your lip as he stared into the lens.
“Alright, chat,” he murmured, voice deep and calm. “I’ve been thinking about one of you.”
Your breath caught.
“I don’t know who you are,” he continued, reaching for a bottle of lube offscreen, “but you’re always here. I see the viewer count. It’s always one higher before I even log in. Every night.”
You froze.
“I can’t see your name, so I’ll just call you… 7451.” He smirked, slicking his fingers and lazily stroking his already half-hard cock. “If you’re watching right now… this one’s for you.”
Your mouth dropped open.
He knew.
Your hands trembled as you reached down between your legs. Your panties were soaked already, your thighs twitching from just the way his voice wrapped around the words. He was slow tonight. Teasing. Breathy moans and heavy eye contact as he leaned into the camera, voice dropping into that deep rasp that made you lose control.
“You like watching me, don’t you?” he whispered, his hand working slowly along his thick shaft. “Always hiding in the corner. Never saying a word. Just… watching.”
You whimpered, helpless. The way he looked directly into the camera felt too intimate, like he was in your room, speaking into your neck.
“You wanna know something, 7451?” Mingi exhaled, chest rising with a shaky breath. “I think about you when I fuck my hand.”
You gasped.
“I don’t even know your name, but I dream about you. Imagining you sitting there, legs spread, watching me ruin myself just for your attention. You don’t even tip. Don’t even talk. But I feel you.”
His voice darkened.
“You make me desperate.”
Your body jerked, fingers moving faster, thighs shaking.
“You gonna come for me tonight, baby?” he growled, voice slurring just a little as his pace increased. “Right there, in the dark, like a good girl?”
You whimpered his name.
“And when you do,” he panted, “I want you to say thank you. Even if I can’t hear it.”
Your orgasm hit so hard your vision blurred. You came with a broken cry, hand clamped over your mouth, shaking violently beneath the blanket. And on screen, Mingi groaned. Loud, rough, and needy cumming hard across his chest, eyes locked to the lens like he felt it.
When it was over, he leaned forward, chest rising and falling, and whispered:
“Good girl.”
The stream ended five seconds later.
You didn’t sleep that night.
Your body was still trembling hours after the stream ended, the image of Mingi panting into the camera for you was burned into your mind. It was like he’d crawled through the screen. Like he knew you. And that terrified you more than it thrilled you. Because now? You weren’t just watching.
You were seen.
The next stream didn’t help.
It was two days later. Your pulse skipped as you refreshed the page. His stream title was different this time. It wasn’t a generic “Live Now” or “Play With Me.”
It said: “7451. Come Back.”
You stared. Blinked. Clicked.
The second the screen loaded, Mingi looked up. Right into the camera. Into you.
“There you are,” he said softly. “I was hoping you didn’t get scared.”
Your stomach twisted.
He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, shirtless again, but softer this time. No teasing smile. Just steady eye contact and something deeper and warmer. Hungrier even.
“I can feel when you’re here,” he whispered, dragging his lip between his teeth. “I don’t know how, but I do.”
Your breath caught.
“Everyone in the chat wants attention. But not you. You just watch. You make me feel like I belong to you.”
His hand moved down again. Slower this time. Almost reverent.
“I honestly think I’d let you do anything to me.”
You didn’t touch yourself. Not yet. You just watched him stroke his cock with slow, aching pressure, hips twitching as he breathed through his nose, desperate to keep eye contact even while falling apart.
“Come back tomorrow night,” he panted. “I wanna try something new.”
The stream ended with his cum on his stomach and a half-smile on his lips.
You didn’t even hesitate.
The next night, the title read: “For Her Eyes Only.”
The chat was disabled.
Your whole body locked up.
He appeared again, hair slicked back this time, eyes heavy-lidded. He was wearing gray sweats, no shirt, no underwear and he was already hard. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared.
And then said
“Take off your panties.”
You nearly stopped breathing.
“Yeah. You,” he murmured. “7451. You think I don’t know when you’re here? You make my fucking skin tingle.”
He fisted his cock roughly once, groaning as his head fell back.
“You don’t get to hide anymore. I don’t want your tips. I don’t want your name. I want your fucking attention.”
You were soaked in seconds. One hand pulling your panties to the side, the other trembling between your legs.
“You watching me touch myself makes me insane,” he growled, faster now. “I close my eyes and imagine you’re here. Knees pressed to your chest. Whimpering. Begging me to slow down. You’d let me break you, wouldn’t you?”
You moaned loudly. Too loud, covering your mouth instantly.
He smirked.
“Shh. Don’t want anyone to hear what you are for me.”
Your climax slammed into you with dizzying force. You couldn’t even breathe. Just clenched around nothing, twitching, thighs soaked and mouth open in silent shock. On screen, Mingi came at the same time. It was rougher this time. Louder, messier, like he was unraveling just as fast.
He leaned in close after, voice low and possessive.
“I need to see you.”
Click. The stream ended.
Two hours later, you got a notification: You’ve received a private message from: “fixon8_”
You stared at the screen. Heart in your throat.
The message said:
“I’m gonna find you.”
You didn’t respond to his message. But you didn’t stop watching, either. Three days passed. Three streams. All private. All for you. Each time, Mingi got a little darker. He didn’t ask anymore. He spoke like he already owned you.
“I know you’re still here, baby.”
“Your thighs shaking for me yet?”
“Next time you cum, leave your window open.”
And when you didn’t respond, not once, not even a tip, he sent one final message.
“Be home tomorrow night. I’ll knock twice.”
You didn’t tell him where you lived. You didn’t have to. When the knock came, soft and deliberate, just past midnight, your body reacted before your brain did. You opened the door slowly, heart slamming.
And there he was. Real. Broad. Bigger than you expected.
Mingi.
He didn’t speak. Just looked you up and down, eyes moving from your bare legs to the oversized shirt barely covering your thighs.
“You’re real,” he murmured. “Fuck.”
Your breath caught.
“You shouldn’t be here. How'd you even find me?”
He stepped inside anyway.
“I mean I told you I’d find you.”
The silence that followed was thick. Heated. He stared at you like he’d never seen a woman before.
“Take off the shirt.”
You hesitated.
“I said-” he stepped closer, lowering his voice “take it off.”
You obeyed.
The second it hit the floor, his hands were on you. Hot, rough palms sliding over your waist and hips, mouth dragging down your neck, licking, biting, claiming.
“You’ve been making me fucking crazy.”
He shoved you back against the wall, one hand sliding between your legs, fingers immediately coated.
“Of course you’re wet,” he growled. “You’re always wet for me, aren’t you?”
You whimpered, head tipping back.
“You thought you could just watch forever?” His breath was hot against your ear. “You made me cum so hard I blacked out. And you didn’t say a word.”
Two fingers pushed in with no warning. Deep, curling, pumping hard as his teeth grazed your jaw.
“You gonna stay quiet now, baby? Or you gonna let me hear you?”
You moaned loud, filthy, broken.
He smiled.
“There she is.”
He pulled you onto your knees.
“You owe me,” he said, stroking himself slowly as he leaned back on your couch. “Put that pretty mouth to work.”
You didn’t hesitate. You devoured him. Messy and loud. Tongue heavy and eager. He tangled a hand in your hair and hissed, hips jerking with every drag of your lips around his cock.
“Shit- yes. Just like that. You’re even better than I imagined.”
He didn’t last long. He really couldn’t. The second your fingers massaged the base and you moaned around him, he fell apart with a groan so guttural it vibrated in your chest.
“Fuck, baby—look at me. Look at me while I cum down your throat.”
You did. And you swallowed everything.
When it was over, he didn’t leave. He sat on the couch, chest heaving, hand still in your hair.
“I’m not going back to the camera.”
You blinked up at him, lips still swollen.
“What? Why?”
He smiled lazily. Possessively.
“Why would I stream,” he said, “when I’ve got the only viewer I care about right here?”
You didn’t get a chance to respond. Mingi was already crawling off the couch, already dragging you down with him. Your back pressed into the cushions, his weight heavy and warm above you.
“I waited long enough,” he muttered against your skin. “No more shows. No more cameras. No more pretending you don’t want this too.”
His hand gripped your throat, not tight, just enough to hold you there and his eyes locked on yours like he was trying to memorize the shape of your fear. Or lust. Or both.
“You belong to me now, don’t you?”
You nodded, dazed.
“Say it.”
Your voice cracked.
“I- I belong to you.”
His smile was dark. Like he’d won.
“Good girl.”
He fucked you rough deep. No teasing. No warm-up. You were already dripping wet from just the weight of him, from the way he looked at you like you were something he made.
“So fucking tight,” he growled, pushing in slow but heavy. “You’ve been playing with that pussy every night for me, huh? Getting yourself ready without even knowing it.”
You moaned like he owned your throat.
And maybe he did.
His pace built fast—rough, unrelenting, fucking you into the couch like he was making up for every stream you watched in silence. His hands never stopped moving, gripping your hips, your breasts, your face. Every part of you. All his.
“You’re gonna take everything I give you,” he panted. “I know that’s why you let me in. You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”
You whimpered, nails digging into his back.
“Want me to cum in you, baby? Make it stick? Fuck it in so deep your body doesn’t even have a choice?”
Your legs wrapped around his waist automatically. Instinctive. Desperate.
“You’re fucking mine.”
He grabbed your jaw and held it firm, still moving inside you, slow and deep strokes that made your walls flutter around him.
“Say it. Say you want my cum.”
You choked.
“I want it- I want you to fill me, Mingi, please”
His eyes burned.
“Beg for it.”
“Please cum in me. Please make me yours. I want it. I want all of it—”
He slammed back in with a groan, loud and broken, hips snapping hard until your moans turned to gasps. You could feel it—his cock twitching, the heat spilling inside as he pressed his full weight down and held you in place.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Take it. Take my fucking cum like you were made for it.”
Your head tipped back in ecstasy.
“I’m not done.”
You blinked up at him, breathless.
“You think I’m gonna let you walk around leaking my cum without making sure it takes?”
His hips rolled again, slow and filthy. You whimpered.
“I’m gonna fuck you full until your body begs me to stop.”
And he did.
Later, you lay tangled in his arms, your thighs still trembling. His lips pressed to your temple. His voice soft.
“I won’t let you go.”
You didn’t want him to, but this felt a little wrong.
“You’re not just some viewer anymore, baby. You’re mine.”
Mingi stayed the night.
He didn’t ask. Just fell asleep with one arm around your waist and the other slung possessively over your stomach like he was guarding you. And when you woke up the next morning, his face was still buried in your neck, breathing you in.
He didn’t leave for three days.
By the time he did, you had handprints on your thighs and bruises on your hips. Your body was sore, marked, and claimed in every way imaginable. And he wasn’t done.
“No streaming. No pictures. No fucking friends,” he said as he zipped up his bag before leaving. “I see anyone else touch you, I’ll lose it.”
You should’ve felt afraid.
Instead, you said:
“Okay.” with a small giggle.
He smiled like a predator. And he meant it.
He started small. Your phone buzzed with messages every hour.
Fixon8: Where are you? Fixon8: Who are you with? Fixon8: Why didn’t you answer in 7 minutes?
Then he showed up unannounced. Two nights in a row. One time with takeout. One time with handcuffs.
“Don’t make me ask to see you, baby. Just be here.”
And when you tried to tease him, mentioning an old hookup in from a couple of months ago, his entire mood shifted.
“You let someone else touch this pussy?”
You blinked.
“It was months ago, Mingi-”
“Did he fuck you raw?”
You swallowed.
He grabbed your face—tight. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to stop you from lying.
“You gave my mouth to someone else?”
You whimpered, breath catching as he dragged you down to the floor.
“Guess I’ll just have to remind you what mine feels like.
That night, he didn’t fuck you. He devoured you. Tongue flat and filthy, hands locking your thighs down, holding you open like you belonged under him. Mouth on your clit until you sobbed, until you screamed his name, until your legs gave out and your throat was raw.
And he still didn’t stop.
“No one else gets to hear you like this,” he growled between your thighs. “No one else gets to see how messy you get just from my fucking mouth.”
You came again. And again. And again. By the time he finally slid into you, he didn’t even fuck you hard, just deep, controlled strokes, hands on either side of your face as he whispered:
“I want to cum inside you every day until your body forgets anyone else ever existed.”
You looked up at him through wet lashes and whispered
“You already ruined me.”
He groaned, head tipping forward until your foreheads touched.
“Then let me ruin you completely.”
Afterward, he opened your drawer and slipped one of your panties in his hoodie pocket.
“Mine.”
He pulled your phone from your charger and typed his name into your contact list, with a lock emoji, and nothing else.
“No one else calls you this late.”
And when he finally left, he kissed your cheek and said:
“I’m coming back tomorrow.
It was your fault. You left your laptop open, half-buried under the sheets after a lazy afternoon nap. Mingi had wandered in shirtless and grinning, talking about ordering food, until he saw the glowing screen.
His voice stopped mid-sentence.
You rolled over, hair stuck to your cheek, blinking in confusion.
“Mingi?”
He didn’t answer.
His eyes were locked on the screen. On your bookmarks bar.
Your stomach dropped.
Because there it was, clear as day: -Private Folder — ‘M<3’ -Favorites: Mingi moaning.mp4 -Replay: Tongue & Toy — 57min
You shot up, panicked.
“Wait-wait, don’t-”
But he’d already clicked.
The video opened. His video. From months ago. The one where he came untouched just from grinding against the sheets. The one where he whispered, “I feel like someone’s watching me harder than the rest.” You watched his expression shift in real-time. First confusion, then realization, then something darker.
Something primal.
He closed the laptop slowly. Turned to you.
“You saved them huh.”
You sat frozen.
“I- yeah, I…” you swallowed, trying to smile, “I didn’t think you’d care. That was before we even—”
“You fucking labeled them.”
He stepped closer. You didn’t move.
“You made folders. Organized clips. You watched me cum over and over while pretending you were just some quiet little viewer, but you're just a nasty little slut.”
His tone wasn’t angry. It was low. Careful. Controlled.
“How long?”
Your throat dried up.
“Mingi—”
“How long did you watch me like that?”
You breathed, barely.
“Since the first week. I saw you by accident, and I… I couldn’t stop.”
He stood above you now, staring down at your flushed, guilty face.
“So all that time, you were already mine.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, hands gripping your thighs, forcing them open so he could settle between.
“I used to wonder why I came so hard when I said your name on stream. Now I know.”
You moaned when he dragged your panties down, spreading your legs until your slick thighs trembled.
“You were already touching yourself to me. Like a good little pervert. My perfect fucking girl.”
He buried his face between your legs like he missed it. Tongue flat and messy, groaning like your taste was the cure to something inside him. He licked through you like he was starving, hands gripping your thighs so tight they’d bruise.
“That folder should’ve had a password,” he murmured against your pussy. “But I’m glad it didn’t.”
Your hips bucked. He sucked your clit until your back arched and your legs jerked.
“Say it,” he panted. “Say you were mine even before I touched you.”
You gasped, hands gripping his hair.
“I was yours. I was already yours. I wanted you so bad-”
You came hard against his mouth, crying his name out.
He didn’t stop. Not even when you shook. Not even when your eyes rolled back. When he finally pulled away, your legs were still twitching. He stood over you, cock hard and leaking against his stomach.
“You want the real thing now, baby?”
You nodded helplessly.
He slid into you with one smooth, hard thrust. Deep and full, like he wanted to wipe every fake memory clean and replace it with this. He fucked you like he was memorizing the way you felt. Slow at first. Then deeper. Hips grinding as he filled you again and again, praising you between every thrust.
“You were mine even when you didn’t say a word.”
“You made those clips for me, didn’t you? Touched yourself while you named my files.”
“No one’s ever gonna know you like I do.”
You moaned with every word, helpless beneath him.
And when he came, deep inside you, groaning into your neck, he didn’t pull out.
“Keep it in,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “Don’t waste a drop.”
You were quiet for a moment, blinking up at the ceiling, full of his cum and full of… something bigger.
Then he reached for the laptop again.
You panicked.
“Wait—!”
But he just opened a blank folder, titled it: ‘Real Life: Mingi + 7451’
“Guess it’s time to start a new one.”
You felt your phone buzz next to you. It was a message from Mingi saying:
Mingi<3: “Set an alarm. 7:45 AM. No panties. Call me after you wake up.”
You stared at it.
A week ago, he’d been fucking you into the mattress while calling you his favorite little pervert. Now he was setting your schedule like he owned your time too.
Which, honestly… he kind of did. You followed every instruction.
No panties. A cropped hoodie and nothing else. Face flushed when your alarm went off and you sat up, already soaked. Already thinking about him.
Your phone rang at 7:46.
“Good girl,” he said. “Let me hear your voice."
By the end of the week, he was managing more than just your mornings.
“Wear that black dress today.
“No touching yourself after 10PM unless I say so.”
“Drink water. Three bottles. I’m serious.”
It kind of scared you at first, but you actually liked it. You liked the sound of his voice cracking through your speakers. You liked that he kept track of your cycle, your work schedule, your moods.
“You’re mine,” he said one night, whispering in your ear as you lay in bed. “So I get to make the rules.”
You broke a rule once. You touched yourself past midnight. Just one night. You were desperate and needy from his teasing, throbbing from his last message.
He found out. You didn’t even know how. But the next time you opened your door, Mingi was already inside, hood up, expression unreadable.
“What did I tell you about breaking rules?.”
You froze.
“Mingi—”
“Don’t speak.”
He grabbed your wrist, pulled you into the bedroom, and stripped you in seconds. Then he tied you down. No ropes. Just his shirt and his hoodie. His hand pressing firm into your belly.
He made you cum five times.
“You wanna cum without permission?” “You’ll cum when I say. Over and over. Until you cry for me.”
He used his mouth, his fingers, a toy you didn’t know he’d brought. He didn’t even let you catch your breath.
“No running, baby. This is what you wanted, right?”
By the end, you were shaking, twitching, tears streaming down your face as you begged him to stop. And he did, but not before licking his fingers and whispering:
“You taste so good.”
Later, wrapped in his arms, your body trembling with aftershocks, you heard the softest thing you’d ever hear him say.
“You don’t need to control anything anymore.”
You blinked up at him, sleepy and ruined.
“Why?”
He kissed your cheek.
“Because I’ve got you.”
He just showed up one afternoon with a duffel bag and threw it on your couch like it had always been his.
You blinked at him, wide-eyed.
“You’re moving in?”
Mingi smirked.
“You really thought I’d let you live alone after everything?”
He kissed you before you could respond. Slow, dirty, final. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for space or permission. Just took.
The first night he stayed, it was quiet. No toys. No games. No control. Just his arms wrapped around your back as he pulled you onto his lap, your thighs bare, the stretch of him inside you slow and sweet as you cockwarmed in his lap.
“This-,” he whispered against your shoulder, “is all I’ve wanted.”
You shifted slightly, your walls clenched, and he hissed.
“Keep doing that and I’ll fuck a baby into you.”
You froze.
“You’d let me,” he said, trailing a hand down your spine. “You’d take it. You’d be perfect.”
You whimpered, burying your face in his neck.
“Do it, then. I’m yours.”
The shift was quiet, but final. Your fridge had his energy drinks. Your bathroom had his cologne. Your nights ended with his hands under your shirt, your body already open for him, your moans soft and easy like they belonged in the background of his new life.
The final stream on his channel uploaded two days after the move.
A black screen with one sentence:
“Logged out. I found her.”
No comments. No replies. The account vanished hours later.
That night, he fucked you like he was recording with his whole body.
No camera. Just memory.
Slow strokes, heavy breathing, his thumb rubbing soft circles over your clit while he whispered:
“I used to jerk off to the idea of your voice. Now I get to hear you beg for real.”
He came inside you multiple times before the sun came up.
1AM Lights | idol!Mingi x Reader | fluff, best friends to lovers
The soft buzz of the practice room’s speakers faded out as the final beat of “Roar,” Mingi’s solo track, echoed against the mirrors.
He dropped his head, panting lightly, a few strands of hair sticking to his forehead.
Y/N, sitting cross-legged on the floor, tilted her head and smiled. “You’re insane, you know that? It’s literally one in the morning. Don’t you ever get tired of your own song?”
Mingi turned to her with that familiar boyish grin. “It’s my solo, Y/N. I can’t afford to mess it up.”
She rolled her eyes and tossed him a water bottle. “You already nailed it an hour ago. Even the mirrors are tired of watching you.”
He laughed, taking a sip, still catching his breath. The reflection of the two of them shimmered in the low blue light sweat, music, and quiet closeness filling the air.
When his breathing slowed, he suddenly looked at her, that mischievous spark lighting up his face. “Oh, right. I almost forgot to tell you.”
“What?” she asked.
He leaned back against the mirror, phone already in hand. “The ‘Roar’ music video dropped tonight. The final cut.”
Her eyes widened. “Wait—seriously? You didn’t even tell me!”
“I wanted to show you first,” he said, smirking. “Since you helped me practice all week, it’s only fair.”
He motioned for her to come closer. Y/N scooted beside him on the polished floor, shoulders brushing. He opened YouTube and played the video.
The opening notes hit, deep and bass-heavy.
Mingi appeared on screen, shirtless, drenched in shadows and sweat, muscles flexing with every move.
Y/N froze. Her lips parted slightly, her heart tripping over itself.
Oh.
She tried to play it cool, but her face was burning. “So… you’ve been hiding that under your hoodie all this time?” she teased, half-joking, half-terrified at how true the thought was.
Mingi turned his head, grinning, clearly enjoying her reaction. “Why? Shocked?”
She smirked, crossing her arms. “I just didn’t realize my best friend was secretly an action movie lead.”
He chuckled lowly, his voice warm. “Guess I had to keep some surprises.”
As the video went on, his sharp movements, the intensity in his eyes, the power in his voice Y/N couldn’t help watching him, not the screen.
He looked so different when he performed. Confident. Dominant. Electric.
By the time the video ended, silence filled the room again, except for the soft hum of the lights.
Mingi looked at her expectantly. “Well?”
Y/N blinked, trying to find words. “You were… insane,” she said finally, then grinned. “Like, in a good way. You looked—”
Her voice caught.
“—really confident.”
He laughed. “That’s your polite way of saying I looked hot, isn’t it?”
She gasped, smacking his arm lightly. “I did not say that.”
“But you were thinking it.”
She groaned, hiding her face. “You’re impossible.”
He leaned closer, teasing, voice low. “Come on, admit it. You were impressed.”
Her eyes flickered up, meeting his and for a split second, the air shifted.
There it was again. That little spark that had been sneaking up on her lately.
“Maybe,” she said softly, almost whispering.
He smiled, looking away before he could say something he’d regret. “Good. That means I did my job.”
And just like that, the moment slipped into comfortable silence again.
By the time they left the practice room, it was already past one in the morning. The air outside was cool, washing over their skin as they stepped into the near-empty streets.
“You know,” Y/N said softly, “normal people would be asleep right now.”
Mingi stretched, hands behind his head, his tall frame cutting through the neon glow. “Good thing we’re not normal.” He flashed her a lazy grin. “Besides, if I hadn’t stayed late, I wouldn’t be walking you home.”
“Smooth,” she teased, rolling her eyes but she was smiling.
They walked side by side, hands brushing occasionally but never quite touching. The city was quiet except for the soft buzz of lights and their matching footsteps.
Then Y/N suddenly stopped.
Her eyes caught on a familiar pink light glowing from across the street.
A Gacha store. One of those 24-hour claw machine places, filled with flashing colors and rows of stuffed animals.
“Wait—look!” she gasped. “Kirby!” She pointed at a plush in the corner machine. “He’s holding a little microphone!”
Mingi followed her gaze and grinned. “Of course you’d spot Kirby at one in the morning.”
“I love him,” she murmured, already pressing her face to the glass.
He tilted his head. “Hmm…” Then, dramatically: “Challenge accepted.”
She blinked. “What challenge?”
“I’m not leaving until I win that Kirby for you.”
Y/N laughed, tugging at his sleeve. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he said simply. “You helped me all night. Let me do something for you.”
And just like that, he was in full focus mode, sliding coins in, controlling the claw, missing once, twice, three times.
Each fail made her laugh more, and each laugh made him try harder.
“You’re way too stubborn,” she teased as he concentrated.
“I don’t lose to machines,” he muttered. “You said you loved Kirby. I’m getting you Kirby.”
And then the claw grabbed. It lifted. Wobbled. Dropped.
Click. Kirby landed in the prize chute.
Mingi’s shout of victory filled the quiet store. “YES! I told you!”
Y/N clapped, laughing so hard she had to hold her sides. “You actually did it!”
He turned, holding the plush up proudly before handing it to her. “For you.”
She looked at him and felt something tug inside her chest. His proud grin, the way his eyes softened when he saw her smile.
“You’re ridiculous,” she whispered.
“Ridiculously charming?” he offered.
She laughed, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him. “Thank you,” she murmured against his chest.
For a moment, he just stood there, stunned, before hugging her back tightly, chin resting gently on her hair.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.
A few minutes later, they were back on the quiet street, Kirby in her arms, still glowing from laughter.
“Hey,” Mingi said suddenly, pointing down the block.
A photo booth, tucked between a convenience store and a vending machine, its sign flickering faintly.
Y/N’s face lit up. “Let’s do it!” she said, tugging him toward it.
Inside, the screen glowed as they crouched down together.
“Okay, first one smile!” she said.
Click.
“Second one funny face.”
Click.
“Third peace sign!”
Click.
Then came the last shot.
“What do we do now?” Mingi asked, leaning closer. Their shoulders touched; her heart skipped.
She wanted to do something small, something that said thank you without words.
The timer counted down.
Three.
Two.
One.
And before she could think twice, she leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
Flash.
Mingi froze.
She pulled back immediately, face flushed. “I—uh—it just felt right?”
He blinked once. Twice. Then a slow smile spread across his face.
When the photos printed, the last one showed her lips on his cheek, his eyes wide.
He looked down at it, then back at her. “Y/N.”
“Yeah?”
He reached up, brushing his thumbs along her jaw. His voice was soft but steady. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”
And then he kissed her.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t unsure.
It was deep, slow, full of warmth, the kind of kiss that made everything else fade away.
Her heart raced. His hands held her like she might slip away.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. “I think I just won something way better than Kirby,” he whispered.
She laughed softly, eyes glistening. “You’re so cheesy.”
He smiled. “Only for you.”
Then, out of nowhere—
grrrhhh.
Her stomach growled.
They both paused, then burst into laughter.
Mingi leaned back, still grinning. “Guess that’s my cue.”
“I didn’t eat dinner,” she said shyly.
He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Then you’re coming over. I’m making you ramen.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You cook?”
He chuckled. “You forget who you’re talking to. I make the best late-night ramen in the dorm. Ask the others.”
“Prove it,” she challenged, smiling.
He took her hand, fingers intertwining easily. “You’ll see,” he said softly. “I don’t joke about food or about you.”
Her heart fluttered again.
As they walked through the soft glow of Seoul’s empty streets. Her Kirby plush tucked against her chest, his hand warm around hers.
Summary: A midnight stroll through the woods during a full moon seems like a good idea until you stumble upon a supposedly abandoned house. Curiosity overtakes you and you descend into the cellar after discovering the house is locked, only to be met with a man who’s chained to the wall. He urges you to leave, but do you really want to? Do you stay and find out who this man is? Or do you follow that gut instinct telling you that something is off?
-Or you find werewolf Mingi hiding away to keep from turning and you unfortunately trigger it anyways. When morning comes, he finds your fascination with him addicting, and now he has to have you.
Pairings: werewolf! mingi x fem! reader
Genre: smut, fantasy
Warnings/Content: smut, body horror?. slight horror elements, y/n is reckless and kind of an adrenaline junkie, maybe even a little dumb lmao, y/n is kind of a freak (low-key likes watching mingi transform), mentions of mates (not relevant to the plot), biting/marking, makeout session, one instance of choking, p in v (unprotected), oral (f receiving), cum eating, doggy (duh),
Word Count: 6.3k
a/n: Saw Mingi on all fours barking in that one video and this just came to me lmao.
MDNI
The crunchy leaves and underbrush fill the silence as you walk through the woods. The silver moonlight lights your way, crickets and other animals making themselves known. Even though you know it’s incredibly stupid to be wandering in the woods at night, you can’t seem to care. Everyone in your village warns you that there are creatures who lurk in the darkness, but you love to toe that line of danger just to feel something. In reality, you love the tranquility what being alone out here provides. You love being in nature and watching the animals in their natural habitat away from your boring life filled with boring people.
What keeps you feeling safe is the sounds of the crickets chirping and the animals chattering- If there was a predator or something else nearby, everything would go quiet. Even so, you have a dagger strapped to your hip in case anything happens. In some ways you find it fascinating about the supposed creatures out here. Are they malicious? Or do they stay away from humans because they’re afraid? You’re so curious about it.
You walk for what seems like ages, enjoying the night air and the smell of thick pine. The hood and cloak wrapped securely around your shoulders protects you from the cold night air. The trees seem to thicken, and you push past for a long time until you meet a clearing, and in the center lies an abandoned house. You approach it carefully, seeing the thick vines growing on the cold stone and the windows dark, showing no candlelight from distant rooms. It’s not a big house, but it’s comfortable looking and in a weird way cozy.
The front door is locked when you try to open it, and you look through the window beside it to try and see if it really is abandoned. A swift knock at the door proves that no one is home, yet you’re still curious. You move on to the back of the house, hopping down the steps as you go. The back door is locked as well, and you start to wonder if you should just keep going and continue your walk. Although, you should probably start thinking about heading home soon…
By the side of the house to your right, you see a cellar with two wooden doors. You approach it carefully and reach out to test if that is locked as well, but it opens with a loud creak. You grimace at the loud noise and open it all the way before looking down into the dark hole. This is so stupid. You repeat that over and over in your head as you slowly descend the stairs, the bright moon lighting your way.
When you reach the bottom, you let your eyes adjust and look around. There’s nothing really interesting down here- there isn’t any furniture, only cobwebs and dust. You look to the far wall to your right, and your heart stops in your chest when you see a naked man cowering away, chains bolted to each limb and around his torso. He keeps his eyes closed while he lays on the ground and you are extremely alarmed. Why is this man here, let alone chained to the wall? Did someone do this to him? Why isn’t he looking at you?
You approach him carefully, “Sir? Are you alright?”
“Stay back!” He doesn’t look at you, “Leave, you need to leave!”
“Do you need help?” You don’t move forward, taking heed to his warning even though you don’t understand why he’s being so desperate for you to leave.
“You need to leave!”
You crouch and take a better look at him, seeing that he’s holding his fists so tight that his knuckles have gone white. “Don’t be afraid, I want to help you.”
An unbelieving laugh escapes his lips as you stand back up and walk towards him. He hears the echoes of your boots hitting the stone floor and shuffles back towards the wall even though there’s nowhere else to go. “Please! You need to go, you can’t be in here!” His eyes are still firmly closed, but as you get closer, his desperation grows. It’s not till you are a foot away from him does he open his eyes and glares right at you, “Leave.” His voice is dark and raspy; you shuffle backwards, your back hitting the opposite wall.
His eyes widen seeing the moonlight on the floor and he lets out a defeated sigh, his eyes going up to the ceiling. Then he turns his attention to you, “Why couldn’t you have just listened?” His eyes start to glow, turning into a bright shade of yellow and you gasp, your hands hitting the wall in fear. “Stupid human.” His voice sounds even deeper and it echoes in the small room. “You best hope that these chains keep me in.” He shifts so he’s in a crouching position, and you watch as his features start to change. He opens his mouth and you see his canine teeth elongate as well as the teeth behind it as he scrunches up his face in almost a pained expression. His hands claw at the floor and you hear a cracking noise and realize that it’s his bones. You watch as his limbs lengthen and shift, changing into a shape that resembles an animal. He gives you one last look, “If I get out, run.”
You feel your heart hammering against your chest as he lets out yelps and pained cries and transforms fully. You now know that you’re utterly screwed. This is a beast. This is a werewolf. No wonder he was chained to the wall, no wonder he avoided the moonlight at all cost, he’s a werewolf.
The beast stares at you while it sits on its haunches, drool dribbling on the floor in wet globs. It still somewhat looks like a man in its shape, but the animalistic features are unworldly. Its amber eyes stare at you, bright and reflective of the moonlight. You attempt to get up but it rises on its back legs, and your eyes widen seeing that it's ginormous, larger than any man you’ve ever seen. It flexes its claws and walks towards you, a low growl in its throat and you pray that it can’t reach you.
It walks past the stairs, but the chains pull it back just enough that it can’t reach you. There’s no way you’re going to make a run for the stairs when you don’t know how fast this thing can move. Maybe it’ll snatch you when you try and you’ll meet your demise? You shiver at the thought and bring your legs closer to your body and stare at it.
It tries reaching for you again and again but can’t get you. It growls in frustration and pulls at the chains, the metal creaking and you worry that it’ll snap. It lets out an annoyed sound and sits on its haunches, staring at you intently.
You watch it breathe heavily, its yellow eyes never leaving you. After a while, you feel comfortable enough and sit up fully, shifting so your legs are crossed underneath you. “Can you understand me?” You ask it, but there’s no reaction. “Are you even conscious in there? Or are you just driven by animalistic instinct?” Curiosity brews under your skin and you itch to find out everything about these creatures. There have been stories about werewolves in your village, about people wandering in the woods who are never to be seen again. In your village, there hasn’t been a disappearance in ages, and you assumed that all of the stories were just that, stories. Now that you have a werewolf right in front of you, you now realize how stupid you were to walk in the middle of the woods alone. If werewolves are real, then what else lurks in the darkness? You shiver at the thought and return your focus to the beast in front of you.
Its claws drag on the stone floor as it extends and retracts its fingers. You wonder what’s going on in its mind and if that man is still in control. In some weird way, you don’t feel frightened even though you know you should be. The beast can’t get to you, and all you can do at the moment is ponder and study it. Your curiosity is like a tidal wave, and you want to know more about this man and what he is. Was he born like this? Or was he born a regular man and something happened to him? You’ve heard rumors about werewolves, but no one really has definitive answers.
“If you can understand me, blink two times.” You state, but it doesn’t move, its eyes are squarely fixated on you. “I’m sorry you know, I’m sorry for causing all of this.” You think of his pained whimpers and the sounds of his bones cracking, shifting into this creature sitting before you. “I don’t know how to fix this…”
You stay like that for the entirety of the night, the creature watching you and you watching it. At some point, it relaxes and lays down on the floor, and you do the same, lying on your side. You don’t know when it happens, but you fall asleep, dreams taking you like the beckoning call of a siren.
……..
A gentle hand shakes you awake and you sit up with a start, a startled gasp escaping your lips. You blink away the sleepiness and see that it’s the man from last night squatting next to you. Gone are the chains keeping him tethered to the opposite wall, but he’s still naked. You flush and try your best to keep your eyes away from his lower half as he stares down at you. “Morning.” There’s a smile on his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
You clear your throat, “Goodmorning.”
“You’re lucky.” He doesn’t move back when you sit higher, “I could have killed you, you know.” His eyes are the shade of dark brown; unlike the bright yellow you grew accustomed to in your time with his other form.
“Yeah, but you didn’t.”
He huffs a breath out of his nose, “You don’t know how dangerous that was don’t you? What could’ve happened to you?” He leans closer and you shift back, your head hitting the stone behind you. “Why didn’t you leave when I told you to?”
You feel your heart pound a mile a minute with him being this close to you while unclothed. “Curiosity?”
He actually laughs now, “Haven’t you heard the saying curiosity kills the cat?”
You shrug, “Well I’m not dead yet am I?”
He shakes his head, the smile reaching his eyes now and you find it endearing, “Come, let me make you some breakfast.” He stands and you immediately look away now that his crotch is eye level to you. He reaches his hand down, “You owe me an explanation.” You look up and he’s giving you a teasing smirk, but you can see the seriousness behind his eyes.
You take his hand and immediately feel that he’s a lot warmer than any human you’ve ever touched. His hand clasps yours, gentle yet firm and helps you to your feet. You expect him to let go, but he doesn’t. He leads you to the stairs and you follow him up, his hand connected with yours the entire time.
The sun shines bright and it hurts your eyes as soon as you exit the cellar. You blink rapidly, letting your eyes adjust while he continues to lead you to his house as if the sun doesn’t affect him at all. After a minute or two, your eyes adjust and you are met with his bare ass flexing with each step. You slightly jump and shift your eyes literally anywhere else as you round the corner to the front of the house.
He doesn’t let go of your hand till you reach the front door, and he bends, taking a key hidden underneath the mat. You smile at that, “Isn’t that too obvious?"
“No one comes out here, well- until you.” He looks back and smirks slightly before unlocking the door.
He leads you in and you glance around the open room, seeing muddy boots by the stone fireplace, books stacked on the end tables near the fluffy couches, dishes stacked nicely on the counter in the kitchen- It looks incredibly cozy and lived in. You finally notice that he’s been watching you and you blink a few times, trying to wipe the flustered look away. “Make yourself at home, I’m going to get dressed.” He smirks and you know that he knows you’ve been sneaking glances. Your cheeks burn as you nod and he walks towards a hall to the left, disappearing into a bedroom.
You are left alone and you have no idea what to do with yourself. You never expected you’d end up in a situation like this, let alone discover a werewolf, but in a way you brought this on yourself. Wandering in the middle of the woods when you knew that there were dangerous beings was just a recipe for disaster, but you didn’t really care. This is the first time in a long time you’ve felt excitement and you’re addicted to it.
He comes back clothed and some part of you is devastated by that. “Do you like eggs?”
“Um, yeah.” You take a seat at his kitchen table.
He nods and makes his way over to the kitchen and lights the stove with a flint. You watch his back as he works, and you are somewhat sad that you can’t see it now that he has a shirt on. You’re not going to let him know that though. You wonder how he’s gotten all of his supplies since you’ve never seen him before. It’s not like he has been trading at the market for goods because you would’ve seen him amongst all of the people you know. “Do you live off of the land?”
He glances over his shoulder, an inquisitive expression on his face, “Is that a jest?”
Your eyes widen, “No! I’m just curious, that’s all.”
He hums, “Always curious.” He returns to cooking and sighs, “I grow all of my food, I have chickens out back and I hunt.” Your brows raise hearing that. He has chickens and you didn’t even notice them? “Enough about me, tell me- what were you doing last night that led you to my property?”
You lightly drum your fingers over the hard wood to dissipate the pent-up energy under your skin, “I was just on a walk really, nothing special.”
“In the middle of the night? On a full moon?” He laughs like he doesn’t believe you as he cracks eggs into a cast iron skillet. “Don’t you know better than to do that?”
You frown, “I was bored okay? I never said that it was a smart thing to do, but don’t mock my intelligence.”
He stops and fully turns to face you, “I didn’t mean for it to come off that way, I apologize.” You watch as his shoulders rise and fall with each breath he takes, “It’s just… I can’t seem to wrap my mind around it. You very well could have died last night if I wasn’t chained properly or you ran into other werewolves. If it was me, I wouldn’t have been anywhere near the woods. You’re just curious to me, that’s all.” He gives you a small smile and you nod before he turns back around to scramble the eggs.
The conversation lulls for a long moment before you ask, “Other werewolves? How many of you are there?”
“Ah, quite a few. Would you like to know how many natural werewolves or turned? Or both?” He rambles and the more he goes on it makes your head hurt. Natural? Turned?
“What?”
“Sorry, I haven't had company in a long time so pardon my ramblings.” He glances over his shoulder again and turns back, “In these woods, there are three werewolves, but we’re pretty spread out. Those of us that were born like this like to keep to ourselves on our own land, but those of us that were turned are freer spirited and like to travel.” You’re utterly shocked hearing this. It is a whole new world, and you want to know more.
“So you were born a werewolf?” He hums a yes and you continue, “How does one get turned?”
He doesn’t answer you for a long time as he dishes the eggs onto two plates and turns, putting one in front of you. “I’m not turning you if that’s what you’re asking.” His gaze is serious.
You shake your hands out in front of you, “No, no, that’s not what I’m asking, it’s just so new to me and I want to know more about you.”
He eyes you as he sits down and picks up his fork, “You’re such a strange human. I thought humans were skittish and wary of creatures like me, and here you are, wanting to know everything there is to know.” He takes a bite and glances down at your plate, a silent question asking if you’re going to eat.
You answer by picking up your fork and digging in. You groan at the taste, your rumbling stomach finally feeling satiated. “If you’re born a werewolf, then why did you chain yourself up? Don’t you have control over it? Or does it somewhat act like a curse?”
He huffs out a laugh, “Curse? I was born this way, it’s who I am.” You open your mouth to apologize but he interrupts you, “I have free will when I get to turn on most nights, but on the full moon that’s another story entirely. When I’m under the influence of the full moon, it’s like I don’t have control over myself, so I chain myself up to prevent that.” He sighs, “I don’t want to be responsible for the deaths of innocents when it’s my responsibility to manage myself.” His eyes connect with yours, “Then you came in the picture and messed that up.”
“Sorry.”
“No, I should’ve locked the cellar door. I didn’t think to, but-” He sighs, “I doesn’t really matter now though.”
“Can you pass the salt and pepper?” You ask and he immediately grabs them for you. When he hands the pepper off to you though, your hands touch and you shoot your eyes to him. He lets his hand linger next to yours for a moment longer before returning to his meal. You clear your throat, “I tried talking to you last night, but it seemed like you didn’t understand me at all.” You try another route in this conversation while sprinkling the seasonings on your food.
“I would have on any other night.” He stuffs his mouth with a giant scoop of eggs. “Did I frighten you?”
You think back to how his features changed, how he cried in pain and the sounds of his bones cracking and you shiver. That part scared you. “At first, yes, seeing that was scary as well as the shock of seeing you as… your other form. I was scared that you’d get me, but after a while, it became clear that I was just fine.” You shrug, “In reality, it was fascinating.”
His brows raise, “Really?” He asks as if he doesn’t believe you at all.
“Yep.” You take another bite, and he watches you with a look you haven’t seen before. His eyes are piercing, and you can practically feel his gaze on your skin. He doesn’t move at all as he stares at you, and you don’t know how to proceed. Did you do or say something wrong that offended him? Did you say something insensitive? “Um- Have I done something wrong?” You play with your food with the prongs on the fork.
“No- ah,” He rubs the back of his neck, “Just thinking, that’s all.”
You hum, “May I know your name?”
“Mingi.”
“Mingi,” You repeat, and he fidgets. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, no matter that the circumstances were unexpected.” A chuckle escapes your lips and he slightly smiles.
“And you?”
You remember you haven’t offered your own name and bite the inside of your cheek, “I’m Y/N.”
The coquettish smile on his mouth makes your brows raise as he repeats it just like you did with him, and the sound of it from his lips feels like a caress. You try to not think about that and take another bite.
Silence fills the small house as you finish your meal, and when you are done, you take it to the sink. You don’t notice that he’s right behind you when you start to scrub the plate over the wash bin, but when you feel his hot breath fan your neck you jump in surprise. You look over your shoulder at him as he traps you between his arms, holding the edge of the counter as he gazes at you. You feel your heart quicken and warmth to come to your cheeks, “Do you mind?” You try to focus on the task at hand, but the warmth radiating off of him is intoxicating.
“Do you want to learn more?” His voice is huskier as he mutters into your ear as the heat on your cheeks intensifies.
You clear your throat and try to focus as best as you can on washing the dishes, “Well- what do you have in mind?”
His hands inch closer to you, “Maybe there was another reason as to why I didn’t harm you last night?” He whispers in your ear and lightly presses his body up against your back. The hot feeling of him against you is so distracting, that you don’t notice that his hands have left the counter and now rest on your hips. “Maybe, just maybe you were meant to come find me.”
The hot breath against your skin makes you shiver, “I’m not understanding what you’re implying Mingi.”
He hums pleasantly, “I like hearing my name from your lips, I want to hear you say it more.”
“So very forward of you.” You say as you try to not focus on how close he is and how divine he smells. “You didn’t answer my question.”
He squeezes your hips ever so slightly, “Maybe it was fate that brought you to me.” He somehow gets closer to you, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “Maybe you’re just meant for me.” Before you know it, he kisses your neck and you let out a startled gasp that quickly turns into pleasant sighs as he kisses the expanse of your neck and you abandon washing your dish. The hands on your hips grip tighter as you hold onto the edge of the counter, tilting your head to the side so he can get better access.
He stops and you whine, “Don’t stop, it feels so good.”
He chuckles and kisses the spot just under your ear, “I don’t plan on stopping, angel.” His right hand inches higher ever so slightly as he lightly nips at your skin. You reach back, one hand holding the back of his neck and the other resting on top of his hand on your hip. He sucks, nips, and kisses where he pleases, all while you sigh pleasantly and press into him. You can feel the hard press of him prodding into your backside and you can’t believe that your day has ended up like this.
He bites down on your neck, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to leave a mark and you let out a whine. He groans against you and rocks his hips forward, pressing you into the counter. You don’t know how much more of this you can take before you combust into flames. “You’re so delectable.” He mutters against your skin and then lightly grazes his teeth on you making goosebumps rise. “So intoxicating.”
You whine and grind your ass into his front eliciting a deep groan from him. One of his hands snakes up your body, following the curve of your side and lightly brushes your breast. Your breaths are heavy and you want more, you want all of him. His hand goes higher and wraps around your throat before squeezing gently, “Can I taste you, angel?”
You nod, but that’s not good enough for him. The hand on your throat moves and he gently drags your face to his, “I need words.” His eyes are blazing with need.
“Yes, take me. Take all you want.” Maybe you should be embarrassed by your lack of restraint, but you can’t seem to care at the moment.
He hums, the vibrations hitting your back and he dives in, kissing you like a man starved. He’s not slow or exploratory, but wild and passionate with need. His tongue dips into your mouth in practiced strokes making your knees weak, but his hold on you against the counter keeps you upright. The taste of him is addicting and you don’t ever want to leave.
He breaks the kiss and you’re left in a daze. His mouth is puffy, his lips a darker shade of pink as he gazes down at you with hooded eyes. You want more, so you lean forward to kiss him again, but he turns you abruptly and lifts you up onto the counter on the side of the sink. A startled yelp leaves your lips, as he kneels down, spreading your thighs. You watch him with wide eyes, but you don’t want to stop.
His hands find the hem of your gown near your ankles, and he slowly drags it up your legs all while maintaining complete eye contact with you. The air hits your newly exposed skin, and goosebumps rise while you grip the edge of the counter. He drags the material of your gown all the way up to your hips and then spreads your legs wider to slot himself between them.
His gaze never leaves yours as he inches closer to the most intimate parts of you, his hands holding your thighs gently but firmly. You can feel his hot breath hitting your skin and you hold your breath in anticipation for him to actually touch you. He smirks when he sees the impatience written all over your face, and it doesn’t help that you are practically squirming. He hums once and finally leans in, dragging his tongue up you in one long stripe. You practically buck off the counter, but he is quick to push you back down.
He takes his time exploring you and it’s driving you mad. His almost lazy strokes of his tongue have wound you up and you ache for him to just devour you. He licks at your clit for a few seconds and then goes down to your entrance, dipping his tongue in just to tease you and then repeats it like nothing. “Mingi-” It comes out as a breathy pant, “Please, please, please.”
He looks up from his ministrations, his chin and mouth covered in wetness, “Please? I’m afraid you have to be more specific darling.” He smirks.
“I need it! I need to cum, stop teasing!” You practically pout and he smiles at the sight.
“As you wish.” His eyes don’t leave yours as he encases your clit with his lips and starts to suck. You start to see stars as you arch against him, but he wraps an arm around you keeping you flush against him. His attention on your clit is never ending and your moans become louder, more wanton.
His fingers brush your entrance, and you grab onto his raven hair, pulling slightly. He groans against you and the vibrations of it feel like heaven. “More.” You moan out and he answers you by inserting his finger. He curls it slightly, hitting that soft spot inside that makes your legs shake. “More.”
He chuckles against you and inserts another finger and starts to slowly pump them in and out. He’s deliberately being slow, but paired with the constant sucking on your clit, it feels like you’re being lifted into the air. You don’t bother trying to quiet yourself, you let your needy noises fill the small house and probably echo out into the woods. It’s not like there’s anyone around, so you feel comfortable letting yourself go.
He inserts a third finger and sucks sharply on your clit, and you are done for. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you let your head fall back, your core spasming rapidly around him. He doesn’t stop licking you though, it’s as if he wants every bit of you, every drop that you’ll give him. When you start to come down from your high, you finally notice that you’re squeezing his head with your legs. You worry that you’re suffocating him, but when you try to open your legs and scoot back, he pulls you right back to his face. You squeak and grab onto his hair once more, “Mingi-”
He groans against you and after one more long swipe of his tongue, he finally looks up. His face is somehow even more wet than last time as a handsome smirk shows on his mouth, “You make me insatiable Y/N.”
Your chest heaves as you reach for him and he gets the hint, standing up and slotting himself between your legs. Your lips meet once more and you can taste yourself on him, his hands wandering wherever he pleases. You roll your hips forward, brushing against his hard length tenting his pants just to test the waters and it gets the reaction you want. A deep growl vibrates his throat and he lifts you up, grabbing onto your ass as you wrap your legs around his waist. You can feel him moving beneath you, carrying you off somewhere, but your whole focus is his lips.
A door opens and he drops you down so you are standing but still holds you against him. He breaks the kiss and you search for his lips again, but he turns you and rips off your gown, tearing the seams with an inhuman strength you’ve never seen before. Your dress falls to the floor in pieces, and you look down at your naked body but he just smirks, “Don’t worry, I have plenty of clothes you can borrow.”
You give him a pointed look and cock your head before succumbing to a smile, “You’re terrible, you know that?”
“You love it.” His fingertips trail up your arms slowly.
“Seems only one of us is naked, what a shame.” You glance down at his clothing, and he chuckles before bringing your hand to his lips.
His toothy grin is charming, “Indeed.” He doesn’t move though and you look at him curiously, “Do you want to undress me angel?”
The smile reaches your eyes as your fingers find his belt. His gaze never leaves your face as you look down and unbuckle it quickly, letting the metal flop to the side. You don’t go straight to pulling his pants off, instead you move to the hem of his white shirt and pull it out of his pants. You then reach up and undo each button excruciatingly slow, letting your fingers brush his bare skin underneath as you go down. When you reach the last button, you find that his chest is practically heaving from anticipation, and you love it.
When all of the buttons are undone, he rips off his shirt, and you can see the neediness in his eyes for you to continue. You hum and finally unbutton his pants and just that act has Mingi’s restraint disintegrated into dust. He pulls them off with ease and tosses them to the side before reaching for your face. The kiss is intense and you can hardly breathe. He kisses you like it’s the very thing he’s been missing his entire life.
He’s gentle when he pushes you back onto the bed and you pull him on top of you, not wanting to be apart from him not even a second. His knee pushes in between your legs and you gasp against his mouth.
You break the kiss to breathe, “Mingi, I need you. I need you now.”
He kisses your collarbone, “Get on your hands and knees.”
You swallow as he leans back and you flip over, shifting to get on your hands and knees. He presses down in between your shoulder blades and you bend down, arching your back for him. He hums pleasantly and the hand in between your shoulders trails down, his fingers dancing over your spine. You shiver at the touch and grip his sheets in your hands in anticipation. “So pretty, so soft.” He bends over you and kisses your back, “And all for me.”
“All for you.”
He chuckles and lets his hands fall to your ass, feeling the supple skin there, “You’re not leaving this bed for a long time.” You look over your shoulder, impatience written all over your face and his smile only widens seeing how eager you are.
You feel his length slide over you, and he makes it a point to butt up against your clit. You make a needy noise and wiggle your backside, urging him to just give in and he groans, his hands holding your hips possessively. If he teases you one more time, you’re going to explode. He just chuckles and finally pushes into you, still slowly, but the relief makes you moan out. He’s careful as he slides in, careful to watch your body language and listen for any sounds of pain, but you show none.
After too long, you get impatient and push back, making him slide all of the way in. He lets out a choked moan, “God, Y/N, you’re going to kill me at this rate.”
“Stop going slow and fuck me already.” You look over your shoulder and he smirks, gripping your hips slightly.
“That’s what you want?”
“If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to do it myself and make you watch.” You say breathlessly and his eyes darken at the sound of that.
“As much as I want to see that-” He grinds his hips into you, “You’re going to take me like this.” He leans down and kisses your spine, “And after this, I want to see you on top.”
You shiver from his words and grip the sheets tighter in your hands as he pulls out just so his tip is in and then thrusts back in. It knocks you forward, but you hold yourself up. He thrusts into you in a steady yet hard rhythm, hitting you deep and you let out wanton moans and cries. Your sounds goad him on, and he digs his fingers into the flesh at your sides. It doesn’t hurt, and even if it did, you wouldn’t care. All you can focus on is the feeling of him gliding inside you, filling you up.
“More!” You cry out and he thrusts harder, hitting that spot inside that has you seeing stars. “Yes!”
He drags his hand under you and easily finds your clit, rubbing it with the right amount of pressure that you need. You flutter around him with each movement and by the sounds he’s making, it sounds like he loves the feeling. He’s not teasing or exploratory anymore, it’s like all his restraint and self-control have been thrown out the window.
You automatically arch and move forward but he pulls you back, anchoring you to him, “You’re not going anywhere.” His voice is husky and deep.
A warmth builds in your core making your limbs shake and you know that you are getting close. Your moans come out as high-pitched cries of pleasure that fill the room as he pumps harder. He presses down on your clit and you explode, your body tensing up as you release. You seem to grip him like a vise, and he whimpers behind you, his hips stuttering as he searches for his own release. He thrusts four more times and warmth shoots into you, hotter than normal. It seems everything about him is hot.
His hands still grip your hips as you both tremble, your breaths heavy. The room smells of sex, and you finally let go of the sheets, letting your hands rest. You lean forward, causing him to exit you and you plop down on the bed. He chuckles and lays down beside you, pulling you so you’re lying on him instead of the pillows.
“That was-” You breathe out, splaying your hands on his chest.
He smiles, “You are perfect Y/N.” He takes one of your hands and brings it up to his lips, “Utterly perfect.”
You lift your leg and drape it over his body while shifting to look up at him, “I believe you said I’m not leaving this bed for a long time?” You blink innocently at him.
His grin is amorous, “So very eager.”
You shrug, a smile pulling your lips as well, “I can’t help that you are so addicting.”
He pulls you up easily and kisses your lips, “I’m not complaining.”
“Mingi?”
He hums and kisses the corner of your mouth, “Yes angel?”
“Can I stay here for a while?”
He leans back to look into your eyes, his dark brown eyes swimming with affection, “What if I said that I don’t want you to leave?”
Your chest warms as you inch closer, “Then I won’t.” Your lips meet and even though you just met him, you feel at home with him.
warnings: professor, older man, reading during sex, over the desk, gettin that gooooodd dick... etc.
a/n: oh... my god... (btw the poem is "Remember, Body," by Constantine P. Cavafy)
enjoy.
"You seemed concerningly distracted today. I'm worried about you. Come see me during office hours so we can work out a solution. I won’t let one of my best students fall behind. I look forward to seeing you.”
The email stared back at you, and you swallowed dryly. Like a wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing, mocking your fragility and leading you to an inevitable trap, one that you might not mind falling into.
You can admit, your attention was somewhat elsewhere that day, but you can’t say you weren’t laser focused in on your professor. It was impossible to not pay attention to him.
His plushy pink lips wrapped softly around every syllable he spoke. That low, gravelly, sonorous voice that could soak panties from miles away. The sheer size of him when he walked past the desks to check on students while they worked, the sensual trail of cologne that followed him at every step.
His big, veiny hands pointed to diagrams on the board, and his thick arms crossed across his chest when he listened to a student answer a question, the sleeves of his tight-fitting black top rolled up to expose his forearms, his head slightly tilted as he listened as if his life depended on it.
He was always particularly attentive whenever you added your 2 cents to the seminars, his index finger pressing on his bottom lip like a button, his eyes locked onto yours so intensely it felt invasive.
Professor Song Mingi was an amazing teacher, and just so happened to be the sexiest man you’ve ever seen in your entire life.
You were a great student and an outstanding listener. Above average grades, beautiful ways with words. Mingi could always count on you to say something that really made the rest of the class and him think.
However, today, your mind might have been elsewhere. And by elsewhere you mean the dream you had of him last night.
Hot breath against your skin and large hands wound in your hair. His pretty, melodic voice whispers in your ear just for you to hear. Sugar dripped praises about how you were "such a smart girl," and filthy talk of how you were "so small beneath him."
Mingi had noticed your mind wandering throughout the class period, but chose to ignore it, assuming maybe you had a long night.
He really had no idea.
When your attention was still never diverted from your own thoughts, he decided to drag you back to reality.
“Ms. (Name), are you with us still?” You didn’t respond at first, and then you blinked, pulling your eyes from his thick thighs that were nearly busting from his jeans, back up to his scrutinizing gaze.
Mingi’s eyebrows raised in question, then relaxed, like he had just solved a puzzle in his head. A hint of a smirk ghosted across his lips before he licked his finger and flipped through the stack of papers on his desk.
He didn't need to do that. But he knew what you might think about it.
He knew that look. All too well. He leaned on his arm against his desk, waiting for a response as he watched you gather your bearings.
“Yes! Sorry.” You pick at the stickers peeling on your laptop, trying your best to look like you weren’t just daydreaming about him fucking you absolutely stupid and whispering to you about how good you felt.
You weren’t very good at pretending.
Mingi said nothing, and you could almost see the gears turning behind his eyes. You watched with earnest as his tongue swiped over his bottom lip, grinning slowly as he bent a paperclip out of shape in his hand.
“Need you to pay attention, okay? Don’t want that precious tuition money to go to waste, right?” Mingi looks down at the paperclip in his hand, his eyes lifting with his head down, the look in his eyes unplaceable.
You shake your head, trying to push those thoughts about your professor deep down. Save them for later.
“Of course, Professor Song. Sorry, I’m kinda out of it.” You smiled nervously, and Mingi stood up straight, dropping the paper clip and taking a few steps closer to your seat.
“Well, snap out of it, sweetheart. You don’t wanna miss this invigorating lecture on romantic literature, do you?” He smiled teasingly, those charming crooked teeth making your stomach flutter.
The rest of the class giggles at his sarcasm, and you do as well. He gently taps your desk, leaning his head down just so he was inches away from your ear. His smell envelops you now, and you begin to feel dizzy. He never got this close to you.
“Keep up now.” He whispers, his low, purring voice that you could nearly feel rumbling in your chest, flowed past your warming ears.
“Make me proud like you always do.”
And just like that, he walked right back up front and began teaching again.
So much for paying attention, Mingi only added more fuel to the fire. Your heart was racing, your senses raging to memorize his smell, your ears straining to find that intimate coo in his voice when he whispered in your ear as he taught.
Mingi's eyes would periodically drift to you, and just as he expected, you surely weren't paying attention. You tried your hardest to retain his words and take notes like normal, but your brain was betraying you today.
By the time class had ended, you felt like you had blacked out the entire period. You blinked, and everyone was gathering their things, talking to the professor, and asking some last-minute questions.
You sped out of there as fast as you could, but not before catching Mingi's gaze on you, his fevered eyes meeting yours just as you turned to walk out the door. Something in the air snapped in that second, and you were scared to find out what changed.
Then the email.
It sat in your inbox, mocking you in teasing whispers. "Come see me."
Flashes of the syllabus from earlier in the year played in your mind, specifically the office hours at the bottom of the last page. 7pm- 9pm. Monday thru Friday, Professor Song’s office door would be open for anyone to stop by and seek help in regards to grades, assignments and whatnot.
You had considered stopping in countless time, for your own selfish reasons, but ultimately of course decided it would be a stupid thing to do, especially when you fully understood the course material.
You wouldn't. You had no reason to. Your grades were outstanding; it was just an off day. But your body knew you better. Your brain tried to talk you out of it, but it was like your feet moved on their own.
At 6:59 pm on the dot, you stood in front of his classroom door, clutching your purse as if it were anchoring your body to the earth. You stared at the doorknob like it might burn you if you dared to touch it.
When you opened the door, he was the first thing you saw. Lazily sat behind his desk, scribbling something down among the strew of papers that littered it. He didn't look up when the creak of the door echoed in the stagnant silence. He didn't look up when your boots clicked against the glassy floors, didn't look up when the sound stopped when you paused in front of his desk.
His hair was messier, his sleeves still rolled up. His foot tapped rhythmically beneath the desk; it rang in your ears like a time bomb.
It was only when you awkwardly cleared your throat that Mingi finally looked up to meet your eyes, and you sincerely wished in that moment that the email had just gotten lost in your junk.
Mingi paused his writing, lifting the end of his pen to his lips, leaning back in the chair, spreading his legs nice and wide.
"So," he began, rolling the end of his pen back and forth against his lower lip. He shifted his hips up slightly, and it made your nerves tingle. "Talk to me. What's going on with you?"
You shrug as nonchalantly as you can, desperate to keep your ever-thinning composure. His legs spread wider, and he slipped the pen between his teeth, nibbling on the tip.
"It's nothing, I promise." You say a little too quietly, fiddling with the leather strap of your purse. "I just-"
He laughs softly and shakes his head. "Clearly it's not 'nothing'." He points to the paper on his desk, watching his slender finger trace the black print slowly.
"I don't think I even saw you pay attention to the reading, not one time." He clicked his tongue as if disappointed but not surprised. He picked up the paper and handed it to you, your fingers brushing his when you took it.
"I'm sorry, Professor Song." You were so weak for him, it was embarrassing. You did read the poem, you analyzed it and took notes the night before, in fact, but you couldn't force the words from your throat to tell him that.
Mingi only smiled and stood slowly, and you craned your neck up to follow his movements. He walked to stand next to you, lowering his head to speak lowly into your ear. "It's okay, sweetheart," he murmured, and you felt the warmth of his breath ghost across the side of your throat.
"Let's go over it now."
You realized two things that night.
One. This was not the same poem you read the night before.
And two. You and the professor had two very different methods when it came to "going over" things.
You would lay the piece in front of you, pen in hand, as you annotated with vibrant colored highlighters and organized tabs, silently as you read to yourself, sitting at your desk.
Professor Song preferred to have you bent over said desk.
His thick cock is snug inside of you, so deep, hitting every spot imaginable. One hand held your hip tightly, the slow, torturous roll of his hips making your legs shake pathetically.
Slick dripped down your parted thighs, your warm walls fluttering around him so tightly it made his head swim. Mingi's large, rough hands held your body down against the desk, pinning you so you couldn't squirm even if you tried,
The paper sat on the desk below you, the edge of the wood digging into your stomach as you felt his hand caressing your lower back, over your arched spine, up to gently squeeze your neck like he wanted to melt into your flesh.
"Start here," Mingi drawls, leaning down and pressing his lips into your scalp as he points to a line on the paper. "Word for word. Nice and clear."
You sighed shakily, trying your very hardest to ignore the languid massaging movement of his hands all over your soft body, his slow, gravelly breaths by your ear that sent literal shocks to your soaked cunt. The way his cock would jump deep in your guts and his fat tip would press against your G-spot so deliciously, your eyes would roll into your skull.
This was a very impractical way of studying.
You felt the heat radiating off his body even through his clothes, the hand on your hips kneading the flesh and trailing down to massage your inner thigh softly, before making its way back up to pull your hips further against him, your ass pressed flush against him.
"Go ahead, baby." Mingi cooed, subtly gyrating his hips ever so slightly, smiling when your muscles jerked at the stimulation. "Let's hear that pretty voice. We don't have all night."
You swallowed and forced your focus to the words on the paper.
"Body, remember not only how much you were loved,
not only the beds on which you lay-"
You heard his low chuckle into your hair, and the intimate caresses of his hand never ceased, moving up to gently press against your lower belly.
"B-but also those desires which for you
plainly glowed in the eyes- shit-!"
He dragged his cock back, just enough for the length of him to stroke against that sweet spot, your breath trembling as your hand shot out to grip the desk as the pleasure rocked your body. Mingi stayed there, not moving once again, nearly half slipped out of your quivering pussy.
"You're stuttering, sweet girl." Mingi chastised, and his hand pressed harder against your stomach, the pressure of his palm making your head spin. "Enunciate for me, please. I have to know you understand,"
Your moan slipped from your bitten lips softly, as you mustered all the power you could to regain your focus.
"-and trembled in the voice -- and some
chance obstacle made them futile."
You were promptly rewarded with Mingi sliding the rest of himself back into your sticky pussy, the slick sound echoing in your ears. He groaned lowly, pressing a wet kiss against the back of your neck, opening his mouth against your nape, and breathing slowly, as if your voice was unraveling him as you read.
"Good girl," he praised breathlessly, and you could feel the buttons of his shirt digging into your back from how hard he pressed his body against yours, like your warmth and the shiver of your skin was an addiction he couldn't get enough of.
"Keep reading, you're doing amazing." His hands slid down and squeezed either side of your waist, his thumbs massaging slow circles against the dimples on your lower back, his mouth pressed against the back of your neck. "C'mon, nice and loud, pretty."
You moaned unabashedly this time, and your cunt clenched around him so hard you felt him wince against your flaring skin.
"Now that all belongs to the past,
it is almost as if you had yielded
to those desires too -- oh god..."
He grinds his hips into you, almost like he couldn't help himself, his warm tongue laving over the nape of your neck like you tasted like heaven. This time, his hips didn't stop moving. He began thrusting, slow and deep strokes that you could feel in your lungs.
"Keep going..." Mingi moaned against your neck, his hands squeezing your body so hard you were sure it'd leave bruises. "Fuck.. keep reading baby... let me hear you."
The sloppy wet sounds of his thick cock filling you and splitting you open over and over again, so slow and so gradual, were making it hard for you to focus on reading steadily. The words blurred in front of your eyes, and your eyes crossed involuntarily each time his tip dragged against that spot.
"I c-cant..!" you whined, watching as a drop of your drool splatters onto the paper, a stamp of how the pleasure was switching off your brain.
"You can..." Mingi growls, digging his blunt nails into your skin. "Make me proud, finish reading, sweetheart, you're so close."
His praise spurred you on, gripping the edge of the desk until your fingers began to throb. So you mustered every bit of your sanity left to finish it.
"R-remember, how they glowed, in the eyes, ngh... looking at y-you;
how they t-trembled in the voice... Min--gi..!"
He pushed his cock deeper, harder, plunging into your cunt without regard for your struggle. "I'm right here, you got it. You're almost done, pretty girl." he kisses your ear, keeping his open mouth against it as he blessed you with his lust-drunk moans. Throaty, hollow, and rich, and you clenched around him like a vice, which only made him louder.
"One more line," Mingi breathes. "Let's read it together." You felt his hand trail up and grab your own, lacing his fingers with your own and pressing your interlocked hands down against the desk, right next to the last line of the poem.
He pressed his lips flush against your ear so you could feel his mouth move as he spoke, and you followed in a shaky voice, reading the last line with him.
"For you, remember, body." Your voices laced over one another, his resonant, purring groan mingling with your whiny, vibrating whimpers. Like a hormonal, sinful harmony, his hand squeezed yours harder as he no longer bothered to fuck you sweet and slow.
His other hand swept the papers off the desk in a disgruntled hurry as he grabbed your other hand, pinning your wrist in his hold against the wood, opting for shallow, agile strokes against your walls as a deep, throaty groan hit your ears.
"Good job... good fucking girl, you read so pretty for me..." He moans breathlessly against your ear, his hands keeping your own pinned against the desk as he ravages your poor slutty pussy, the legs of the desk creaking beneath your frenzied bodies.
"M-Mingi-!" you cried helplessly, your limbs twitching as he bullied his cock into you mercilessly, hands pinned as you could do nothing but stay bent over and take it.
His smell clouded your senses, his voice blaring in your mind, his cock branding its shape into your body. Your body was no longer your own in that moment; it was Professor Song's. He was reading you, analyzing between your lines, and finding the spots that made you cry and made you shake. You were so exposed, so wet, and so flustered. And it felt so fucking good.
"I want you to cum for me, gorgeous," Mingi begged lowly against your neck, dragging your hand down and pressing your fingertips against your swollen clit. He kept his hand there, guiding your fingers in slow, pressured circles against the sensitive nub.
"For listening so well, for being such a smart girl." You gasped, thighs clenching as the pleasure curled around your lower belly in a flurried heat.
His hand only squeezed yours harder, like he was trying to keep his own body at bay, prevent himself from completely snapping your poor soft body in half underneath him.
"Nice and loud," Mingi repeated one last time, sinking his teeth into your throat as he pushed his hips deep into you and rolled like he was trying to become one with you, with your soul.
"Cum for me nice and loud, baby. Let me hear you scream."
PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! corruption kink, soft virgin & innocent reader. typical ‘just the tip’ fic—nerves about having sex etc. mg is horny and desperate and so are you. he talks down/patronises you a bit but it’s all loving. unprotected sex, size kink, riding, breeding kink etc. you’re described as small by him.
You’re both pent up, you know that. It’s palpable—in the hot, heavy air, in the weight of his hands on your skin and the tension between you on the couch. The fervour of his every movement; every gasp for breath between hot, messy, desperate kisses across your skin. Eyes hooded. Breathing heavy. Jaw twitching like he’s trying not to crack.
Your skin is flushed, sweaty; his hands move across your chest and neck and thighs with a hurriedness, like he’s trying to drink you in, every inch of you, before you slip away and he never has the chance to.
You’ve never been wanted—needed—like this. It scares you just as much as it excites you. Maybe more.
Because Mingi is a man of passion—that was clear to you very early on—in everything he is and everything he does. And being the object of that passion is no small thing; it’s a fire that spreads without restraint and scorches everything in its path. Including you. Including him.
His hands reach under your ass to pull you up and onto his lap, straddling him with your legs on either side. You feel him under you—hard, throbbing, straining against his pants—and your body reacts to it instinctively; your gut twists and your cunt clenches around nothing; your hips buck, slowly at first, then faster and more desperate until your clothed pussy is grinding shamelessly against his bulge.
You’re not in control now; that much is clear. Desperation has boiled over until your head couldn’t contain it anymore and it’s seeped down into your cunt.
“Fuck,” Mingi groans into your mouth. “Baby, fuck.”
”Min,” you whine. “Min. Feels so—”
He pulls back fully, all of a sudden, holding your face in his hands and forcing your gaze on him. His eyes are blazing, pupils blown like he’s already lost control. His hands are practically shaking with need, but at the same time you feel the steadiness, the strength in his hold on you. The safety. “I can make you feel better,” he gruffs. “Better than this. Better than anyone.”
You know he can. He already has made you feel better than anyone, just from the way he’s touched you over your clothes and talked and praised you through each tiny movement. But you know what he’s getting at—what he actually wants. And you want it too—fuck do you want it too—you just…
You chew at your lip, hesitant; nervous. His gaze fixes on it briefly, eyes narrowing some. “But I’ve never— you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” His words are soft now, murmured; careful, but his eyes flash with something you don’t understand. A small smile pulls at his lips, all softness and fondness. “My sweet girl, aren’t you? So innocent. Unused. Never done anything.”
“Min,” you whine, flushing a little at the condescension in his tone—patronising without mocking, but still enough to make you squirm.
“Baby,” he coos. “You know I’ll go slow, right? You know I’d never hurt you.”
“I know.”
“I’ll ease you into it, too. Open you up for me, nice and slow. Nice and easy. Just the tip, ‘til you’re ready for the rest. You trust me, right?”
“I do.” Of course you do. At this point Mingi could put a knife to your throat and you’d lean into the blade if he told you it was safe to.
He kisses you again; harder, more forceful, verging on painful but still firmly on the side of pleasure. “Keep grinding, sweetheart,” he mutters. “Babe, fuck. Pull that little skirt up for me, I wanna see you.”
He folds the hem of it between his fingers; the little miniskirt you wore for your date today. The skirt that had made his face harden, darken momentarily until he got ahold of himself again. The skirt he couldn’t take his eyes off of until he got you home.
But even now, he waits. Doesn’t push it up himself—waits for you to oblige or to refuse.
You oblige, of course. You know from the way his pupils dilate even further when you do that your panties must be soaked. His voice comes out strangled, like there’s a lump sitting unyielding and pulsing in his throat. “Fucking hell,” he grits. “Little panties all wet n’ soiled. Is that for me, baby? That all from grinding against my dick like an unspayed puppy?”
“Yes,” you whimper, nodding dumbly. “Mingi, please.”
“I got you,” he says. “Can I touch it, baby? Feel how wet you are for me?”
His voice is hoarse, clearly affected. You nod eagerly; he huffs out a low, shuddered breath and slowly moves one hand to cup your heat. It sends a pulse through your body like an electric current. “Perfect,” he breathes. “You feel that? Your pussy is throbbing on my hand, baby.”
“I feel it,” you nod. Fuck, it feels good. Mingi is so big and strong and warm and as much as it scares you, you think you’d let him do anything right now. “Min…”
“M’here,” he mumbles. “Holding your little pussy for you, just like you need. You don’t know what to do with it, do you?”
You whine; his eyes flicker up to meet your gaze and his lips curl in a small, knowing smile. “Yeah,” he chuckles. “You’re just helpless, aren’t you? Need me to show you how to feel good. Will you let me?”
“I just— it’s a little scary, Min.”
“That’s okay, honey,” he says softly. “I won’t go in yet, yeah? Just gonna rub my dick up and down the outside, see? You’re already gushing for me there, you’ll hardly feel it.”
His finger slips into your panties, hooking around the crotch and pulling it to the side. Your pussy, now bare and exposed to him, throbs a little harder. “Min…” You gasp. The air hits your cunt like a shiver down your spine; Mingi’s eyes fixed firmly on it like it’s the sweetest and most aggravating sight he’s ever seen feels even more biting. Just the feeling of him, holding you in his lap and staring at your cunt like he wants to take it apart and is struggling to hold himself back, is unlike anything you’ve imagined.
From your very first day with him, Mingi’s been your protector. Your safety—and he still is.
Yet now, like his, he somehow feels a little like a predator too.
And you, for some reason, are desperate for him to strike.
“You’re pulsing,” he breathes, barely above a whisper. “Fuck, baby, I can see you throbbing for me.”
“I need you,” you whimper. The words are coming now of their own accord.
“Pull my dick out,” he says. You falter a little and he smiles softly, shifting you on his lap. “C’mon, tiny. Nothing to be scared of. It’s not gonna hurt you.”
“It might,” you mumble. “You’re big.”
You swear Mingi’s eyes flash; his hand on your waist feels a little heavier now, like there’s suddenly more hunger, more possessiveness behind it. More intention.
“I’m big?” He chuckles. You nod. “I’m big, yeah. Or maybe you’re just tiny. I won’t hurt you though, honey. I told you we’ll take it slow, didn’t I?”
“Yeah.”
“Take it out then,” he says. “Be good for me, bunny.”
Your hands are shaking as you pull his dick out from his sweats; you’ve seen it before, of course, felt the hard outline of it when he’s pressed up behind you in bed—but this is different. This is going inside you.
It’s long and thick; rock hard and already leaking from the tip. “Fuck,” you breathe. “Min…”
“You like it?” He grins. You nod. “Good,” he says. “It’s yours. You can fuck yourself on it whenever you like, sweetheart. A big thick toy for my pretty little girl.”
“Please,” you mewl.
“You’re fine, baby,” he says. “Can you lift your hips for me, love?”
You obey, lifting yourself so you’re kneeling over him.
He grips the base of his dick, pumping it once, twice, three times, before his other arm wraps around your waist and pulls you down so your ass is resting on him and your pussy is pressed against the side of his shaft. You groan, the feeling of sending a spark of electricity through your body, and his cock twitches. “Fuck,” he gruffs. “Stay still, baby. Not gonna go in yet, just gonna fuck the outside, yeah? Where you’re all nice and slippery for me. Nice n’ wet already.”
“Okay,” you breathe.
It feels… strange. Good, definitely, but strange. Like you’re being teased. Every time his tip brushes against your clit you feel it through your entire body, to the tips of your toes and in the deepest crevices; your reaction to everything Mingi does, at this point, feels primal.
The way he groans, head thrown back in pleasure, feels primal too.
“Shit,” he grunts. “I gotta—fuck. This little cunt is so sweet, baby, so needy for me, I gotta fuck her. Need to.”
His dick is throbbing almost violently, pulsing against your clit and making you needier and needier. You want it—him—so bad you can’t even speak any more. You just whine, squirming, chasing the sensation and the pressure against your clit.
“C’mon,” Mingi says. “Let me in, baby. You want me inside, I can feel it.”
You nod. “Yeah,” you gasp.
“Tell me I can, then,” he grits out. “Tell me I can put it in. Just the tip, baby, please.”
“Okay,” you whisper. “The— just the tip, Min. Put it in.”
Mingi shudders; you feel it rippling through him, his grip tightening. He groans, adjusting himself, then slowly pushes in. “Thank you, baby. Just the tip, I promise. You’re being so brave, honey.”
Even from the tip you can feel the size difference between you; can tell taking him in his entirety will be no small task. The thought alone is dizzying; you’re squirming, trying and failing to stay still as he goes in deeper.
And deeper.
You hiss, muscles clenching, clawing at the material of his shirt. “Mingi,” you squeak. “It’s— what are you doing?”
He stops, freezing inside you, seeming to realise what he’s doing and getting a hold of himself again. But he doesn’t pull out—doesn’t back away. His eyes flicker up to your face, searching for something—a reaction, maybe, or a desperation you won’t admit. “Shit,” he mutters. “Sorry, baby, fuck, I just— you’re so warm, honey, so tight and wet, I’m losing my head a little. You make me crazy, you know that?”
You shake your head. He groans, squeezing his eyes shut, jaw clenching like he’s clinging to his composure. “You make it so hard to be gentle,” he says. “To hold back. I can’t think of anything but taking you apart right now. Filling you up. Fuck, baby.”
Fuck. Now neither can you. You whine, eyes squeezed shut, trying to think of anything else—anything but being ruined and claimed and bred by him.
But the image of him all the way inside, of you falling apart around him, of his cum dripping out of your stretched cunt—it’s too much. It’s too good.
You know you’re thinking with your pussy and not your head right now, and you don’t even care. You can’t care.
“Please,” you say. “Do it, Mingi. Fill me up.”
You feel him twitch inside you. His eyes soften, caring, a little concerned, but still the desperation and the excitement is overarching. “Are you sure?” He asks.
“I’m sure.”
He exhales, the breath slow and shaking, and nods. Then he starts again.
Slowly. Surely. But still dizzying.
You love how large Mingi is; how small and safe you feel with him. Now, though, you wonder if it’s possible to be too big.
“Shit,” you hiss.
“I know, I know, baby. Just open up for me, you can do it. That’s a good girl.”
He pushes his thumb past your lips, pressing it down on your tongue. “Make it wet,” he says. “That’s it.” Once he’s satisfied he pulls it out, smiling fondly at the whine that slips out of your mouth at the loss, and presses it against your clit. He rubs it slowly, firmly, the way he knows you like it.
Of course he knows. He’s the one who taught you how to touch yourself properly, after all.
You clench around him, pulsing, shifting yourself to chase the pressure on your clit and inadvertently pushing yourself down further on his cock. His voice is low, crooning, like he’s coaxing you open for him. “I’ll never hurt you, baby. Just wanna feel what s’like inside you. Doing so well f’me, that’s it.”
“Fuck,” you grunt. “Min, hurts—”
“I know, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Just for a little longer, okay? You’re gonna feel so full n’ fuzzy in a minute. Try and sit down for me, baby, try sit yourself down on my cock.”
It feels impossible, pushing yourself down any further than you already are; taking him any deeper than you already are. But Mingi is so gentle—stroking your skin, mumbling praises you can barely decipher—and he, both of you, wants it so fucking bad that all you can do is obey.
“That’s it,” he grumbles. “Good girl. C’mon now.”
By the time you get all the way to the bottom, your bodies pressed together, he’s almost crying. He looks like he’s trying not to shatter.
“Mingi,” you say. “Fuck me.”
“You’re ready? Really?”
“Really.”
You’re on your back, flipped over, legs around his waist while he hovers above you, before you can process it. Mingi’s eyes are dark, pupils blown and glinting with a desperation so hot it feels like it scorches your skin beneath it.
“Hold onto me,” he grunts. “You’re not getting it gentle.”
You squeeze your legs around him, pulling him closer, curling his shirt around your fists. Holding him like a lifeline; like he’s the only thing stopping you from shattering entirely.
At the same time, though, he’s the only thing that can make you shatter so completely and so thoroughly. He fucks you like he has nothing to lose, nothing to prove; like he’s entirely sure of himself and sure of his control. Like he can just take, take, take, and you’ll do nothing but stare up at him with wide, empty, loving eyes and give him everything he wants.
He’s right. Even when he finishes, when he falls over the edge with a shout and warmth blooms in your tummy, he keeps thrusting, keeps the same heavy grip on your waist like every inch of your skin belongs to him.
And when he pulls out and cum slowly starts to drip from your hole, he gathers it on his finger and pushes it back in.
“Keep it there,” he murmurs, smiling softly, tiredly at you. “You look so pretty full of me.”
girl idk why you just came up on my feed but i love love your writing it makes me want to be your friend irl, your so fun and you have humor in your writing you make me laugh so effing hard and i like how unique your writing is i hope you write more of this kind of stuff !! i really love your mafia series so bad i think i could read your works all day, i hope you write more and maybe explore some other aus !!! suggesting hybrid au if your into it
👉🏻👈🏻
My dms are always open you can text anytime cutie ;3 Thank you for enjoying my works<3 You wish, I deliver. ehe
Forest Habits
Summary: Your new neighbor Jongho has some unique habits, but you’re more focused on falling in love with him than questioning why he acts so beary.
Fandom: ATEEZ
Pairing: Jongho x Reader
Genre: Fluff, Romance, Fantasy Au, Hybrid Au(nothing physical just characteristic)
Word Count: 3k~
Warnings: None (found family dynamics, and cozy domestic content.)
A/N: If no one asks how Jongho was born then everything's fine.
====================================
The new neighbor has some interesting habits.
First, he exclusively shops the clearance produce section, buying quantities of fruit that would make a smoothie bar owner jealous. You watch from behind your cereal as he loads his cart with marked down berries, slightly bruised peaches, and what appears to be the entire stock of day old bakery honey wheat bread.
Second, he pays for everything in exact change, counting out bills and coins with the careful precision of someone who keeps their money in jars rather than a bank.
Third, when he catches you staring, he freezes completely. Not just pauses, but goes utterly still like wildlife caught in headlights, before offering a small and cautious wave.
“You’re the one who bought the old Miller place,” you say, approaching his cart. “I’m Y/N. I live in the blue house down the road.”
“Jongho.” His voice is warm but quiet, like he doesn’t use it much. “Nice to meet you.”
“Need help carrying all this?” You eye the precarious stack of berry containers. “That’s a lot of groceries for one person.”
He shifts slightly, and you catch a whiff of something clean and woodsy, like pine sap and fresh air. “I eat a lot.”
Which, looking at him, makes sense. He’s built like he spends his days chopping wood and moving boulders, all broad shoulders and sturdy frame packed into a simple flannel shirt.
“Fair enough. Well, if you ever need anything, I’m just down the hill. The house with the vegetable garden that’s slowly taking over the yard.”
His eyes brighten with interest. “You grow your own food?”
“Trying to. The deer keep eating my lettuce.”
“Cayenne pepper,” he says immediately. “Mix it with water, spray it on the leaves. They don’t like spicy food.”
“You know about gardening?”
“I know about deers-.” He pauses, then adds, “I- Uh, I mean, I like growing things.”
====================================
Jongho, you discover, has the greenest thumb you’ve ever encountered.
When you mention your struggling tomato plants over the fence three days later, he appears in your garden twenty minutes later with a small arsenal of organic fertilizers and an intense focus that’s oddly endearing.
“They’re stressed,” he explains, gently turning over leaves to examine them. “Too much water, not enough nutrients. And this soil is too compact.”
“How can you tell all that just by looking?”
He glances up at you, dirt already smudged on his cheek. “Can’t you smell it?”
You lean closer to the plant, inhaling. It smells like… plant. Maybe slightly sour? “Not really.”
“Hm.” He turns back to his work, carefully loosening soil around the base. “I’m good with plants. And they’re not too different from… other living things.”
There’s something almost secretive about the way he says it, but he’s already moved on to discussing proper mulching techniques with the kind of enthusiasm most people reserve for sports or celebrity gossip.
By the time he’s finished, your tomato plants look perkier and you’ve learned more about companion planting than you thought possible.
“Thank you,” you say, watching him pack up his supplies. “Can I make you dinner sometime? As payment?”
He goes very still again, that wildlife, startled expression crossing his face. “You don’t need to pay me.”
“I want to. I like cooking, and you clearly know what you’re doing with gardens. We could help each other out.”
“I eat a lot,” he warns, like this is something that’s caused problems before.
“I cook a lot,” you counter. “Seriously, I always make too much. You’d be doing me a favor.”
The smile that spreads across his face is small but genuine. “I’d like that.”
====================================
Jongho does, in fact, eat a lot.
He also eats with a methodical efficiency that’s fascinating to watch, and he makes appreciative humming sounds that are so genuinely pleased they make your heart skip.
“This is really good,” he says around a mouthful of honey-glazed salmon. “I don’t get fish much.”
“There’s a stream that runs behind the Miller place. No fish there?”
“Not lately.” He pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. “I mean, I don’t fish much. Never really learned how.”
Which seems unlikely given how comfortable he is in the outdoors, but you don’t push. Everyone has gaps in their knowledge.
“I could teach you,” you offer. “My dad used to take me when I was little.”
“I’d like that.”
After dinner, he insists on washing dishes, moving around your kitchen with surprising familiarity. When he reaches for things on high shelves without asking where they are, or automatically puts leftovers in containers you hadn’t even gotten out yet, you chalk it up to good instincts.
“You’re very domestic for someone who lives alone in the woods,” you tease.
He freezes with a dish towel in his hands. “I don’t live in the woods.”
“Sorry, I just meant- the Miller place is pretty secluded.”
“Right. Yes.” He relaxes slightly. “I like quiet places.”
“Me too. That’s why I moved out here.”
“From the city?”
“Suburbs. Too many people, too much noise. I wanted space to grow things and think.”
“And now you have deer eating your lettuce.”
“Now I have deer eating my lettuce,” you agree, laughing. “But I also have a neighbor who knows how to stop them, so it’s working out.”
The look he gives you is soft and a little wondering, like he’s not used to things working out.
====================================
Summer settles into a comfortable routine. Jongho appears in your garden most mornings, usually carrying coffee for both of you in a thermos that keeps things hot for hours. He’s gotten into the habit of checking your plants while you’re still waking up, and you’ve gotten into the habit of making breakfast for two.
“You don’t have to feed me every day,” he says one morning, but he’s already reaching for the plate of pancakes you’ve set out.
“I like feeding you,” you say honestly. “You get this happy expression when you eat, like you’re surprised by how good everything tastes.”
He pauses mid-bite. “Food tastes better when someone makes it for you.”
“Is that bear wisdom?”
The fork clatters against his plate. “What?”
“Sorry, I just meant- you have a very practical way of looking at things. Like folk wisdom. Bear, ox, something sturdy and sensible.” You’re rambling now, but he’s staring at you with such an odd expression. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Oh.” He picks up his fork again, but his movements are careful. “Right.”
There’s something strange in his voice, but before you can ask about it, he’s complimenting your maple syrup choice and the moment passes.
====================================
August brings a heat wave that leaves everyone in the valley wilted and cranky. Everyone except Jongho, who seems to thrive in weather that makes you want to melt into a puddle.
“Aren’t you hot?” you ask, watching him weed your garden in the blazing afternoon sun while you hide under the porch umbrella with iced tea.
“Not really.” He sits back on his heels, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I run warm.”
“That’s an understatement. You’re like a human furnace.”
“Is that bad?”
“In summer, yes. In winter, probably amazing.”
He ducks his head, but you catch the pleased expression that crosses his face.
Later, when the sun starts to set and the temperature drops to merely oppressive, he joins you on the porch. You’re sprawled across the outdoor couch in the least dignified way possible, trying to catch any hint of breeze.
“You look miserable,” he observes.
“I am miserable. I wasn’t built for this weather.”
Without saying anything, he settles onto the couch next to you. “Come here.”
“Jongho, you’re like ninety degrees. That’s the opposite of helpful right now.”
“Trust me.”
Something in his voice makes you shift closer, and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you against his side. You’re about to protest that this is making everything worse when something strange happens.
Instead of adding to the oppressive heat, his warmth seems to… regulate yours? Like your overheated skin is finding balance against his steady temperature. The uncomfortable sweat cools, your racing heartbeat slows, and suddenly you’re not miserable anymore.
“How are you doing that?” you mumble against his shoulder.
“Doing what?”
“I should be dying right now, but I feel fine.”
His arm tightens around you slightly. “Good metabolism, I guess.”
You’re too comfortable to question the logic of that statement. Instead, you let yourself relax into his warmth, breathing in that clean, woodsy scent that always surrounds him.
“This is nice,” you say quietly.
“Yeah,” he agrees, voice soft. “It is.”
====================================
September brings cooler nights and Jongho’s first confession.
You’re making soup when he appears in your kitchen, moving with that silent way he has that should probably be alarming but mostly just seems like a useful skill.
“Smells good,” he says, peering over your shoulder at the pot.
“Butternut squash. Want to stay for dinner?”
“Always.” He settles at your kitchen table, chin propped on his hand as he watches you cook. “Y/N?”
“Mm?”
“I should probably tell you something.”
You glance back at him. There’s something nervous in his expression, like he’s working up courage. “Okay.”
“I’m not entirely human.”
“That makes sense,” you say, turning back to stir the soup. “What kind of non-human?”
Silence. You look over your shoulder to find him staring at you.
“That’s… not the reaction I expected.”
“What reaction were you expecting?”
“Fear? Shock? Questions about what exactly I am?”
You consider this, tasting the soup and adding more salt. “I mean, I’m curious about details, but honestly? You’re the least surprising supernatural reveal I can imagine.”
“I am?”
“Jongho, you appear silently in my kitchen, you can tell what plants need just by smelling them, you eat like you’re preparing for hibernation, and you generate heat like a small furnace. Plus you have this whole thing where you go completely still when you’re startled, like prey animal instincts but… bigger.”
“Oh.”
“So what are you? Some kind of forest spirit? Shapeshifter?”
“Bear,” he says quietly. “Part bear, anyway. My mother was human.”
“That makes even more sense.” You ladle soup into bowls, considering. “Bears are excellent at taking care of people they love. Very protective, very nurturing. Good with plants and gardens because they understand natural cycles.”
He’s still staring at you when you set his bowl down. “You’re really okay with this?”
“Jongho, you’ve been nothing but kind and helpful and wonderful for months. Learning you’re part bear just explains why you’re so good at all those things.” You settle across from him with your own soup. “Plus it explains why you’re always trying to feed me back. Very bear behavior, making sure your people are well-fed.”
“My people?”
“Your family. Friends. Chosen pack. Whatever you want to call it.”
The smile that spreads across his face is radiant. “I like ‘chosen pack.’”
“Good. Now eat your soup before it gets cold.”
====================================
October is when things get interesting.
The weather turns properly cold, and Jongho’s behavior shifts in ways that are endearing and occasionally concerning. He starts showing up with armloads of firewood you didn’t ask for. Your pantry mysteriously fills with non-perishable foods. He develops an intense interest in your heating system and spends an entire afternoon weatherproofing your windows.
“Are you nesting?” you ask, watching him arrange and rearrange the blankets on your couch for maximum coziness.
“Bears don’t nest,” he says, but he doesn’t stop adjusting cushions. “We den.”
“Are you denning in my living room?”
“Would that be okay?”
The hopeful way he asks makes your chest tighten with affection. “Of course it’s okay. But don’t you have your own place?”
“The Miller house is too big. Too cold. And empty.” He looks up at you from where he’s kneeling by the couch. “I like it better here.”
“Because it’s warmer?”
“Because you’re here.”
Oh. Your heart does something complicated at the quiet sincerity in his voice.
“Jongho…”
“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he says quickly. “Having someone around all the time, especially when I get… sleepy. I can find somewhere else if you need space.”
“When you get sleepy?”
He shifts uncomfortably. “Bears hibernate. Sort of. I don’t do the full thing, but I get really tired once it gets cold enough. I sleep a lot more, I’m less active. It’s boring for other people.”
“How long does it last?”
“Usually December through February. Sometimes into March if winter runs long.”
You think about this. Three months of having Jongho around constantly, but quieter, sleepier. More like a living teddy bear than his usual helpful, energetic self.
“Will you be happy just sleeping and hanging around the house?”
“With you? Yeah.”
“Then stay.”
Relief floods his expression. “Really?”
“Really. But I have one condition.”
“Anything.”
“When you get into full hibernation mode, you have to let me take care of you too. No more of this thing where you only give and never take.”
“I don’t do that.”
“Jongho, you’ve been bringing me groceries and firewood and fixing things around my house for months, and the only thing you let me do in return is feed you.”
“I like when you feed me.”
“And I like taking care of you in other ways too. So when you’re tired and sleepy, you let me make sure you’re comfortable and warm and happy, okay?”
The look he gives you is soft and wondering. “Okay.”
====================================
The first real snow comes in early December, and with it, a Jongho who moves like he’s walking through honey.
“Are you alright?” you ask, watching him blink slowly at his coffee cup like he’s forgotten what it’s for.
“Mm. Tired.” He takes a sip, makes a pleased sound. “Feels like winter.”
“Maybe you should go back to sleep.”
“Don’t want to miss time with you.”
Your heart melts a little. “I’m not going anywhere. And you’ll be more comfortable in bed.”
“Your bed is better than mine.”
“Then sleep in my bed.”
He looks up at you, suddenly more alert. “Really?”
“Really. It’s bigger anyway, and you’re basically a space heater. We’ll both be more comfortable.”
What you don’t expect is how clingy hibernating Jongho turns out to be.
The first night, you wake up completely wrapped in his arms, pressed against his chest like he’s trying to absorb you into his body heat. He’s incredibly warm, turning your bed into the coziest cocoon imaginable, but he’s also holding you tight enough that moving requires negotiation.
“Jongho,” you whisper. “I need to get up.”
“Mm.” His arms tighten slightly. “Five more minutes.”
“I need coffee. And the bathroom.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Stay.” His voice is thick with sleep, and he nuzzles against your hair. “Warm. Safe.”
It takes ten minutes of gentle coaxing to extract yourself, and the entire time he makes grumbly, dissatisfied sounds that are so ridiculously cute you almost give in and stay put.
This becomes the pattern. During the day, Jongho naps on the couch or follows you around the house like a sleepy shadow, happy to just be in the same room. At night, he turns into the world’s most affectionate octopus, wrapping around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip.
“Is this normal hibernation behavior?” you ask one afternoon, trying to read while he dozes with his head in your lap.
“Mm?” He blinks up at you drowsily.
“The cuddling. Do all bears get this clingy when they hibernate?”
“Don’t know other bears.” He shifts closer, pressing his face against your stomach. “Just know I want to be close to you.”
“Comfortable?”
“Very.” His arms wrap around your waist. “You’re perfect. Warm and soft and you smell like home.”
“What does home smell like?”
“Like you. Like bread baking and garden soil and that soap you use.” His voice is getting quieter, sleepier. “Like safety.”
Your chest tightens with emotion. “I love you,” you say quietly, not sure if he’s awake enough to hear it.
“Love you too,” he mumbles against your shirt. “My person.”
====================================
January brings a blizzard that knocks out power for three days, and you discover exactly how useful it is to have a bear boyfriend.
“Aren’t you cold?” Jongho asks, finding you bundled in every blanket you own while you try to read by candlelight.
“Freezing,” you admit. “I can’t get warm.”
Without hesitation, he scoops you up, blankets and all, and settles back onto the couch with you in his lap. His arms wrap around you, and immediately you’re surrounded by incredible warmth.
“Better?”
“Much.” You snuggle closer, marveling at how he can be so warm when the house feels like an icebox. “How are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Being a human furnace. The power’s been out for hours.”
“Good circulation,” he says simply, but his arms tighten around you. “And you make me want to take care of you.”
“That makes me warmer?”
“Makes me warmer. When you’re happy and comfortable, I’m happy and comfortable.”
You think about this, listening to the wind howl outside. “Is that a bear thing or a Jongho thing?”
“Both, I think.”
The power comes back eventually, but you stay curled up together anyway, sharing warmth and quiet conversation and the kind of perfect contentment that makes you want to stop time.
“I could get used to this,” you say as Jongho drowses against your shoulder.
“Mm. Good. Planning to keep you.”
“Planning to keep me?”
“Forever, if you’ll let me.”
“Is that a proposal?”
“It’s a promise,” he says quietly. “That I want to take care of you, and let you take care of me, for as long as you’ll have me.”
“What if I want you forever too?”
The smile he presses against your neck is warm and soft and full of love. “Then I guess we’re stuck with each other.”
“Good,” you say, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I like being stuck with you.”
Outside, snow continues to fall, but inside your little house, wrapped in Jongho’s warmth and love, you’ve never felt cozier. This is home- not the house itself, but this feeling. The safety of being completely known and completely cherished by someone who loves all your quirks and habits, just as you love all of his.
➾In Which: Your plane goes down in uncharted wilderness — but you don't have to be afraid. He will take care of you.
RATED X. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.
❥Song Mingi x fem reader
Star's Fairytale July
♡'･ᴗ･'♡genre: dark ¿romance?, smut
ಠ_ಠwarning/content: briefly proof read, a spin on "Tarzan", unspecified historical au, light gore, reader loses feeling in one of her legs from the crash + slowly recovers, slight communication barrier: mingi understands everything but has trouble speaking a lot, lowkey feral but soft mingi, size difference, implied chubby reader: has squishy thighs and boobs (we cheered !!), touch starved ming (i want to bite him-), is it stockholm syndrome if he didn't reallyyyy kidnap you, semi-forced cuddling, cleaning and eating animals (rip thumper), mingi has a heart of gold but grew up in the wilderness so is... strange ಠ_ಠ1 non-con scene: dry humping, groping, reader 'lets it' happen because she's afraid he'll make her leave, short scene (reader blacks it out). 1 consensual scene: outdoor, unprotected (they don't have any choice but boooo), teaching him how to kiss, him using what he learned on readers pussy (jjsjshdjan), spit as lube, soft to rough, overstim, titty fixation !!, virgin mingi goes FERAL, like actually feral like biting, growling, manhandling to get deeper, cumming multiple times, moaning like a bitch, trying to breed like his life depends on it feral, mingi only knows three words during sex "more, love, mine"
➯non-con disclaimer: non-con is NOT okay in real life. this is ONLY EVER acceptable in FICTIONAL settings (and even then it's fucked up)
➯a/n: i luv me some feral-ness, and i luvvvvv me some minki <3
♡masterlist + navigation !♡
18+, MINORS WILL BE ABANDONED IN THE JUNGLE.
The smoke makes it hard for him to see.
Perched on a large branch a good bit above the ground, he watches. Observing, carefully.
The plane is stuck on the shore. Half in the shallow water, half not. The pilot must have took a chance at trying to land it on the uneven beach.
He doesn't hear anything besides the creaking metal, the lapping waves. Perhaps whoever was inside perished.
He likes that possibility the best. He doesn't like people — not that he has much experience with them. Those little ones he has had were less than pleasant.
They always treated him... different than the way they treated each other. And then, they tried to drag him back onto their boats.
They left him alone quickly when he started biting.
The wilderness has been his home ever since he was a boy. He'd never leave, and he'd never let anyone else take his home from him.
His head perks up as the door opens. A survivor? Great... He thinks how much trouble it will bring him when —
Out comes you. Sobbing as you fall to the sand. A piece of glass lodged in the side of your thigh and staining your dress with blood.
His interest caught, he climbs down.
You look much different than the other people he's had the misfortune of meeting.
Bare feet on the sand, he makes his way to the fallen plane.
You sound different, too. You're shaped differently. Wearing odd clothes.
He walks right up to you as you cry into your arms; not even noticing his presence until he grips your scalp and pulls your head up.
You scream in shock, grabbing his wrist as he tilts your head from side to side — inspecting you.
You stare at the man dumbfounded. Shock in every fiber of your being. First, your plane had a malfunction and was forced to crash land. Then, you awoke without feeling in one of your legs; looking around to find a piece of glass stuck in it and all of the men you were traveling with dead.
Now, a terrifyingly large and silent man is grabbing your head and looking at you with his eyebrows pressing together — confused.
He thinks you might be another species entirely until he remembers, very distantly, "woman?" His voice is deep and broken, like he doesn't use it a lot.
Frightened and beyond puzzled, you nod in his grasp.
He bites his lip, thinking for a moment. When you go to flinch away, he holds you tighter as he lifts his other hand to your face.
His touch is careful. But it's rough with callouses and awkward as he touches your cheek in a state somewhere between awe and bafflement.
He drops you without care, nodding; to himself you think, because he walks away before you can say anything. You fall back to the sand weakly as he climbs inside the plane — leaving you there with wide and teary eyes.
He comes back out a few minutes later, finding you just where he left you and just as in shock. He has a bag from inside the plane in his hands. He gathered what he wanted and left the rest to collect dust before high tide sweeps the plane further into the water.
"Hold." He says simply, shoving it into your stunned arms.
"W-" You have so many questions. But he doesn't give you the chance to ask any of them before he lifts you up like you weigh almost nothing, slinging you over his broad shoulder.
You groan as your stomach meets his body, clinging to the bag tightly and watching the plane grow further away as he walks away with you.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Eventually, you gave up on asking all of your questions when all you got was silence, one word answers, or grunts in response.
He keeps one arm over the back of your thighs, holding you tightly.
You're so soft compared to anything he's touched before.
He's thankful when you stop talking. He likes the sound of your voice, but he's not used to hearing anything that much. He can finally think.
His body reacted before he had the chance to think this over. Something deep in his brain told him to bring you back with him and he just did it. He wants to figure out why; but it's hard.
Your skin was really soft when he touched your face. It was warm. He liked it. He likes the warmth and the weight of your body as he carries you through the dense trees.
He squeezes your thigh curiously, a hum low in his throat.
Yes, he likes that.
He lowers you with more gentleness than he picked you up with, steadying you with a hand on your hip as your leg buckles under your weight; the other completely useless.
"Stay." He leans you against a tree, turning around and climbing up another with efficiency that makes your jaw drop a bit.
It drops even more as you follow his form, looking up to see what looks like a literal house in the tree.
It's clear he's been here a long time.
A rope ladder drops from the opening, and the strange man follows; climbing down it with something clutched in his teeth.
You, obviously, have a million more questions to ask. But you stay quiet. He seemed to have liked that better — and he's your only chance at survival.
He points to the ground, then to you. 'Sit', you assume. You slide against the rough bark until you sit with your legs sprawled in front of you. Watching him closely as he takes the blade and the large scrap of fabric from his mouth.
"I fix," he says while gesturing to your leg, the small piece of glass still lodged in it.
You swallow thickly before nodding. Theres no way in hell you can fix it yourself. Even though you can't feel it, you know you don't have the guts to pull the glass out yourself.
He slides your skirts up your claves, straddling the injured leg. He opens his mouth to say something before he changes him mind, only tutting his tongue. He wants to ask your name, what you are called. But he forgets the words for that and it makes him a bit frustrated. He doesn't want to keep calling you 'woman' when he thinks of you.
You want to tell him to be careful as he lifts the fabric over the glass to get it out of the way — but you decide against it. You don't even know how much he speaks, how much he knows. It seems like a good bit.
You finally drop the bag next to you and bundle up your skirts, holding them out of the way. Avoiding looking at the mess, you look at him instead while he examines the wound.
His shorts were once pants, cut at the thigh — for less restriction, you assume. His shirt is missing quite a few buttons and you suppose that's why he doesn't button it up. One of his wrists has homemade rope bracelets stacked on it. He has scars all over his body.
A long and rough one across his torso. One short and smooth across the front of his forearm. A little one below his eyebrow.
"What is your name?" You ask softly, and it gives him pause. "Do you have one?"
You talk to him like he understands — and he loves it. Because he does understand. That's what the others didn't get, where they went wrong. They assumed he didn't comprehend full sentences because he didn't use them.
It sounds foreign on his own tongue as he shares, for the first time in many, many years; his own name.
"Mingi."
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The inside of Mingi's tree house is strangely put together, for being in the middle of literally nowhere on an uninhabited island.
He has a bed of moss covered with a military issued brown blanket. You kind of want to ask where he got that, but it seems obvious. From someone else who crash landed or came across the island.
He's quiet as he slowly lays you down on it; having carried you up the ladder as you clung to his neck. Your thigh is wrapped up tightly with the strip of fabric, your skirt cut to just above it. He throws the ripped and bloody bottom half of it into a corner, thinking he can clean it and use it for something else.
You're starting to get cold. Blood loss is catching up to you as your adrenaline levels lower because you start feeling safer and safer with the strange man. You know you shouldn't. He seems... well, you don't know.
He's unlike any man you've ever met. His silence unnerves you. His gaze is much too intense. He has zero sense of personal space.
But he's gentle, now at least. And he doesn't look at you like you're beneath him; as many men in society do.
He touches your cheek again as he hovers over you, crouching by the makeshift bed. Fingertips grazing your skin slowly. "Soft." He says lowly.
"Th-thank you?" You whisper, a bit frightened.
He nods, "I like." And he stands up like that isn't a strange thing to say, probably because he doesn't think it is, turning to some fruit hanging by one of the window-like openings.
You push yourself up on your elbows, watching him. "How long have you lived here?"
He has to take a second to think of the word, "ever."
"How?" You ask, astonished, and only get a shrug in response as he comes back to you.
He really is not much of talker, you've found out quickly.
Sitting next to you on the blanket, he pulls off a piece of dried fruit and offers it to you. When you only look at it, slightly suspicious, he shoves it into your hand. "Eat."
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
When the sun sets, you've barely been holding your eyes open for the past few hours.
He hasn't shown any intention of hurting you, but your mind still yells to stay alert because he's a stranger — an incredibly strange and strong stranger, at that.
"Mingi."
He looks over to you quickly from his place on the floor; where he braids some plant material together into a rope. Almost like he forgot you were there, but he didn't. He's just so very unused to hearing someone speak; let alone hearing his name.
"Do you sleep at night? When it's dark?" It seems like a stupid question, but you genuinely don't know. He doesn't seem tired at all. Obviously, he has to sleep. He's human. But when is a different question.
He nods, tilts his head.
"Soon?" You stifle a yawn, but he catches it. If he sleeps while you do, maybe it's less chance he can hurt you. That's what your logic tells you.
"No," he turns back to the rope and keeps braiding. Sleeping while someone new is around is practically asking for trouble, that's what his logic tells him. He'll wait until you fall asleep.
You let out a sigh as you rest your head on your arm, rolling onto your side to face him. Your leg is starting to tingle, which you suppose is good news. At least you're feeling something.
"Thank you," you whisper, "for saving me." He grunts softly in response.
No matter how hard you try to keep your eyes open, they start falling shut for longer and longer until sleep eventually takes you.
When he hears your even, quiet breathing, he looks over his shoulder. Dropping the rope he was working on, he quickly slides off his open shirt and climbs over you. He should sleep in a branch, on the floor at the very least — but he likes his little warm corner.
And you've made it even warmer.
He likes it.
He likes you.
Scooting closer, laying behind you on his side, mirroring you; he follows his instincts and slowly slides his arm under your head, replacing yours. A gentle sigh leaves you in your sleep as you nuzzle against the warmth of his arm.
Yes. He's definitely decided. He likes you.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
A week goes by.
You learn very little about the man who's taking care of you.
You know he is intelligent, maybe not socially aware; but he knows how to tend to wounds using the Earth. In fact — he knows how to do a lot with the Earth. How to make tools, rope, traps, how to fish and hunt, he even uses agriculture to his advantage; has a small garden you can see from one of the openings in the suspended hut.
That's where you are now. Sitting on the ledge with your legs dangling, kicking them slowly to get some sort of exercise, watching Mingi tend to his plants.
You still can't hold all of your weight on your bad leg. The feeling in it comes and goes. You weren't shocked when he all but banned you from leaving the small tree house — only shaking his head and saying "no" whenever you asked about helping him below. You suppose it's fair. You'd probably be more trouble than you'd be help.
He does let you do some things. After you said you felt guilty for being so reliant on him. You're allowed to scrub and hang both of your clothes with the buckets of water he brings up.
You learned, or rather; he taught you, how to skin a few different animals. The gutting of them still makes you uneasy, so he takes over with that. You're waiting for him to do so now so you can help him cook it over the scavenged pot he lights a fire in almost every day. You rinsed your hands clean of the rabbits blood and limped your way over to the window.
Leaning your head against the wood, you sigh.
You don't think you'll ever go home. You're starting to come to terms, realizing the fact that this is most likely your home now.
It's not all so bad.
Mingi is strange. He's a bit scary at times, when he comes up the ladder breathing heavily with blood dripping down his arms. He still acts like he has no clue what personal space is — even though you've explained it a fair few times. And you know he understands everything you say.
At night, starting the second one, he asks; or rather tells you softly to, "tell me things."
You told him of your home, your hobby's, your family, and friends. About technology and some agriculture things he might be able to make use of.
He hums, or simply breathes differently in response most of the time. If you really peek his interest, he asks, "more." It's usually when you talk about yourself or about things he can make use of.
"(Y/n)." He speaks from below you, snapping you from your thoughts. "Bucket." He says while tapping the rope that leads up to the opening you're seated on.
"Oh, yes," you nod, "sorry." Leaning back with a groan, you get the two wooden buckets, carefully setting the one with the dirtied water in your lap and tying the knot he showed you onto the handle. "Coming down." You lower it with the pulley system, sill in awe of his ingenuity with such limited resources.
He takes them everyday and dumps them away from his area, so as not to attract predators to the smell of blood — at least, that's what you assume. Because getting that detailed information out of him would be near impossible with the way he speaks.
He takes whatever animal as well and leaves the guts he decides not to use in one way or another.
"Be back soon," you call out as he starts walking away, getting a small look over his shoulder as an answer.
You make life a little bit better. He enjoys having you here with him, even if most of the time is spent in silence — he doesn't mind, that's what he likes anyway. But he's found that he likes sharing it with you.
He's also grown fond of physical touch. Not you touching him, not just yet. That still makes him flinch if you move too fast.
But him touching you? He can't get enough. Over the past week, he's grown more brave with it. At first, the first day after he pulled you from the wreckage, it was only to change the makeshift bandage on your wound. That night, he put his hand on your waist as he laid down behind you. He liked squeezing it.
The morning after, he helped you stand and try to walk. You didn't get very far — but he kept his hands on your hips as you braced yourself on the wall. That night, he drug you to lay with your back to his chest.
He's gotten braver and bolder. It makes you a bit uncomfortable, like he might try to take advantage of your weakened state; but you don't even know if he knows what sex is.
He does. Well — not really. But he's woken up with hard-ons before and he knows how to take care of them.
You do have him thinking, though. What it might feel like to put himself between your cushiony thighs or put his face in your chest.
He decides he'll try tonight as he climbs up the ladder and finds you changing into the large shirt he's given you to wear at night. He swallows, his throat suddenly dry. Something warm and needy flicking to life in his gut.
He clears his throat, setting the bucket with the rabbit in it down.
"Thank you." You say that a lot, he's realized. You don't want him to throw you to the wilderness if he suddenly deems you too much trouble; you make your gratitude very clear. That's another thing he likes about you.
Even injured and in an environment so different from what you're used to, you try to pull your weight and make yourself as useful as you can.
He only nods, headed to the line of clothes you hung up earlier that day and getting the softer pair of shorts he has to his name. He doesn't bother with modesty; so you turn around as he strips himself and stretches his arms above his head. Busying yourself with skewering the meat.
The night continues like the last seven had. He lights the small bundle of firewood in the metal pot and sits across from you, cooking some for you and handing it over before he does the same for himself. He helps you stand and walk from wall to wall until your leg gives out and he carries you to the moss bed.
Now is usually the part where he asks for you to tell him things until you're too tired to continue.
But that's not what happens tonight.
He usually helps you to lay on your side and gets behind you.
Not tonight.
Tonight, he lays you on your back and straddles your hips. He touches your cheek. With just his fingertips, at first. Then he cradles your face in his palm and hums contentedly as your warmth seeps into him.
"What are you doing?" You ask shakily as he lowers himself a bit, still holding your cheek as he presses his face to your chest.
"Soft." He mumbles, cuddling his face closer. He likes them — he likes them a lot. His cock is twitching in his shorts.
You stay completely still underneath him. Not scared of him, exactly. But scared of what he might do if you deny him the affection- the intimacy he craves.
You'd never survive a day without him.
So you bite your lip as humiliation creeps up while he gives an experimental roll of his hips. And he moans. Low and quiet; just over the insects chirping outside.
He slides his hand lower, tracing your neck softly before it reaches your breast and he gives it a squeeze. He moans louder, moves harsher against you.
You let out a shaky breath as you close your eyes tightly, trying to disappear from your own skin as your savior gropes you.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Another week goes by.
If Mingi notices you're more uncomfortable with his touches the first three days, he doesn't say anything. He keeps them the same as before that night. Like it never even happened — but he had clearly enjoyed himself. Once or twice, you've caught him staring at your chest.
Day four is when you start getting more relaxed around him again. He brings you flowers that day. Yellow petals and bright green stems. Awkwardly holds them out to you, points between you and them, and says, "you." They remind him of you.
Five and six, or rather; twelve and thirteen, pass without incident.
It's on day seven of the second week he picks you up and says, "with me." He helps you wrap your legs around him and you hold on tightly as he climbs down the ladder. You know better than to question him.
You just enjoy the change of scenery, hugging onto his back until he stops.
Your jaw drops as you look at the large waterhole. It's crystal clear, you can see all of the rocks at the bottom, the little tassels of water grass and the small fish swimming through it.
"Swim?" He looks over his shoulder, something like a smile on his lips as he sees the joy in your eyes.
"Yeah- yes! Yes!" You hug onto him tighter, smiling as well. "Thank you for bringing me here, Mingi."
His name still sounds odd to hear out loud, but he thinks he likes the way you say it.
He slowly lowers you from his back, steadying you as your leg trembles a bit. "Water-" He groans, tilting his head as he unwraps your healing wound, "good."
"I think so too," you nod. He definitely likes that about you. You still don't shorten your sentences or talk to him like he can't understand. "It will be good to move it around without pressure on it."
Exactly what he was thinking, although he could never express it as elegantly as you. His lips do that thing they've been doing lately — turning up in the corners.
You decide against going fully nude, but he has no qualms about stripping bare before diving into the water.
In just your underwear, you slowly lower yourself to sit on the edge before pushing off and submerging yourself.
It feels wonderful. Beyond wonderful — it feels magical. You and Mingi both freshened up each day with clean water and fabric scraps, but this is entirely different. Like your soul is being cleansed and lightened of its burdens as the water surrounds you.
You push your hair out of your face as you come back up, laughing happily.
Mingi hasn't heard that sound from you before, but he enjoys it nonetheless. It makes him feel warm.
"Happy?" He hums curiously as he swims, going back and forth the length of the water slowly.
"Very." You reply quickly, moving to copy his movements.
He definitely has more stamina than you, but he slows himself down a bit to match your pace as you try to keep up.
And you're both content to swim back and forth in silence for a while, it must be at least thirty minutes later when you finally give in to your muscles begging for mercy. You haven't moved this much since before your plane crashed.
You fold your arms over one another on the edge of the water, breathing a bit heavily as you catch your breath.
Mingi comes up beside you, no worse for wear; and looks at you for a moment before copying your pose. He rests his chin on his arms and looks out into the wilderness with you. "Happy." He says lowly.
You turn your head, resting it on your arms as you peer over at him. "You are?" You search for clarification, kicking your legs slowly.
He nods, moving again to mirror you. "Was... lonely. But, people before; no good." He reaches over and touches your cheek, "you good."
You only smile in response. It's the most words you've ever heard him say in one day it feels like, let alone one 'sentence'.
Pushing yourself a bit closer, you slowly lift your hand. And he doesn't flinch like he normally might. He leans into your touch as you cradle his cheek, sighing softly. "Like you."
"I like you too," you move carefully, until your hip brushes against his side under the water. "Do you know... what a kiss is?"
"Kiss?" He repeats you with a small raise of his eyebrows.
"Yeah, kiss," you lean forward. His eyes are locked on yours, watching you intently as you lift yourself up a bit to be level with his face. "For affection, when you like something," you press your lips to his cheek softly, "you do that."
He cranes his neck, delicately placing his lips against your cheek for a moment longer than you did to him. He has a soft blush across his tanned cheeks when he pulls back.
"Nice, right?" You say with a bit of a giggle, seeing the man who literally climbs trees and hunts in the woods with bare feet get flustered at something as simple as a cheek kiss.
"Nice," he mimics you with a smile; one undeniable. He has a nice smile, you realize. Warm like the sunshine that beams down on the cool water you're in.
"It feels nice," you readjusted yourself, fidgeting a bit shyly yourself, "to kiss in other ways too."
He leans closer, "show." Show him. Effective immediately, you have to show him.
"Oh, I don't know-" You're getting cold feet. You want to kiss him for real, but what if that changes things? You know it realistically shouldn't, he doesn't know how intimate kissing on the lips can be. He doesn't know the implications of it.
"Please?"
He catches you off guard with that. He never asks for things. Always tells or gestures. But now, his eyes are soft and asking.
"O-okay," you nod before lifting yourself up to sit on the ledge. He watches maybe too closely as the water runs down your chest. "Close your eyes."
He hesitates, only for a moment, before he does so.
He flinches when you cup his jaw, but he quickly relaxes into your touch as you pull him forward. And he absolutely melts when he feels your lips against his own — the touch feathery light.
It's like a flip switches in his brain, something instinctual. And all he ever does is listen to his instincts; so he follows his bodies lead and presses his lips to yours harder as he moves to slot himself between your knees.
Holding himself up with his hands on either side of your thighs, he follows your slow movements. His heart starts racing. His skin feels like it's tingling under your touch.
"Open your mouth," you whisper heavily against his lips; having him practically chasing your mouth as you pull back to do so.
And if he thought he liked kissing before — he has no doubt about it now, as you slip your tongue into his mouth.
He just about loses what's left of his mind when you press it against his.
He has to pull away, panting heavily and blushing deeply. "Like that." Comes out a moan. His cock twitches as he runs his eyes over your body slowly, watching the rise and fall of your chest.
"You do?" His answer to your question is to jump out of the water and yank you to your feet.
He has to bend down to kiss you again, copying your actions and cupping your cheeks as he moves against you.
He definitely does like it.
His tongue is a lot more adventurous than yours was. More wild. Licking the roof of your mouth and tracing your teeth and touching every single inch he can possibly reach. You would never think this was his second kiss.
To think he's practically devouring your mouth and you only taught him what a kiss is a few minutes ago.
His hands slide down your neck as he leans back, resting over your chest while he looks at you closely; taking in every part of you he can. "W-" He stutters, for the first time ever. For the first time ever — he's rendered completely speechless.
"You're really good at that," your panted words make him twitch again. When you stumble, he grabs your hip to steady you.
One hand on your hip, the other engulfing your breast; he helps you lower onto the ground, eyes never leaving yours. He goes even further than helping you sit, and pushes you to lay back. Hovering over you, "more than like. Word?"
"More than like?" You shiver under his intense gaze, your heart about to burst with the ferocity with which it beats. "Love, maybe?"
"Love," he nods quickly, straddling your thighs.
"You love me?" You question with butterflies blossoming in your stomach.
He nods, shakes his head, then nods again, then he groans frustratedly and slams his mouth against yours more passionately as he slides his hands all over your body. He goes as far to nip your bottom lip before he pulls back.
"You are love." His clarification makes little sense, but it makes all the sense in the world at the same time.
He doesn't remember what love feels like. The memories of everyone he knew faded with time. But something about you — your softness, your gratitude, the color of your eyes in the sunlight, your willingness to learn how to help, the determination when you hold yourself up on your injured leg to try and push yourself — he can't help but feel... warmth.
Blooming in his chest whenever he looks at you, when he thinks of you. He doesn't love you, he thinks. It's more than that. You are love because you're the only thing he can think of and start smiling, the only thing that feels so gentle and sweet.
You feel like something he never wants to let go of.
If a rescue party ever did come for you, he'd fight them off tooth and nail. Because you make his life better somehow. He isn't just surviving anymore. He's living. And he won't go back.
"You," he points to your heart, then to his, "here."
He does love you. He wants you to stay with him. He welcomes you into his home, his wilderness. Nobody else. Only you — and only ever you; because he is not willing to risk any other humans coming near you.
"Thank you, Mingi," you smile, shyly, at his affectionate gesture. "I feel the same way."
He leans back over you and presses his forehead to yours, his eyes asking silently; 'really?'
"Yes," you nod, slowly wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You give him a softer kiss, barely grazing his lips and it drives him crazy. He likes — he loves how soft you are.
He squeezes your breasts in his palms, leading you to let out a soft moan against his lips. At the sound; he finds that he's officially hard. His member leaking against your leg.
He crawls down, pushing you back down by your shoulders when you go to sit up. "No." Is all he says before he starts leaving sloppy and heated kisses all over your chest.
"Oh-" You gasp quietly, melting between him and the Earth.
He's so unabashed about what he wants. Always, but especially now; you come to realize. He does whatever his brain tells him to do to get a taste of oxytocin. It's primal. The way he grabs and squishes your body like he's playing with it, like he's exploring how it feels — because he is. The way he pauses at your hardened nipple before giving it an experimental kitten lick.
And when you moan a bit louder, arching into him; he decides that definitely gives him what he's looking for. You give him what he's looking for.
He wraps a hand around his length, groaning lowly as he gives your other nipple a lick. Then he nuzzles his face between them while moving his fist along his cock. "Soft..."
When his free hand slides down your waist and meets the fabric of your panties, he realized there's one part of you he's never even seen. Putting two and two together — how you've been so protective and shy about it, and how it's between your legs like his cock is between his; he smiles. It must be your center of pleasure.
He's pulling your underwear down before you know what's what. "Mingi-" You squeal in shock, going to put your hands over your soaked cunt when he grabs your wrists and pouts as you press your thighs together. An honest to goodness pout.
He wants to say a lot of things right now. Like please let him touch you. Please let him feel how soft you are in comparison to him. Show him how to make you feel good. But he's blanking on his words, only grunting as he puts your hands back on the ground.
"It's..." You feel heat burning your face, all the way down your neck, "sensitive."
He doesn't say anything, but the look in his eyes says he'll be gentle as he touches; as he explores. You look away as you spread your legs, breathing a bit heavily.
And he wastes no time, sitting on his knees between your legs and bringing his fingertips to graze your cunt. So gentle it makes you twitch. He traces down your lips, watching closely. When he notices your wet slit, that's where his fingers go.
Earning himself another timid moan from you urges him on. He lets out one of his own as he feels just how warm and wet you are, his eyebrows pinching together as he touches you carefully. He, again, quickly decides he likes it.
If he likes it — he should give it a kiss. That's what his brain tells him.
You're a bit confused, a little disappointed as his touch leaves you. But by the time you're looking at him, he's already bent down and giving your cunt a soft kiss.
"Mmf-" You muffle yourself with a hand over your mouth, hips twitching.
He looks up, smiling. That must feel good, you like kissing; and you must really like it down here.
So he wastes no time diving in and kissing your wetness. Just as messy and raw with primal intent as he had explored your mouth; he does the same between your legs. Licking up and down and feeling everything he can. The noises you're making tell him he must be doing a great job, because even with your hand over your mouth embarrassedly; your moans sound out loud enough for him to hear them and drink them up like he's dying of thirst.
His tongue goes a little bit lower and he finds your hole, slipping inside curiously and making you cry out. He pulls back with wide eyes, his cock twitching for attention.
It was even hotter than the rest of you, even softer...
He lays back over you quickly, his chest crushing you to the ground as he looks deep into your eyes. "In."
"W-what?" You stutter, dizzy from his intense make out session with your cunt. Grabbing onto his biceps, you try to make sense of what he says.
"Want... inside you."
Now your eyes widen. He's a big guy, and that doesn't stop at his cock. You doubt he'd understand if you told him you needed to be stretched first. And by the look in his eyes, he probably wouldn't be able to be patient enough to do so anyway.
"You have to be gentle with me," you say slowly, squeezing his arms, "okay? Put- you can put it in, but you have to go slow."
He nods fast, looking down and gripping the base of his length while holding himself up above you; just enough to have room for you both to look down between your bodies and watch as he lines himself up with you.
He gulps as he slides his tip along your slit, pressing forward as he meets your entrance. You bit your lip, breathing slowly as he pushes forward. You almost cry when his cockhead finally slips all the way in, telling him in a wobbly voice, "wait! Wait a second!"
He groans, fisting his shaft while you clench around his tip. He wants to go all the way in. He needs to. He needs to. He needs to feel your snug heat all around him or he'll cry.
Willing yourself to relax, you let out a shaky breath and look up at the sky as he continues to look down at the way your pussy lips are stretched around just the very tip of his cock. "Slow, please, Mingi."
His name leaving your tongue makes him shudder, a tingle running along his spine. He starts inching forward immediately. Grabbing onto your shoulder tightly to ground himself so he doesn't just slam into you, he watches as you slowly encase his entire length.
He all but collapses on top of you when he bottoms out, pinning you to the ground. You bury your face in his shoulder, panting moans raising goosebumps on his skin. Your walls flutter and twitch as they try to mold around him. Both of you are clinging to each other tightly; his hands gripping your shoulders and your arms wrapped back around him.
"Love," he whines as you clench around him, his fingers twitching to hold you tighter.
"You feel so good..." You whimper back as you rub down his back tenderly. "Do you... you want to move?"
His response is immediate, grinding his hips into yours and moaning loudly; louder than you. He bites his lip, letting go of your shoulders and placing his hands by either side of your head to hold himself up.
His eyes flick from your face to your cunt wildly, and he looks like he's going to ask something — but he gets to annoyed trying to think of any words at all as your gummy walls cling to him. He only growls, pulling his hips back an inch before thrusting back into you with a testing, delicate pace.
And when you moan as he bottoms out again — all hell breaks loose onto your cunt.
"Fuck!" You scream as he starts pounding into you, your back arching from the sudden onslaught. He's hitting every spot inside of you that makes you see dots of white when you squeeze your eyes shut; tickling your brain with the flood of pleasure.
He leans down, his face in your neck; nuzzling you softly in a stark contrast to how he slams his hips against yours. "L-love." He says again.
You can't tell if he's saying he loves how it feels, or if he's calling you 'Love'. It seems like the latter as he moans it yet again, his eyes rolling back into his head as his hips stutter.
He pauses, very briefly, panting heavily into your neck. Before you can even fully register that he's came — his hot release making you shiver with ecstasy as it pools inside of you — he groans, "more."
And his pace returns, harsher than before. More animalistic. Downright brutal as he fucks himself into your cum-slick pussy.
Lowering himself onto his forearms, he latches onto your parted mouth as you moan and gasp uncontrollably; doing just the same as he pounds you into the ground.
Your moans mix together, spit as well as he flicks his tongue against yours lewdly — showing just how much he likes you.
Your cunt feels like heaven on Earth as he buries himself into it repeatedly. He never wants to leave. He never wants you to leave.
As he takes you on the ground like an animal, your moans filling his ears and your eyes dizzy as he pulls away from your lips to look at you — a word comes to mind.
"Mine." He moans it deeply, gripping you tightly and having his eyes nearly roll back again as he squeezes your soft sides.
And your eyes do roll back, yelling out and grabbing his arms tightly as your orgasm suddenly washes over you. Feeling like the pure ecstasy is going to snap you in half somehow as you tremble.
Already messy with his cum, his cock nearly slips out with your wave of arousal and your intense clenching. When he realizes, he growls with frustration — no way in hell is he about to let that happen. He slams all the way into you and holds you still by your hips as you twitch below him; not allowing you to go anywhere.
His cock rests right against your g-spot. It drives you to tears in your post orgasmic sensitivity, makes you dig your nails into his arms for a sense of stability.
"More," he whines as he leans down and nuzzles your chest, mouthing at it more gently as he hears your sniffling. He forces himself to stay still within you and placates himself by wrapping his lips around your nipple. Having no idea that it's making your jaw drop as he twirls his tongue around it.
"Oh, Mingi~"
At the sound of your saccharine voice, dripping with lust, his hips gain a mind of their own again; making you both moan. Your overstimulated cunt clenching around him only makes him go harder. Makes him try to get deeper, groaning when he can't.
His body acts before he knows it, before you know it — and he's pulling up your legs and crushing them to your chest as you whimper at the sudden stretch in your muscles before he knocks away any and all thoughts when he slams his hips into you again. He touches deeper than anything ever has.
He pins your legs to your body as he lays over them, your calves over his shoulders. The sight of it — of him makes you cum all over again. And he's right behind you; spilling his cum even deeper than the first time and satisfying something deep in his soul.
He grinds against you, refusing to stay still but refusing to pull out even a fraction of an inch out while he fills you up. A growl gets stuck low in his throat, and he licks his lips before leaning his head down quickly and biting you.
Like an actual fucking animal, he buries his teeth into your shoulder as he keeps you trapped below him; moaning as you squeal and grab at him. Your hips try fruitlessly to move away, confused by the sudden rush of pain mixing with the body wracking pleasure.
He licks the fresh bite, making you shiver. He didn't break skin — just barely sparred you from it. The deep indentations of his teeth on your skin makes him grin.
Kissing it softly, his pace returns once more; making you wail. "Fuck, Mingi!" And maybe you should learn that saying his name only makes him more excited. But how can you take in any sort of information when he's pounding so deep inside of you that he's practically in your guts?
He rests his head in the crook of your neck, his jaw agape and moans spilling out each time he bullies his cock into you. "Love," he gasps, "more."
How in the world it's even possible for someone to have this much stamina, you can't wrap your head around it. He was a virgin not fifteen minutes ago — and now he's ready to cum for a third time inside of you.
"More," you mimic him with a heavy breath, struggling to get enough air as he keeps you folded up with almost all of his weight on top of you.
He lets out a particularly loud moan as you reach and wrap your hands in his hair gently; holding his head to your neck. Your nails scrape against his scalp, albeit very lightly, and he chokes on his own breath as he slams into his peak.
His hands go everywhere, unsure of what he wants to grab onto as his brain starts feeling the effects of all of his previous orgasms. They land on your breasts and he almost whimpers, squeezing and kneading them in his palms to distract himself from the ache in his cock. "Mine," he stutters as he finally stills above you.
He only moves enough to let your legs fall back down, trembling and heavy. He lays on top of you while he pants; his breaths coming as hot puffs against your skin as he keeps his head buried in your neck. His hands between you as he continues to play with your chest while you both float back down to Earth.
You groan softly, wrapping your arms around his head and hugging him close. "Mine."
✨Pairing: pokémontrainer!Mingi x pokémontrainer!gn!reader
✨Prompt: Mingi decides to take you to see the meteor shower and ask you some very important questions. He just have to manage to ask you to go watch the meteor shower first. That shouldn't be too hard now should it?
✨Genre: pokemon au, fluff, romance (Mingi is doing his best to confess),
✨Rating: pg-13
✨Word count: 7.4k
☀️Authors note: Mingis oneshot is here! Did I have lots of fun writing this one as well? Yes I did! Had to fight autocorrect on how to spell Bagon because it wanted to change it into Bacon all the time... And yes Yunho's and Mingis oneshot is loosely connected to each other😅 let's pretend I didn't post this one day later than I said I would.
🌟Tag list: @hongjoongspoetry @tournesol155
This was so frustrating. You, Mingi and Yunho were supposed to start your journey together through Hoenn after graduating from college. The three of you had even decided on who would pick which starter before you'd visit Professor Birch's lab in Littleroot town.
And now all of that planning had gone to waste.
Yunhos parents had decided that all of them would move to a far away region named Alola after you three had graduated and there was nothing none of you could do or say to put a stop to it. Yunho barely got any time to say goodbye to you two before he was whisked away on a plane.
Therefore the carefully crafted plan the three of you had made for how you'd travel and what you'd finally do on your journey had been ripped apart.
You and Mingi had still gone to get your very first pokémon's together. Yunho had specifically told the both of you to start your journey together and to make sure to do all you both wanted to do. He had then also whisked Mingi away from you and the two of them had whispered to each other looking very serious as they were bent trying to hide behind a plant as they spoke. Only problem was the plant may have been tall but they were significantly taller than said plant.
You had ended up laughing so much at their silliness you'd almost tripped over your own feet when making your way over to ask them what on earth they were doing. To which both had fumbled and almost knocked the plant over as they both denied even talking to each other.
And now here you and Mingi were, partners next to each other as you wandered into a new little town called Misty Village which is located in-between Slateport city and Mauville city. Mingi was holding his partner torchic in his hands, the tiny little chick pokémon could not keep up with her trainers long legs and would constantly make a fuss if she had to walk on the ground next to Mingi, resulting in your friend carrying her most of the time to please "her royal highness" as he had lovingly dubbed her. Your partner on the other hand was happily trotting next to you, finding joy in just walking with you. You glanced down at your mudkip who was easily one of the happiest pokémons you'd ever come across. There never seemed to be a dull moment with him around and was there one thing he loved doing then it was sightseeing.
Sometimes when you two sat up camp he'd find the most scenic place to just sit and take it all in, often your whismur would join him in sightseeing while your third and currently final pokémon shroomish would scoff and follow you instead like a little shadow.
It was funny really how both you and Mingi had three pokémon each, the two of you hadn't meant to have the same amount of friends but it just happened so naturally that neither of you questioned it. You're brought out of your daydreaming when you hear Mingi chuckle for himself causing you to look at your friend curiously.
"What are you giggling about?" You ask, taking in his smile and how his eyes are shining with such happiness.
I wonder if he'd ever look at me with such shining eyes. You muse to yourself before focusing back on what Mingi is about to say.
"I just realized I got two pokémon's who refuse to walk next to me because I walk too fast for their little legs and that both want to be carried all the time. Imagine if all of my friends ends up like Torchic and Bellossom?" He asks and torchic looks up at him with curious eyes letting out a little "Torchic?" as Mingi smiles and give her little head a kiss.
"Hmmmm it's either that or they turn out like Bagon who likes headbutting you from time to time." You mention and with that he giggles again.
"Then if I can choose I'll take a few more passenger princesses rather than more friends who will headbutt me or perhaps bite me." He says, thinking back to the most recent time bagon had headbutted him in the stomach.
He knows the little dragon pokémon means well and that that's how he shows affection. Mingi just wishes from time to time that he would show affection in a less brutal way. But the last time, Mingi had made a little cardigan for his friend with a pair of wings. It hadn't looked good at all and he had worked weeks upon weeks to sew the cardigan but bagon had been so happy he'd shed tears upon seeing the wings on the cardigan and then he had promptly headbutted Mingi in affection.
It was to the point where he never took it off and if Mingi tried just so he could wash it his friend would run and hide behind your leg, peeking out and scolding him from afar.
"Awww but he's just showing his affection for you Mingi! Plus you literally gave him wings, the one thing he wishes he could have so he could fly. That probably meant more to him than you know." You muse, nudging Mingis arm with your elbow.
"You're right, I know. Bellossom have now started to ask for a little bracelet... she often points at mine and then show her own little arms." He confesses and you feel your heart slowly melting at the affection he has for his friends.
"I think that would be cute, I could teach you how to bead a bracelet if you'd like? I just need to buy some material first." You tell him.
"You'd do that for me?"
"I'd do anything for you."
"I'd do anything for you as well Y/n." He says sincerely and he's reminded of the two tickets tucked away securely in one of the many pockets in his backpack.
Two tickets to the meteor shower in Mossdeep City at their Space Center. He wished to ask you if you wanted to go with him there and watch the meteor shower. It would be the perfect place to confess and ask if you wanted to be his partner. Yunho had encouraged him before he had to leave for the plane that he should take this time to actually confess to you. Claiming that it was easy to see you also had feelings for him, something Mingi had denied and said that couldn't possibly be true. Then Yunho had the audacity to say alright bet! So now if Yunho was correct he'd owe him lunch, drinks and dessert next time they see each other.
What Mingi doesn't know is that you also have feelings for him, it's just that you don't know how to bring it up and tell him about it. You had once confessed to Yunho about how you had tried once when you and Mingi worked on a project together in college only to chicken out in the last minute to which Yunho had tried to urge you to confess with a beaming smile and an attitude that said just do it you won't regret it.
"Hey Y/n, I was just wondering... Do you think you'd like t-" Mingi starts but is interrupted by your mudkip.
"Mudkip! Mud!" Your partner screeches in joy as you see him rush forward in happiness.
"Mudkip! Wait don't run too far!" You call after the little blue creature, sprinting after him in worry that you'd loose him in the crowd at this new place. Mingi sprints after you as well trying to keep his eyes on both you and your partner. He doesn't want to loose sight of either of you.
Your partner just calls back to you in happiness as he jumps into a fountain in the middle of the square you have entered where he swims around in happiness and splashes about.
"Mudkip! You can't just run away like that! What if I lost sight of you or you got lost!" You scolded your friend whose only response is to splash some water in your face and jump around laughing adorably.
"God you're impossible to stay mad at." You sigh as you bring out a towel to dry your face.
"Mudkip next time just tell us where you wanna go instead of running away and giving us both a heart attack thinking we might loose you." Mingi joins in on the scolding and the two of you can hear an older woman who's sitting at the fountain chuckle about how the two of you look like two parents scolding their child.
Does it cause Mingis face to turn beet red and yours to heat up to the point you think your face is on fire? Yes, yes it does and the two of you are quick to splutter out apologies to her for the commotion you four caused.
"Oh don't worry dearies, it's nice seeing trainers really care for their pokémons, it warms my heart. And this sweetheart just seemed to want to have some fun." She pets your mudkip who had swam up to her in curiosity as she spoke.
"I hope he didn't splash you with any water when he jumped in?" You ask worriedly, ready to offer up your towel in case she'd say yes.
"Oh no he didn't. I'm completely dry."
"That's good, Mudkip you and I will have to have a talk about running away after this." You grumble and he just nods happily as he swims up to the two of you and jumps up on the stones so you can pick him up with your towel to dry him.
"Well... At least we know people here are nice." Mingi mumbles as he looks around, he's slightly bummed he didn't manage to ask you about the tickets but the day isn't over, he will just try again soon he tells himself.
"We have a festival going on here in Misty Village if you two would be interested? There's all kinds of things to do, eat food, learning how to do pokéblocks, vendors selling things and more." The old lady kindly tells the two of you before she stands up and bids the two of you goodbye.
"Pokéblocks? I wonder what that is." You ask as you hold mudkip, still wrapped in your towel.
"Perhaps we should go and find out? It must be something for our pokémons and I wouldn't mind learning something new if It could benefit her royal highness." He says as torchic chirps out in happiness at her nickname.
"Let's go and see what they have to offer!" You grab his hand and wander into the crowd and towards all the different stalls.
Mingi has to fight the blush on his cheeks from you holding his hand and he can see how torchic laughs at his blushing face, she's clearly enjoying him being flustered over you taking action and holding his hand.
"Don't you laugh at me." He grumbles towards her quietly.
"Hey look! That stall is teaching about berries and their benefits! Let's go there! I wanna know more so we know what to pluck next time we see them!" You gasp as a young man is standing at a stall, berries lying neatly on his table with small notes next to each one.
"Hello! Care to learn a bit about berries and their benefits? You'll get some berries at the end of it if you'd like?" He asks when he spots the two of you walking closer.
"Yes please! We wanna know more!" You say happily and Mingi looks at you from behind with a fond look.
"Mudkip!" Your partner agrees with you.
"Of course I'll tell you everything you need to know!" The young man smiles happily as the four of you stand looking at what he's got displayed.
"Are all of these all of the berries you can find in the wild?" Mingi asks as he eyes the wide array of colorful berries on the table.
"Oh no these are only a handful of them! There are about 43 different kinds of berries in the wild here in Hoenn." The vendor tells him and both you and Mingi stare at him with wide eyes.
"43?!" The both of you exclaim at the same time and the vendor laughs heartily at your reaction.
"I know I reacted the same way when I first learned how many there were and they all do different things you know!" He picks some up and showcases them for you.
"I think I recognize some of these." You murmur as you point towards what you think is an oran berry and a pecha berry. "That one is an oran berry right? It helps heal your pokémon when they need energy and the pink one is a pecha berry which helps heal your pokémon if it's been poisoned right?"
"You would be correct! This one over here is commonly mistaken for a pecha berry but it's actually a magost berry and is more commonly used in either cooking or when making pokéblocks!" You and Mingi look closer at the two pink berries he's holding up, you note that the pecha berry has more of a heart shape and is a darker pink closer to the stem and down at the bottom is a lighter pink while the magost berry is just one solid pink and round instead of heart-shaped.
"Hey what kind of berry is this one?" Mingi asks as he picks up an orangy red berry that is round with what looks like spikes coming out of it.
"That is a tamato berry, it's very very very spicy. I would not recommend eating it or giving it to any of your pokémons. It will only lower their speed, if you wanna spice up your cooking it could be good to use in small quantities unless you can tolerate spice of course."
You look at Mingi as the vendor speaks and you can practically see the cogs turning in his head thinking that it cannot be that spicy and you just know he wants to try it despite being warned not to.
"Mingi... don't do it..." You try and take the berry away from him but that causes him to only turn his body away holding the berry as high as he can.
"No! I wanna try it."
"Mingi please last time you ate something super spicy you couldn't taste anything for three weeks."
"It can't be that spicy!" He argues as he looks at you with those big round eyes and you groan knowing you cannot say no or change his mind.
"Fine but don't come to me whining that you can't taste anything or that it's too hot for you!" You grumble, knowing that if he came to you whining that it's way too hot and spicy you'd try and help him in a heartbeat.
"Are you sure you wanna try it?" The vendor asks and Mingi just nod before taking the largest bite he could out of the darn berry. You stare at him as he chew slowly but surely and then he swallows it and at first you'd think there was nothing wrong at all until you notice the small beads of sweat traveling down his forehead and then you notice the red starting to creep up from his neck.
"T-torchic?" His partner looks at him concerned before wiggling out of his grip and jumping onto the table and runs over to you with worried eyes.
"Torchic?" She leans into you and you pet her little head as you watch Mingi go bright red in the face as he tries to pretend everything is fine.
"Mingi... you okay?" You ask, fearing he might pass out from how red he is.
"I'm... I'm fine." He says and he manages to uphold that facade for about three seconds before he starts gasping trying to cool his mouth down.
"It's hot! Y/n it feels like my mouth is on fire!! What do I do what do I do what do I do?!" He waves his hands around as he takes deep gulps of air and you panic looking around for something to cool him down.
"Umm water... we need water!" You start searching your bag but can't find anything. "Argh! Okay uhhh.. Oh! Mudkip!" You turn to your partner and point towards Mingi.
"Use water gun on Mingis face to help cool him down!!" You say and you can barely hear Mingis little "wait what" before mudkip blasts him with a stream of water in his face.
"Do you feel better now?" You ask hesitantly as he shakes his head trying to get rid of the water from his face.
"Yeah... Thanks to the both of you, I genuinely thought I was gonna explode from how hot it was."
Torchich runs back up to her trainer and look at him with worried eyes, is there another thing she absolutely hates then it's when one of you gets hurt. She's always very sweet and right now she's doing her best to check up on Mingi as tears forms seemingly as if she thinks he was hurt very badly.
"Hey, hey your royal highness, don't be upset. I promise I'm okay, I was just dumb trying to impress Y/n but I made a fool out of myself. I won't do it again okay?" He says with a gentle smile as he crouches down to her eye level. She looks at him with teary eyes before running up to him to nuzzle his face chirping.
Mingi picks her up and kisses her little head before turning to mudkip and crouching down to him.
"Hey buddy, thanks for blasting me with the water, it really helped." He smiles and mudkip jumps forward into his arms with happiness.
"I think we should abandon any thoughts of eating things people say are super, super, super spicy for the rest of the day." You mutter as you place your hand on your hip and he looks up at you and chuckles.
"Were you worried about me?" He teases with a smirk and you roll your eyes.
"Nooo..."
"You sure?"
"Okay maybe a little worried, you looked like you'd explode with how red you were." You confess trying to act nonchalant even though you had felt panic for a split second before remembering that mudkip was a water type and could therefore help out in the situation.
The two of you apologized to the vendor for the scene Mingi caused by going against what he had recommended and the young man only laughed and said that it was nice seeing two young adults actually interested in berries to the point where he gifted the two of you a book on berries in the wild and other herbs you can eat or use to help heal your pokémons. The two of you had tried to deny it but he insisted, saying it might be for Mingis best if you two had one so he don't go around eating other berries he shouldn't and end up in trouble again.
That had made Mingis face burn in embarrassment.
The two of you then wander down the street after bidding the man goodbye. The street is filled with people, old and young and their pokémons. It's surprisingly cozy and the atmosphere is great and it's a nice break from always being out on the road and sleeping in sleeping bags under the stars.
Which is great until it starts raining and the two of you have to try and set up a tent in panic. Leading to both of you sitting in said tent absolutely drenched.
"Hey Mingi." You start trying to muster up the courage to tell him you like him more than a friend since Yunho had encouraged you to do so a few months back.
"Yeah?"
"You know I-" You start but when you make eye contact with him it's like the words get lodged in your throat and you can't get it out. "You know what never mind, I forgot what I was gonna say." You say laughing awkwardly.
"Mudkip! Mud Mudkip!" Your partner points one of its stubby little legs at you with an accusatory tone as if scolding you for not telling him.
Mudkip did after all know about your feelings for your friend. You had told him plenty of times during restless nights when Mingi snored away in his sleeping bag. Your other friends knew as well as they sometimes refused to go to sleep if you were awake, shroomish would plop himself in your lap and just sit there, sometimes staring at you, sometimes chatting with you and one time he had even put you to sleep by using sleep powder on you. Something you had berated him for the next day and then promptly after that thanked him for the good nights sleep.
"Hey buddy I'm sure whatever Y/n wanted to tell me will come back soon. It happens to the best of us that we forget sometimes. Plus you know you can tell me anything, I'll always listen." He says in that lower voice he gets when he's being very sincere and mudkip looks at him and then huffs looking away to the side.
"Speaking of that ummm I was wondering if you want-" Some kids rush in between the two of you laughing as they chase a balloon and it stunts Mingi who once again feels like his moment to ask you about the meteor shower has been lost.
"What did you want to say Mingi?" You look at him, mentally making sure him and your partners are okay.
"Oh nothing we can take it a bit later I promise." He says before he barely have time to process the fact that he failed yet again.
You nod and look around seeing a place you wanna go to, it’s a stand where you can learn a bit more about taking care of your pokémons and they seem to be giving out bags with things inside for people visiting.
“Oohhh I wanna go over there! They seem to be helping with pokémon care and I’d like to ask them for some tips on taking care of Whismur, do you wanna come with me?” You turn to face Mingi who looks thoughtful for a moment before noticing another place.
“I think I’m gonna go over there to the flower stand, Bellossom would probably enjoy all the flowers.” He says as he thinks of his little grass friend and you smile fondly at him.
“Mudkip wanna come with me?” You ask your partner who is still in Mingis arms.
“Mud!” He wiggles out of Mingis grip and then jumps down onto the ground before trotting up to you happily.
“Shall we meet over at the gigantic flower pot in twenty minutes?” You ask thinking that that would be an appropriate time for the both of you to explore the two places you’d like to visit.
“Sure! See you soon?”
After that the two of you split up and as you walk over to the stand you’re greeted by a kind lady who asks what she can help you with and you tell her you’d want some tips on taking care of your whismur, letting her know that she often cries and doesn’t like when her fur gets wet leading to you finding it hard to clean her if she’s gotten extra dirty.
“Ah I see, it could just be that she has a very gentle nature, sometimes if they do they can feel a lot of things be very overwhelming all of the time. For cleaning her I’d suggest you try using a damp cloth instead of water, that way it might not feel as unpleasant as she thinks it is.” The lady explains and you nod thinking that what she has said might actually be true.
“Would it be okay if I brought her out so you could just perhaps do a little check?” You ask wanting to make sure her tips would actually work on her and not make it all worse.
“Of course, I’ll gladly have a look at her.” She says and you’re quick to bring whismur out of her pokeball.
“Hi Whismur.” You say happily as she looks around before spotting you and she perks up giving you the cutest little smile as she runs up to you.
“Whismur!” She greets you happily and the lady smiles at your interaction as you let her hold your hand in her little paws.
“Just from this interaction alone I can tell you care a lot for her and that she’s well taken cared of. She is probably the happiest Whismur I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen a lot of them. None have been this happy as yours.”
“Wait really?!” You look at her in surprise before looking down again, happiness spreading in your chest at the thought of getting such nice praise for how you’re raising your pokémon.
“Yes really, Whismurs can be notoriously hard to take care of since they have such sensitive hearing and a lot of people dub them as cry babies so seeing yours calm, happy and generally content is a sight to behold. Good job!” Her praise makes you grin, it’s not often you get praise and getting this good praise from someone who knows what they’re talking about is something else.
She then brings over a damp towel and hands it to you so you can see if whismur will prefer it over just water. You take your time at the stall, asking her lots of questions regarding pokémon care and getting more tips for how to continue to take care of them in the best way possible.
In the other stall Mingi is sitting on the ground with his torchic on his left side as bellossom dances around in happiness at being surrounded by flowers everywhere. The vendors had told him he could make his own bouquet if he wanted to and hand it to someone he cared about and his first thought had been to create something for you. You had once during college mentioned offhandedly how you’d love to be gifted a bouquet of flowers some day and now he had his chance to gift you a bouquet he had made all on his own.
“Okay Torchic, Bellossom you two will have to help me here.” He leans down and gathers them closely as he lowers his voice to tell them what’s going on. ”I want to make a bouquet for Y/n but I need your help in picking which flowers goes nicely together. Think you two can help with that?”
Torchic jumps up and down before nodding happily while bellossom does some little twirls around as she puts her little paws up to her face looking absolutely delighted at the request.
”Bell, bellossom!” She’s quick to point out some baby’s breath together with some sunflowers as she looks at Mingi with intensity.
”Okay yeah we can go with those two.” He nods as he plucks some and starts building the bouquet together.
”Do you two think I should add some carnations?” He adds as he holds up some darker red ones together with a few white ones as well and torchic nods seemingly approving of his choice to add the two pretty flowers.
The three of them sit for a while building the bouquet together, torchic demands he add some thistles as she spots them to which he does because who is he to deny her anything? He soon sits in silence, tongue sticking out lightly as he concentrates on making the bouquet pretty and after what felt like an eternity he thinks he’s done. He had added som greenery to give it variation and made sure to show both his little friends for approval before he went and asked for a ribbon to tie it all together.
”Think Y/n will like this?” He asks and to his surprise his third and final pokémon decides to come out of his pokéball just at that moment.
”Bagon?”
Mingi is surprised, usually this little fella stays in his pokeball unless Mingi calls for him. Bagon ignores him as he studies the bouquet intensely, his little arms crossed making it look like he’s thinking really hard of it’s okay or not.
“Torchic tor?”
“Bell bellossom!”
“Bagon Bagon!” The dragon nods after he and the little ladies seemingly discuss it back and forth before all three giving Mingi their approval.
“Thanks you three.” He chuckles finding their actions funny. All three of them looked at him encouragingly as if saying you got this go ask them about it now! Bagon was even holding out its little paw as if he were doing a fist bump upwards to show that he was supportive.
“Oh what a lovely bouquet you’ve made! So full of beautiful meanings.” One of the older ladies holding a bucket of flowers says as she passes Mingi.
“Oh thank you! And meaning? What do you mean by that?” He asks curiously to which she responds by telling him that every flower has a hidden meaning and then explains what the flowers he’s picked means. By the end of her explanation after she’s walked off his cheeks are tinted a rosy color before looking at his partners.
“Did you two know about this when you helped me pick out the flowers?” He asks suspiciously and torchic just giggles before hiding behind bagon and his little cardigan while bellossom just gives him an innocent smile pretending like she doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
He clears his throat as he tries to will away the blush that's crept up his cheeks after knowing the meaning behind his bouquet and stands up.
"I think the time is up now, let's go and see Y/n and hopefully I can ask about the tickets this time."
The four of them wander out and towards the big flower pot you two had agreed to meet at. It seems he's the first one there so they stay there and wait for a while before spotting you, mudkip and whismur making your way over there. When you spot him you wave excitedly before holding up a big bag as if to show off the presents you got from the stall you had visited in excitement.
"Look at all the things I got for us Mingi!" You say as you open the bag for him to peer inside and see the large amount of things you had been gifted.
"Woah that's a lot of things."
"It is and I learnt so much so now I will be even better at taking care of our pokémons! I can teach you as well if you'd like."
"I'd like that." He smiles before looking down at the flowers and then he holds them out quickly towards you.
"I made these for you."
"For me?" He can hear the surprise in your voice and when you take them from his hands he dares glance at you and nod. "You said you wanted a bouquet of flowers once in college remember?"
"You remember that?" You asks not believing he'd actually remember your offhanded remark about being gifted flowers.
"I remember everything you tell me." He mumbles as bagon nudges his leg trying to make him remember what they wanted him to do.
"Hey Y/n do you think you'd like to go with me to umm."
"Yes? Go with you where?" You ask looking at him, part of you feel hopeful that perhaps he'd ask you to go with him somewhere special and when Mingi makes eye contact with you the words get stuck once again in his throat and he doesn't really know what to say.
"Go with me to the stand over there? They're teaching you to make pokéblocks." He can hear bagon groan down near his leg and he opts to ignore him knowing that if he looks down the little dragon type will 100% scold him from backing down once again.
"Oh sure!" You say, trying to hide the disappointment since you had thought that Mingi would ask you something else entirely after gifting you flowers.
Your little gang ends up sitting on the ground with two pots in front of you as the instructor goes over how to make pokéblocks for your pokémons, describing them as a kind of snack a lot of them will prefer and going over the different colors which co-respond to a different flavor and how certain pokémons will prefer one flavor over the other.
You and Mingi sit and concentrate as you put in the berries you've chosen and the other ingredients, stirring around as you make sure nothing will burn. Mudkip looks at what you're doing with concerned eyes, he trusts you a lot but right now he's not so sure he trusts what you're doing with how much steam is coming out from the pot.
"Hey look! I managed to make some blocks!" Mingi shows off his blocks proudly from the little dispenser you'd pour the batter into to then plop one block out at a time. They are a bit wonky looking and you weren't sure they were supposed to look like that at all.
"You sure those are edible?" You ask and he gasp at you looking offended.
"You don't think my pokéblocks are edible?! I put in blood sweat and tears into these." He says dramatically before plopping three of them out.
"Here guys don't you wanna try some? I made them for you!" He beams and his pokémons eye the pokéblocks with suspicion. Torchic is the brave one and tries one and she makes the strangest face, looking similar to how you feel when eating a lemon, before running around in circles and crying out seemingly how bad it was.
"Don't think she approved of it." You muse forgetting to momentarily stir your pot.
"Whismur! Whis!" Whismur is quick to remind you in fear of yours turning out worse than what she had just witnessed.
"It can't be that bad Torchic!" Mingi looks at her surprised before looking at his other friends, bellossom is pretending to be asleep while bagon just stares at him with a don't you even dare type of face.
"Here I'll try one and prove they're not bad!" He says before plopping one in his mouth and he chews a bit trying to pretend it tastes good but his facial expressions betray him.
"That bad huh?"
"Yeah ummm this needs some more practice I think, eugh don't worry guys I won't feed you any more until I'm better at this." He makes sure to throw his away.
"This is why you leave the cooking to me." You boast proudly and Mingi gives you a massive side eye.
"I don't think they should be a burnt color like yours are." He hits back and you look down at your blocks.
"They're not that bad! Here Whismur! Try one!" You hold one out and she just pretends she couldn't hear you, looking around hoping someone would save her. "Mudkip? You wanna try one?" You try again and he trots up and sniffs at one of them before taking the tiniest bite with a polite smile.
"See!"
"He is not enjoying that at all!"
"It can't be that bad!"
You quickly eat one as well only to start coughing at how bad the taste was.
"Yeah no no ew that wasn't good at all... I think I need more practice at this as well." You mutter before apologizing to mudkip for having to eat that.
"I guess making pokéblocks isn't our forte at all."
The two of you start snickering and giggling after making eye contact finding this whole scenario funny. You both agree that if you are to create any for your friends that the two of you will work together and always taste before giving any to your friends to make sure they actually taste well.
"Oh yes you wanted to ask me something earlier Mingi? When those kids ran between us and right before we split up?" You ask curiously, it's been on your mind the entire day the fact that he's tried to ask you something but every time something has come up which has made him unable to properly ask what he wants to.
"Oh hehe." He laugh as the two of you stands up ready to walk out from this place and bagon stares at Mingi with so much intent ready to do something drastic in case Mingi doesn't ask you this time.
His patience is running thin.
"Oh it's nothing don't worry about iitt!" Mingi barely has any time to finish his sentence before bagon headbutts him in the back causing him to fly forward and land onto of you with an oof.
"Ah! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean for that to happen! Bagon! You can't knock into me like that." He berates the pokemon before checking up on you.
"Ar you okay? Did I hurt you?? I'm so sorry..." He sits up and makes sure you're okay.
"I'm fine my butt hurts a bit but otherwise i'm fine.. Are you okay?" You ask.
"I am. Okay here goes nothing I guess." He says taking a deep breath before continuing. "Y/n, do you want to go and watch the meteor shower in Mossdeep city with me at their space center? I got two tickets and I would like to go with you if you want to? I know we weren't suppose to head to Mossdeep next but I'd really want to do this with you." He blurts out before he lets the opportunity go again.
"Meteor shower?" You say before your eyes light up. "Of course I wanna go! Oh Mingi that would be so much fun!" You say as you also think about how it would be pretty romantic to watch the stars fall together with him.
"Yeah?" His gummy smile is making an appearance again and you giggle at bagons proud look behind the two of you before nodding.
"Yeah, I'd like that."
It takes a few days to get to Mossdeep city but the two of you manages to hitch a ride with constable Jenny to the closest port to take a boat over so you'd get there quicker than you would walking. You still have the flowers Mingi had gifted you sticking out of your bag and every time you looked at him your heart warmed at the sight. Getting these tickets to the space center wasn't an easy task meaning Mingi had gone out of his way to get them behind your back just so he could ask you to go with him.
A part of you wondered if this was a date or not. Perhaps you should take Yunhos advice and confess to him when the two of you are watching the meteors. What could go wrong? Yunho had insisted that Mingi wouldn't reject you and that you'd get the outcome you were hoping for so perhaps it would be a good idea to tell him today?
Those were the thoughts running through your head as the two of you got off the boat and steered your way towards the space center. It was almost time for the meteor shower to start since the boat had taken up most of the day when traveling.
"Hello and welcome to Mossdeeps space center, are you here for the meteor shower?" The receptionist asks kindly as you two enters, hand in hand.
"Hello! We are! I got two tickets right here." Mingi tells her before handing over the tickets. Once they were scanned the lady let you both inside and told you to go up the stairs to gain access to the top floor to be able to sit outside and enjoy the beautiful show.
"I'm so excited to see the beautiful show, especially now that I'm here with you." You confess, cheeks heating up slightly at the confession.
"I'm just glad you said yes." He admits, cheeks turning a slight rosy color as well.
Mingi guides you to a spot in the middle of the open balcony where a little bench is sitting and the two of you sit down together. Your hands still linked together as if it will help the both of you to gain courage to say what you want to say.
In Mingis head Yunhos words from right before he left for the plane echos. "You should confess Mingi, I know they'll say yes I promise they feel the same about you. Go for it." Should he go for it? He thinks he should, it's the perfect place to confess and if he doesn't do it now he might regret it for the rest of his life.
In your head unknowingly to Mingi, Yunhos words are also echoing in your head. You think back to that conversation and wonder if Yunho knows something you don't, you haven't been able to figure it out if he's telling the truth about Mingi liking you back or if he's just being a nice friend who's encouraging you to speak your truth. And in this moment you decide it's best to do so. No matter what the consequences might be.
"Hey Mingi I need to tell you something."
"Hey Y/n I need to tell you something."
The two of you look at each other in surprise before chuckling at the fact that you both said the same thing at the same time.
"Sorry you go first Mingi."
"But you spoke first." He says and you shake your head insisting he should talk first thinking he just wants to tell you something normal.
"Okay then... Here goes nothing. I really like you Y/n, not like like you only as a friend, I like you more than a friend." He starts before looking you in the eyes and holding your hands in his tightly. "I love you like a lot. More than I think I realize myself and I just had to tell you before I explode from keeping it inside for much longer." He confesses sincerely and you gape at him in surprise, never would you have thought that he'd confess to you.
"It's okay if you don't feel the same I just had to tell you."
"I love you too!" You blurt out to stop his ramblings.
"Wait really?"
"Yes! For a long time now actually, ever since college when we first met, that's when my crush started which then developed into something more. I was actually gonna confess to you as well but you beat me too it." You smile and the smile Mingi gives you could rival a thousand suns before he dives in for a hug.
"Would you want to be my partner?" He asks quietly as if he's scared you'd say no right after confessing you have feelings for him.
"I'd love nothing more than that Mingi." You tell him before lightly holding his chin after breaking the hug. "May I give you a kiss?"
"You may." He giggles and you lean in giving him a quick little kiss on his lips before settling in next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder as he leans his head on yours.
The two of you continue to cuddle as the meteor shower starts up in the sky, everything is just perfect in this moment in time and you couldn't be happier. Perhaps you need to thank bagon later on for giving Mingi the push he needed to ask you to come here with him.
Speaking of said pokémon, he and the others bursts out of their pokéballs to join you in watching the sky. Some cuddle in your laps while others sit on the ground in front of you enjoying the scenery.
"You know what I just realized?" Mingi muses and you tilt your head up to look at him. "I owe Yunho a drink, lunch and dessert now the next time we see him."
Yeah you think, perhaps neither of you would have had the courage to confess had he not urged the both of you to say something.
But for now you'd enjoy the perfect evening with your friends and boyfriend.
Summary: When a series of bad luck, or bad decisions really, land you in the palm of the most wicked TA at campus, what choices do you have other than to do his bidding?
Note: Hello! Thank you for reading this fic. It's the second part of my bts university au series but of course can be read as a stand alone.
Note: I'm reposting this from my previous blog.
(Credit. Deviders by: @chachachannah and @enchanthings ; The pictures are from Pinterest)
You need new friends.
New friends who won't make you play drunk truth and dare. New friends who won't be sitting somewhere in their dorms snickering at your misery. New friends who won't make you do things you do.
New friends who aren't the most chaotic trio on the whole campus, a.k.a. Taehyung, Yoongi, and Jungkook.
You went to hide under the desk of your professor's office the moment you heard shuffling outside the doors. Crouching low, tucking yourself in, and trying to keep quiet. Flashbacks of the past night were coming back to you.
You were tired of being named the fun-sucker by your friends and had agreed to a round of shots. You first mistake.
And in your slightly drunken state you let them drag you in the game of truth and dare where they made you pick dare. Your second mistake.
Then, you made the third mistake that night by accepting Jungkook's dare of sneaking in Mr. Lee's office and to bring one of his infamous crystal paper weights as a proof that you did complete the dare.
"It's to prove you ain't a scaredy pants." In Jungkook's drunk words precisely.
And now all those mistakes have lead you here in your current situation. You swear if you die right here you're going to haunt their ass-
You cut off your thoughts as you heard the sound of the door opening. Holding your breath in, you kept quiet as you listened to the sound of the footsteps nearing the desk.
Who could be here at this hour? It's still too early for the cleaning staff to come and way too late for any students or teachers. Don't tell me Mr. Lee forgot something before and decided to come back. Oh shit oh shi-
You ceased your internal panicking when you saw a pair of shoes just below on the other side of the desk. In the very little light coming from the small lamp on the desk—that was always left on—you saw that they were a pair of sneakers. Okay, not Mr. Lee.
It was silent for a while and then you heard the sound of shuffling of papers as if something was being moved on the desk.
Then the footsteps started retreating and you released a sigh of relief. Alright lets just get out of here now before someone else decides to show up.
Your relief was short lived though. Just before the person could reach the door there was a sudden, loud thump as if something or someone fell painfully on the floor. You tried peeking from your hiding place and look for the source—which seemed to be the small window on the upper side of the wall. You could faintly hear a person—or more, you couldn't really tell—but before you could get up and investigate further you realised that the steps had halted at the loud sound.
The person stood there silently for a couple seconds longer, in which you prayed that he would not think much of the sound, then he took a few more steps and you heard the door shut.
Finally letting out the breath you were holding, you slowly peeked out of your hiding space—the lamp illuminating the office in a gentle glow. Seeing no one around, you enhaled a deep breath and pushed yourself a little more out of the confined space; you looked towards the closed door—no one seemed to be standing outside either.
Wait. Your eyes narrowed in on something just beside the door. Are those...shoes?
"Gotcha." A voice whispered just behind you.
You got up at once, raising from your half crouch, hurriedly turning towards the person and just as you opened your mouth to let out a startled scream you found a palm pressed against your mouth making your scream come muffled against it.
You looked up at the owner of the hand and were met with dark eyes which seemed to be twinkling. The lamp was positioned behind the man—which you could confirm was most probably a student, now that you could somewhat see him—and it drowned his face in darkness, casting a shadow on his face making it harder to recognise him.
You stared silently at the man, brain coming to a full stop as he just stood there. He opened his mouth, a smile heard in his voice as he said, "looks like it's my lucky day."
This voice, it's somewhat familiar...no way...
As he turned his head slightly to the right it became washed in the orange glow of the lamp illuminating his features and it caused you to immediately thought of every curse word you could knew. Because not only did you get caught in your teacher's office late into the night—looking very suspicious, not to mention— but also the person who caught you was none other than the menace of the whole student body, the cocky bitch of a TA.
Jung Hoseok.
He took a step forward. You took one back. He took another. You didn't have space to move behind further.
He leaned closer to you, invading in your space and you tried hard to lean as far away as possible no sure what was gonna happen. He set his hand on the desk you were leaning against, your eyes widened and then there was a click.
Sharp white light flooded the office, the main lights switched on. Now you could see his face, a lazy smile on his lips, looking at you with eyes of a predator.
You heart was thundering in your chest—honestly, you were scared. Hoseok was not one to be messed with. You knew that and that information was making your palms sweat.
"Do you have an explanation as to what you were doing here at this hour?" He scanned your face from top to bottom and then back up, locking eyes with you.
You just let out a pathetic muffled whimper.
"Oh, my bad," he removed his hand where it was planted ln your mouth and shuffled backwards a bit but did not remove his hand from the desk beside you, his second hand moving onto the desk chair effectively trapping you in, in case you tried to make a run for it—which you don't think you can. Your legs feel like jelly.
"I can- i can explain, please," seeing as he was giving you a chance to speak you believed you still had hope and you didn't want to waste a second of it not defending yourself, "I'm not here to do anything suspicious, i swear! Look I was roped into doing this stupid dare by my stupid friends. I was just gonna get in here, collect- collect proof that I completed the dare and then go back I swear it was harmless please trust me-"
"Y/n" The utterance of your name from his mouth halted you in your rambling, "you're in mr Lee's class. I remember you. May I ask who gave you this dare?"
Now, you were many things but not a snitch, "just stupid kids at a party, we were all quite drunk," your voice grew smaller at the twinkling look in his eyes.
"Loyal huh? I like it usually, guess I'll have to make do with only you."
"What- what do you-"
"Okay, so, you broke into a teachers office this late at night, somehow passing through the lock by- how did you unlock the door by the way?"
You pursued your lips, you knew you shouldn't say anything, you knew and yet when he moved just a centimeter closer and raised a single eyebrow, you squeaked out:
"i pick- I picked the- the lock..."
Your answer caused both his eyebrows to raise.
"So you're a professional at this-"
"It was just stupid easy to pick the locks! They are so cheap it didn't take much effort! A child could do it," you rushed out in a panic, contrasting his calm disposition.
"Oh I wouldn't know. Never needed to test the security of the locks, he stated as he looked down at his hand on the table where one of his fingers had a key on a ring around it.
"Let me get this all in order. You broke into a teachers office by picking the locks to the door, came here with the intention to steal-"
"No!"
"Shh." He took his hand off the chair and pressed a finger against your lips, effectively shutting you up.
"And got caught red handed in the act. Hmm, how should we deal with you? You could've taken sensitive information." You knew there was no information to steal. Mr. Lee always took all his answer sheet, future questions and mark sheets with him home. Something about not trusting the campus security.
"Look. I told you I wasn't here doing something wrong."
"How am I supposed know that? You could've been here doing god knows what. Not to mention mr. Lee will undoubtedly trust my words over yours if it came to that."
He was right. You really were stuck here.
He was smiling down at you like he also knew this fact. You were not liking the situation you were in one bit.
"What do you want?" You sighed.
Withdrawing himself completely from you, "now we're talking," he took several steps back and brought his palms together in a clap once, "you see I'm a busy man, lots of things to do at once. And having a helping hand would really be beneficial for me," you definitely didn't like where this was going.
"You could see it as a way to make up for your mistakes and no one will hear a word about tonight."
"You're asking me to become your slave."
"Not a slave. Just a helper." He smiled sweetly at you. You somehow hated it more than the sly smirks from before.
You were hesitating. Thinking of ways to get yourself out of this mess.
He saw that, "or we can go talk to mr. Lee himself what his thoughts are on your actions? If you'd prefer that?"
What other options did I have.
His eyes were saying the same thing your mind came to realise. None.
The next morning you woke up to the sound of your phone blaring.
Thinking about the fact that you didn't have a morning class and how you wanted to sleep in more, you reached under your pillows with an incoherent grumble and retrieved your phone.
Jung Hoseok
You sat up at once, rubbing your eyes to wake yourself up. Looking at the time you noted it was a little over seven thirty.
"Hello?" You said on the phone, already dreading what he'll say next. If you were being honest you half hopped for last night to be just a nightmare.
"Meet me on the first floor of the social sciences building in fifteen minutes."
No hello? Wow, rude.
"But-but I don't have a morning class?"
"I don't see why that's a problem? I have work for you so you better hurry unless you know-"
"Alright. Alright! I'll be there just give me a moment." You were flabbergasted, how can someone so beautiful be this cruel!?
"I gave you fifteen minutes. Now hurry." He ended the call.
You wanted nothing more than to dive back in your sheets and sob.
You entered the campus canteen at half past eight. Hair a mess and annoyance radiating off of you.
Roaming your eyes around you found the reason of your bad mood on a table in the back. You stormed up to him, "you're an ass."
He looked up from his toast, "you finished with your work?" He asked with a grin.
"Yeah." You all but seethed out of your mouth.
The work he was talking about was why he had called you in the morning. He asked you to come meet him at the social sciences building and then when you arrived at seven fifty, he was nowhere to be found. You called him, like any sensible person and what he said left you speechless for a second.
"hey, where are you? I'm here."
"Oh. Good. Now go into our history classroom and there you will find a bundle of study materials on the desk. Distribute them all for today's class."
"But where are you?"
"Home, where else?"
"What the-"
"Now finish your job and meet me in the cafeteria in around half an hour."
"What do mean- hello? Hello?"
He left you with all his work and didn't even show up.
"Why did you call me here now? To wipe your mouth with a napkin after every bite?" You hissed, still angry.
"Eat."
"What?"
"I said eat," he put his elbow up on the table and rested his head on it, giving you a devilish grin, "you're gonna need all the energy you can get for the rest of your day."
Now your anger vanished, replaced with dread.
You were done with your first class, which just so happened to be Mr. Lee's. As per Hoseok's request you sat in the front row with him only a couple seats over. You could feel Taehyung's confused glances directed at you at the beginning, wondering why you ditched him today but you couldn't tell him what happened last night and honestly you weren't in the mood to talk to him right now.
At the moment you were running towards your next class because even though he was quite tbe entire class when it ended Hoseok made you carry the stack of assignments to mr. Lee's office which made you loose precious time to get to the class in time.
This will be over soon. A couple days and Hoseok would surely let you go. Yeah you just need to hang of for a couple days more.
Little did you know.
From the next day he started working you like an ox in a field.
"Carry these files to the top floor. What? You don't want to?" You ended up being late for your lunch.
"Hello?" You had asked in a small voice. "Bring me an iced americano from the cafe on the other side of the campus. They make it best." He hung up before you could even reply.
"My bag felt heavy so I called you over, take them to my next class, will you? I gotta meet up with a friend." You stumbled in your place as the book bag was tossed in your face.
You were especially pissed off when he called you over to the library to,
"Flip the next page. My hands are tired." It's a damn comic book you ass. He looked up with a pout, his eyes wide and innocent. A wolf in a sheep's clothing.
You couldn't even scream out your frustration like you normally did and instead let out an almost audible sob. You were tired so very tired, when will this torture end.
This morning you were already up when your phone buzzed. Hoseok's terror made it impossible for you to sleep properly, especially since he himself was an early riser and liked to call you first thing in the morning to hand you over that day's first task.
So that meant you were very much awake when he said:
"Come over. I'm sending you my address."
You sputtered, wondering if you heard him right. "What? Your place- no wait- why?"
"Agh you're so loud, did you forget? You're my slave. You do as I tell you. Now hurry." He sounded bored. You couldn't guess what it was even if you tried to. It was a Sunday, that meant it couldn't be a something related to the classes and since he didn't tell you to stop by anywhere you weren't supposed to fetch him anything either.
You sat down heavily on you bed, brain in scrambles, what did he want from you this time? You were almost getting good at guessing, considering it's been about four weeks since that godforsaken night when he caught you.
Since then he's asked of you all sort of odd requests, working you to the bone. Although this last week he mostly called you for help with grading class test or reviewing assignments. So you had to spend quite a lot of time at the library. At some point it almost felt like you were friends, but the moment that thought crossed your head he would make you run half way across campus to fetch him a coffee. And just like that the illusion would shatter.
But now you had no idea. He never asked for you to visit him.
You didn't even have time to spend with your actual friends at all.
You sighed.
Before you could think of something weird you were up and ready to leave. You'll face whatever he threw your way and if he crossed any lines you'll break his nose. His threats be damned.
—
Wiping your sweaty palms on your pants you checked the address once again, confirming you were at the right place. Raising your hand you knocked softly then cursed at yourself wondering if someone even heard. As you stood there like a statue contemplating to knock harder, the door cracked open.
You straightened your back, prepared to throw your fist at Hoseok if need be but were surprised to see a girl your age at the door.
"Hi?" She tilted her head in confusion.
You mentally kicked yourself before answering, "Hi! I'm here for Hoseok," Her eye lit up, she opened her mouth to reply but a loud commotion was heard in the background and she was yanked from the door as it shut in your face.
It was an understatement to say you were shocked into silence. Your lips parted you stared at the closed door.
In two seconds the door opened once more and you were prepared to ask the girl if she was okay but the person standing in front of you was someone else.
"You're late," Jung Hoseok ruffled his wet hair as he stepped aside to let you in, "you gonna come in?" He raised a brow at your still figure.
You hurried inside, forgetting all about your fist and his face. Well not his face, because that's where your attention currently was. His whole body looked damp as if he just came out of a shower as a grey towel hung around his shoulders. His shirt a little wet at places as if he put it on in a hurry, the fabric clinging sinfully to his lean stomach.
Yoh gave your head a shake, what the fuck am I thinking!?
When you forced your eyes back up they locked to his dark ones. He was in his own world just like you were. You cleared your throat to get his attention.
"So," you shifted your wait on your feet, "what did you call me here for?"
He came back to his senses at the sound of your voice and blinked looking around the room. He opened his mouth to say something when you remembered something and cut him off.
"Wait! Who was that girl who opened the door? She suddenly disappeared-"
"Jung!" A second door up in the corridor burst open as the same girl stormed out, only this time her neat black hair was a mess and the glasses she was wearing were askew.
"I cannot believe you picked me up and threw me like a bag of potatoes-" She noticed your gaze, stopping in her rage laced tangent and smiled a crazy smile—or at least it looked crazy in her current state—and turned towards you, "hello! Sorry for his existence, I'm his roommate! Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too um," You looked back at Hoseok as he stood there with his eyebrows furrowed.
"Oh don't mind him. He just didn't want me to meet the object of his affections. Torturous affections, I mean." She grinned like a kid at him which seemed to piss him off more.
He grabbed your hand and dragged you towards a room opposite the one his roommate came out of. Your panic came back in full force now as he shut the door but instead of locking it he went to his desk chair and sat down.
"What are you looking at? I called you over to work, are you seeing the mess in this room?" He gestured around you, "get to clean it up."
It was only now that you realised that you were standing in his room, his personal space and it felt weirdly intrusive to be here. But as you registered what he said a frown took over your face.
"Clean your room?"
"Yeah the vacuum is outside in the hall and-"
"Hoseok, don't you think it's a little too much? Asking me to clean your room?"
"-most of the clothes are clean just fold them and throw 'em back in the cupboard." He simply closed his eyes, settling his feet on the desk with his hands behind his head.
Chewing on the inside of your cheek you clenched your fist and took a deep breath. There was no reasoning with him, so you bent down and picked up a shirt from the floor, starting to fold it. He said most were clean. You threw it in the closet behind you. He can decide what's washed and what's not on his own.
In fifteen minutes you'd folded most of the clothing from the floors but it wasn't even half of it. There were still more his bed and chairs, pieces of fabric hanging off them. Just how many outfits he owns?
"Do you play fashion show in your room everytime you go out? Literally your whole closet is out on the floor." You picked up an pair of jorts, "ew, who wears these."
"People with a good fashion sense, don't worry your pretty little brain about my fashion choices or else you'll burn those last couple brain cells away too." He looked at you with a tilt of his head.
You wanted to punch him. But decided that it would not do you any good to piss him off.
"All these clothes and I didn't see one underwear. Do you not own one?" You said instead. "Or did Jung Hoseok is actually a gentleman who folded them himself to save himself the embarrassment." voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Why? Did you want to see them? Didn't take you for a perv-"
"Oh my god is that a speedo-" Hoseok's eyes snapped open as his frantic gaze zeroed in on your hands. But they were empty. You burst out laughing, "oh shit judging from your reaction do you actually own one?"
He scowled as you kept giggling, "just get done with it already. Next is the bed."
You walked to the bed, "so this is your trick to get girls in your bed? Is that an invitation for me?" You wiggled your eyebrows playfully. You were stuck slaving away your Sunday in his room, might as well entertain yourself.
Hoseok shot a look at his bed and then his gaze lingered on yours. You expected a retort from him but not this. His eyes intense, an unknown expression on his face. Contemplation.
That look gave you a weird feeling in your stomach, suddenly not very keen on entertainment. And so you tried to break the tension, or whatever it was.
"Are you sure you want me near your bed? What if I get my hands on your porn magazines?" You turned towards the bed starting to pick up the clothes strewn there.
Hoseok scoffed, "what do you take me for? A teenag- NO WAIT!"
He scream just as you lifted the mattress to pull the sheets intending to throw them in the laundry basket. You froze, watching as he stood up, one hand stretched in a pausing gesture. An evil grin spread across your face as you threw the clothes in your arm unceremoniously in favor of lifting the mattress as fast as you could.
But Hoseok was faster. He jumped on top of the bed, trapping your hand under it. He started crawling up on the bed but you moved back and in your hands was a booklet.
"Aha! What do we have- AAH!" You screamed as Hoseok jumped off the bed and started to descend on you. You twisted and turned, trying to keep the magazine out of his reach but he followed your motions. You ducked under his arm and started running around the room, Hoseok hot on your tails. You pushed his desk chair at him, turned and tried to climb up on the bed. One foot up you felt an arm snag your waist. In an attempt to throw him off you turned, and lost your footing.
You fell in a mess of limbs on the bed. Your hair spread around you and on your face, one hand stretched far, still trying to keep your possession protected from him while Hoseok lay on top of you. Before you could form any coherent thought--to your surprise--he burst out laughing, you've never heard him laugh so pleasantly. Hm, not so bad. Before you realised it you were laughing with him.
When the laughter started dying down you felt how ticklish your locks felt on your face. You tried shaking your head and blowing upwards to get them to move. To no avail.
Hoseok moved up suddenly and leaned his weight on one arm, gently he brought his other palm close and brushed your hair away with his fingers. Your vision cleared and locked with his. And there it was. That same intense contemplative look.
Not even a second had passed when you heard knocking outside the door, "are you guys okay?" It was his roommate.
Hoseok hurriedly rolled away, "yeah! We're fine."
"Oh. Alright then, just thought I heard a lot of noise and a loud thump," Hoseok winced a little, "just...be safe I guess." And then she was gone.
You have no idea what happened. Or what else might have happened just now. But you didn't want to think about it and so, you got up hurriedly, "I'll go get the vacuum and continue with cleaning." And with that you left the room.
Hoseok stayed on his back staring at the ceiling his gaze unfocused and pulse in a frenzy. He got up and decided to leave the room as well.
Just as you were about to enter the room again, vacuum in hand, Hoseok opened the door. You both stood under the door frame silently before he moved away, letting you pass. He left, closing the door behind him.
—
The door shut softly behind you as you bid Hoseok goodbye, finally done with cleaning.
Hoseok stood there in his living room, looking at the closed door, deep in thought.
"What was that?" He jumped in his skin turning to see his roommate standing beside him mirroring his actions and staring at the door.
"What? I told you I've got myself a little bird wrapped around my fing-"
"Oh shut up," She narrowed her eyes at him, "from what I saw you were the one shaking in your boots since this morning."
"What? No I wasn't."
"Hoseok honey for the love of all things wrong with you, you fussed over your clothes for fifteen minutes, hid all our freshman year pictures and took a shower before noon."
"I shower everyday." He huffed, insulted.
"Not on Sundays, not before playing dead on the couch till eleven o'clock at the very least." She pushed past him to sprawl on said couch. "Not to mention you called her to 'clean your room?' Hoseok, you're anal about cleanliness. Your room sparkles like our Dean's bald head."
She narrowed her eyes at him, "tell me," leaning forward with glimmering eyes, "what is going on?"
"It's literally what I said! She was here to help me clean-"
"Blackmailed, there's a difference. Look Hobi, I don't know what game you're playing but this is not gonna work."
"Worry about yourself. Or has Park finally asked you out for a date? Oh yeah, my bad, you refer to them as hangouts" Her face crumpled at his taunt, her eyes narrowed.
He huffed in annoyance, "you know what just forget it. I've got work to do and you should go do whatever lovesick fools do." With that he started walking back to his room ignoring her shouts.
"At least I'm not being as pathetic as you! Even those clothes you threw out on the floor were washed! All of them! I would know since you used my expensive detergent! Seriously dude if you want to see her that often this is not how you-"
The door slammed behind him leaving him in silence.
You didn't hear from Hoseok the rest of the day. And thus when Monday rolled up you foolishly let yourself believe that maybe he's finally bored with you and you'd get to live your life. You told yourself it was a good thing.
You were with Yoongi at the university convenience store getting snacks for your movie night with your friends. The first one in weeks. You were scrolling through your phone as Yoongi burned a hole through the store worker scanning your items, when the loud ring tone of your phone rang out.
You quickly silenced it looking up at Yoongi's questioning eyes.
"I'll just quickly take this and then we can get going."
"Who is it? Everything good?" He asked.
If only you knew. You wanted to say but instead smiled and said, "no one! Just a classmate. Everything is oka-"
"Just how long this thing with Jung Hoseok will go on for?"
All the words died on your lips. Staring at him in horror you croaked, "you knew?"
"Of course I did, just what do you take me for." He sighed, the bags of junkfood slung around his arm as he made to exit the store.
"How did- how long? Do the other two know?" You stumbled after him.
"I notice things, unlike those dumbheads. Well Taehyung is more focused on his new relationship so I wouldn't blame him and you know Jungkook. As for how long? About a month," You were shocked to know he'd known about this whole arrangement since almost the beginning.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"It didn't seem extreme at first. Entertaining even," That made your eyes narrow. "But recently it has been a little too much. I wanted to talk to you about it but didn't know if you'd appreciate me bringing it up."
You were chewing on your lips. He was right, you were embarrassed about the whole thing and didn't want to talk about it and though it was not all it still was part of the reason, at the start at least.
"Hey. Look at me. You don't need to feel embarrassed okay? It was fun in the beginning but I can see that it's affecting you in more ways now. But the only thing I'd ask is: how long will this go on? And you know it's not just the whole you acting as his valet thing, but we'll focus on that for now."
He took out a piece of candy from the bags hanging from his arms and offered it to you, "you're not being yourself, you've been missing our game nights and hangouts for some time you know? We miss you. Please try and sort out whatever it is you two have going on. I'll see you later."
With one hand holding the candy while the other clutched you phone as it began vibrating once again, you looked at Yoongi's retreating back and picked up the phone.
"Hello?"
—
You entered the private study room with two coffees and a piece of strawberry shortcake and started scanning for a brown headed man. Which wasn't difficult since the room was pretty empty. You quickly spotted him in the far corner and hurried over to his desk.
"Here." He looked up at you voice. Surrounded by stacks of papers with sleep evident in his face it took him a moment to register you were there.
"Oh," He sat up straight. "Yeah, um thanks." You set down the items and watched as he opened the lid of one of the iced americanos and took two mouthfuls like it was water. You were honestly a bit disgusted.
"I'll leave you to your coffee now. Bye." You checked your wristwatch and decided that if you leave right this moment you'll make it to your friends by the end of the first movie, maybe they will let you choose the second one-
"Where are you going?" He interrupted your thoughts. "Can't you see how many assignments I have got here to grade? I will need help with that, sit down."
If he could feel your distress in the air then he said nothing, simply took another sip of his coffee and went back to work.
"I'll do them later this night, just give them to me and I'll take them back home and finish them by tomorrow morning." You attempted to get him to let you leave. You really didn't want to miss out on yet another hangout and firmly believed that there was still time to salvage it. But you should have known, the moment you picked his phone up it was already too late.
"None can do. I need them done by the night, so sit down and get started." He didn't even look up at you. When you didn't move he looked up at you wrangling you fingers, "or did you forget that you do as I say?" He warned.
Immediately you froze. Not because you were scared, you realised you hadn't been scared for a long time now. Even started feeling something pleasant somewhere back then. Instead what you felt now was anger. Frustration and just pure anger. You remembered Yoongi's words. Yoongi was right just how long you would keep playing this game. How can he still reduce all you did for him and the time spent together to nothing but that stupid threat?
"Are you just going to stand there-"
"Enough." He felt the change in the atmosphere and snapped his head up, eyes wide.
"Enough of this Hoseok," you voice came out even stronger that you felt. "I'm tired of this and I can't do this anymore."
He opened his mouth to say something but you were not in the mood to listen. "I was supposed to be with my friends right now. I was supposed to be with them all those times when you had me sit with you doing something stupid. But I'm done now and I can't do this anymore."
You took a deep breath, voice getting calmer, the dam was open and and there's no stopping you.
"And you know it's not just that. It was almost going good after some time, for moments it felt like we were friends and I was helping you as such but then you'd go on about your threat and how I was your slave and it was honestly frustrating." You didn't wanna sound weak but your next words were vulnerable, "I thought you cared if only a little. Getting an extra drink for me, being mercyful for once when grading my assignments, cracking jokes, acting playful, you even gave me your hoodie when it was late and it had started to rain once. I thought we were friends because honestly we both knew it was stupid to blackmail me for this long but I still went with it because I thought we were getting closer. But you don't care"
Pulling your shoulders back your voice hardened again, "go tattle to whoever you want to about whatever suits you. Whatever happens then would be better than what is happening right now, I don't care anymore."
Hoseok sat stunned on his seat as you turned and disappeared from his sight.
When he came to his senses he stood up in a haste to try and catch up to you. What he'll even say to you? No idea.
But in his hurry he banged the table with his hip causing his half finished coffee to fall and spill all over the wooden surface. He was quick to gather the tissues from the pastry container that came with the coffees. As he dabbed at the liquid, praying it won't leave a stain, he noticed the strawberry cake and another cup of frappe—both of them for you. Now forgotten. The table and a few of the assignment copies ruined like the night he'd planned, working beside you.
It was Friday. Hoseok was, for once unshowered on a week day and his room a little less than pristine.
That was how his roommate, who had barged into his room found him. Slumped against his desk with wrappers of chips and cups for water strewn on the floor.
"Alright," coming into the room and taking a seat on his bed she continued, "what are we doing?"
Hoseok lifted his head and scrunched his brows, "about what?"
"You being a miserable moron."
He scoffed, "what are you talking about? I'm fine."
"Yeah and I had a threesome last night. Now that we're done playing 'who tells the biggest lie' can we talk about how you've still not acknowledged you little crush and how you absolutely smashed your chances with that crush?"
"God, it wasn't a crush" He groaned, "you know I was stretching my time anyway, I wasn't even expecting the arrangement to last this long. You know how it is, I get my work done and let them go in a week or two. She just happened to stay longer and I kinda got used to it."
"Hoseok." Her voice was stern but also exasperated, she seemed genuinely tired of his shit.
He sighed. She was wrong. It wasn't that he hadn't acknowledged his crush it was that he didn't know how to act on it. He'd been stupid and now you probably hate him. Rightfully.
"I know. Okay? I know I ruined it. I just wanted to keep seeing her and now she won't even look at me." He had seen you at class the next day you told him off and you were back in your seat at the back with you friend. "Can't do anything now though. She hates me for taking advantage of her."
"That's what she said? You know you were being an ass the first couple weeks but was it always the same even later on? From her perspective too?" Her words were making him confused because of course it was always like that, he was overbearing towards you.
"Think about what she actually said Hobi," she started to head out but before leaving completely, "and take a shower."
He sat there and thought over what she had said. i thought you cared because you had cared. And he had been selfish and careless with you.
When you had seen the text on Saturday you thought you were mistaken.
Hoseok: meet me at the icecream parlor at five
You contemplated not going. Wondering what he was calling you for. But at the end decided to go anyway. To get done with this whole fiasco at last but also because you hadn't talked to him in days and after weeks of spending hours together it felt odd.
Rounding the corner you almost believed he won't show up, that he'd forgotten what happened on Monday and had found a new way to torment you.
But you saw him sitting there on the outdoors table, his back facing you and before you could change your mind you walked the rest of way, quickly reaching him.
You sat down without a word, eyes on your hands and avoiding him.
"Hi." he called out softly.
Now you had to look up, "hey." You said as you noticed two cups of ice cream in front of him.
"Oh. I just went ahead and ordered for you as well. If you want you can get something else-"
"No. It's fine." You pursued your lips. You saw it in his face, he was feeling bad, for whatever reason. Harassing you with work? Being annoying? Hurting you? Justified. But you couldn't be mad at him because you believed in some sort of budding friendship that wasn't there.
He scooped some of the chocolate dessert but then promptly put down his spoon. "I'm sorry."
You looked up at him, fingers playing with the plastic spoon. You didn't know what to say so he continued on.
"I'm sorry. I was being a piece of shit. I've always been that way, hell even enjoyed it before," He winced, "but I know I fucked up and I want to sincerely apologise for that."
You didn't realise how much you wanted him to acknowledge his wrongs until you heard it out loud. "I also want to say sorry for treating you like the way I did and for keeping you from the people close to you." He took a breath, "also for hurting you for..." You knew he meant the last part of your conversation.
"I appreciate the apology. Truly." And he knew you meant it, "for being insufferable and about my friends, I accept those apologies. But you don't need to be sorry for my accusations of you not caring. There were no feelings, I understand that. I tried to make something out of nothing and ended up hurting myself-"
"But there was." His firm voice startled you. When you met his eyes you saw how they were filled with desperation. "I was always finding ways to keep you near for longer and excuses to call you over often." He looked at your confused eyes and gulped but carried on, "I was being selfish and inconsiderate because I didn't know how else to keep your attention on me and get to know you more. I didn't know what else to do because I was an idiot who couldn't work out a normal way to tell you that... That I liked you."
"What?" Now, you expected a hundred different things when you came here but hearing this? It had you reeling.
"I know, shocking right? I mean who in their right mind blackmails the girl they have a crush on. But that night I found you at our professor's office and just knew I couldn't let go of the opportunity. I was an idiot then. And an even bigger one because I thought I could be normal about it. But what even was normal about the last month and a half." He sighed rubbing his face, "I know, I know you hate me and I don't blame you-"
"Do you really think I did all that because you threatened me?" He blinked owlishly, letting out a confused huh?
"I said do you really think I would've stayed this long because of some flimsy threat like that?" You scooped some icecream into your mouth then swallowed before continuing, "at the beginning? Maybe. I thought I would have to deal with you for a few days and at the time it definitely sounded better than dealing with my professor. I would be honest, I didn't took particular notice of you before that night but somewhere when I got to know you more I realised it was almost tolerable to spend time with you. Half of the time at least."
"So...what you're saying is..." He trailed off.
"Yes. What I am saying is that half the reason I spent time with you was because I wanted to. I was hoping for something more I guess."
"But then I went and ruined everything because I couldn't get my actions to match my feelings. I'm such an idiot." He said, dragging his hands down his face.
"Not going to argue with that."
"No. Wait. We've got this all wrong." He slid his icecream far away leaving you confused and then looked expectantly at you to do the same. When you did, he took a deep breath and, "let's start this right. Tomorrow night? Are you free?"
"Uh yeah?"
"Then let me take you out to dinner. I want to get to know you and spend time with you."
You were speechless and that made him nervous. Had he interpreted your words wrong?
In his hurry he added: "The normal people way."
You chuckled at that, "you mean by not asking me to sign a slavery contract?"
"If you wish then I'll be the one signing the contract this time around," He leaned back on the chair, "ready to bend backwards at your beck and call."
You smiled with a shake of your head. "Alright. Tomorrow night. But you're picking the place."
He grinned and gave a slow nod. His clear brown eyes shining as he looked at you. And you were excited for this new beginning.
That night when you had agreed to take part in this stupidity you hadn't known you would go from being his little slave to the one who ruled his heart.
Maybe you had your idiot friends to thank, for the stupid dare which landed you here in the first place. But you'd rather die than admit that.
Looking at his heart shaped smile as he tried slurping the now melted icecream, which made him scrunch his face in a disgusted expression, made you heart feel warm. Even though he might act like an ass some times, you liked him.
And it was honestly a little cute to imagine him having a crush on you—you couldn't wait to hear all about that in the near future. All in due time.
𝗔/𝗻: Thank you so much for reading! Send your feedback by comment/reblog/or send an ask! I would really love to hear from you about anything literally!!
joshua hong has had the immense privilege of living 30 whole years without ever feeling so much as an ounce of jealousy. that is, until you come prancing into his picture-perfect life on your dumb burner account with evidence that his long-time girlfriend is cheating on him… with your boyfriend.
as he gets tangled in your chaotic plan to get back at your adulterous partners, he begins to wonder if this growing discomfort in his chest was ever even heartbreak to begin with, or if it’s something entirely new to him—something that has the ability to eat him alive from the inside out.
♫ get him back! olivia rodrigo ⟡ hot girl bummer blackbear ⟡ lackin’ denise julia ⟡ is this love xg ⟡ why can’t i? liz phair
pairing: joshua x fem!reader
cw: strong language, mentions of/implied sexual activity
tags: strangers to partners-in-crime to partners-PERIOD, joshua pov, pining, he fell first AND harder hehe, a few smau bits but mostly writing, no smut, inspired by get him back! by miss rodrigo, basically john tucker must die except joshua is sophia bush hehe iykyk
a/n: this was a request for jealous!shua and i’m laughing bc i started responding to this anon and said i was going to just answer with bullet points bc if i didn’t, this would turn into a whole thing. and here we are anyway… with a whole thing lol. i know he doesn't seem super jealous here, but consider the joshua x jealous arc a slow burn haha. anyway, enjoy this teaser!
dividers by cafekitsune!
cover by yours truly!
joshua's phone pings, and it’s one message from you, just a little over 24 hours since your last message went ignored.
he glances down and feels his stomach turn.
i have evidence.
an hour later, joshua and jeonghan are sprawled across the latter’s living room. when they’d seen your message, both of them had quickly and wordlessly vacated the cafe they were holed up in, gotten to jeonghan’s apartment frighteningly fast, and rifled through the series of messages you sent—all of them photos you took of your boyfriend’s phone screen.
at first, joshua was just annoyed at how hard snapchat made it to read messages; most of the ones sent by whoever your boyfriend was were deleted. he was ready to wave you off and call your “evidence” a reach. but then, he got to more damning photos—photos he was vexed jeonghan got to see too.
because they just proved his know-it-all best friend right. mina was a fucking snake.
he’s shocked at the lengths they went to to be able to communicate with each other without being caught.
but perhaps the most damning piece of evidence of them all comes last: a photo of a woman’s naked back as she laid on her side in a bed—that wasn’t joshua’s or mina’s—away from the camera. it could’ve been anyone. the small tattoo at the base of her neck told joshua exactly who it was.
“so what now?” jeonghan asks, both of them still starfished on the floor and staring at the ceiling after spending several minutes furiously swiping and cussing at his screen. “let’s fill all her shampoo bottles with hair remover,” he answers his own question before joshua can even open his mouth. “oh! or we can follow her around, inevitably find this dude, and kidnap him! i’m sure this y/n person will appreciate that too!”
joshua doesn’t bother entertaining his best friend with a proper response, choosing to ignore the suggestions altogether. his mind is racing a mile a minute, trying to find the point in his relationship mina might have started straying away. has it been happening the entire time? or did she recently decide joshua wasn’t fulfilling her needs to her liking?
“… his car and it’ll probably break down and explode at some point later that week?”
he frowns, realizing jeonghan has been suggesting ridiculous things they can do to mina and your boyfriend the entire time he was contemplating his relationship. it’s his first time getting cheated on, but he isn’t surprised at his best friend’s reaction to it. he’s more surprised when silence blankets over them for several long seconds before jeonghan asks:
“are you okay?” he sighs. “i know that’s a dumb question to ask. you’re obviously not going to be okay after finding out your girlfriend cheated on you.”
his frown deepens at that. it’s a fair statement. he always imagined this kind of thing would throw him into some kind of jealous rage—emotions he’s not really familiar with. rage like yours.
he wonders if he had been the one to find out about this, would he have had a meltdown the way you did? make a burner account and find you to tell you the way you did? try to find someone to commiserate with—even if it’s a stranger—the way you did?
no, probably not. he was telling the truth when he told you that all he would do is break up with mina.
and he’s incredibly confused to find that, contrary to what jeonghan is saying, he feels very okay with that. he can’t really imagine caring enough to do anything more, and he doesn’t know why. shouldn’t he care more?
if you and jeonghan were wrong about him loving mina the way he was so convinced you were, why didn’t he care more?
“joshua,” jeonghan reaches over and pokes his shoulder. “speak. you’re scaring me.”
he snorts. “i’m fine.”
“okay…” he responds slowly. “so still in shock?”
“no, i really think i’m fine,” joshua says, shaking his head at the ceiling. “i feel… normal. i guess just confused about when and why she decided to cheat.”
“you did nothing wrong. she’s just a conniving, slutty ingrate who doesn’t know that she’s throwing away the most decent man in the universe,” he assures him. “which brings me back to my initial question. what should we do now to punish said conniving, slutty ingrate?”
joshua sighs. “we’re not doing anything. i am breaking up with her as soon as she gets off work.”
jeonghan perks up, rolling over onto his stomach and crawling to him until his head appears in his line of vision. his best friend has a shit-eating smile on his face that makes him instinctively roll his eyes.
“can i be there?”
he knows he should say no. it’s an absurd request and it shouldn’t even take joshua more than a second to answer. but as he thinks about it, jeonghan continuing to smile at him like a little devil on his shoulder, he thinks it might be nice to have him there and shame mina for cheating in a way he knows he doesn’t really care to do himself.
he shrugs. “sure, why not?”
jeonghan squeals with delight, scrambling to get up. “come on, we have to make sure you look smoking hot so it hurts her twice as bad. you can borrow my leather pants.”
“leather?!” joshua repeats. “it’s the middle of summer!”
joshua texted mina to let her know he wanted to talk to her after work and he would be dropping by. she told him several times that tonight wasn’t a great time and insisted they wait until tomorrow, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about her convenience, so here he is, with jeonghan practically vibrating with excitement at his side, standing outside her apartment building.
“i still think you should’ve worn the leather pants,” his best friend says, “but you look killer. she’s gonna shit herself.”
joshua recoils at the idea but thanks him anyway.
“ready?”
he sighs. “yeah, i guess. ready as i’ll—oof!”
he stumbles a few steps and right into jeonghan as someone violently shoves him, continuing to push and slap at both him and his best friend until they’re several steps away from the entrance to mina’s apartment.
“what the—”
“and what the hell are you doing here?!” a female voice shrieks.
he wants to yell at this stranger for putting her hands on him. he wants to tell her to have some manners and to get away from him. at the very least, he wants to glare at her until she shrivels up in shame and scurries away. but all ideas of even attempting to do any of that die as soon as he lays eyes on the stranger.
your instagram photos don’t really do you justice. your photos were well-taken and curated perfectly for your profile, but now that you were—for some weird reason—standing in front of joshua and jeonghan, he can confidently call your photos dirty liars. he can’t blame them, though. he has a feeling no camera in the world can capture how pretty you actually are in real life.
prettier than anyone i’ve ever dated, his intrusive thoughts remind him. prettier than mina.
“well?!” you screech when neither of them answer you, making them both flinch. you don’t notice your effect on them, though, because you’re busy frantically looking between them and the entrance of the building like you’re scared the three of you will be seen.
he knows jeonghan is thinking the same, exact thing he is because he is never rendered silent.
“i—uh,” joshua stammers for what he thinks might be the very first time in his life. “we…”
jeonghan glances at him, face twisted in amused confusion before he schools his expression and points his signature stunning smile at you. “you’re y/n! hi!”
“who the hell are you?” you turn back to them, cross your arms, and practically bark at him.
his best friend’s laugh is exaggerated and several decibels louder than it has any business being. it grates joshua’s nerves. he glares at him but jeonghan pays him no attention. “i like her,” he mutters to him before saying, “i’m jeonghan.”
“okay, jeonghan,” you spit his name like venom, obviously unimpressed, making him giggle.
joshua rolls his eyes at him and his increasing giddiness. his best friend doesn’t date often, but he shouldn’t be surprised that he enjoys this kind of vitriol. jeonghan is, at his core, attracted to the same chaos he himself is made of.
“what are you doing here?” you ask again, raising an eyebrow at joshua to make it clear you’re talking to him.
“i’m… here to break up,” he answers weakly. “with mina! i’m here to break up with… mina.”
he doesn’t know what’s come over him, but being confronted by you in person and unnervingly close in his vicinity has him forgetting how to properly communicate. the thought of blocking you was a lot easier when he had no idea if you were a real person. now, he feels like there’s no escaping you.
“what are you doing here?” jeonghan asks the question he forgets to return to you.
you ignore him, eyes staying trained on joshua as you speak, and something about you pretending like his best friend doesn’t exist forces him to fight down a smile.
“you’re not breaking up with her today,” you order him confidently, like you know saying it is enough for joshua to agree. if the way his palms start to sweat are any indication, you might be right. “she’s up there with siwoo.”
“who’s—”
“my boyfriend,” you answer before jeonghan can finish his question. “i followed him here when he told me he was getting drinks with coworkers.”
joshua’s stomach flips. he’s not really sure how anyone can even think about another person in your presence, let alone cheat on you. maybe your intensity scares siwoo, though. it definitely kind of scares him.
“you mean… they’re up there right now… and they’re probably…” jeonghan’s sentence trails off, but you’re you and you don’t shy away from finishing it.
“fucking?” you ask with a biting and sarcastic enthusiasm. “yeah, jeonghan! probably!”
joshua winces. your fury was already palpable via DMs, but it’s near suffocating in person. it grabs him by the neck and shoves his face back into the dilemma he was quietly contemplating back at jeonghan’s apartment: why isn’t he sharing the same anger? why isn't he doubled over, throwing up at the idea of mina having sex with someone up in her apartment at this very moment?
“are you hungry?” you ask joshua.
“what?” he asks dumbly.
“are. you. hungry?” you repeat, irritation laced in your voice.
“i am!” jeonghan announces.
you give him a blank stare before looking back at joshua. when he fails to say anything, you sigh, your temper appearing to deflate infinitesimally.
“they’re going to be a while,” you inform him like you’ve done this before. “there’s a fried chicken shop i like nearby.” okay, so you’ve definitely done this before. “we can eat and… talk, i guess.”
“we would love to talk. right, joshua?” jeonghan asks, pinching his side with more force than necessary. he fights to keep from jumping.
"sure," he finally agrees. "i could eat."
"thanks for ignoring me amidst my weekend-long menty b, by the way," you say sarcastically as you set down a pitcher of beer and three glasses next to the tray of friend chicken on the table.
"ment—?"
"mental breakdown," jeonghan whispers to him as he reaches to pluck a piece of fried chicken from the tray.
instead of depositing it on his own plate, he stretches across the table to put it on yours. joshua's eyes involuntarily narrow at the gesture. he doesn't realize he's glaring at his best friend until he speaks again.
"what?" he pouts at him but his eyes glint with mischief. "ladies first."
"thanks," you murmur, not-at-all sounding thankful. jeonghan snorts. "well? explain your rude behavior." he looks back over to you to find you sulking. you add more chicken to your plate even though you haven't touched the one jeonghan gave you.
"ah." joshua shakes his head. "i was just... not all the way convinced."
"and now?"
"now what?"
"i take it you're all the way convinced?" you clarify as you tear into your first piece of chicken like you haven't eaten in years. with a full mouth, you add: "i mean, i assume you are if you're here to break up with your girlfriend."
"uh... yeah..." he nods slowly, distracted.
joshua is often described by his friends as a gentleman—elegant even. with the exception of jeonghan and mingyu—the two people who know him best—he is always polite and accommodating. he's careful that his clothes are always pressed and lint-free. he always has good posture, and he does his best to remember his table etiquette, especially in the presence of elders. he tries to be buttoned up and put-together almost all of the time, sometimes even to his own detriment.
so staring at you, wiping soy garlic sauce off your mouth with the back of your hand and talking with your pieces of chewed up chicken tucked into one, puffy cheek, he should absolutely feel repulsed.
he frowns at you and knows it probably looks like he is repulsed by you. but really, he's just confused about why you look so endearing sitting there, eating like it pains you to while taking turns glaring at your drumstick and glaring at him and his best friend.
"hello?" you wave your saucy fingers in front of joshua's face. "is he always this... spacey?" you ask jeonghan without taking your eyes off him.
"i'm glad you asked! no," the man next to him answers—also through cheeks full of chicken. "i've actually never seen him this nerv—"
"sorry, what were you saying?" joshua interjects before everyone at this table, including him, has to face the fact that yes, he is very much nervous and he's unsure why.
you sigh as you wipe your fingers on a napkin. "what is it about me that men's eyes just begin to glaze over as soon as my mouth opens?" you complain, the signature rage joshua has come to expect from you in the one hour he's known you bubbling back to the surface.
his eyes widen in horror at the thought of you mistaking his fascination with disinterest. "oh! i didn't—no, i'm not—i—"
"what joshua is trying and failing miserably to say," jeonghan cuts in, sneaking him a look that screams get it together, "is that no one here is ignoring you. he's just... trying to process all of this. after all, you had all weekend to think about this, and he just realized you were telling the truth, what? two hours ago?"
you stare at jeonghan with the same unimpressed expression you’ve been forcing on him since you met him. after a moment, your gaze travels to joshua, and he gives you a meek smile. you finally hum in understanding.
“sorry, i know i’m projecting. i’m just all…” you wave your hand wildly near your temple to mimic a muddled brain. “siwoo has done a number on me.”
joshua finally gains enough composure to string a sentence together. “i’m sorry i ignored your messages… and blocked your burner account.” you cringe at that but nod an acceptance of his apology. “and i’m sorry i’m not fully present right now. jeonghan’s right.”
kind of. not really. he was processing your existence more than he was processing being cheated on, to be frank.
“i’m just… trying to understand what’s happening, i guess. for what it’s worth, i find it really unbelievable that anyone would ever cheat on you.”
he ignores the way jeonghan inhales deeply and slowly through his nose. only joshua would be able to tell it’s the equivalent of him scream-giggling and kicking his feet when he’s trying to be discreet.
your eyebrows rise like you’re shocked joshua is capable of more than grunts and one-word replies.
“ditto,” you say plainly. joshua can’t help the immediate laugh that escapes his mouth at that, and he’s pleased when you smile for the first time since you met. “mina seems dumb. and not just because she and siwoo are ruining my life. you’re very handsome. and if you blocking me on instagram so fast was any indication, you seem very loyal too.”
you say it easily, as if giving out compliments like that is no big deal to you. maybe it isn’t, but even if that’s true, he’s going to appreciate it nonetheless.
unfortunately, that appreciation manifests in a fierce blush joshua feels spreading across his face like wildfire, much to his mortification. he doesn’t remember the last time he blushed like a pathetic schoolboy with a crush. it was probably when he was an actual pathetic schoolboy with a crush.
he clears his throat, choosing to ignore the compliment. “yeah, i guess we have the same, bad taste in dummies.”
you suddenly groan, throw your head back, and blink rapidly at the ceiling like you're trying your best not to cry. both men glance at each other and fidget awkwardly at the abrupt change of mood, neither of them being great at handling a crying woman. joshua has little to no experience with it and jeonghan tends to fall back on ill-timed jokes during times of distress.
"i followed him here months ago," you tell them unprompted. “i followed him here so many times because he was always so fucking sketchy. but his lie always involved ‘one of the guys,’ so i just thought his friend lived in that building.”
“and you found out this weekend…?” jeonghan asks carefully. joshua rubs the back of his neck nervously.
you nod, squeezing your eyes shut briefly before bringing your line of sight back to them. your eyes are glassy but your efforts to keep from crying were mostly successful.
“he lent me his laptop because mine stopped working,” you explain, rolling your eyes like having a broken laptop on top of all this is almost enough to send you over the edge. “his texts are connected on there too. i was at a cafe with a friend, and one of those verification texts came through. i ignored it but a few seconds later, it messaged again and i saw that he’d replied on his phone.”
“he told her it was safe to text,” joshua says, remembering the photos you sent.
“yeah…” you breathe, hugging yourself tightly and rubbing your arms as you try to self-soothe. “and i just sat there in front of my friends, watching him make plans with her in real time… brainstorm the lies they agreed to tell us… and i just had to pretend to be normal or else i would’ve burned that cafe to the ground.”
jeonghan coughs as he chokes on his chicken a little. joshua pats him on the back absentmindedly, eyes never leaving you, even as his best friend stretches across him, still coughing, to pour everyone a glass of beer. you sniffle as you accept your glass with a small nod, your body visibly relaxing after the first sip. he tries not to gawk when you finish the entire glass in one go.
joshua thinks this is probably what someone in love should look like when their heart has been broken: drunk and sad. now that the initial shock of seeing you in person has worn off, he can see how tired you really look. there are dark, bruising circles under your eyes, visible even under your makeup, and your hair looks like it was haphazardly put up into a ponytail to avoid having to wash or brush it. your eyes are tinged pink, a little swollen, and dull, like you’ve been crying all weekend. you have been crying all weekend.
and joshua? he’s asking himself why he hasn’t felt the urge to cry at all yet because right now, he could be the poster child for soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend who is going to be okay has been okay, is okay, and will always be okay. aside from his irritation with mina and her insane audacity, today is like any other day.
he’s never had his heart broken before this, but maybe it’s just different for guys. he read somewhere that men’s emotional intelligence develops a lot slower than women’s; maybe he just hasn’t reached a level of maturity you have.
“anyway,” you say as you stifle a tiny burp that makes jeonghan giggle for the nth time tonight, “i’m going to ruin his life.”
okay, so maybe maturity is the wrong word.
“wh…” joshua glances at jeonghan for confirmation he heard correctly.
his best friend’s eyes are lit up with excitement as he leans forward with impossibly even more interest in what the pretty lady across the table has to say. joshua would slap him if they were alone. what for, he doesn’t know, but he would.
“sorry, what was that?” he asks, trying not to sound judgmental at the risk of setting your anger off again.
“she’s going to ruin his life,” jeonghan answers for you giddily. “what are you going to do? i told joshua he should fill mina’s shampoo bottle with hair remover.”
that earns the two men another smile from you, but this time joshua finds himself annoyed it was because of something jeonghan said.
“oh my god, that’s vile,” you say even though you’re grinning and obviously love the idea. “maybe i’ll add that as a little cherry on top for siwoo.”
“oh, he’ll be so ugly,” jeonghan claims like he’s already daydreaming about it.
“you don’t even know what he looks like,” joshua murmurs.
“i don’t need to,” he responds, smiling as he stares off into the distance. “a stupid motherfucker who can cheat on our lovely y/n here like that has to look like ass.”
you roll your eyes at the compliment but your cheeks turn a cute shade of pink anyway.
“well, making him bald will look like child’s play when i’m done with him,” you match jeonghan’s dreamy tone, and joshua feels a chill of fear from having the two of you at the same table crawl up his spine. why was he a magnet for agents of chaos?
“is that why you haven’t broken up?” he asks. “you’re scheming to ruin his life?”
you frown. “what makes you think we haven’t broken up?”
joshua shrugs. “maybe the fact that you followed him here and then shoved me and my best friend into next week to keep us from attracting any attention?”
jeonghan snickers and your cheeks turn a darker shade.
“ah, right.” you nod once. “sorry about that.” you don’t look sorry at all and joshua finds himself thinking it’s amusing. “i suppose that was a bit… rude.”
joshua hums like he’s contemplating your apology but he knows it’s clear he’s fighting a smile as he brings his beer to his lips.
you sigh. “anyway, yes. that’s why i’m still with him. he doesn’t even know i know. i’m trying to get my ducks in a row and figure out the most devastating way to leave him.”
jeonghan smirks. “my kind of girl.”
joshua’s foot finds his best friend’s and stomps on it as hard as he can without thinking twice about it. it almost shocks him—how much it felt like instinct—but after the day he’s had, he thinks he’s entitled to a bit of a tantrum. maybe this is how he is when his heart is broken. a little mean.
“ow, what the fu—”
“so what’s the plan?” joshua asks loudly when your eyes snap up to jeonghan mid-sip over the glass of your beer.
you lick your lips clean of foam before setting the glass down, and joshua forces himself to look away when he notices how plump and pink they are.
“well, to be honest… i haven’t been the smartest,” you admit, seeming timid for the first time since you barged into his DMs. it’s an odd look on you. “i—um. i kind of rely on him… financially.”
the explanation comes tumbling past your lips after that like you’re afraid the two of them are going to judge you if you allow even a second of silence to pass.
“i had a job! i had a great job! but siwoo’s a bit traditional, and he comes from a more conservative family that really buys into gender roles, and i mean, fuck that, right?”
you give them no chance to agree.
“i’m a feminist! i swear to god i’m a fucking feminist!” you’re practically shouting now and the two men are so stunned, they can’t bring themselves to notice or care that the other patrons of the restaurant are starting to look over. “but i was in love! and i thought i was going to marry this moron! so i convinced myself i wanted to stay home and i wanted to clean the house and take care of a man—”
you say the word with so much disgust, both joshua and jeonghan struggle to keep from laughing.
“—and he was so happy when i quit my job like he’s been asking me to, and i thought i was happy too, like, what woman doesn’t want to be taken care of by a rich man?!”
you pause to burp briefly but it still isn’t enough time for either of them to get a word in.
“though again, i was in love! i was looking at that shithead through rose-tinted glasses! he’s nothing but a spoiled mama’s boy with a rich family! that asshole doesn’t have to do anything for the wealth he has! so now it's, like, what woman wants to be fake-taken-care-of by a 30-something-year-old mama’s boy?!”
the words come with even more disgust than “man.”
“and he had the nerve to act like he was better than me because i had to make everything i had before i met him! like, dude. if your bank account is still connected to your fucking mom’s, lower your goddamn voice when speaking to me!”
his best friend’s mouth drops open in absolute joy-filled shock at your biting remark. he’s enjoying meeting someone as chaotic as he is too much.
“and what was it for?! empty promises that he would propose soon?! endless faked orgasms for a man who’s afraid to give a woman head?!”
jeonghan chokes again, this time on nothing. joshua has more decorum but he can’t help the way his face turns bright red.
“you’d swear i was harboring a monster down there the way he cringed at the mere mention of oral, like, what is he, 12?!”
joshua has to avert his eyes to the ceiling of the restaurant at the mention of your “monster,” and he can’t even get it together long enough to nudge jeonghan when he bursts into hysterical laughter. they might as well be nonexistent, though, because you keep barreling through your rant.
“i was on track to be a director before 30! i was a fucking star! and look what he made me!” you screech, words slurring.
it takes your slurred speech and yet another burp for joshua to realize with mild horror that the pitcher of beer is almost empty, and that he and jeonghan are still on their first glasses. he elbows his best friend, who’s still cackling, and motions at the pitcher. jeonghan sighs happily as the last of his laughter leaves him and mutters a quiet: holy shit, pretty aggretsuko can drink.
“he turned me into a housewife without even making me a wife! and let me remind you: I AM A FEMINIST!” you slam your palms against the table with each word to punctuate your point. joshua can see why you picked aggretsuko for your burner account. “i support a woman’s choice to be a housewife if that’s what she wants, but my dumb ass didn’t realize that this isn’t the life i wanted until this fucking weekend! god!” you groan miserably. “all of this heartache and for what?! he cheated on me and now i’m jobless and about to be homeless and completely broke, and i…”
you seem to abruptly run out of steam, slumping in your seat and looking at your near-empty glass of beer pitifully. joshua has the urge to round the table and give you a hug, but he stays put, trying to process the whiplash of witnessing what he imagines is a mini “menty b.”
you take a few breaths before quietly saying, “i can’t believe this is what being in love got me.”
something violently lurches inside joshua’s chest when you say that.
“i can’t believe something that’s supposed to be as beautiful as love blinded me so badly.” your voice cracks. your eyes well with tears and this time, you make no move to stop them as they begin to streak your face. “how the hell can love hurt this much?”
joshua’s mouth falls open to say something—anything. any kind of comfort or kindness or advice. but no sound escapes his lips as he watches your heart break into tiny, little pieces in front of him.
he’ll look back at this moment and realize this was the first time his heart learned something he, himself, didn't know yet: what he had with mina wasn’t love—that maybe, he had actually never even been in love before. there’s no world where mina would ever have the kind of effect siwoo has on you on him, and there isn't anything mina can do that would make joshua scorn the concept of love because it's something he never even experienced with her.
but for now, all he can think is that, despite barely knowing you and despite being somewhat afraid of you, he has an insatiable want to fix this for you. he wants you to stop crying. he wants to see the rare smiles they were gifted tonight on your face once more. most of all, he wants to make the man who made you cry sorry for ever entering your life.
the words are out of his mouth before he can think twice about them.
“i’ll help you.” you immediately stop crying and look up at him with wide eyes. “i’ll help you ruin this idiot’s life. and when the two of us are through with him, i promise you he’ll be afraid to breathe within a 10-mile vicinity of you.”
The early afternoon sunlight poured lazily through the curtains of the living room, filling the shared house you had with Joshua with a sleepy, golden warmth. It was one of those rare days when you had no deadlines, no assignments, no urgent schedules — just hours stretching ahead with no purpose other than existing.
You sat cross-legged on the couch, your hands flying animatedly as you spoke, weaving story after story, memory after memory, without a single pause.
Across from you, perched with a patience that only Jeonghan seemed to naturally possess, was Jeonghan-oppa himself — holding a plate of neatly cut fruits in one hand and a small fork in the other.
Every few minutes, he’d gently lift a piece of fruit — a strawberry slice, a cube of apple, or a golden piece of mango — and offer it towards you.
But you, entirely caught up in whatever happy thought was tumbling out of your mouth next, barely noticed the offered fruit until he nudged it closer.
"Yah," he said softly, the corner of his mouth lifting, "Eat, baby."
You blinked up at him, all sunshine and startled innocence, before quickly taking the piece into your mouth, chewing while already continuing your story. Jeonghan smiled, setting the fork back down for a moment only to pick it up again once you swallowed, preparing the next bite.
It had been nearly an hour, and somehow you had managed to finish maybe... five pieces.
Jeonghan didn’t seem to mind at all. He sat there, one leg draped over the other, leaning back against the couch like he had all the time in the world for you. Every so often, he hummed in response to your endless stream of thoughts, his eyes fond, sometimes even playful when you made a particularly dramatic face or exaggerated detail.
"You know what I realized?" you said, pausing only to gasp a little, before leaning forward.
Jeonghan immediately lifted another piece of fruit toward you, only to have you ignore it again as you kept talking.
"Hmm?" he said, tilting his head to the side patiently.
You launched into another tangent — about the books you were reading, how you hated that one character so much you felt like throwing the book across the room, about how you planned to rearrange your closet even though you knew you wouldn't. About how Shua had insisted you needed 'more sleep' but you insisted you were 'young and lively.' About the sky outside looking ‘poetically lazy.’
Jeonghan listened. He nodded. He laughed at all the right parts.
But mostly — he kept holding up fruit slices for you, waiting.
"Eat, sweetheart," he murmured again, the word 'sweetheart' rolling off his tongue like he said it every day — which he almost did. You giggled, taking the slice this time, before talking even faster to catch up for the few seconds your mouth was busy chewing.
Jeonghan had just lifted a fresh cube of apple when the front door creaked slightly.
Neither of you noticed — not even when Joshua stepped quietly into the living room, fresh from an errand he had to run.
He paused in the doorway.
The sight was so natural, so achingly sweet, that it froze him in place for a second: Jeonghan sitting like a king of patience, holding out fruits you were barely eating, your entire face lit up with excitement, hands moving, voice animated, while Jeonghan just smiled and waited for you to notice the food again.
Without a word, Joshua pulled his phone from his pocket.
He clicked a picture.
Soft click.
A memory saved.
You didn’t hear it. You were too busy recounting some ridiculous thing you saw at the store the other day, your laugh bubbling up like the happiest sound in the room. Jeonghan didn’t hear it either — he only shifted the fruit closer to your mouth once again, like a gentle reminder.
Joshua watched for a second longer, a slow fondness curling in his chest — a love not just for you, but for the way the people he loved loved you, too.
He cleared his throat softly then, announcing his presence.
Both you and Jeonghan turned toward him, startled.
"Hey, Shua!" you chirped, waving enthusiastically. The fork Jeonghan was holding bonked your cheek lightly when you moved too fast, making both Jeonghan and Joshua chuckle.
Joshua smiled and walked a few steps closer — but instead of saying anything about what he saw, he simply asked Jeonghan something completely unrelated.
"Hyung, did you find my headphones? I think I left them here yesterday."
Jeonghan nodded, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen counter with the hand that wasn’t holding fruit. "Yeah, I put them there. You’re welcome."
Joshua grinned. "Thanks. I'll grab them before I head out again."
Then, with a soft ruffle of your hair as he passed by — a touch so quick and familiar it made you beam — Joshua left the living room, disappearing back down the hall.
You immediately returned to your storytelling without missing a beat.
Jeonghan just shook his head fondly, offering another fruit slice toward you. "You talk more than you breathe," he teased lightly.
You gasped. "Oppa! That’s so mean!"
He only laughed, the sound low and fond, and lifted the fork again.
"Eat, little baby," he said, a warmth in his voice that made your heart feel a little fuller. "Or we’ll still be here when the sun goes down."
You pouted dramatically, snatched the fruit slice from the fork, and then leaned back against the couch like you were exhausted from the effort. Jeonghan only chuckled again, settling in — ready for another few hours if that’s what it took.
Neither of you knowing that somewhere on Joshua’s phone, a picture was now saved — a little snapshot of the endless hours, the laughter, the fruit you never finished, and the kind of love that didn’t need words to be understood.
Hiii! Your stories are the cutest🥹 May I request a fluff Woozi story where he has a polar opposite partner who is too good for this world and one day he gets a message from them asking him not to be mad because they got injured trying to save a kitten or something😅 thank you!!
"You're Lucky I Love You"
BF!LeeJihoon (WOOZI) x Fem!Reader
Genre: Pure Fluff! Protective Woozi. Black cat X Orange cat/Sunshine
Warnings: Mentions of slight injuries. (Slightly injured reader and cat), Stressed out Woozi.
A/N : Hi! I'm so glad you liked them! 🫶🏾 Thank you so much for the request. Hope you like it :) Please feel free to submit more!
Masterlist
Being with you was like literally dating sunshine. You were all laughter, wide-eyed wonder, and stubborn kindness… the type to apologise after bumping into chairs and cry over sad commercials.
And Jihoon? W3ll, he was like a black cat who pretended not to care, yet he watched your every step, hovered close enough to catch you if you stumbled, and loved you so much it terrified him sometimes. And he would, without a doubt, move mountains for you if you asked.
♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡
One time, He was at the studio late, fingers busy over his laptop, when your name popped up on his screen.
[❤️]: hiiii Ji pls don’t be mad
[❤️]: i maybe kinda slipped… uhm..trying to save a kitten?
[❤️]: but its ok!!! tiny scratch only!!
[❤️]: i love u so much <3
Jihoon blinked at the screen for a full second, then exhaled slowly through his nose.
Of course.
Of course it was a kitten.
Of course you got yourself hurt.
He called you immediately without a second thought.
You picked up on the first ring, voice a little too soft.
"Hey, Ji! Don’t freak out-"
"Where are you?" he said, already shutting his laptop.
"At the animal clinic down the street. But seriously, it’s nothing!" You giggled softly, that sweet, mischievous sound that normally melted him. But right now, it just made him rub his forehead.
"Stay there. I’m coming."
"You don’t have to! I can walk home, promise-"
"Baby," he said firmly. "Stay."
You let out a tiny "okay," and he could picture you pouting already.
He smiled despite himself, grabbed his jacket, and headed out.
♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡
You were waiting on the curb when he got there, a tiny black kitten bundled up in your hoodie and your sneakers scuffed from who knows what chaos you’d gotten yourself into. The moment you saw him, you lit up like the sun.
"Babyyyy" you sang, waving.
He quickened his pace.
His eyes swept over you automatically, bandaged knee, a few scratches, nothing serious.
You were still bouncing on your heels, grinning like you hadn’t almost given him a heart attack.
"Come here," he grumbled.
You practically skipped into his arms, careful not to squish the kitten, and Jihoon automatically tucked you against him with one arm.
He scowled down at you.
"You’re a menace."
"I’m a hero," you said, showing him the kitten proudly. (Simba style). The kitten mewed weakly, looking at Jihoon with sparkling eyes.
Jihoon sighed.
He looked you over again, checking your hands, your arms, the bump on your knee.You winced slightly when he brushed over a scrape on your palm.He gave you a look.
"Did you even go to the doctor?"
"The vet patched me up," you said sheepishly. "He was very nice."
Jihoon muttered something under his breath and carefully pulled you toward the car."Come on. Let’s get you home before you adopt a whole zoo."You bounced happily beside him.
"Can we keep him?" you asked, wide-eyed.
He glanced down at the tiny kitten. It was scruffy and shaking a little, but it meowed determinedly at him.
Jihoon groaned. Again.
"You’re lucky I love you."
You beamed. "And you love him too!"
"I tolerate him," he said, trying to suppress a smile from seeing the look of excitement on your face.
(He already knew he was to buy cat food on the way home.)
♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡
A/N : AJSJJSJAJS LOVED WRITING THIS SM! Hope ya'll like it. My requests are open :)
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